Kisses and Lies (6 page)

“I’ve been wanting to see that,” I say.

“Cool,” he replies. “Meet you at three-thirty?”

I nod, still feeling that I should back out. I swore I wouldn’t get involved with a boy in any way till I’d solved the mystery of Dan’s death. But now at least you know it wasn’t your fault that Dan died, says a wicked little voice inside me. You didn’t kill him, you’re in the clear. Why shouldn’t you go to see a film with Jase, just once?

“Wear jeans and a warm jacket,” he says, grinning at me. “It’s a nice day, but it gets a bit cold on the bike. I’ll be waiting for you down by the main gates.”

I’m going on a motorbike to see a film with Jase Barnes. I can’t believe this.

With trembling fingers, I search my rucksack for the door key. The idea of going on a motorbike with him is so dazzling it momentarily sweeps away any doubts I might have had. I let myself in and run upstairs to my room, throwing my rucksack on the bed and pulling open my dresser drawers, looking for an outfit to wear. That dark pink cashmere hoodie will be perfect—the style’s casual enough to look like I haven’t gone to too much trouble, but it fits really nicely. And the jeans I wore to ambush Nadia go with that really well. I can tuck them into boots again. Suddenly I realize I am planning exactly the same outfit to impress both Nadia and Jase. Is that weird, or ironic? Or does it just mean I haven’t got that many cool-yet-sexy clothes?

I look at my watch: it’s 1:30. I have two hours before meeting Jase. For a second, I wonder whether I should ask Aunt Gwen’s permission to go out with him on the bike, and then I decide I’m being ridiculous: Aunt Gwen wouldn’t care if I said I was going out with a whole pack of Hell’s Angels to do some devil worshipping, as long as I was back for the dinner roll call.

But before I can get too excited at the thought of holding on to Jase as we zip through the streets, I feel a big lump form at the back of my throat. I remember how excited I was when Dan smiled at me from behind the bar in Nadia’s flat.

So instead of picking out what earrings to wear, I’m sitting in front of my computer, searching for Lucy Raleigh.

That makes sense, doesn’t it?

Beep! Beep!

I’m so deep into my online research that I completely forgot that I’d set my alarm so I could make sure I have time to get dressed and do my makeup before meeting Jase. I switch off the alarm without even taking my eyes off my computer screen. I’ve been scouring all the networking sites and I’ve got a ton of information here.

Crucial facts learned about Lucy Raleigh so far:

1) She really is very pretty: she has straight blond hair, round blue eyes, and porcelain skin. Her features make her look very innocent, but she’s so trendily dressed and made up that she has just as sophisticated an aura as Plum. I think she’s even more photogenic than Plum, too, which I bet Plum doesn’t like very much.

2) All her friends are intimidatingly good-looking and grown-up-looking too.

3) Plum is a friend of hers online, as is Nadia, and all the girls from Plum’s set at St. Tabby’s. But reading between the lines of the messages left, it doesn’t sound like they’re close, more like they’re sort of tactical allies in the battle to be more fashionable than anyone else. (Lucky for me, Lizzie isn’t online friends with Nadia, Plum, or Lucy, so I’m safe on that front. Still, it’s kind of chilling to know just how much these girls are using Lizzie, like Plum had used me, and it makes me feel kind of awful for using Lizzie too. However, I’m quick to remind myself that using Lizzie is a means to an end, and that once this is all over, I can try to redeem my character.)

4) Lucy has a boyfriend named Callum, but he doesn’t seem to like being photographed. There are tons of pictures of Ross and Simon and those boys from the table-dancing night at Coco Rouge, arms wrapped round Lucy and Plum and Nadia, grinning madly at the camera, but I can’t find any of Callum. His avatar is a cartoon character I don’t recognize, who looks a bit indie-punk, on a tartan background.

5) Callum has only one profile, and it doesn’t help—he’s never even filled most of it out. It just says his age—seventeen—where he lives—Ayrshire, in Scotland—and the music that he likes, mostly bands I’ve never heard of, with the same kind of indie-punk artwork as his avatar. His friends have barely posted any messages apart from a few initial hellos. Callum’s obviously one of those people who create a page for themselves and quickly realize they’re not that into it and they can’t be bothered to keep it up.

6) But most importantly—there are a flood of messages the day after Nadia’s party. Everyone is asking Lucy how she and Callum are doing, but Lucy hasn’t responded to any of them. Callum wasn’t at the party, I note. There are various comments straight afterward asking when he’s coming down to London, and if Lucy’s seen him yet, so clearly he was somewhere else—in Ayrshire, maybe, if that’s where he lives. Still, it’s strange how everyone seems extremely concerned about Lucy and her boyfriend, as though they had a very strong link to Dan.

