Hold Your Breath (6 page)

‘What?’ Was he going to actually tell her to her face that she wasn’t good enough to hang out with Melodie poxy Stone? Why had she even come here today?

‘Well . . .’ Leo took an audible in-breath. ‘. . . they all seem a bit . . . shallow. Can’t imagine any of them having a swim. You know, in case it messed up their
hair.’

‘Oh.’ It felt like a compliment wrapped up in an insult and she wasn’t sure exactly how she should respond. Was he saying she didn’t care about how she looked? Or that
she wasn’t a vain airhead? Could he mean both those things at once? This whole conversation was hard work.

Silence fell between them.

The rain was beginning to ease up a little. The trees ahead were blurred around the edges, like in a watercolour painting. The air was laden with fine moisture. The greenery of the park was so
emerald-intense it almost hurt to look at. The figure in the car park had gone.

‘I’d better lock up now,’ said Leo, quietly, ‘or Dobby’ll kick off.’

Remembering the old man who’d taken her money on the way in, Tara couldn’t help the laugh that rippled up her cheeks. ‘Dobby? Because of . . . ?’ She touched her ears,
grinning.

Leo frowned. ‘No, his name is Mr Dobby,’ he said, poker-faced.

Tara’s facial heating system went critical. Then she saw a twinkle in Leo’s eye. A slight grin crinkled the corner of his mouth.

‘Had you for a moment, didn’t I?’ he said. ‘Come on, we’d better get out of here before he comes and gives me a gnome bite or something.’

Tara murmured her response.

‘What was that?’ said Leo, as she stepped outside.

‘Dobby’s a house-elf, not a gnome.’
Oh God, shut up Tara, you stupid, geeky idiot . . .

But Leo’s eyes were warm as he regarded her.

‘Yeah. Course he is.’

As she reached the car park, Tara looked back and saw Leo folding his tall frame into a small white car.

Her heel still hurt and her damp hair felt horrible, but she was hungrier than she could remember being in ages. Even though her limbs were heavy from the swim, she felt buzzy and good too. She
turned the conversation with Leo over in her mind. He was a weird mixture of gruff and kind of gentle. Could it be that despite the way he looked, he was shy? Tara found it hard to imagine that
someone that good-looking could ever be shy. What did he have to be shy about? Although, admittedly, she was a bit shy herself and her parents were always telling her she was pretty. But then, they
were her parents and bigging up their offspring was in their job description.

Jay had told her she was pretty too. But Jay had been a liar in so many ways, she’d stopped counting.

She was pretty sure Leo didn’t seem like someone who would have bumped off his sister. She’d made an enquiry like a proper little detective and maybe now she could leave it alone. At
least she’d had a good swim. And even with the dodgy changing rooms and the grubby floor, the complete lack of water heating and the scowling house-elf who took the money, the lido did . . .
have its own attractions. Maybe she’d go back. Just to get a bit fitter.

As she crossed the main road outside the park, she had the strangest sensation of being watched. But why would anyone? Anyway, when she looked, no one was there.

She was starving now and started picturing a big slice of crusty bread with thick yellow butter on the top, washed down with a cold glass of juice. Her mouth watered at the vivid image.

And then from nowhere, footsteps pounded behind her.

She turned and cried out, all instincts telling her to attack or run. But she was frozen to the spot in shock. There was a man there, looking a little out of breath. He touched her arm
lightly.

‘Hey, I didn’t mean to scare you!’ It was the second time today someone had said this to her.

Tara realised she was looking at the man – boy, really – who had been hovering outside the school talking to Karis. Melodie’s boyfriend. Will. His eyes were big, shocked, like
he was the one who’d had the fright. He backed away, hands upwards.

‘I’m sorry, I just wanted to talk to you!’

Tara tried to calm her breath, which was coming in rapid, panicked bursts.

‘What do you want?’ she said, taking a step back on legs so wobbly her knees almost buckled.

In a rush, Tara remembered why he’d looked familiar when she saw him the last time. He was the boy in the photo booth picture in Melodie’s locker. He was much younger than
she’d previously thought, very early twenties at the most. But he was unshaven and his eyes were bloodshot. His breath smelt sour and the blue cotton shirt he was wearing was creased, with
dark patches at the armpits. Despite all this, Tara could see he was good-looking in a loves-himself way. He had on skinny jeans and his shirt was open a little at the neck. A silver cross nestled
in his dark chest hair. His hair was long around his collar and he had a tiny beard with girlish soft lips. His brown eyes were fringed with long lashes and it was possible he had a little bit of
eyeliner on too. A leather satchel was slung across his shoulder.

