The Sound (23 page)

‘This was your idea,’ I say. ‘I’m staying out of the eviscerating live animals part.’

He sighs. ‘I guess you have a point.’

He fishes an eel from the bucket and squeezes it onto a hook. I look at its slippery, writhing body. ‘Ew,’ I say.

‘It’s dying for a greater cause,’ Jesse says as he stands up and hands me the rod.

‘Which would be?’

‘Our lunch,’ he answers, winking at me.

He then comes to stand behind me again and my heart does that crazy palpitation thing where it feels as if it’s been wired up to a faulty electric shock machine.

Jesse places the rod in my hands, then placing his own hands over mine he pulls my arms around and we swing and whip the line into the surf. Apparently this is called casting.

‘And that’s how it’s done,’ Jesse says, giving my shoulders a squeeze before casting his own line.

‘You come here a lot?’ I ask.

‘No, not often. My dad used to bring me when I was a kid.’

We stand side by side, holding the rods, waiting for something fish-like to bite. I couldn’t care less if anything does. I just like standing here in the sunshine, feeling the wind whip
around me, and aware (so aware) of Jesse standing beside me.

‘This is fun,’ I say, grinning over at him, as the wind takes my hair and lashes it against my cheeks.

He laughs. ‘I brought Niki once. She thought it was the most boring thing she’d ever done. She said that she’d rather be the eel than have to do it again.’

His mention of Niki is enough to take my happiness and drown it in the surf.

I clear my throat. ‘How long have you been going out?’ I ask. I am digging for information quite blatantly. I’m fairly sure they’re not going out, mainly because I think
Tara would have mentioned it, and also, I doubt he’d be taking me out fishing if Niki was his girlfriend, but I still want to find out a little more about the exact nature of their
relationship.

‘What?’ Jesse is frowning at me in confusion. ‘Oh, you mean dating?’ He shakes his head, suppressing a smile. ‘We’re not dating.’

I try to keep my face blank and the relief contained inside me. But like the eel it’s slippery and wants to escape. I have to bite back the smile.

‘Not any more,’ he continues, then he pauses before adding, ‘We were never officially dating anyway. We’re good friends – just sometimes the line . . .’

‘Blurs?’ I finish for him.

‘Blurred,’ he says, fixing me with a stare. Emphasis on the past tense. I look away.

‘Yeah,’ Jesse says now, ‘the last year I’ve not been much use as a boyfriend. And the girls here they don’t want to date me – they just want to—’
He breaks off, and I turn my head to look at him. Is it possible that Jesse Miller is blushing? He’s staring out at the ocean, colour infusing his cheeks. ‘My reputation proceeds
me,’ he mumbles. ‘They just like the idea of getting with a guy who’s been inside. That’s all.’

‘Seriously?’ I can’t help the snort.

He shrugs and turns to me and now he’s smiling too. ‘People have weird quirks. What can I say? Maybe they watch too much P
rison Break
.’

There’s a pause and then I ask the question I’ve been pondering for a while – ever since I found out he’d spent time in prison. ‘What was it like?’

He gives me a sideways look. ‘Juvie?’

‘Mmm.’

A small shrug. ‘What do you think it was like?’

‘I only have
The Shawshank Redemption
and
Prison Break
to go on.’

I am praying silently for his sake that it was like neither of those.

He smiles quickly and then his expression turns serious. The muscle in his jaw pulses. ‘To be honest I don’t like to think about it. I did my time, put my head down, got through
it.’ He looks away. ‘Others weren’t so lucky – aren’t so lucky. You watch your back every minute of the day. You learn how to keep your eyes open even when
you’re asleep. It’s like you develop a sixth sense for danger. But if you can hold on to something – just one thing – your memories, your sense of right, your belief in
yourself, then you make it through. It’s when you lose that sense of who you are, when you lose your hope, that you’re done. I had my family. I
have
my family,’ he
corrects himself, ‘they’re what got me through it.’ He scowls, his jaw working overtime, ‘That’s what will get me through.’

‘Jesse,’ I say quietly, ‘why would you want to go back there? Tyler said it would be an adult prison next time. Please. Be careful. I just – I have this feeling that
Tyler and this guy Parker have it in for you.’

