THREE #2
Cameron had explained that the kids knew my parents had been arrested and about the hit-and-run, but they were told to keep that to themselves.
I wondered how long that would last. At least they wouldn’t know that I was the one who had dialled 999 that night.
Nobody knew about that except me and PC Taylor, the policeman who had been dispatched after my call.
I was a traitor to my parents, and that was something I intended to take to the grave if I could.
“Well, we’ll leave you to get settled, Amelie, and unpack your stuff.
Please do feel free to wander anywhere you like.
This is your home now. Nowhere on the estate is off limits.
” Vanessa explained from the doorway. She then quickly added.
“Well, apart from the boys' bedrooms. But believe me, you don’t want to go anywhere near there,” she chuckled, pinching her nose.
I imagined the smells I was used to would be so much worse than whatever she was hinting at. “We’ll see you at dinner.”
Jessa was still standing at the door, staring at me. “Won’t we, Jessa?”
That caught the other girl’s attention. “Oh, yeah. Sorry. See you later, Amelie. I’ve left you some toiletries in that bag, too.”
I smiled my thanks as they both prepared to leave. Once Vanessa was out of my room, Jessa turned back, her expression inquisitive: almost like I was a puzzle she wanted to solve.
“You’re so pretty, Amelie.”
Her words caused me to blush; I wasn’t used to compliments. “Thank you.”
“I mean it, you have killer cheekbones.”
Without thinking, I raised my fingers to my cheek.
I felt tongue-tied as Jessa continued to scrutinise my face. After a couple of quiet beats, her smile shrivelled, and she became dead serious. “Just one more thing.”
“OK,” I said with uncertainty.
Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t take any shit from my brother. His bark is much worse than his bite.”
I lowered my hand. “Which one?” I rasped, even though I already knew the answer.
With a twist of her lips, she replied. “You’ll see.”
And then she left.
Staring at that space where Jessa had issued her warning, I exhaled, feeling exhausted, my nerves pulled tight. ‘Don’t take any shit from my brother?’
So much had happened in such a short space of time, and my head was spinning. Moving towards the carrier bag, I started to take out the stuff Jessa had left for me. There was body wash, face scrub, a flannel, and some assorted creams. I wondered why she was being so nice to me.
Staring down at the products, I felt a slight sense of excitement.
Only small, but it was there. These were my products, given to me, nice stuff to use on my body and make me feel good.
The generosity of a girl who had first looked at me as if she had found me lacking did not go unappreciated.
Like Maisy, maybe Jessa had decided to give me the benefit of the doubt, unlike their judgmental brother.
Glancing at my face in the mirror which sat on top of the dressing table, I rocked my head from side to side, looking at my cheekbones. Jessa had admired them, but I didn’t see anything unique about my face, not really.
I opened one of the jars and dipped my finger into the cream.
As I inhaled, the subtle floral scent of roses tickled my senses.
After taking in the pleasant aroma, which was much better than body odour and my father’s cigars, I drew a line down my face with a blob of the cold mixture, coating my cheek.
With a head tilt at my reflection, my eyes caught on the clothes Jessa had put on my bed, and an unexpected case of giddiness kicked in.
Forgetting about the cream on my face, I placed the jar down and padded over to the bed.
Jessa had pulled out a pair of boyfriend-style jeans with rips in the knees.
I knew what they were called from the fashion influencers I watched on YouTube.
Shedding my joggers, I pulled them on over my cotton knickers.
The denim felt good against my skin: clean, and I paired them with a white tee.
Walking back to the mirror, I twisted around, assessing my figure in the stylish clothes.
The top was tight, and the outline of my ribs was showing, making me feel self-conscious.
Why had Jessa called me pretty? She had said it with such conviction that I’d almost believed her.
The girl is just being nice, you skinny cow.
I must have stood staring at myself in the mirror for several minutes before my eyes were drawn to a sweater.
Lifting the grey wool jumper, which was hooked over the back of the dressing table chair, I held it to my face.
It smelled so new, and then I noticed the tags were still on it.
I knew the sizes were wrong; Jessa was much taller and curvier than I was, but you had to work with what you were given.
And that feeling of happiness I rarely experienced started to creep forward.
