Lia's Guide to Winning the Lottery (29 page)

A big tear slid down my nose and landed on a story about immigration.

‘What's the matter?'

I pointed at the paper. ‘Look . . . Raf. . .'

Jack read it, face screwed up. ‘What's the problem? Apart from you spending time with that weirdo.'

‘He's not a weirdo. It's just . . . Jack, we spent the night together. A bit of the night, anyway.'

‘You screwed him? Bloody hell, Lia. I thought he was gay. His clothes are gay.'

‘He is absolutely, completely, definitely not gay.'

‘Well, that's a relief. No offence, Lia, but I don't want you sleeping with some guy who'd rather be in bed with me.'

‘Jesus, Jack, shut up. He's not gay. Definitely. But there's something weird going on.'

‘Well, look, Lia, obviously I realise that no other guy's going to measure up after you've tasted the pleasures of my body—'

I clouted him with the
Express.

‘Not that, you moron. He was warning me about something. Something about his dad. Do you think he's after my money?'

‘Well, how's he going to get your money? You're not offering four million quid to every guy you sleep with, are you, Lia?'

‘Shut
up
! It's just . . . I don't really know anything about him. Not really.'

‘Lia, if you want to find out about a guy, you'll have to interrogate him before you jump into bed with him. Because once you've done that, believe me, no one's going to stop to tell you his life story. Even gay boy here. Unless he is actually gay, in which case he'll be trying to put you off by telling you his entire family history in the hope that
you'll fall asleep and he can escape to some club in Soho.'

‘You are just vile and homophobic – not that Raf is actually gay – and I hate you,' I said. ‘I'm going to tell Shazia that you are totally not worthy of her and never will be.'

‘I've never felt that you appreciate my wisdom,' he said. ‘More toast?'

‘No thanks. I've got to find him.'

‘Just remember what Uncle Jack told you,' he smirked. ‘Keep your knickers on until you've asked your questions.'

Chapter 32

Do your research before important meetings.

Melbourne Avenue was on the outskirts of Tithe Green, the smarter, more expensive outskirts, where the roads were wider and the houses hadn't been carved up into flats and people had space to park multiple cars in their massive driveways.

Most of the houses seemed nice enough – based on their well-clipped hedges and doors glowing with stained glass. But number five was different. Almost hidden behind dark trees and overgrown bushes, I had to pick my way down the path. The iron gate clanged shut behind me, and a spider's web brushed my face. The sun hid behind a cloud, and a breeze rustled the weeds that choked the large front garden. A black cat burst out from the undergrowth, yowled at me, showing sharp white teeth, and then hid itself again. By the time I reached the front door – peeling
mossy green paint, a blackened lion door knocker – I was slightly spooked.

Oh well. I'd just knock on the door and see if Raf was there.

The door creaked open. ‘Why, Miss Latimer. How good to see you. Do come in.'

Oh God. Oh no. Raf's dad was standing in the gloomy hallway, dressed all in black, dark stubble shadowing his face, sharp gas-flame-blue eyes staring at me.

I considered turning and running. But nothing had actually happened. I swallowed.

‘Hi . . . umm . . . I was just looking for Raf.'

‘He's not here, I am sorry to say.'

‘Oh, right, never mind,'

‘But he will be here very soon. He's just called me. Please do come in, and you can wait for him.'

‘Oh . . . well . . . I don't know.'

His gaze was hypnotic. ‘Really – I insist.'

So I followed him through the gloomy hallway – dark wood panelling, a tinkling chandelier overhead – and through to a barely furnished living room, which had one dusty, plum-coloured sofa that looked like it had been there since Victorian times, a huge mahogany chest by the window, the kind of thing that pirates fill
with treasure, and heavy, dark blue velvet curtains which were drawn closed.

‘Oh!' I said.

‘Let's let in some light,' he said, pulling one curtain a little way open, so I could see a glimmer of grey sky. ‘I apologise for . . . for this. In the days when I lived here, things were very different. Please, make yourself comfortable.'

I sat down on the velvety sofa.

‘Oh . . .
when
you lived here?'

‘Long, long ago,' he said, smiling at me now, in a way that reminded me of Raf's heart-breakingly sad smile, but was somehow also deeply sinister at the same time.

‘Umm, so, if you don't live here
now
, why are you here?'

‘I have duties, apparently. And I am bound by terrible circumstances.'

God, he was even more cryptic than Raf. I was all over goose pimples. Long ago? Could he be . . . he surely couldn't be . . . a ghost, could he? Could he?

