Nearly Almost Somebody (32 page)

Oh, I don’t know. It looks pretty cute to me.

He turned off the road, onto the bridleway into the woods, smiling as she squealed going over a tiny pothole.

Might
. Was
might
worth risking everything?

Twenty minutes later, Libby waited at the top of the first hill. She’d overtaken them all, her fitness and Daisy’s top-of-the-range bike proving their worth.

‘Who the hell invited you?’ Patrick said, catching her up. ‘You’re supposed to be at the back, being rubbish with Clara.’

Her face paled as Robbie and Vanessa whizzed past, speeding down the other side. ‘Uphill, I could handle, but that just looks bloody scary.’

‘Just go steady to start with,’ Xander said. ‘You’ll get the hang of it.’

‘Sod that, Libs. Follow me.’ Patrick set off. ‘Remember, speed is your friend. And stay loose.’

The grim determination came back, but she followed him, swearing and squealing most of the way. By the time the track bottomed out, her relief was palpable, and her smile was back in place.

‘Okay,’ she said, breathless with adrenaline, ‘if I don’t die, this might be fun.’

Good girl. He pedalled on, absurdly pleased. Why, because he was proud of her attitude or because if she liked this, then maybe she could go on ride outs with him instead of running with Xander?

From that point, she stayed behind him. He picked out the easiest side of the track, never going too fast and always glancing behind him. After the first hour, the grim determination disappeared, replaced by a huge smile, though she still squealed her way down most of the hills. She rode along, occasionally talking with the others, mostly Xander, but unlike Clara, she never asked how much further and unlike Vanessa, she didn’t constantly need to duck behind a wall for a wee.

‘OMG, I hate this bit. Can I go round?’ Clara whined.

‘What bit?’ Libby stared at the track in front of them. ‘Jesus Christ, that’s not a hill. It’s a cliff. It just drops off.’

‘I’ll take you round, Clara,’ Xander offered. ‘Wilde?’

Don’t bottle out.
Patrick coaxed her nearer the edge. ‘Ready for an adrenaline rush?’

‘No.’ She glanced from him to Xander as Robbie, Vanessa and Scott hurtled down the steep hill.

Patrick frowned. ‘Okay, it’s a bit–’

‘Vertical and a bloody long way down?’

‘But it’s just grass. No rocks, or tricky bits. You just point your bike down and go. Back brake on, careful with your front. Don’t lock it up.’

She had her bottom lip tucked between her teeth, watching as the racing trio reached the bottom.

‘It’s okay, Libs. You don’t have to do it. You can go with Clar–’

She’d gone for it. Fucking hell, he loved this girl. Well, he didn’t but… Christ, she made him smile. As she gained speed her squealing grew louder, but she kept going. He laughed, his weight adding to his momentum and taking him flying past her.

‘You bugger… Oh shit!’

He glanced back to see her wobble, losing control. ‘Don’t lock your brakes up!’

She reached the bottom, still out of control. The front wheel hit a rut, sending her over the handlebars. Patrick was already off his bike sprinting towards her, Robbie not far behind. Libby didn’t get up.

Don’t be hurt, Libs. Please, don’t be hurt.

Her eyes were wide open, staring at the sky.

Oh Christ, she’s dead.

As he stood over her, her eyes moved and she flashed him the biggest smile.

‘Ohmigod, can we do it again?’

He fell to his knees, struggling for breath as he waved to the others to say she was okay.

‘Seriously, can we?’ she asked. ‘That was awesome.’

Okay, maybe he did love her.

* * *

Three hours after leaving the Green, Libby unclipped her feet from the pedals for the last time and lay down on the pavement outside the Alfred. She’d made it alive. She’d had five minor incidents after the first off, the most spectacular of the day, but she’d made it alive. The others had all dashed inside, desperate for a pint, the toilet or both, but Patrick stayed outside, fiddling with his bike.

