Chapter 4
FOUR
KAT
The tick of the clock torments me over the drone of my professor’s voice.
For the billionth time since my acceptance three years ago, I curse my parents.
I’d believed that escaping from under my parents’ roof would mean my decisions would finally be mine.
Eighteen had felt like freedom, but unfortunately, my parents’ grip is far longer and more strangling than I knew.
I wanted to do an art degree to meet interesting people with interesting ideas. To spend my days discovering and playing with creativity. Instead, it’s all economics and business. Money. My father’s driving force.
My handwriting is near illegible as I hunch over my notebook while Professor Hargreaves flicks through the final slides of the lecture, my pen racing to keep up with the last few bullet points before they vanish.
Graphs. So many numbers. Something about market somethings and growth modelling.
Kill me now.
My father salivates over this mind-numbery. Despite trying to drill it into me since I hit my preteens, it’s all gobbledygook to me. It’s not that I’m stupid, I just don’t care enough to keep hold of the information.
Chairs scrape around me as the lecture ends. Bags zip as students chat. I desperately keep scribbling, trying to hold the ghost sentences of the last slide in my head.
Students make for the exit in the usual surge.
I keep writing until I get down the last of the words. And, of course, I’m the last one still scrabbling to finish.
Typical.
By the time I shove my notebook into my backpack and stand, the room is almost empty. The overhead lights hum as I stand, shouldering my bag with a sigh.
I make my way down the steps, already fantasising about the coffee Ellie promised to drag me to between lectures. After this snooze fest, I’ll need a coffee strong enough to revive the dead.
Sleep hasn’t exactly been on the cards the past few nights.
Ever since the note.
No matter how many times I tell myself it’s just some stupid prank, I can’t shake the nerves it’s uprooted in my stomach.
The prickling sensation between my shoulder blades hasn’t left me all week. That creeping certainty I’m being watched.
Yet every time I scan my surroundings, no one is watching. It’s pure paranoia.
I push the lecture theatre door open and bump into Greg. He’s leaning against the frame like he’s been practising his best thirst trap, arms folded and dark eyes tracking my movement as I step backwards.
Professor Hargreaves’ teaching assistant. He’s tall, dark-haired and dark-eyed. Should be attractive, really, but he makes my skin crawl.
Intense in that unsettling way some academics are. Like they spend a little too much time on their own and don’t quite fit in their skin.
‘Miss Elliott.’
I force a polite smile, despite the way his voice scrapes against my brain.
‘Greg.’
His hand plants flat against the doorframe beside my head as I try to step around him.
I glance from his arm to his face, knitting my brow.
‘You seem to be struggling a bit with the course content, so you need some extra tutoring?’
Something about the way he says tutoring makes my shoulders tighten. Why does it sound more like a threat than a kindness?
‘I’m fine,’ I say.
His gaze flicks downward, to the necklace resting against my chest. Or maybe just my tits. Hard to say.
The stone heart shifts as I move from one foot to the other, the cord warm where it rests against my skin. Greg’s eyes follow the movement.
Definitely the necklace.
My brain, operating on a cocktail of caffeine and insomnia since the note appeared, immediately jumps to a conclusion.
Dark hair.
Dark eyes.
Just like the boy in the woods.
Could he…?
No.
That’s ridiculous.
The silent boy who used to trail like a stray puppy didn’t exactly scream future economics lecturer. Or assistant. Whatever.
But maybe…
Fourteen years is a long time, and people change.
‘Can I ask you something?’
Greg’s brows lift. ‘Of course.’
I hesitate, feeling ridiculous. What do I say? Did you happen to be a little kid I met one summer way back when? The one whose name I never knew, but have thought about for years.
Completely ridiculous.
And yet…
‘What do you think of frogs?’
Greg’s lips twist into a frown.
‘Frogs,’ he says.
‘Yes.’ I’m painfully aware that I sound off my head.
He studies me for an uncomfortably long time, looking like he’s ticking through his thoughts to make sense of my question.
‘I’ve never given them much thought,’ he says. ‘Slimy. Gross.’
Ah. That’s disappointing.
The boy in the woods had spent an entire day helping me fish frogs out of the stream and trying to find them suitable spouses.
He’d laughed when one of them jumped straight into my wellies. A sound that had made my childish heart sing.
Greg doesn’t look like someone who has tried to play an amphibian matchmaker.
‘So,’ he says, leaning a little closer. ‘What are you doing tonight?’
The corridor behind him feels far too empty as he takes a step towards me. I instinctively inch back. Greg’s gaze flicks downward again. Definitely to my tits.
