Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
LUCY
It’s no good.
I’ve been trying to write this damn article for over an hour now, and I haven’t made it over two hundred words yet without backspacing the entire thing and starting again from scratch.
I think I’m on the sixth incarnation now, and there’s still a bad taste in my mouth when I read it back to myself.
I mean, I’ve never been completely on board with the idea of upping the scandal, but I wanted to do it for Jon.
To impress him. But that was before the whole kissing-a-married-woman episode.
Before any of the absolute rollercoaster of yesterday, in fact.
It feels like a different life now.
I’d notice you in every life.
Guilt floods my chest as I think about Bram.
Bram, who took his mother a pebble from the beach to help her remember.
Bram, who kissed me like I was the only girl on earth.
Bram, who deserves better than me using his past indiscretions and undeserved reputation to sell a few papers.
Shit.
There’s a reason I usually stick to the fluff – I’m not cut out for this.
I get my kicks from building people up, not tearing them down.
I delete every word I’ve just written, close the document I’ve been keeping my rough notes in, and slam my laptop closed in frustration, pulling my notebook towards me and turning to a clean page.
I mean to make notes for the story, but what I actually find myself doing is thinking about Bram.
Because, and I feel silly even thinking it, I have a theory about him. A theory that he might not be entirely what I thought he was. That he might not be entirely human.
I’ve had a strange feeling about him from the start, and the more I learn, the more I wonder if there might be something behind that.
I think of Mina telling me the hideous stone thing would not be the last vampire I came across this weekend.
Of Peggy warning me that there are vampires all over this town.
Could they have been trying to tell me something?
There’s definitely something about Bram, but could that something be that he’s actually a vampire?
I know it sounds crazy, and I’m sure I’m probably imagining it, but there are certain things about him that I can’t fully explain. Things which, all added up, seem to point to a certain conclusion.
I grab my pen and scribble down all the things I’ve learned about him in the past few days:
1. Looks young for his age.
2. ‘Allergic’ to the sun.
3. Hates garlic.
4. Cold to the touch.
5. Wears sunglasses a lot.
6. Very keen that I officially invite him into my flat.
7. Won’t go in a church but digs a graveyard.
8. Unusually attractive to elderly bats.
I read them back to myself and then slam my notebook closed as well, a little annoyed with myself that I’m still thinking about this. Honestly, it’s probably not the worst thing he could be. Mina would love it if her cousin was undead, and there’s really no one else who matters to me.
For a moment – just a brief, indulgent moment – I allow myself to imagine it’s true. Life would be different, certainly, than the one I imagined I would live, but being an optimist who’s perpetually let down by my loved ones, that’s true anyway. I might as well have some perks.
This isn’t a very Lucy Partridge thing to say, but thinking about spending eternity getting railed by a really hot vampire? Well, let’s just say I’m not mad about it. Not when there’s so much going on at the moment that I am mad about.
I huff a breath out and pad down the stairs to put the kettle on.
Bram set off for work about an hour ago, and the annexe feels strange without him – much bigger than a tiny cottage extension really ought to.
I feel like I’m rattling around in here, slowly losing my marbles with the fading traces of his aftershave still catching at my chest every time I breathe in.
There’s a gig on tonight at Bitten that Bram made me promise I’d go to, a Dawn Breaks Black tribute act that he’s really excited about, but it doesn’t start until seven-thirty, and it’s – I check my watch – not even three. Dammit.
I make a cup of tea and drink it, which takes twenty-seven minutes, and then I reply to an email, which takes another three, but there are still four hours to go until I have to be anywhere.
Then my phone rings, and I rush to grab it, thinking it might be Bram or maybe Mina, but my heart sinks to my feet when I see the name on the screen.
Jonathan Baker.
I almost let it ring out, but he is still my boss, after all, and I am still technically working this weekend. So I slide to answer, putting on my perkiest Lucy Partridge voice as I do.
‘Hello.’
‘Ey up, Fluff.’ It’s his standard greeting. It used to make my stomach flip with excitement, but now it just makes me feel a little queasy. ‘How are those goths treating you?’
I don’t particularly want to talk about it, not with him, so I shift into niceties. ‘Yeah, brilliant,’ I say, trying to sound genuine. ‘I didn’t expect this to be my scene, but I’m actually having a blast.’
‘Great,’ he purrs. How have I never noticed that he talks like this – like he’s constantly trying to seduce everyone? Maybe I thought it was just me. Maybe I was blinded by my infatuation.
But I’m seeing clearly now.
‘Look, Fluff,’ he continues, in that same voice, ‘I’m really sorry I couldn’t be the one to take this job for Mina. I know it was a lot to ask from you, especially on short notice. But my mum’s been in hospital and I didn’t feel right leaving her. Been by her bedside all weekend.’
The lie makes my jaw tighten, disinterest replaced by a fierce wave of anger that rattles through my whole body.
Because not only do I know that Jon was here in Whitby, due to the fact that I saw him sucking face with Amy not twenty-four hours ago.
But something Jon is obviously also forgetting is that I’m friends with his mum on Facebook.
Geraldine Baker and I got chatting once at one of our work socials, and we enjoyed each other’s company so much that we swapped social media details.
She posted pictures from her holiday in Torremolinos less than an hour ago.
I saw them when I was aimlessly scrolling, trying to get myself motivated.
She seemed to be having a whale of a time, and looking very healthy indeed.
I left a heart emoji in the comments, and she liked it within minutes.
‘But the good news,’ he continues, oblivious to the burn of my silent rage, ‘is that she’s out now, so I’ll be at the gig tonight.’
My heart slams into my ribcage. ‘What?’
‘The gig tonight,’ he says, like I simply haven’t heard him. ‘The DBB tribute at Liam’s bar? We could catch that drink beforehand if you like?’ His voice drops a notch. ‘You know, just the two of us.’