‘I have scabbed knees, a bruised elbow and my legs feel like jelly,’ she said, smiling up at him.

‘I’m sorry, I can’t hear you. My ears are still ringing from all your screaming.’ He glanced at the pub. ‘Come on. I’ll buy you a birthday drink.’

‘Oh for a cup of tea.’ She let him pull her to her feet.

‘Christ, you know how to live. It’s your birthday.’

‘Tea then wine.’

‘Real beer then whisky.’

They were still debating what she should drink when he held open the door for her.

‘Happy birthday!’

Libby stepped back, startled, but Patrick’s hands were on her shoulders, pushing her into the pub, now filled with her friends. They launched into a rousing chorus of
Happy Birthday to You
and Zoë appeared with a vast cake, the assumed twenty-five candles turning it into a veritable inferno.

As the singing finished, Libby blew out the candles, laughing, smiling and almost crying in shock. Everyone she knew, at least the ones she cared about, were all there. The mountain bikers, plus Grace, Jack, Sheila, Jane, Daisy and Sparky.

‘You didn’t really think we’d just go to the pub for your birthday, did you?’ Zoë bear-hugged her.

As Zoë cut up the cake, Libby sat at the bar, inundated with congratulations, drinks and gifts, the latter which she stashed on a table while she soaked up the goodwill. Her co-dancers at the ballet would never have done this for her, or her random friends in Manchester.

‘Surprised?’ Patrick asked as he perched on the stool next to her, handing her a mug.

Surprised? Still reeling. Libby smiled, taking the tea. Hot tea, Hot Patrick. He’d been Hot Patrick all day, never leaving her side. It might actually rate as one of the best days of her life. The laughs, the adrenaline, the company. Why did he change everything?

* * *

Patrick sat at the bar, watching as Libby flitted around, saying hello to everyone. His mood deteriorated slightly when she reached Sheila and Jack. Stay away, Libs.

‘Pint?’ Scott asked, joining him. ‘You see the rugby yesterday?’

They discussed England’s dismal performance, but Patrick knew his old friend well enough. A team talk was on the way. Sure enough once Dave behind the bar handed over their drinks, Scott dragged him over to an empty table in the window.

‘What’s going on?’ Scott asked.

‘With what?’

‘You and Libby.’

‘Nothing.’

‘Come on. It’s pretty fucking obvious.’

‘We’re just friends.’

‘The question is why?’ Scott leaned forwards, speaking quietly. ‘It’s not like you.’

To explain, or not to explain.

‘Well?’ Scott asked again.

‘Look, she’s nice but that’s it.’

‘Nice?’ Scott laughed. ‘Try again, mate. You look like you’re in love with her.’

‘Piss off.’

‘You haven’t left her side all day.’

‘Someone had to look after her. And it couldn’t be Rob.’

Scott shook his head, laughing. ‘Do you know why I gave up the shit-hot job in London? Because Clara cried. It was the day her dad died. She hated that twat, but she cried her eyes out and that was it. You ever seen Libby cry?’

Patrick closed his eyes, remembering her sitting with her head on her knees the day she lost her job. And the day that bastard Jack threatened her. He nodded.

‘And I bet you never want to see her cry again. You’d do anything to keep her safe and happy. Sound about right?’

So he’d sorted out a few things for her, like taking her to the ballet, but that didn’t... Christ, he’d even paid a small fortune for the Broken Ballerina because he knew she’d regret giving it away. Was Scott right?

‘I’ll take your silence as a resounding yes. You’re totally into her, mate. Now, why the hell aren’t you doing anything about it?’

Patrick slumped back in his seat. ‘Because if I go out with her, I could lose everything.’

Libby moved on, accepting a glass of wine from Daisy, and Patrick explained to Scott about the ultimatum.

‘I tried to talk to mum and dad yesterday, but they’re adamant. Dad really doesn’t like Libby.’

