The Sound (20 page)

‘It’s good,’ Jesse says.

I think I might be in love with Jesse Miller. I shut my mouth before these words can spill out and scar us both for life. Instead I say, ‘Thank you, that’s just – um . . .
thanks.’ I could win awards for my command of the English language.

‘You’re welcome,’ he says, taking a sip of his coffee.

‘Where do you want to go?’ I ask him, trying to still my crazily beating heart.

‘The water,’ he answers straightaway.

We walk in silence for a while. The day is hot and it’s early so there aren’t many people around. ‘I listened to the radio in the car,’ I say and Jesse glances at me.
‘You know she was attacked on Dionis?’

Jesse’s face darkens. ‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘That’s why I thought it might have been you.’

Neither of us says anything more but I can see that Jesse is locked deep in thought. He’s scowling at the sidewalk as though it’s Tyler Reed’s face.

‘I would have hit him you know,’ Jesse says after a while, ‘if you hadn’t been there. And if I had we wouldn’t be standing here right now.’

He doesn’t make it clear whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing and I’m about to ask him but up ahead I suddenly see Sophie’s red Mercedes pulling into a parking
spot. I freeze mid-step and Jesse squints back at me, wondering why I’ve stopped.

‘Yeah,’ I mumble, wondering if we can walk past without Sophie noticing us. I think about dropping to my knees and pretending to do up a shoelace but it turns out I don’t need
to because the car door swings open and it isn’t Sophie driving after all – it’s her father, carrying a dry-cleaning bag, and he seems in a hurry because he doesn’t even
glance back over his shoulder as he beeps the car locked and crosses the road ahead of us.

I catch up with Jesse. He leads us down to the harbour and sits down on a bench. Leaning forwards, he rests his elbows on his knees and stares out at the ocean in the distance. I’m
hyper-aware of the gap between our legs and the smooth, tanned length of his arm resting just a fraction from my own.

‘What were you thinking?’ I ask. ‘Why did you come looking for Tyler last night?’

He grimaces at the question.

‘Jesse,’ I say, my prepared speech coming back to me, ‘it’s my fault, I shouldn’t have told you about Parker. And I’m so glad that you didn’t hit
Tyler.’ Jesse glances at me out the corner of his eye. I carry on. ‘Whatever happened between you and Tyler last year, and I’m not saying you have to tell me what it was, but
whatever it is, whatever he did, it can’t be worth going to prison for.’

He snorts air through his nose and I see the muscle clench in his jaw. I want to run my finger along it and make him turn to me.

‘Listen, Ren,’ Jesse says, and the way he says it – the way he says my name – makes me want to lean against him, rest my head on his shoulder and ask him to say it again.
‘This thing between Reed and me, it’s personal.’ His expression is fierce, his brown eyes dark with fury. ‘But don’t worry about it,’ he says. ‘It’s
not your problem. So can we agree not to talk about it anymore?’

‘But—’

He cuts me off, twisting on the bench to face me. ‘Is that why you wanted to see me? So you could tell me to leave the poor little rich kid alone?’

‘No,’ I say, pissed off at the accusation he’s flung at me out of nowhere. I lean back against the bench. ‘What?’

‘Did Tyler or Sophie or one of the others put you up to this?’ he demands, his eyes flashing. ‘Ask you to tell me to leave him alone?’

I can feel the anger boiling in my veins. ‘What?’ I snap back.

He leans back to take stock of me. ‘You’re friends with them. And Tyler’s the kind of guy who’d use a girl to do his dirty work for him.’

‘Firstly,’ I say, the anger making my voice shake, ‘I’m not the kind of girl who’d let a guy use me to do his dirty work for him. Secondly, I’m not friends
with Tyler Reed. He’s—’

Jesse raises his eyebrows, clearly wanting me to finish my sentence. I break off with a loud huff.

‘I’m sorry,’ Jesse says quietly, looking out at the ocean again, ‘I know you’re not that kind of person. I just – you’re friends with them . . .’
He shrugs at me in apology.