I stare at the pictures of Lucy for a while, flicking through them till I come to one of her in a black backless dress—she’s looking at the camera over one shoulder, posing sexily, to show off her bare back. There’s just a tiny string holding the dress together at the back of her waist. Lucky her, not to have to wear a bra all the time.

And then I get a flash of memory, and I have the really strong feeling I’ve seen her somewhere before. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to grasp at the flickering images that just shot across my subconscious. Girls in backless dresses, giggling, sitting somewhere—at a bar—was it at Coco Rouge? No, much longer ago than that. But I never go out to trendy bars, so it must have been—

At Nadia’s party. That’s where I saw Lucy. She was sitting with another girl further down the bar. She was giggling and flirting with Dan as he mixed drink after drink.

And when I ate those crisps, which had been laced with peanut oil, I was sitting at the bar, too. Lucy was right there, in perfect position to have slipped the bowl of crisps in front of Dan, hoping he’d eat some.

It doesn’t prove anything. But it does make Lucy an even more likely suspect in Dan’s death.

Still, what motive would she have for killing him?

I grab my mobile and ring Nadia, for the promised conversation in which she has to tell me everything she knows about the night Dan died at her penthouse. I have a lot of questions for her by now.

Ten minutes later, I put down my mobile and slump back in my chair, totally dispirited. Nadia turned out to be no help at all. The one thing I did establish is that she has absolutely no idea about the crisps. When I asked her if she’d noticed Plum going behind the bar during the party, Nadia was so taken aback that it was clear she had no notion of why I was asking the question.

Of course, I was asking because I wanted to see if Plum had had any chance to bring in the peanut oil and doctor the crisps with it. If it hadn’t been so frustrating, I’d have laughed at Nadia’s answer.

“Why would Plum be behind the bar?” she said, clearly amazed that I was asking. “Girls don’t serve drinks at parties—boys do that!”

“Um, okay,” I said cautiously, “but wouldn’t there maybe be some reason—she might be going to get herself a glass or something—”

“God, no! She’d tell someone to get it for her. She might pour herself a drink, if there was an open bottle on the table, but that’s about it. Most girls won’t even open bottles, because it ruins their nails.”

“Right.”

“I mean, honestly,” Nadia said, quite getting into this explanation now, “of all the girls at the party, Plum would be the least likely to do anything like go behind the bar and get something. It would be so unusual. I tell you what—if she had, everyone would have noticed. I mean, Plum doesn’t do stuff for herself, you know? She gets people to do it for her.”

“Did she get there early?” I asked, grasping at straws. Maybe if she’d been hanging out with Nadia in the early stages of the evening, she could have nipped to the bar and doctored the crisps before anyone else arrived.

“Oh please!” Nadia said with a patronizing tone for my stupidity. “Plum likes to make an entrance. She never gets anywhere early.”

“Of course,” I muttered, feeling like a complete idiot. “Um, what about Lucy Raleigh?”

“You know Lucy Raleigh?” Nadia sounded very skeptical, of course. How could a girl like me associate with a goddess like Lucy?

“Don’t ask me any questions, Nadia,” I snapped. “That wasn’t part of the deal.”

Nadia was quiet for a couple of seconds. “No,” she answers eventually. “Lucy’s like the Plum of St. Paul’s. She doesn’t lift a finger either.”

“Did she have that Marc Jacobs bag with her?” I asked. “The one that Plum has?”

“Oh my God, you’re right!” Nadia exclaimed, so loudly I had to hold the phone away from my ear. “I totally forgot Lucy had one too!” She paused. “You know, Scarlett, I thought I’d seen Dan’s EpiPen in Plum’s bag that night, but maybe I messed up. I mean, until you mentioned it now, I hadn’t remembered Lucy.  .  .  .”

Nadia’s voice trailed off. She didn’t know that I had read her diary, so she probably felt like she’d just made an unnecessary confession that cast suspicion on someone more powerful than her. Nadia recovered quickly and skillfully, though. No doubt something she learned from being friends with Plum.

“Forget what I said. Lucy didn’t have a grudge against Dan, if that’s what you’re getting at. She’d never hurt him, because of Callum.”

Interesting. My skeptical mind leapfrogs over Lucy and lands on her boyfriend.

“What do you mean by that? Were Callum and Dan close?” I asked, covering all the bases I could think of.