He stepped back a little further. Tara tried to think quickly if anything in her bag could be used as a weapon and slipped her hand inside.

‘Please,’ he said, ‘don’t be frightened of me. I only want to talk to you, that’s all.’

‘Why?’ snapped Tara, reaching into her bag. There was a deodorant spray in there. She could spray it in his eyes, perhaps. ‘How do you even know me?’

The man ran a hand over his thick dark hair, which was greasy at the roots.

‘I saw you talking to Leo at the pool,’ he said, with a pleading sort of expression. ‘He won’t talk to me . . . but I thought you might.’

Alarm leapt in her throat again. She remembered the figure she’d seen earlier in the rain. ‘Have you been following me?’

‘Yes,’ he said, and she gasped at his honesty. Then he added hurriedly, ‘I was trying to pluck up courage to talk to Leo again but then I saw you and noticed your bag and . . .
thought you might be able to help.’

‘Help with what?’ said Tara stiffly, pulling the bag across her front, like a shield.

‘I only wanted to ask if you’ve heard from her, that’s all!’ His shoulders sagged. ‘I’ve asked all her friends, but no one seems to be able to tell me
anything.’

‘What’s to tell?’ said Tara warily, but her hand was already moving away from the deodorant. There was nothing threatening about him now she’d got over the shock, not
really.

He glanced around. ‘Look, I know you have no reason to trust me and you don’t know me, but can I get you a coffee or something? Just so we can talk?’

Tara regarded him. For all she knew, he could be some kind of rapist or axe murderer. But she didn’t have enough money left to buy anything to eat. And she was curious to know why he was
worried about Melodie. Her curiosity – along with hunger and thirst – won over reticence and she nodded hesitantly.

‘All right then,’ she said. ‘But I haven’t got very long.’

There was a café across the road called the Blue Cuckoo. The walls were hung with mirrors of all shapes and sizes and wooden painted birds hung on strings from the ceiling. Folk music
played quietly in the background and the air was rich with coffee. The man bought two large doughnuts without asking her and brought over a glass of juice, which Tara had requested. Her mouth
watered at the thought of the doughnut but she watched his every move as he handled her drink, in case he tried to slip something into it. She’d read about that too.

His hands trembled as he lifted his own espresso. He didn’t look like a man who needed caffeine. He practically hummed with nervous energy. His eyes met with Tara’s.

‘I’m Will,’ he said, searching her face. ‘Mel’s boyfriend.’

Tara took a bite of the doughnut to avoid having to answer. She chewed it and then swallowed before taking a sip of the orange juice. Her energy levels started to rise again.

‘Aren’t you a bit old for her?’ she said.

Will looked affronted. ‘I’m only twenty,’ he said.

‘Yeah, and she’s fifteen,’ said Tara, wishing she didn’t sound so much like her mum.

‘Age is an artificial construct,’ said Will haughtily. ‘It means nothing when you’re in love. Why does everyone think this is such a big deal?’

‘Whatever,’ said Tara. ‘Look, what do you want?’

He lowered his eyes and fiddled with the small cup in front of him with long slender fingers.

‘I just want to know that she’s okay, that’s all,’ he said. ‘I’ve tried calling her, but it doesn’t ring. I must have sent twenty emails but
there’s no reply.’ He sat back in his seat. ‘Something’s not right. I haven’t been able to sleep. And anyway, look what I found yesterday.’

Will reached into his bag and put down a small leather purse on the table. It was bright turquoise in colour with a felt owl stitched on the front. A sparkly M charm on a chain was attached to
the zip.

‘It’s her purse,’ said Will with a triumphant air. ‘It was underneath a load of stuff in my room. My ma found it.’ He had the grace to look a little sheepish at
this admission.

‘She’s got bank cards and her student travelcard in there,’ he continued. ‘Why would she go to Brighton without those?’

That
was
odd, Tara had to privately admit. She thought about the bad feeling she’d had before and tried to shrug it away. None of this was her problem.

‘Well . . . what do you think’s happened to her?’ she said, despite herself.

‘I don’t know,’ said Will, shaking his head. ‘I just don’t buy that she’s gone to live with her dad. She almost never sees him. To suddenly go and set up home
in the rock-star palace now? Well, it doesn’t add up.’

Will seemed to read the question in Tara’s face.

‘You know who her dad
is
, don’t you?’

