I Knew You Were Trouble: A Jessie Jefferson Novel (28 page)

‘There are quite a few here about you being Johnny’s daughter, but it’s all positive,’ Jack says, his thumb scrolling down the screen to show me. I lean in closer to read
them and, after a moment, become aware of his proximity. His face is right beside mine and his hair smells like the ocean. I straighten up, my knees feeling a little weak.

‘Phew,’ I say, shifting on my feet.

‘You OK?’ he asks with a frown, glancing over his shoulder at me.

‘Yeah, I’m fine.’ I return to stand in front of him so he doesn’t have to crane his neck. ‘I was worried about their reaction, that’s all.’

‘I knew they’d love you,’ he replies offhandedly.

‘Eve was so… Well, she was so cool,’ I say wryly, trying to concentrate.

He doesn’t comment.

‘What happened with you guys?’ I ask him out of the blue. ‘After I left? You broke up?’

He doesn’t speak for a moment, but then he shrugs. ‘I called it off.’

‘Did you? Why?’

‘It’s not like she was ever my girlfriend. Like I said, we just had a thing going. But I didn’t wanna get into that again with her.’

He leans forward in his seat and rests his elbows on his knees. His face is lit by the sun, his eyes lighter than normal.

‘Why not?’ I hardly dare to ask.

‘Why didn’t you tell me you had a boyfriend?’ he asks suddenly, catching me off guard.

I shift on my feet again. ‘You didn’t even reply to my email,’ I say.

‘What email?’

I give him an unimpressed look.

‘What email?’ he persists. ‘I didn’t get an email from you.’

I’m confused. ‘I emailed you after I got back from LA.’

‘I didn’t get it,’ he replies with a frown. ‘But I did text you. At least now I know why you never called,’ he adds drily.

‘You never called me, either,’ I point out.

‘So who is this Tom guy? You haven’t told me anything about him.’

‘He’s someone I know from school,’ I reply, wondering why he’s waited until now to ask. ‘He’s in the year above me.’

‘Did you know him before the summer?’ he pries.

‘Yeah,’ I reply casually.

‘Were you—’

‘No,’ I cut him off. ‘No, we hadn’t been on a date or anything.’

He doesn’t comment at this, nor does he meet my eyes.

I sigh and shift the weight on my feet again.

‘Do you wanna sit back down?’ he asks flatly.

‘No, I’m OK.’

‘Come on,’ he says, patting his thigh. I hesitate. ‘I won’t bite,’ he promises, some of the spark returning to his eyes.

I don’t want him to be pissed off, so I hesitantly walk over to him and sit down on his right knee. His left leg jigs up and down and neither of us says anything for a little while, but
I’m completely jumpy being this close to him. I have a sudden, agonising longing to turn and snuggle into his chest. I glance at him to see him calmly staring back at me.

‘Your hair’s still wet,’ I say on impulse, pushing the strands off his face. I allow my hand to do what it’s been wanting to do for weeks: slide to the back of his head
and run up and down the shorter section. ‘I like your hair short like this.’

‘Does Tom have short hair?’ he shocks me by asking.

I quickly take my hand away and avert my gaze. ‘Yeah, he does, actually.’

God, what am I doing? I tense, about to force myself to my feet, but then his arms snake round me, keeping me in place.

‘Stay,’ he murmurs, pulling me back against him.

I’m still tense as my back rests against his chest. He puts his chin on my shoulder. ‘You’re so warm,’ he says sleepily.

‘So are you,’ I whisper. I really should get up and go, but I can’t seem to make my feet move.

‘Are you tired?’ he asks.

‘Mmm. Didn’t sleep much last night.’ My body does feel heavy.

‘I never sleep well after a gig,’ he tells me. ‘Too much adrenalin.’ He turns his head to look down the road. ‘What’s taking them so long?’

He’s not trying anything on, I tell myself. He’s just being friendly. Friendly and more than a little tactile. But that’s OK, isn’t it? We’re band members.
We’re supposed to be close. I relax against him slightly and he breathes in deeply, exhaling slowly so my stomach follows the movement of his.

‘Do you think Miles’s friend was his boyfriend?’ I ask suddenly.

He shrugs. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Why won’t you tell me what happened with him? Surely you know me well enough to know I wouldn’t tell anyone else.’

He regards me coolly before nodding. ‘True,’ he concedes. ‘But it’s not my secret to tell.’

I narrow my eyes at him. ‘Did he come onto you or something?’