Nadia laughed. “Um, yeah! Everyone knows how tight they were. God, Scarlett. How clueless can you be?”

I flinch. The backbone that Nadia had said I’d grown has been sawed in half by that catty remark. I pause for a second to gain my composure but Nadia cuts in again.

“Is that everything you wanted to ask?” she said, a tone of haughtiness in her voice. “I’m late for an appointment with my masseuse.”

Whatever shred of guilt Nadia may have felt at the coffee shop didn’t seem to exist anymore.

“Wait, I’m not finished.”

“Yes, you are,” Nadia said, sounding annoyed. “I have to go.”

“Don’t forget, Nadia. Taylor and I did you a huge favor!” It was my turn to sound annoyed. “I don’t think one flimsy phone conversation is enough to pay that off, do you?”

For some reason, this made Nadia giggle. It wasn’t a very pleasant giggle, though. It sounded as if, somehow, she thought she’d scored one over me.

“That’s true, Scarlett. I probably do still owe you. You and your friend were amazingly helpful,” she said before hanging up.

A shiver of worry travels up my arms as I hear the sound of her giggle echoing in my ears.

Beep! Beep!

My alarm goes off again—I must have hit the Snooze button. And I’m lucky that I did, because when I look at the time I realize I have a bare half hour till I’m supposed to meet Jase.

I sit there, staring at the computer screen with its images of Lucy out with her friends, and wonder if I’m doing the right thing, getting myself involved with Jase when I’m still so embroiled in Dan’s murder and all its messy and possibly dangerous consequences. I contemplate meeting Jase and telling him I’ve just got too much homework this afternoon.

Then I remember that I’m sixteen. And I need to build something for myself that isn’t connected to Dan in any way  .  .  . or else I’ll lose myself completely.

I slowly push back my chair from the desk, deciding that even teenage girls on vengeance missions should get out once in a while.

THE ONLY GIRL IN THIS WHOLE SCHOOL

I’m clinging on to Jase’s waist as we weave effortlessly through the slow-moving cars. One thing about having done gymnastics for all those years: it means I’m not a screamy girly-girl on a speeding bike, not when I can see that Jase knows exactly what he’s doing. I’m sure he’s going extrafast to impress me, because that’s what boys do, but he never takes a turn so quick that it freaks me out, or cuts in dangerously close to a car.

This is even more fun than the James Bond film—because in the film, exciting though it was, I didn’t get to lock my hands around Jase’s waist. I hoped he would hold my hand, or put his arm around my shoulders, but he didn’t, which was a bit disappointing. Still, I knew that we’d get back on the bike again at the end of it and he’d glance back at me as I perched myself on the seat and reached my arms around him.

I can’t believe I’m doing this, but I’m pretending that Jase and I have just met. Some baddies have started shooting at us so we’ve got to jump on his bike and flee the scene. They chase us, but we’re too swift and smart for them. The country lanes whiz by in a blur of streetlights zipping past, one flash of sour yellowish light after another, cars that we buzz by, and I never want this to end. I close my eyes and lean right into Jase, his leather jacket crinkling against my face, his aftershave crisp and smelling of apples, sweet and delicious, and under the aftershave his own scent, which is even more delicious, darker, not like apples at all.

We’re slowing down.

We’ve stopped.

I look around me, dazed. It takes me a little while to realize where we are, because, despite this being my family home, I’ve never used this road in my life.

Jase puts a gloved hand up to his helmet and slides the panel up. It’s dark outside, but I can see he’s laughing.

“You don’t want to get off, do you?” he’s saying. “You really like the bike.”

I realize that he can’t get off till I do. What an idiot I am! I scramble off more awkwardly than I meant to, and Jase kicks the stand out on the bike, swinging one long leg over and off. He removes his helmet, and I do the same with mine, hoping to God that my hair hasn’t got too squished down.

“You’re a speed freak, aren’t you?” He puts his helmet down on the bike seat, and reaches out for mine.

“I love going fast,” I confess, handing him the helmet.

He takes it, puts it down next to his, and somehow he does it so quickly that my hand is still out and he’s holding it—oh, I see what he did, he took the helmet with his right hand and simultaneously came in with his left hand to hold mine, that’s really smooth. Jase Barnes is holding my hand, and he’s pulling it, very, very gently, but enough so that I find myself taking a little step toward him.

I have to say something. I don’t know why, but I do. Because if I don’t say something, he won’t either, and what might happen then, in the silence, is too much for me right now. I’m scared he’ll kiss me, and I’m not ready. Not yet.