‘Shit. Well, it’s better than having HIV. Clara’s convinced that’s why you’re not shagging Libby.’

‘Bitch.’ Patrick flicked a beer mat at the wall. ‘She’d better not be spreading that around.’

Scott glanced across to Libby. ‘Tell her.’

‘I can’t.’

‘Why?’

‘She’ll leave. And she’d blame herself.’

Scott nodded, leaning forward on his elbows. ‘Thing is, mate, I’ve seen how she looks at you. If you don’t do something about it, she might leave anyway. You think she’s going to sit around waiting for seven months?’

Patrick stared at him.

‘Tell her. You can work something out. Just keep it quiet, no bad behaviour until June.’

‘It’s a big risk and I don’t even know...’

‘If you like her that much?’ Scott grinned. ‘We wouldn’t be having this conversation if you really doubted that.’

‘She wants the whole marriage and kids thing.’

‘And you don’t? You might like it.’

‘You’re always knackered and Vanessa pissed off with a violin player.’

‘Viola, and you still might like it.’

‘A big risk.’

‘You’re an adrenaline junkie. Suck it up.’

With appalling timing, Libby excused herself from Daisy and headed over to her pile of gifts. Scott shot him a grin.

‘Off you go.’

Fuck.

She opened a card, smiling at the joke on the front, but her smile grew when he joined her. ‘It’s from Paolo.’

‘Here,’ Patrick said, handing her a purple gift bag from the pile. ‘Happy birthday.’

She frowned, blushing a little. ‘You got me a present?’

‘I got you a present.’ Okay, this was about as excruciating as life could get. He stared down at his feet as she tore off the striped paper some shop assistant had spent five minutes neatly taping on.

‘It’s my Chloe perfume.’ She gazed up at him. ‘Thank you. Really.’

No, this bit of his life was definitely more excruciating. Maybe he should do this another time, at her house, in the garden, away from prying eyes. ‘At least you won’t stink anymore.’

She tipped her head to the side, as she sprayed on a little of the fragrance. ‘I reckon about fifty percent of the time, I really hate you.’

He laughed, breathing in her familiar floral scent. ‘And the other fifty percent?’

‘Then you’re just slappable.’

He relaxed next to her, enjoying her uncomfortable blushes as she picked up another gift. This would be okay. She liked him. He liked her. They’d work it out.

‘Libs, I need to talk to you about something.’

She nodded, but became distracted by the little yellow bag she’d unwrapped, weighing it in her palm. She peeked inside and gasped. ‘Oh god, no.’

‘What?’

‘I gave this pouch to Grace after the fell race,’ she whispered, staring at him. ‘It was a Retribution Spell. You can use them to punish someone, or you can use them to promote forgiveness. The idea is that the bad things you’ve done, you get back times three.’

He frowned. ‘But you didn’t technically–’

‘Then technically, nothing will come back to me.’ Libby shook her head. ‘The point is I gave this bag to Grace. I stitched our initials on, see? Where is she?’

‘She went home a couple of hours ago, said she wasn’t feeling too well.’

‘She wouldn’t do anything stupid, would she?’

‘Why?’

Libby delved inside the bag and lifted out Maggie’s emerald pendant.

Patrick bolted.

Patrick sprinted from the pub, praying it wasn’t true. Not Gracey. Please, don’t let it be Gracey. Libby had to be wrong. What the fuck would he do if she wasn’t? What if Grace admitted it? He loved Gracey. She’d been his best mate for the last two years. No. Grace wouldn’t kill Maggie. She wouldn’t. Grace wouldn’t hurt a fly. Literally. She yelled at him for swatting a wasp back in August.

It couldn’t be Grace.

Libby ran alongside him, but held back as he reached Grace’s house. He knocked. They waited. The ghost of Grace answered the door, her skin pale and her eyes red. She didn’t speak, but headed back inside, leaving the door open for them to come in.

Oh Christ, Grace. What have you done?