Don’t get carried away, Thorn.
‘You’re so pretty, Amelie,’ echoed through my thoughts.
I held the oversized garment against my slight frame.
Don’t cover up. You have nothing to be ashamed of. My internal monologue was at war with itself, but I decided to go with my latter thoughts. With a determined tilt of my chin at my own reflection, I draped the jumper back over the chair and stepped back.
Glancing around the room, everything was so bright and clean, and it all felt a bit manufactured. My heart started to sink again.
At the back of my mind, I knew there was no way I could ever be happy there: at least not without my sister.
I was like a duck out of water. I wasn’t used to such fine things.
When Vanessa had mentioned dinner, I felt a flutter of nerves.
What if they ate supper with loads of complicated knives and forks, and I didn’t know what was used for what?
I was just in that moment of panic when my thoughts were interrupted.
“I see it didn’t take you long to get yourself settled,” a deep voice drawled—low and rough.
That hard edge to it forced a dart of adrenaline through my chest. Turning my head to one side, I glanced over my shoulder.
Kieran Rook was draped against the doorway with his massive arms folded over his chest. He almost took up the entire entrance.
He was wearing the same clothes he had on earlier, and the muscles on his arms looked even more aggressive than before.
I swallowed nervously and slowly faced him; it was the first time I’d had a boy who wasn’t my brother in my room, if you could call the space that.
Feeling exposed, I shifted and snagged the jumper from the chair, tugging it on over my head, burying myself in the thick wool.
It was like a suit of armour that didn’t quite fit.
Once I was certain I was suitably covered, I lifted my chin and met his gaze head-on.
“I’ve unpacked one bag. That’s hardly settled,” I pointed out.
Kieran looked amused by my actions. “Yet you're wearing my sister's clothes,” he added with a tilt of his head.
The way he was looking at me caused my heart to rattle behind my ribcage.
Kieran Rook was attempting to dissect me piece by piece, peeling back the layers.
Irrespective of the jumper I had pulled on as a barrier.
“I didn’t steal them, if that’s what you’re getting at.” When he continued to stare at me with that intense expression, I quickly added. “You know, most people start a conversation with hello.” I felt annoyed that he spoke to me so casually when we hadn’t even been introduced.
“I’m not most people,” he replied in a bored voice. The tone was flat but still dangerous.
Attempting to appear unfazed, I dropped my shoulders and raised my chin. “You know, you could have just come downstairs with your sisters earlier. Instead of glaring at me over the bannister.”
“I could have, but maybe I didn’t want to overwhelm you.” That was a big fat lie, and we both knew it.
The stare-off suddenly felt like a game of Who Will Blink First that I used to play with Sophie.
Dashing a hand down my face, I adopted a different approach. “Can we just start again? Kieran, right? And I’m Amelie, Amelie Thorn. Pleased to meet you,” I began, taking a step forward and raising my hand. That’s what his father and stepmother had done at the centre.
He didn’t move from his slouched position against the door frame. Kieran just chuckled, and my jaw tightened in protest as he looked at my outstretched hand without taking it. “Are you for real?”
Wrapping my arms around my body, I glanced around the room, deliberately breaking eye contact, but his next words dragged me right back. “Who talks like that?”
I shifted nervously from foot to foot; his eyes were now drilling into me. The boy’s body language suggested he was relaxed, but his expression told a different story. It was a mixture of annoyance and confusion.
“Me?” I replied in a small voice, hating how pathetic I sounded.
“It was a rhetorical question,” he drawled, flexing his shoulders.
“I get that.” I totally hadn’t. My social skills were somewhat lacking.
Before I could string a decent sentence together, my tongue went with, “I take it you're not here to say hi, so do you want to tell me what you want?” My words were firm: a tone which surprised me, considering how nervous I was.
A strange gleam appeared in his eyes, and he didn’t reply straight away.
I swallowed as he shoved off the frame, dropped his arms by his sides and stalked into the room.
The gesture forced me to retreat a few steps, almost stumbling on the rug.
Thankfully, he didn’t come close; he perched his backside on the dressing table where Jess’s toiletries were stacked.
“You’ve got shit on your face,” Kieran said with a flick of his chin, his tone uneven.