“The film was great,” I say brightly, as if we haven’t said already how much we liked it.

“Which was better, the film or the bike ride?” he asks.

I don’t even need to think about that one.

“Oh, definitely the bike ride. Definitely.”

Jase’s face softens into the most beautiful smile.

“Really?”

“Yeah, I loved it,” I confess. “It was so cool. I’ve always wanted to go on a motorbike.”

“It’s a great way to get around if you’re in the countryside. But my family wouldn’t let me have one, not for ages. My gran got completely wound up whenever I mentioned it. I saved and saved and finally I got one when I was eighteen. But she’s still not happy about it.”

“Was it worth the wait?” I say, almost at random.

“Of course!” He grins. “First time I went out for a spin I couldn’t stop smiling all day. Literally. I looked like a clown. My gran kept telling me I’d catch flies in my mouth if I wasn’t careful.”

I giggle at the image.

“You were pretty good, considering it was your first time,” he adds.

“Really?” God, I have to stop saying that. I sound like a moron. But I’m so overwhelmed by being so close to him that it’s hard for me to get any words out at all, let alone a whole sentence. And I’m still struggling with the thought that maybe I should say goodbye now, and go, before things get more intense than this.

“Yeah,” Jase confirms. “You didn’t scream or tell me to go slower. And you leaned out really well.”

His hand gently squeezes mine, and I melt a little.

We’ve come onto the grounds of Wakefield Hall through the back gate, up the service road. Jase has parked behind his family’s cottage, where the Barnes family have lived for generations. Lights gleam through a few chinks in the curtains, allowing streaks of golden light through the windows. Beyond the cottage looms the big bulk of Wakefield Hall, the main building obscured from this angle by the modern block, and even the strip lighting in the corridors is far enough away, and gently blurred by the settling night mist, to seem cozy and inviting—light in the darkness, warmth in the cold.

It’s completely silent, apart from our breathing and the creak of Jase’s leather jacket. It’s cold out here, but I warm up when I think about how everyone else is inside, either studying or waiting for dinner.

I’m the only girl in this whole school standing outside in the dark with a boy whose gloved hand is clasped around mine.

I shiver for so many reasons I couldn’t list them all, not if you sat me down with a paper and pen right now and made me.

Jase and I are even closer now, because he’s taken a step toward me, and I can feel his breath on my forehead, the leather of his jacket brushing against the front of my body.

And then I do it. I look up. Knowing what will happen if I do.

His breath is on my face now. There’s a soft waft of menthol, and I think, Not fair! When did he have a mint? but I’d look a bit silly complaining about it. The next thing I know is that his lips are on mine, and I can’t think any more.

I’m so glad I wore my boots with the three-inch heels, even though I thought they might make it hard getting on and off the bike. But I must have been secretly hoping for this, I must have thought that if Jase did kiss me, and I was in trainers, I would be so much shorter than him, and it would be awkward  .  .  . whereas now, though my neck is craning up a bit, I can reach up and put my arms round his neck, pulling him even closer, feeling his body down the whole length of mine. He catches his breath and bites down on my lip and really pushes himself against me now so I almost stumble, and I find myself catching at him, hooking my foot against his leg so I don’t fall, and somehow he’s holding me even tighter, I can hardly breathe, but I don’t care, it’s like I’m breathing his breath instead of my own.  .  .  .

Jase loosens one hand from the small of my back and pushes my hair back from my face. The leather of his glove against my skin is really sexy for some reason, I don’t know why, and I catch my breath and notice that I’m tilting my head, pushing it into his hand like a cat does when you stroke it. He pulls his hand away, and I freeze, thinking I’ve done something wrong.

I’m still so new at this, so inexperienced, and I’m scared it just showed. Was that too much?

Jase is stripping off his glove with his teeth, not wanting to take his other hand from its firm hold on my back. I flush with pleasure as his hand, bare now, reaches back to my head, pushing back my hair, tangling in it, stroking it down, playing with it as he bends to kiss me again. I find myself going up on tiptoes to meet his mouth faster, not wanting to wait even that split second before his lips meet mine. I loved the feel of the leather glove, but his bare hand is so warm as it wraps around my head. It’s so wonderful to feel the contact of skin on skin that I realize I want more of it. I pull my gloves off behind his head, one by one, and drop them to the ground, not even caring where they land. Now I can run my palms over his head, the warm soft skin of his neck, sliding my fingers down as best I can to feel the edge of his sweater, sliding them underneath.

His hands drop to my waist, feeling under my jacket, pulling up my sweater, my T-shirt, touching my bare back, and I gasp and jump because of the simultaneous shock of the cold air on my skin and the heat of his hands.