She sat curled up in an armchair and wrapped herself in a grey cardigan.

‘Gracey, what’s going on?’ he asked quietly, praying for a rational explanation that didn’t involve murder. ‘Did you give Maggie’s pendant to Libby?’

She burst into tears, nodding and he sat heavily onto the sofa. Libby perched on the windowsill, frowning at him.

‘Gracey, how did you get the pendant?’
Please tell me Maggie gave it to you
.

‘I didn’t hurt her, I swear.’ Grace wiped in vain at her tears. ‘I went... at the festival, she wasn’t feeling well. I got back about two and went to check on her. I don’t know why. I just felt I had to. And she was there. Dead. I didn’t know... I should’ve called... but I didn’t. She had the pendant in her hand. And I took it.’

Her body shook as she sobbed. Should he hug her or call the fucking police?

‘Why?’ he asked.

‘I wanted it for a spell. It’s an ancient Egyptian amulet, really powerful.’ Grace picked at a loose thread in her cardigan.

‘The inscription looks like hieroglyphics,’ Libby said. ‘What does it mean?’

‘
See the Truth. Seize the Power
.’ Grace sniffed.

‘What did you want it for?’ Libby asked. ‘A summoning spell?’

Grace nodded. ‘I’d asked Maggie if I could borrow it, but she said no, because if Jack really wanted me, he wouldn’t be shagging around in the first place. She could be such a bitch, always wanting to be in control. I just wanted to do one spell.’

‘But you’d stolen the emerald, so its power backfired on you.’ Libby rolled the stone in her hands. ‘It sent Jack away.’

Patrick shook his head. ‘Enough of the Wicca crap. Did you push her down the stairs, Grace?’

‘No!’ She started crying again.

Oh for fuck’s sake.

‘But you left her,’ he said. ‘Why did you leave her there? You could’ve taken the pendant and still called for help.’

‘I… I was scared.’ Grace wiped at her eyes. ‘People might know I took it.’

How could this be happening?

‘What do we do now?’ Libby asked, her voice so quiet he barely heard her.

Grace’s eyes implored him, begging him to pretend none of it had happened. Libby’s moralistic frown said the opposite. Oh Christ, this wasn’t the time for Libby’s honesty. He loved her moral values and her innate desire to do the right thing, but not when it came to Grace. How often had Grace bailed him out, covered for him? Was this his chance to repay her?

‘Look,’ he said, hoping Libby would understand, ‘she didn’t hurt Maggie. She just took the pendant. You can give it back to Zoë. No harm done.’

‘But you can’t just ignore–’

‘Grace isn’t a bad person.’

Libby turned to face out of the window, clearly unhappy. ‘This is wrong.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Grace sobbed. ‘After you gave me the retribution spell, I couldn’t keep the pendant any more. And look what happened with you. The summoning spell backfired big style. I give up.’

‘What the hell’s a summoning spell anyway? Is this to invoke the devil or something weird?’ Patrick asked, but Grace went back to picking at the loose thread and Libby carried on staring out of the window.

All this over a stupid spell? None of it was even real. Libby stepped onto the table underneath the window, still peering outside. Oh Christ, now he had two deranged women on his hands.

‘Libs, what are you doing?’

Libby pointed to the other side of the Green, towards their houses. ‘The angle’s not quite right, but this is where the photos were taken from, the ones of me with Xander and Robbie.’ She turned to Grace. ‘Did you take them from upstairs?’

Grace blanched.

Libby stepped down, staring at Grace. ‘You gave them the evidence to call me a prostitute. Why?’

Grace raised her chin. ‘You shagged Jack.’

Libby shook her head. ‘This started before then.’

‘Money. I have a hefty mortgage and Wray pays well. You and Jack were only worth a hundred quid, but the ones from Halloween? Five hundred. You and Xander, two hundred. You and Robbie, four.’ Grace glanced from Libby to Patrick. ‘There’s a grand for a photo of you two together.’