‘I’m busy,’ I say.
‘Are you?’
My heart begins to beat faster as I swallow. ‘You’re making me uncomfortable.’
Which is when Ellie’s voice rings down the corridor like a school bell.
‘Kaaaat!’
Greg flinches as Ellie barrels around the corner at full speed, nearly colliding with me.
‘Oh,’ she says, glancing between us. ‘Hello there.’
Greg steps back, dropping his arm from the doorway. I don’t hesitate before barging around him.
‘Come on,’ Ellie says, taking me by the hand and tugging me down the corridor. ‘Coffee awaits, and you can tell me all about whatever that was.’
Halfway down the corridor, I glance back over my shoulder. Greg looks furious, those shadowed eyes still burning into me. For a second, that horrible thought stabs back into my head.
Fourteen years.
That awful crunch.
What if the boy from the woods grew up with a different memory of that summer than I did? What if he grew up hating me for what I did?
What if he wants revenge?
The stone heart at my neck feels heavier as I curl my fingers around it, a shiver running up my back.
The coffee shop is so busy that we queue for ages, Ellie checking her watch every thirty seconds. I can’t help but scan the windows looking over the concourse outside, that feeling of being watched creeping over me.
Ellie nudges me as we get to the front of the queue, looking at me like I’ve grown two heads.
‘Cappuccino, please. Double shot,’ she says to the barista, before turning to me. ‘I feel like I’m going to need to pin my eyes open to make it through my next lecture.’
The barista flushes a deep red as Ellie speaks to him. He’s always all gooey-eyed for her, and barely ever even deigns to look up when I order.
He can’t be much older than us. Maybe twenty-four. Soft brown hair flopping into his eyes, his apron tied a little squint around his waist.
He looks at Ellie like she might lean over the counter and bite him. And that if she did, he’d enjoy it.
‘Yes. Yes, of course,’ he stammers, reaching for the cups with trembling hands.
I lean against the counter beside her, watching the poor man unravel under Ellie’s attention. Can’t blame the poor guy, Ellie’s hot. She’s leggy and vivacious, funny and just has a swipe of Nigella Lawson about her. She could make sharpening pencils sexy, I bet.
Poor guy doesn’t stand a chance when she leans over and flashes a killer smile. ‘Could I have extra chocolate on top, please, Sam?’
It’s borderline cruel.
‘Just a latte for me,’ I say, tapping my card when he grunts and rings it up.
Within about thirty seconds, my drink is shoved into my hand while Ellie’s is slid sheepishly toward her. I roll my eyes when Ellie grazes her fingers over his as she grabs the cup.
‘Thank you,’ I say, a little sarcastically, being that I may as well not exist.
We carry our drinks to a small table by the window, and the moment we sit down, I lean over and raise a brow at Ellie.
‘He’s totally smitten. Are you going to put him out of his misery?’
Ellie blows across her coffee.
‘He is not.’
‘He absolutely is.’
‘He’s not really my type. I just like the extra coffee. And the little cookies he slips me.’ Ellie passes me one of the little powdered sugar-topped cookies. Sam never gives me free cookies. I take it begrudgingly.
‘Then you should let him down easily.’
She snorts. ‘It’s just a bit of fun. It’s not like I lead him on.’
‘He looks like a blushing Disney rabbit every time you smile at him.’
‘Maybe he’s just looking for good tips.’ Ellie dipped her cookie in her coffee and took a bite.
‘We never tip him.’
Ellie shrugs, unbothered, and I lean back in my chair, glancing over at the counter.
Sam is staring right at us, and he gives me the creeps. He holds my gaze for a second too long, until Ellie follows my eyeline. He turns away, busying himself with scrubbing the counter.
I tap my fingers lightly against my mug.
‘He keeps looking over here.’
‘That’s because you keep staring at him.’ Ellie sits back and gives me a nudge under the table. ‘Anyone would think you’ve got a crush on him.’
‘Absolutely not.’
We sit for a while, sipping coffee and eating Ellie’s free cookies. My phone dings. Darren wants to book us a hotel for the night. The message isn’t too smushy at least, and I guess I could be done with forgetting the world for a while…
I type back a yes before shoving my phone in my pocket. Now I’m going to have to go shave my legs. Not that Darren is ever one to complain, but still.
Ellie chats about her afternoon class, and I only half listen, going over how weird Greg had been after class.
Why is everyone suddenly acting so damn weird?
I’m pretty sure Greg isn’t the boy from my past, but could he be the person sending me the note?
Maybe he thinks I cheated in class or something?