‘Lia, I need to ask you something,' he said, leaning towards me. His teeth glinted as he spoke. I took a deep breath. He smelled of something spicy, something ancient and strangely attractive. I felt a little dizzy.

‘I'm not . . . not sure. . .' I said in a small voice. And then it occurred to me. He'd said Raf had phoned him. But Raf never ever seemed to use his phone. Oh my God.

‘I have a proposition for you,' he said, ‘something I think you will like very much. Something attractive to both of us.'

Oh my God!

‘I. . .'

‘Hear me out, please,' he said. I held my breath. I could hear the wind crashing through the trees outside, the house creaking, and a strange rustling, crackling buzz in my ears, muffling his voice, working its way into my brain. I struggled to think clearly.

‘Well, yes, but when you said Raf called, the thing is that he never actually uses his phone.'

Nick paused. His face flickered irritation and – I thought – a slightly guilty tinge.

‘That boy is stuck in another age,' he said. ‘He doesn't seem to engage with the world around him at all. He might as well live a hundred years ago.'

‘But—'

‘That's why I am so delighted that you are his friend. He needs friends. They will keep him here, with us, in the land of the living. Rafael has not had
an easy life, and I feel responsible for that. But you, my dear Lia, you can help me make life very much easier for him. You can transform his existence.'

I was being drawn in – I couldn't help it – by his intense stare – did he ever blink? – and his heady scent.

‘Oh . . . right . . . well, I'd like to help.'

‘Here, in this house, we are in the power of an evil woman. A vengeful, bitter woman who has all the power, while I have nothing.' His face twisted. ‘I need to get back what is rightfully mine. You can help me, Lia, help me and my unfortunate son.'

‘Oh . . . right, but how?'

‘It's very simple,' he said, leaning towards me. I inched backwards.

And then the buzzing noise got louder and louder, and turned into a wailing cry, a piercing, miserable sob. And I opened my mouth and screamed.

Chapter 33

Always pay your taxes.

Nick jumped away from me, burbling, ‘I. . . Are you OK? There must be some mistake. . . Oh, God. . .'

‘What the hell?' Jasper's cold voice came from the doorway. I stopped screaming. But the buzzing wail went on. Neither of them seemed to be able to hear it. Was I going mad?

‘There's nothing . . . we were just talking . . . I was making a proposition to Miss Latimer . . . a purely
business
proposition. . .'

Jasper said, ‘Oh yes, right, Dad, with your track record, I completely believe you. Lia, I must apologise for my father's behaviour. Dad, for God's sake, she's at school with Raf. A bit young, even for you. At least Carmen was nineteen.'

Nick looked as horrified as I felt. ‘No, no, Jasper, I assure you, really nothing happened. . .'

‘No, nothing at
all
,' I said. ‘It was just, Raf said . . . he said you were dangerous.'

‘Huh,' said Nick. ‘I do everything for him, only for him, and he runs around telling you . . . what did he tell you? That I'm some sort of bloodsucker?'

Oh my God. Oh my God.

I decided to ignore that question. ‘And then there's that noise. . . I don't know if you can hear it?' I mumbled.

‘I don't know why you bother to have it on,' said Jasper mysteriously. ‘You never seem to react.'

‘I just wanted to talk to Lia while I had the chance,' said Nick. ‘I really didn't mean to scare you . . . I . . . what did I do to scare you?'

What did he mean about sucking my blood?

‘I'll go,' said Jasper, picking up a little white box from the window sill and switching it off. The awful buzzing noise stopped, just like that. But there was still a dim wailing cry.

‘No . . . don't. . .' I said, but he'd gone already. I could hear the creak of his tread on the stairs. The crying stopped.

‘I'm looking for investment,' said Nick, ‘and I thought of you. I used to be in the fashion business and I can see you're a stylish girl . . . you understand
vintage too, which neither of my sons do. I was once . . . well, people called me “tailor to the stars”. I designed for many big names, you know . . . Mick Jagger, Joan Collins . . . I was the first to put Princess Diana in a catsuit. . .'

Despite everything, I was fascinated. ‘Really. . .? Wow. . .'

‘But times are hard, my dear, times are hard. My business ran into difficulties. It started with the divorce, I suppose, but you know, I was so busy, so busy opening shops, designing, travelling here and there. . .'

‘Partying with your celebrity friends, spending money left, right and centre. . .' Jasper was back again, holding a little boy in his arms. A tiny boy with Raf's dark hair and Nick's arched eyebrows and the same crooked smile that they all had. A little boy clutching a wooden red building block in his hand, which he lifted and—