His eyes widen in alarm and then he scratches the top of his head with frustration.

‘That’s it, isn’t it?’ I ask, surprised.

‘What is it about you,’ he says wearily, ‘that has me spilling my guts out?
Every time
,’ he adds, shaking his head.

I purse my lips at him, half feeling bad for getting the truth out of him because, really, it
isn’t
any of my business, and half delighted because I’ve landed on the truth
with my first guess.

‘You only confided in me in the summer because you thought you’d never see me again,’ I say with a knowing smile, remembering how he told me about his family and how messed up
things had been between his mum and dad.

He doesn’t smile back at me. ‘Not true,’ he says finally. ‘I don’t know what it is.’

‘Are you going to tell me what happened?’ I press.

He shifts uncomfortably. ‘He was very,
very
drunk, and he tried to, you know.’

‘Kiss you?’

‘Yeah.’ He nods. ‘He was totally wasted. And completely and
utterly
mortified the next day.’

‘Did you talk to him about it?’ I feel bad on Miles’s behalf. It’s excruciating enough coming onto someone who doesn’t fancy you, but when you’ve also been
harbouring a secret like that…

‘Yeah. I woke him up the next morning – he’d crashed at mine – and had it out with him. Told him it was cool.’ He yawns, but I have a feeling he’s playing it
down. He must have handled it incredibly well for Miles and him to still be friends – and bandmates. ‘Anyway, I swore to him I’d never tell a soul, so—’

‘I swear, too,’ I say solemnly.

As I stare into his eyes, it feels physically painful to tear myself away.

‘I might go for a walk along the beach,’ I say quietly. ‘If I stay here, I’ll fall asleep.’

‘Don’t go,’ he says. He brushes my hair back from my face, his touch making my skin spark, before resting his chin on my shoulder and tightening his arms round my waist.

The nervy, jittery feeling inside me intensifies tenfold. If Tom could see me now, he’d go absolutely mental, but still I can’t bring myself to move.

Jack begins to hum one of All Hype’s songs and I relax as I listen to him.

‘You should sing more,’ I say eventually.

‘I’m not that good,’ he replies in a low voice.

‘Yes, you are.’

He sighs. ‘I don’t know what we’re going to do when you go back to England.’

‘I’m only going back for a week.’

He jolts, pushing me upright. ‘What? When?’

I fill him in. He looks so staggered by the news that I’ll be going to school with Agnes that I can’t help but laugh at his expression.

‘See, there you go again, getting all comfortable and telling me things because you think I’m going home soon, when here I am, planning on staying,’ I joke.

He doesn’t smile. He shakes his head, confused. ‘Are you OK with that? I thought you wanted to go home.’

‘I’m pretty happy here at the moment,’ I tell him. ‘The band has helped.’

He nods, looking thoughtful.

‘I miss Stu and Tom, obviously,’ I clarify, ‘but well, hopefully they’ll come to visit soon.’

He doesn’t look very happy about this revelation. ‘Do you really think you can make a long-distance relationship work?’

I shrug. ‘I don’t know. But we can try.’

He
really
doesn’t look happy.

‘What are you looking like that for?’ I chide, feeling bold. ‘It’s not like anything’s ever going to happen between
us
again.’

He glares at me.

‘What?’ I’m taken aback by his expression. ‘You promised Brandon and Miles,’ I explain.

His expression instantly softens and he laughs under his breath and shakes his head. ‘Oh.
That
,’ he says significantly.

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Brett’s campervan returning. ‘Here they are,’ I say, standing up, but not before I see Agnes’s look of surprise. I walk over to the
van and, as soon as it’s pulled to a stop, I open her door.

‘About time,’ I berate her jovially.

‘Everything OK?’ she asks meaningfully.

‘Fine.’ I shrug, playing it down. ‘You only left us one chair,’ I point out with mock annoyance, staring past her at Brett.

‘Oops,’ he replies flippantly, climbing out of the van.

‘And how are things with you?’ I whisper, my own question laced with meaning now.

She turns bright red.

‘You snogged him!’ I whisper.

‘Shh!’ she warns.

I bounce on my feet and giggle excitedly. ‘We are so going for a walk on the beach after lunch,’ I say. ‘I want all the details.’

The day passes by in a blur. I feel so content in the company of these three people – it’s going to be hard to return to normality. Whatever normality is these days.

In the late afternoon, a fog rolls in from the ocean and within seconds it turns the blue sky a murky grey colour.

‘Really?’ Agnes asks with a frown.