His use of Bram’s first name grates at me, particularly now that I know Gilly is the only person who calls him that.
Then I realise what he said at the end, and my blood runs cold.
I think that he can’t be serious for a moment until I remember that he doesn’t know about the journey I’ve been on since he last saw me. I’m just the same old Fluff to him.
And of course he also doesn’t know that I know about Amy. Does she know he flirts with me? That he kissed me? I wonder how many of us there are – how many people hang on his every word, thinking they’re something special. It makes me feel sick to my stomach.
I would rather be anywhere – literally anywhere – than having a drink with Jon tonight.
‘I’ve actually already been invited out before the gig,’ I lie quickly, before my rational brain can intervene. ‘But I’m sure I’ll see you there.’
I mean, I’m going to do everything in my power to avoid bumping into him, but he is still my boss. I can’t push my luck.
He doesn’t say anything for a moment or two, and when he does, there’s a strange quality to his voice. ‘Yeah, I mean, that’s fine. It’ll be good to see you.’
And then he hangs up before I can say goodbye.
Not that I particularly mourn the loss, of course.
He’s got a nerve, lying to my face – well, to my ear – and then asking me out in his next breath.
Not to mention that he lied about his mum being in hospital, for God’s sake.
I don’t know if it’s because of what happened with Mina or because of what happened with Gilly, but that one just hit below the belt.
I’m buzzing with anger, the kind I know I’m not going to be able to shake if I stay cooped up in here, and so I grab my jacket and head out of the annexe.
There’s a path down to the East Pier just to the right of the cottage, and I follow it down, feeling the sting of sea breeze on my face.
It shocks some of the adrenaline out of me straight away.
It’s a colder day today, still bright but with a definite autumnal bite in the air, and I wrap my jacket around myself as I march down onto the pier.
It’s much quieter here than on the other side of town.
I can only see one person ahead of me, and they look like they’re coming back in this direction.
It doesn’t matter anyway – I know where I’m going, and I’ll wrestle someone away if I need to.
Who am I kidding? I’m angry, but I’m still me. What will happen is I’ll stand to the side and politely wait for someone to leave if I need to.
I reach the end of the stone pier and cross the narrow footbridge onto the pier extension.
The further I walk out, the more I feel it – the same thing I felt on the other pier with Bram.
The wind is so strong out here that it seems to catch the feelings right out of my chest and throw them to the sea below.
By the time I reach the end of the pier extension and grip onto the metal rail, I’m already feeling better, but as I stare out into the vast waters of the North Sea, I do something which is very unlike me.
I yell.
I yell so much that after a while my throat burns and my eyes water and I feel every ounce of tension empty out of me, lost to the churn of the waves below. At this moment, with the roar of the wind in my ears and the sting of saltwater in my eyes, I feel absolutely free.
Free from the rage I feel towards Jon.
Free from the anxiety of Mina being ill.
Free from the rejection of my mother being more interested in her readers than she ever was in me.
At this moment, I feel like I could do anything. And as all of the negative energy rushes out of me, I suddenly know exactly what it is that I need to do.
I need to write Mina’s article, exactly as she would have.
I’m not going to exploit Bram to make a headline.
I’m going to do what I do best instead. I’m going to be his cheerleader, showing the world how brilliant he is.
It’s what he’d do for me, and, most importantly, it’s the right thing to do.
I’m a habitual doer of the right thing, and no one’s going to make me feel bad about that. I’m proud of it.
I holler one more time into the open sea before I walk back up the pier, my mind clearer than it’s been for a very long time.
As I climb back up the sloped footpath to the cottage, I see Peggy on the front steps. She waves as she sees me, like she’s been waiting for me.
‘Lucy,’ she chirps as I get closer. ‘I hoped I might see you. We’re having a get together here before the gig.’ Her face breaks into a warm smile. ‘It’s nothing fancy, just a bit of food to fuel us up for the night. I’d love it if you could join us.’
I can’t believe it. I didn’t lie to Jon after all. Turns out I do have plans, I just didn’t know about them.
‘I’d really like that,’ I reply, beaming back at her, and it makes her squeak to herself excitedly, clapping her hands together with glee.
‘Amazing! Come round any time after five,’ she says, and she gestures to the door like I might have forgotten where she lives. ‘We can all walk round to the bar together, too. Save you having to make the journey on your own.’
There’s a warmth to her words, a protectiveness about them, which makes me smile. I’m not really used to being looked after, and I like it a lot. I leave her with a thank you and pop back round to the annexe to get myself ready.
But first I have some business to attend to.
I open my laptop and delete every version of the document I was working on.
I even go into the other document where I’d been keeping my rough notes and delete that, too – the revelations about Bram’s mum, his reputation as a womaniser, the fight with Dean, even his fear of bats – all of it gone with a few clicks of my trackpad.
It feels good to see it all disappear. It’s like I’m keeping his confidence rather than betraying it. I even feel good about keeping Dean’s secrets, however much of an arsehole he may be. I’ll start again in the morning with a clean sheet and a clear conscience.
Because, although I can’t deny that the idea of Jon not getting what he wants is pretty satisfying, this is really more about me. It’s about me finally not caring about pleasing other people and making what I know is the right choice.
When the final file is gone and I close my laptop, I feel like a different person. I’ve never gone against a direct order in my life, not once. I always thought that by not pleasing people I was letting them down, but that isn’t what’s happening here.
I’m not letting Jon down, I’m standing up to him. And something about this town, or its quirky inhabitants, or a tall, tattooed bartender who may or may not be undead has given me the strength to do it. Well, they’ve shown me the way, anyway. I think the strength has been in me all along.
And now, speaking of this town and its quirky inhabitants, I have the very important matter of a family gathering to get to.