Fuck. ‘Did you take photos of me?’ Patrick barely dared ask.

Grace nibbled her thumbnail, but nodded. There were no more tears.

‘The ones with Miss Haverton in the park?’

‘No. That was one of Miss Haverton’s friends. Emma somebody.’

Emma? No wonder he’d been smiling at the camera. She’d joined in five minutes later. ‘But the others? Tabitha Doyle? Lucy Errington?’

Another nod. ‘What I don’t sell to him, or he didn’t dare print, I... put on the website.’

The website? Patrick leapt to his feet, backing away from Grace, scared he might hit her.

‘You’re the fucking Wraydar?’
You’ve ruined my life. I might lose everything because of you.

‘Why did you do it, Grace?’ Libby asked.

‘I just told you.’

‘No. Why did you do it to Patrick? You two are friends.’

Grace stared at her.

‘Grace?’ he whispered.

She laughed. ‘That’s right. Friends.’

His heart stopped.
Please don’t let this be about me.

‘Who did you really want to summon with the emerald?’ Libby asked, her arms folded. ‘Was it Jack, or was it someone tall, dark and good with animals?’

‘Yeah, well,’ Grace spat. ‘It backfired, didn’t it?’

Patrick slumped against the wall, his eyes closed, his head in his hands. Ten minutes. If he’d just had another ten minutes with Libby… Why did she have to open Grace’s stupid gift? They could’ve been on their way to his house, or hers, and this wouldn’t be happening.

No. This was his fault. This was his fault for something that happened almost a year ago, on Christmas Eve. The thing was, though he’d woken up in Grace’s bed, he hadn’t the faintest idea what that something was. He could make a pretty good guess, but they’d been so wasted, he couldn’t remember a thing and on Christmas Day, they’d agreed to pretend nothing had ever happened.

‘Libs, can you–’ He glanced up but she was already heading out of the door.

‘Just go with her, Patrick.’ Grace said, wiping her eyes.

‘Come here, you idiot.’ He pulled her to her feet and wrapped his arms around her, resting his head on hers.

* * *

Libby closed the front door and walked away, her heart hammering. Grace loved him. Why hadn’t she seen it before? It was so obvious. She’d do anything for him. How long had poor Grace loved what she couldn’t have?
Poor Grace?
The cow had sold her out and left Maggie in a heap at the bottom of the stairs. That’s right, poor, poor Grace.

Libby marched back to the pub, resisting the temptation to bolt home. She owed it to her friends, the ones who’d planned a surprise party for her – she owed it to them to put on a brave face and enjoy her birthday party.

What if Patrick loved Grace? Grace was pretty, sexy and one of his best friends. What if he was kissing her, discarding her cardigan, peeling off her top?

In a corner of the bar, Zoë and Jack were chatting. Perfect. Libby joined them.

‘Where did you and the hot vet go?’ Zoë asked, raising her eyebrows.

‘Nothing like that, thank you. I have a gift for you.’ Libby stole a sip of Zoë’s Bacardi and soda before holding up the emerald pendant.

‘Fuck me, is that Maggie’s?’ Zoë snatched it, her eyes sparkling for the first time in weeks. At least she’d got her sparkle back. Maybe this would get her over Jonathan. ‘Where did you get it?’

‘Found it in the garden.’

Jack gave a derisory laugh. ‘Liar.’

‘Let’s just say, someone borrowed it and now they want to return it.’

‘Who?’ Zoë asked, still eyeing the stone as a mother would a newborn baby.

Libby paused, watching for Jack’s reaction. ‘Grace.’

‘Did Grace
borrow
it out of Maggie’s cold dead hands?’ Zoë’s eyes narrowed as she studied Libby.

‘Yes.’ Libby frowned. Jack hadn’t even flinched. ‘You knew?’

Slowly, he nodded. ‘What are you going to do?’