‘Look, I am friends with them,’ I say, thinking of Jeremy and Sophie, trying to ignore the voice in my head that is pointing out I’m more than just friends with Jeremy.
‘But does that mean
we
can’t be friends?’ I say to Jesse, and even as I say it I wonder at my sanity. Why am I trying so hard to be Jesse’s friend? All logic tells
me I should try to avoid him and put him out of my mind but the simple truth is I cannot. I cannot get up from this bench and walk away. Despite everything I know about him and despite the fact I
have made it past second base with Jeremy. And I am well aware that all this clearly indicates I need psychological help.

Jesse leans forward, his arm now resting along the back of the bench behind me. ‘Friends, huh?’ he says, his gaze most definitely lingering on my lips. ‘What’s your
definition of friend?’ he asks in a voice that raises goosebumps all along my arms, then sends them shooting down my legs and to all sorts of X-rated places.

I force myself to remember Niki, the singer Jesse had his arm thrown around last night, and that other blonde drunk girl at the gig who he had clearly hooked up with, as well as Tara’s
words to me last night about not getting close to him and blurry lines.

And Jeremy. I force myself to remember Jeremy.

‘I mean
friends
,’ I say firmly, ‘as in people that you hang out with, drink coffee with, have fun with.’

‘Fun?’ he asks, grinning.

‘Yes,’ I say. ‘Fun that doesn’t involve taking off your clothes.’

He shoots me a glance that I’m sure is designed to make every woman instantly shed her clothes and throw herself on top of him because that’s what it’s making me want to do.
‘Sure about that?’ he murmurs. ‘I find that’s when most of the fun is to be had.’

I have to remind myself to breathe. ‘Do you flirt with everyone that has a pulse?’ I ask, trying to hold his gaze and not stare at his lips (and not strip off right there and throw
myself on top of him).

‘Only if they have the right parts,’ he answers back.

‘You really know how to flatter a girl.’

‘Oh, this isn’t flattery,’ he answers seriously. ‘When I do flattery, you’ll know it.’

‘I have a boyfriend,’ I murmur, feeling the heat of a blush sweep across my cheeks.

He nods and leans even closer and it takes a superhuman effort not to move either towards or away from him. ‘So you keep saying,’ he says quietly, ‘but where is this mysterious
boyfriend? I never see you with him.’

He is holding me with a gaze so smouldering I think I feel my extremities start to singe. I am obsessively aware of his lips, how they are lightly parted, the edge turned up in a small smirk; of
the smooth tanned skin beneath the collar of his T-shirt which I am glancing down. ‘He’s um . . .’ I start to say, my eyes back on his lips.

‘Is he in England?’

I am not sure how to answer this one so I just mumble something that sounds like – ‘Mmmmbbbbaaa.’

He pulls away and it’s as if he’s cut a string and I’m shooting off into the stratosphere while he stays firmly put on earth, out of reach. ‘I’m just kidding with
you, Ren,’ he says, taking a loud slurp of his coffee. ‘I can do friends.’ He puts inverted commas around the word. ‘No problem. Despite what you might think or what Tara
might have told you I don’t feel the need to sleep with every girl I come into contact with.’

He could have just flayed me alive. It might have hurt less. I sink back against the back of the bench, pressing a hand to my stomach.

‘So now we’ve established that we can be just friends, who can have fun without any x-rated content in the relationship,’ Jesse says, ‘what do you suggest we do on our
first “date” that isn’t a date?’

‘Well,’ I say, still kind of stumbling through the roadblocks in my mind, ‘I was hoping you could show me how to play guitar.’ This is true. This is not some Megan-style
ruse to hook up with a hot guy by pretending to act interested in something he’s interested in. I had been thinking about it ever since I saw Jesse playing at the gig. I’ve always
wanted to learn how to play guitar.

Jesse leans back and stares at me smiling – no, almost grinning. ‘Seriously?’ he asks.

I nod.

‘OK,’ he finally agrees. ‘How about Thursday? Meet me at the store.’

‘OK,’ I say.

After a while we walk back to my car. He leans through the window as I start the engine.

‘See you Thursday,’ he says and then he pauses, his fingers tight on the window. ‘And Ren, stay out of trouble OK?’

I nod. He looks genuinely worried. ‘I’ll be OK,’ I reassure him. I know he’s talking about the serial nanny attacker and even though I am worried myself I don’t
want to let on to him.

‘Bye,’ I say and start reversing, thanking God that I chose the end space and there’s no risk of making a total tool of myself again.