He misunderstands, and pulls back a bit so he can look down at me.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. “Too much?”

“No  .  .  . yes  .  .  .”

I don’t know what to say. My head’s spinning. I can’t get any words out at all. I want to pull him close and kiss him

again, feel his hands on the small of my back, twine myself around him. But at the same time  .  .  . I want to run away. I’m really confused by my own feelings.

To my horror, I suddenly find myself remembering my kiss with Dan. It’s the last thing I wanted to pop into my mind right now, yet I can’t help it. I know it was six months ago, but I don’t remember Dan being this smooth, this good at kissing. Jase is making everything seem so easy. I want him to touch my bare skin, it seems so natural and right. And I don’t remember having that feeling with Dan—but then, Dan and I were only kissing for such a short time, we hardly knew each other at all. Whereas Jase and I have been talking on and off for a while, making each other laugh, building a sort of connection, sitting pressed against each other on his motorbike.  .  .  .

I’ve tensed up because my brain is insisting on making a series of awful comparisons between Dan and Jase, like a computer running a program that overrides everything else and won’t stop, no matter how many buttons you press. Jase misunderstands my sudden tension. He tugs at the hems of my T-shirt and sweater so they fall back down, covering my back again. He rubs my back through the fabric, brisk strokes, not sexy now, and, despite the fact that I know he thinks I’ve stiffened up from the cold, not a past memory of a dead boy, I’m so grateful for his consideration that I could burst into tears. He’s not being pushy; he’s respecting my feelings, even though he’s read them wrong.

The memories of Dan mercifully start to fade. My body relaxes in Jase’s arms as my brain comes back to the present.

He’s looking down at me, concern in his eyes.

“Warmer?” he says. “Sorry, it’s really chilly out here for October.”

“Yeah,” I manage.

I look up, meeting his eyes, and at the sight of him a smile breaks across my face. No, not a smile. An idiotic smirk. I know if I saw myself in a mirror right now I would die of embarrassment. I duck my head so he can’t see how stupid I look.

“It’s okay,” Jase says, leaning down. He whispers in my ear: “Scarlett? I’m happy too.”

My arms tighten around his neck, and my head tucks into his shoulder as we hug. For a moment I feel really safe, enfolded in his arms. Ick, that sounds like something out of a romance novel.

A bell rings in the distance.

“Is that for you?” Jase asks into my hair.

I giggle.

“Yes, it’s the special ring my grandmother does for me. She goes up to the bell tower and rings it herself.”

“Cheeky!” He tickles my ribs. “You know what I mean.”

I sigh. “Yes,” I say, reluctantly pulling away from his warmth. I look up at him. “It’s the dinner bell, I have to go.”

“That bloody bell,” Jase says, though with amusement rather than anger.

“I suppose you’ve got school all week?”

I nod. “But half-term starts on Friday,” I inform him. “I won’t be so busy then.”

“Cool. D’you have a mobile?”

“Of course I have one,” I say, a bit insulted. How sheltered does he think I am?

He pulls out his phone and I give him my number.

“I’ll text you,” he says, “and then you’ll have mine.” He clears his throat. “You could even send me a text back to say you got it.”

“I think I could manage that,” I say flirtily.

Wow. That came out just right. I know it did, because he gives me a sexy grin and says:

“Don’t strain yourself, will you?” in a really nice, jokey way, and I come back with:

“I’ll be careful. You know how delicate I am.”

That makes Jase burst out laughing—he’s seen me doing gymnastics on the Great Lawn and knows that if there’s one thing I’m not, it’s delicate.

And then we both jump, because the door of the Barnes house swings open so fast that it slams against the wall outside, and a man’s voice yells:

“Jason! That you?”

The laughter drains from Jase’s face so fast I don’t even see it go.

“Yeah, Dad,” he calls back, in a flat voice. “Just coming in.”

Jase’s father appears at the front door. With the light behind him, it’s hard to see him clearly, but he’s a stocky shape, with big burly shoulders, and I’d never have guessed he was Jase’s dad from seeing his silhouette—though Jase has nice muscly shoulders, he’s much longer and leaner.

“Well, don’t lurk round outside, will you?” his dad yells, and I’m very taken aback to notice that his fists are clenched at his sides. His whole stance is menacing, and I just don’t understand why. What are Jase and I doing that’s so wrong? Why would it make him this angry?

Because he really is angry. He ducks his head forward, as if he’s glaring at us, and involuntarily, I find myself flinching back.