‘Nothing,’ Zoë said firmly. ‘There is no crime. I lost it and now I’ve found it. Didn’t Sheila say this thing was worth twenty-five grand?’

Libby nodded.

‘Then it’s settled.’ Zoë held up the emerald, her eyes flashing with pound signs. ‘If the police get involved, this baby will be tied up forever and it’s so going on eBay tonight.’

‘But Zo–’

‘Bloody ugly thing. Are they hieroglyphics?’

Libby nodded, despairing. Why was it that no one ever wanted to do the right thing?

‘I’ll be back in a bit,’ Zoë said, already standing up. ‘I have to know if monstrosities like this actually sell.’

Appropriating Zoë’s abandoned drink, Libby sat back and sighed. ‘How messed up is this Maggie thing?’

‘Very. Some kind of birthday this is turning out to be for you.’ Jack chinked his glass against hers, shaking his head. ‘Is he still with Grace?’

‘Yes.’ She glanced at the door, willing Patrick to come back. ‘They’ve a few issues to sort out. It turns out she’s…’

‘Been in love with him since they started working together?’

‘You already know?’

‘Last Christmas...’ Jack frowned. ‘I’d gone on a stag weekend. They ended up in here, E’d up.’

‘Did they…’ The tea, wine, Bacardi and birthday cake churned in her stomach as Jack nodded.

‘And sure enough, he fucked off the next day like it’d never happened.’ He frowned at her, utterly serious. ‘Don’t mess around with him.’

Libby wanted a cigarette more than she had in the month since she’d given up. Patrick had slept with Grace and now he knew Grace was in love with him. Was that why he hadn’t come back? Was it time for round two?

* * *

One thousand pounds for a single photo.

Patrick left Grace’s at nine o’clock, as Scott and Clara were leaving the pub. He glanced through the window, but couldn’t see any candyfloss pink hair. In fact only Zoë and Jack remained in the pub from the birthday party. At least Libby hadn’t buggered off with him again.

‘Where the hell have you been?’ Scott asked.

‘Grace’s. Had some–’ He shook his head, dragging Scott away from Clara’s gossip-mongering ears. ‘It doesn’t matter. Where is she?’

‘Gone home. It’s fair to say she was shitfaced.’

Patrick swore. ‘What happened?’

‘She drank a lot of wine. Did you know she can play the piano? She also does a very good Lady Gaga impression and can do pirouette things with a shot of vodka in each hand and one on her head. That girl has some top party tricks.’

Patrick perched on one of the outside tables, staring at the dark windows at Maggie’s cottage. ‘When did she go?’

‘Hour ago. Xander had to carry her home.’

Patrick folded his arms, desperate not to show his jealousy. Bloody Xander.

‘Did you tell her?’ Scott asked.

‘Didn’t get chance.’

‘Well, you’ve missed your opportunity tonight.’ Scott clapped his back. ‘Gotta go.’

‘Night, pal.’

Patrick wandered across the Green. One thousand pounds. A grand for a photo. Grace wasn’t the only source of Michael Wray’s photos, which meant she wouldn’t be the only person looking to catch him and Libby together. Even if they kept it quiet, they’d get busted sooner or later. People got lax. Look what happened to her and Robbie. It couldn’t happen.

He had to leave. There was nothing in the rules about where he had to be. He could go to Sam’s, keep his head down and come back in June. Maybe she’d wait, or maybe she’d have moved on, but that was a risk he’d have to take. He wasn’t prepared to risk his entire life.

He wandered past his own house, down the lane to her garden. Maybe she’d be sobering up with a mug of tea. She wasn’t. Sod it. He crossed the lawn. Okay, this was borderline stalker territory. There were no lights on in the house. This would be classed as breaking and entering. Or checking she’s okay, not choking on her own vomit. A public service really. He smiled at himself. No, this was stalking. He wanted her to be awake.