Mike is in his study when I get back. He is on a phone call but hangs up swiftly when I walk in. Carrie is standing beside his desk and as soon as he’s off the call she
asks him, ‘Well?’

‘That was the news desk,’ he says to me over her shoulder. ‘They’ve heard from a police source – they say it’s the same MO.’

I must look blank because he then adds, ‘They think it’s the same guy that killed the girl last year – because of the way he attacked her and how she was found. The only reason
she isn’t dead is because they think he was disturbed before he could finish the job – there was a police call-out apparently for something else – they think he got scared off by
the sirens.’

I freeze, my stomach squeezing tight. They must have been responding to Sophie’s phone call. If she hadn’t called 911 what might have happened? I feel the need to sit down and put my
head between my legs.

Mike shakes his head. ‘Whatever happened it saved this girl’s life. They’re waiting for her to wake up so they can interview her and hopefully get a description of the guy. But
they’re also calling for witnesses who were on the beach last night. Ren, you should give a statement . . .’

‘I didn’t see anything,’ I say, a little too quickly.

‘You might have seen something without realising. It’s important they take as many witness statements as possible. I’ll let the police know you were there.’

Carrie lets out a loud sigh behind me. ‘Oh my goodness, the poor girl. She’s so lucky.’

‘Lucky?’ Mike asks, his head jerking up.

‘She’s still alive, isn’t she?’

Mike puts his glasses on and sits down at his desk. He starts tapping away at his laptop. ‘I need to email a few reporters, see if we can track down the parents or if we can get an
exclusive interview with the people she was nannying for.’

‘Do we know them?’ Carrie asks.

He glances up. ‘No, I don’t think so. I think they might know the Reeds though. They know everyone.’ He picks up his phone. ‘I’ll call Richard now.’

I help Carrie make lunch, then I change the beds, do the laundry and tidy away all the kids’ toys because I’m still trying to win back the brownie points that Jesse’s early
morning visit cost me. When I’m done I slope upstairs. I write a blog post and upload some new playlists and then Megan logs on and sends me an instant message.

Hey slapper!

Hey
, I type back, my fingers blurring on the keyboard.

What’s happening? What’s the score with Jeremy?

It’s good. I saw him last night.
I stop typing as I remember the small print details of last night – I had forgotten our make-out session in all the drama of the last twelve
hours.

But?????

But what?
I type back.

I can hear the but. It’s screaming its way across the Atlantic.

No buts. He’s a hottie.

Does he make you quiver down there?

I roll my eyes. Only Megan would be so direct.
Kind of
, I answer.

Kind of????

Yeah.

I think of Jesse. He totally makes me quiver down there and everywhere else. But Jesse is so off-limits that if he were a place he’d be a nuclear testing site. And Jeremy doesn’t
make me
not
quiver. He kind of does. Is that enough? I’m so confused right now and it’s too hard to explain it to Megan who will just tell me to sleep with him anyway and get
it over with because a maybe quiver is enough and I don’t want to go to university still a virgin (as if there could be no greater tragedy), so instead I change the subject.

A girl got attacked last night on the beach I was at.

OMG. Who did it?

The police don’t know.

Shit. Is it the same person who killed the other girl?

I don’t know. I’m not the police.

I think you should come home.

No. I like it here. It’s amazing.

Sounds it.

No, really, it is.

Guess what? Bex dumped Will.

I barely have the energy to type,
Really?

Rumour has it he was rubbish in bed so maybe you made the right decision not to sleep with him.

I knew that already (that I made the right decision, not that he was rubbish in bed) but I do feel slightly vindicated to hear this news, though it doesn’t exactly raise a smile.

I sign off with Megan and see that Jeremy has sent me a message, so I quickly open it.

The police want to interview all the people who were on the beach last night. Did you tell anyone you were there?

Hello to you too, I mutter.

Yeah, Mike and Carrie
, I type.

There’s a pause. Jeremy doesn’t type anything.

What should I do?
I ask.

Don’t tell the police about the fight with Tyler and Miller.

I wasn’t planning on it. I don’t want to get Jesse into trouble. I was the reason he was there in the first place after all, but the word
perjury
keeps screaming through my
brain. I choose to ignore it.