‘Come on, don’t be a baby,’ Brett says. He’d just convinced her to go for a walk through the dunes with him. ‘You can wear my jumper.’

‘OK,’ she concedes.

‘Hey, can I put the seats down?’ Jack asks him as his sister pulls another layer of clothing over her head.

‘Steady on,’ Brett replies, his eyes darting between us at the idea of Jack making up the bed.

‘As if!’ I exclaim, outraged, giving Jack a look of, ‘What the hell are you thinking?’

‘I’m going to take a nap,’ he says firmly. ‘I thought you were tired, too,’ he adds for my benefit.

Brett chuckles. ‘Course you can,’ he says, putting his arm round Agnes and leading her away. She throws me a look over her shoulder. I can’t decipher it so I don’t try
to.

Jack is already putting the back seats down so they lie flat. There’s something about the sight of him doing that that makes me feel intensely skittish. I try not to let it show as I help
him unroll a thin mattress from the boot so it lies flat across the now quite large expanse. He kicks off his scuffed Chelsea boots and falls onto his back, letting out a long sigh as he lets his
left arm fall across his eyes.

I tentatively take off my own shoes and lie on my stomach beside him. I find myself scrutinising his POW! tattoo, wondering if it hurt.

‘You still planning on getting one?’ he asks, making me jerk my eyes up to see him regarding me from the shadow cast by his arm.

‘Maybe,’ I reply with a shrug. ‘I bet Stu wouldn’t let me,’ I say wryly, ‘but Johnny might.’

He reaches behind him and bunches up the pillow, resting back against it with his arm behind his head. ‘It would be pretty hypocritical if he didn’t,’ he says. Johnny has
loads
of tattoos. ‘What would you get?’ he asks.

I smile shyly. ‘I was thinking about noughts and crosses.’

He nods. ‘That would be cool.’

‘Mum and I used to play it when I was little,’ I tell him. ‘I don’t know, maybe it would look crap.’

He sits up, a look of determination on his face, and then he crawls across the mattress to the front of the car, leaning over the passenger seat to open the glovebox. He returns with a black
biro and a big smile.

‘What are you doing?’ I ask with a laugh, as he takes my hand.

‘Where do you want it?’ he enquires cheekily, his touch making my skin burn.

‘Here,’ I say, pointing to the inside of my forearm, just above my wrist.

‘It really hurts there,’ he warns seriously. ‘How about here?’ He points to the outside of my arm.

‘Go on, then.’

He props himself up on his elbow and starts to draw.

‘Ow,’ I say, pretending to flinch.

He laughs under his breath. ‘Do you wanna tell me where to put the noughts and crosses?’

‘Cross in the top left.’

He draws a cross.

‘Nought underneath it.’

He draws a nought.

‘Cross at the top in the middle.’

My arm is tingling where he’s touching me, and I can still feel where his pen has been.

‘Nought top right,’ I continue, as I mentally play the game in my head. There was a certain sequence Mum would allow me to play that would mean I couldn’t lose. Suddenly
she’s looking back at me inside my mind, her caramel-coloured eyes twinkling as she pretends she doesn’t know I’m about to win. My voice wavers as I tell him where to go next.
‘Cross in the middle.’ He glances up at me quickly, just in time to see tears spring into my eyes.

‘Hey,’ he says gently, putting the pen down and sitting up.

‘It’s OK.’ I shake my head quickly. ‘I don’t want to cry. Say something to cheer me up.’

‘Damn. Pressure,’ he jokes. ‘Shall I give you a different tattoo?’

‘Go on, then,’ I reply with a shaky smile.

‘How about…’ His voice trails off as his eyes skim slowly over the length of my body. Crying is instantly the last thing on my mind. ‘Here,’ he says finally,
dragging the end of the biro down my neck and tapping my collarbone. ‘You’ll have to turn over,’ he says. I inadvertently shiver, but do as he says, shifting to lie on my
back.

He leans in close and pulls my hoodie down.

‘What are you drawing?’ I ask nervously. I can feel his breath on my neck.

‘You’ll see,’ he murmurs.

I fight the urge to squirm because the pen is tickling me.

‘Stay still or it’ll hurt,’ he berates me like a real tattoo artist might.

‘What are you doing? It’s taking ages!’ I exclaim after a bit.

‘Patience is a virtue,’ he mutters.

I stare at him furtively from beneath my lashes. He’s so close to me and there’s a look of concentration on his brow. I have an immediate and very pressing urge to reach up and
smooth the lines away.