Chapter 9 #2
‘Bram’s handiwork,’ he says, and when I frown, his smile twists. ‘Yeah, I bet he hasn’t told you that part of the story, has he?’
My frown deepens, my stomach clenching tight. ‘He hurt you?’
Dean nods, suddenly serious. ‘Beat the shit out of me. Ended up with a broken nose and nine stitches in my forehead.’ He breathes out a little laugh, but there’s no humour behind it. ‘They arrested him, but I didn’t want to press charges.’
My heart sinks. It’s a sure bet that there’s more to that story than Dean’s letting on, but I think back to Jon’s warning – to the things I read about Bram last night.
The story about the bat, for God’s sake – I’m pretty sure that’s not true, but the very idea that it could be makes me feel a little sick.
Especially as I’m sharing a space with him for the next couple of days.
But then I think of everything I’ve learned about him over the last couple of days.
Of all the people who love him – who won’t hear a bad word said about him.
Mina has known him her whole life, and she told me unequivocally that Bram was a good guy.
I never would have asked him to share the annexe with me if she hadn’t.
I make a mental note to call her when I’m done here, and just planning it makes me feel better.
‘What was the fight about?’ I ask, holding Dean’s gaze, and then I see it – the tiny flicker of his eyelids. He blinks it away, and his eyes drift off for a split second before he regroups.
‘It was about a girl.’
I let him tell me the story, about how the two of them were competing for the attention of the girl, just like they always competed about everything, only this time it got personal.
He exaggerates the fight scene, I’m sure, pauses for emphasis in what he probably thinks are key points.
There’s too much detail in some places, nowhere near enough in others, and that’s when I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that not all of Dean’s story is true.
What I’m dying to know is if any of it is.
‘She chose me in the end,’ he says, his chin tipping up in triumph. ‘Moved in with me after a couple of weeks.’
I study him. ‘Are you still together?’ I ask, after a moment, and that question makes his eyelids flicker again.
‘We’re not.’ His eyes burn into mine. ‘I’m currently a free agent.’ He says it like it’s for my benefit, and it makes a cold shiver run down my spine. I’m glad I met him here, with all these people around.
His food arrives, and I’m glad of the interruption. I manage to steer him back onto the subject of Ravenskull while he devours his bacon butty, and he finally, grudgingly, gets onto the subject of the people he works with while I furiously scribble down notes.
By the time we finish the interview and Dean hugs me goodbye again, I feel like he’s told me a lot, but I’m not really any closer to the truth.
He makes me promise to call him with any questions, but the reality is that I’ve got so many questions I wouldn’t know where to start.
And if I’m honest, a lot of my questions are about Bram.
I pull out my phone and dial Mina, but it rings out. She’s still recovering, I remind myself. She must be resting.
I tap out a text instead.
LUCY
Sorry, I don’t want to disturb you.
I’d just like to pick your brain when you’re feeling better x
I press send and check the time. It’s a little over ten minutes until I need to meet Bram.
When he offered to show me around town today, I was conflicted. Part of me was hugely relieved, but then there was another, more hesitant part that didn’t want to feel like a burden. He surely has better things to do this weekend than knock about with his cousin’s friend.
But when it came down to it, I realised I’m completely out of my element here, and I could use all the help I can get. Plus, he offered. And he owes me one.
We’re meeting at the bandstand, and according to my map app it’s only a four-minute walk away. I pocket my phone and head in that direction, taking in the sights as I do.
Whitby is the busiest I’ve seen it today, dog walkers and families contrasting against the groups of goths, painting the seafront dramatic shades of black and red and purple.
One man is dressed as some kind of steampunk octopus, and his outfit is as stunning as it is grotesque.
I pass two dachshunds in skeleton coats and a little girl in a black lace dress that isn’t a million miles from the one Emmy was wearing last night. I can’t help but smile.
The earlier mist has given way to another mild morning, less breezy than yesterday, and the deep blue sky is peppered here and there with candyfloss clouds. All in all, it’s the perfect autumn day, and as I walk, the dark grip of the interview with Dean starts to loosen.
He was perfectly nice to me today, funny and even charming at times, but none of it feels real. He’s the villain of this piece, I’m convinced of it. I just don’t know why. Maybe spending the day with Bram will shed some more light on it.
I’m just pondering whether my apparent bias is going to affect the piece, when I hear someone call my name, and I turn to see Peggy beaming a huge smile at me from behind an almost-empty tray of strawberry tarts.
She looks fabulous, a riot of black satin and lace with deathly pale skin and that shock of bright red hair that matches her heart-shaped lipstick perfectly.
Despite the styling, she emanates such warmth that I want to hug her, and I probably would were it not for the huge tray she’s wearing round her neck.
She gestures to the tarts, still smiling. ‘Can I interest you in a treat?’ Her voice drops, just a little. ‘The ones nearest me have seen the least handling, so I can particularly recommend those.’
I laugh and take one, popping it into my mouth with all the enthusiasm of someone who didn’t just polish off a slice of Victoria sponge as big as a garden shed. The tart is small but delicious, sweet and delicate, and my eyes close involuntarily as I enjoy the moment.
When I open them again, I find her watching me, a twist to her smile that wasn’t there before. ‘I’ve just run into Bram,’ she says, ‘and now you. Within five minutes of each other.’
It’s not a question, but for some reason, I feel like I should respond to it. ‘Yeah,’ I say, trying to sound as casual as possible. ‘I’m on my way to meet him now. He’s going to show me around town.’
I feel the slow creep of a blush up my neck, which intensifies when Peggy’s eyes widen a little. Just enough for me to note that this information both surprises and pleases her.
I briefly wonder why Bram didn’t tell her he was meeting me, before I realise that it was probably because he doesn’t see it as particularly interesting information. He’s just doing me a favour, that’s all. Just like I did for him when I offered to share the annexe.
Speaking of which, I’m going to be late for that favour if I don’t get moving.
I thank Peggy again for the tart, and she chuckles softly.
‘Enjoy your day,’ she says, with a knowing smile. ‘And watch out for vampires. This town is riddled with them.’
And then, before I’ve even had chance to process what she’s said, she sweeps away, waving to someone somewhere down the street.
My heart kicks out an extra beat at her words. Was that a warning? Some kind of coded message?
There’s an icy grip around my ribcage as I keep walking, faint fingers of dread closing around my chest. But then I see seven entirely benign vampires just in the three minutes it takes to get to the meeting point, and I realise that it was probably a joke.
The last one is leaning up against one of the stone pillars of the bandstand, a lit cigarette dangling from his lips, between his fangs.
I don’t see Bram behind him until the smoking vampire shuffles off in the direction of the arcades, and when I do, I feel my breath catch, just a little. I’m not even sure why.
He doesn’t notice me at first. He’s perched on the wall, his fingers wrapping over the edge of it as he looks out across the harbour.
That well-worn leather jacket pulls against the jut of his shoulders, the zip open to reveal another black T-shirt, which falls in creases down to a pair of jeans in a slightly different shade of black.
The bright red plug in his earlobe is the only colourful thing about him with his sea-glass-green eyes hidden behind sunglasses.
Until he turns to face me, that is. Though I can’t see his eyes behind the dark lenses, I know without a shadow of a doubt that they’re locked on mine, and the intensity of the feeling makes something strange happen.
For a moment, just that split second, it’s like he’s the only thing in colour, and everything around him fades to grey.
I saw seven vampires in the three minutes it took to get here, and none of them made me feel like I needed to heed Peggy’s warning.
But Bram does.