‘No,’ said Tara. ‘I don’t really even know
her
.’ In fact, she was starting to wish she’d never even heard of Melodie Stone.

Will’s expression sagged a little. ‘Oh. I was hoping you did.’ He took a sip of his coffee and sighed. ‘Her dad’s Adam Stone.’ Tara made a puzzled face.
‘Adam Stone from The Tin Gods?’ he said.

‘Oh . . .’ Tara’s eyes widened.

Everyone knew The Tin Gods. They were part of the whole Britpop thing in the early nineties. Tara’s mum danced with embarrassing abandon if their music ever came on at parties. Their
biggest hit, ‘Best Days of Our Lives’, was still played on the telly all the time. ‘I didn’t know.’

‘She doesn’t see him very often,’ said Will balefully. ‘He’s got a new family and lives in some mansion in Brighton. He’s reinvented himself as a food and
wine buff and he’s developed a couple of apps to do with restaurants. He’s properly minted.’

‘You seem to know a lot about him,’ said Tara.

Will’s face hardened. ‘Hmm,’ he grunted grumpily. ‘Thought at one point he might be able to help me out, but he’s obviously forgotten what being a struggling young
musician is like.’

Ah
. . . thought Tara. Seemed Will had reasons for disliking Adam Stone that had nothing to do with Melodie. Will had such a pouty sulk on his face now that Tara almost wanted to
laugh.

‘Like that, is it?’ she said, draining the last of her juice.

Will widened his big brown eyes. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I might not like the man, but I still don’t believe Mel would go and live with him.’ He paused. ‘God!’
He ran a hand over his beard. ‘I’ve been there to mop up her tears when he’s rejected her before. I don’t buy that suddenly he’s the loving father.’

Tara sighed. ‘Look, none of this has anything to do with me. I saw you talking to Karis the other day at school. What does she say?’

‘She doesn’t know anything. And that Jada is all huffy about it, like Mel’s gone away just to upset them.’

‘Been to the police?’ Tara said, knowing it sounded lame.

Will raised an eyebrow, rather impressively. ‘And say what? My underage girlfriend isn’t answering my calls?’

Tara made a face. He made it sound really sleazy, put like that.

‘Well, I don’t see what I can do,’ she said. Her earlier exertions were catching up with her. She felt tired and wanted to go home.

Will sat forward, his expression earnest. ‘Look, you seem like a nice girl . . .’ he began.

Patronise me a bit more, why don’t you?
thought Tara.

‘Will you just do one thing for me?’ he said. ‘Then I’ll leave you alone once and for all. If you’ll just take the purse to Mel’s house.’ He reached
into the leather satchel and produced a piece of paper. An address was written in flamboyant, curly handwriting. ‘Say you found the purse under the bed or something at your house.
There’s a note from me in there. A message.’

Tara hesitated. ‘Why don’t you take it yourself?’ she said.

Will took on a hunted, resentful look. ‘Because of Faith’s bloke, Ross. He threatened me the last time I went over there. Said if I didn’t stop hanging around, he’d . . .
well, it wasn’t very nice, what he said. And I’ve been over there twice already. Like I said, this has only just turned up.’

‘Post it then,’ said Tara in exasperation.

‘I don’t trust them not to look through it and find my note, if it comes by post,’ said Will in an annoyingly patient tone, as though he were speaking to someone very young or
very stupid. ‘They won’t do that if
you
deliver it.’

‘Who’s Faith?’ said Tara.

‘Mel’s aunt,’ said Will. ‘Her ma died when she was a baby and Faith had always lived with them, so she became Mel’s guardian. Adam didn’t want her.’

For the first time ever Tara felt a stab of sympathy for Melodie Stone.

‘Give it here,’ she said.

Will passed the purse across the table with an attractive, wide grin. Tara scooped the purse into her bag so she only touched it for a second, remembering the events of the other day. The memory
brought a stab of alarm again.

‘I don’t know why I’m doing this,’ she said grumpily. ‘I don’t even like the girl.’ Saying these words to Melodie’s biggest fan gave her a thrill
of spiteful pleasure.

Will’s face tightened. ‘I know she can be high maintenance, but she hasn’t had it easy. Faith . . . well, she can be difficult. Her and Mel fight like cat and dog. And Ross is
a right creep. Melodie can’t stand him.’ He paused. ‘Look, if you’ll just do this one thing for me, I’d be so grateful.’ His soft eyes were all misty now. Tara
hoped fervently that he wouldn’t start crying.