He turns his head to face me. His eyes are quick and dark. ‘I know they have it in for me, Ren. But don’t worry. I can look after myself. You don’t get through three months
inside without being able to take care of yourself. The question is, can you? You should stay away from Tyler.’ He has turned fully to face me now. ‘Make sure you’re never left
alone with him.’

‘What? Why?’ And just then I feel a tug on my line and I let out a scream because it’s so unexpected. The rod is bending and buckling in my hands and I’ve no idea what
I’m supposed to do but in the next instant Jesse is standing behind me, his arms wrapped around me, and he’s helping me pull in whatever the hell is now attached to the end of my line.
It feels like it must be a shark, or possibly even a whale, because whatever it is weighs about fifty tonnes and is fighting for its life and my arms are straining and Jesse has to dig in his heels
and lean back and I have to lean against his chest too so I don’t overbalance. Jesse’s hands are closed around mine so we’re both clutching the rod and he’s reeling in the
line, the muscles of his forearms taut, and did I mention his chest and just how rock hard it is? It’s
rock
hard.

It takes about five minutes before we finally haul the biggest fish I have ever seen onto the beach. I’m alternately whooping and grossing out at its aliveness as it wriggles and its gills
flap open and closed with increasing desperation. I know that feeling, I think to myself, as the fish gasps for air. It makes me want to reach for my inhaler and stuff it between its glossy wet
fish lips and squirt.

Jesse kneels on the fish’s slick body to unhook it from the line. He glances over his shoulder at me. ‘Hand me that,’ he says, jerking his head at an empty bucket parked in the
sand beside his rod. I hand it to him, making a
yuck
face as the fish stares unblinking and pleadingly up at me.

‘Can we throw it back?’ I ask.

Jesse stops what he is doing and stares up at me. ‘You just caught a twelve pound striped bass and you want to throw it back?’

I nod, my eyes tracking to the poor fish which is now lamely flapping its tail against the sand, its gills working double overtime. Jesse pauses to study me and then, without another word, he
gets to his feet, holding the fish in his arms, and throws it back into the ocean as though it weighs less than a pebble. ‘Are you a vegetarian by any chance?’ he asks, turning back to
me.

I shake my head at him. Though I might very well become one now, I think.

He laughs. ‘You are quite something, you know that, Ren?’

I’m not sure how to answer that so I don’t.

‘So I guess we might have to abort the fishing . . . How about I take you for lunch instead? No fish. Vegetarian all the way.’

I smile. ‘OK,’ and then in a smaller voice, ‘sorry.’

He shakes his head. ‘No problem.’

‘It was fun,’ I say, not wanting him to think I’m like Niki. ‘Other than the killing a living creature part. The rest was great.’

Jesse has the bucket and the rods in his hands. ‘Come on,’ he says. ‘There are other ways to have fun.’

I flick a sideways glance at him to see if he’s making an innuendo but it would appear he is not. I realise, much to my annoyance, that I’m slightly disappointed.

Jesse drives us to a little café near to the beach. We buy sandwiches (both cheese) and sit at one of the little wooden tables they have set up outside.

‘I can’t believe you grew up here,’ I say, glancing in the direction of the ocean. ‘You’re so lucky. What was it like?’

He laughs under his breath. ‘Small.’

‘Where did you go to school?’

‘Nantucket High.’

‘How many students were there?’

‘Just under five hundred.’

I remember what Sophie said about him being expelled. ‘Did you get expelled?’ I ask. (Nothing like a bit of bluntness.)

Jesse puts his sandwich down and considers my question. ‘No. I finished high school.’ He shoots me a look, one eyebrow lazily arched. ‘You shouldn’t believe everything
you hear.’

I can feel my cheeks flushing but I keep on anyway, though this time my voice is quieter. ‘Why won’t you tell anyone what Tyler did? Because I know you well enough to know that you
wouldn’t have hit him without provocation.’

He shrugs. ‘Because.’

‘Because why?’

He leans across the table and my breath catches in my chest as though I’m being buried under a pile of rocks. Up close I can see the black rims of his irises. ‘You know,’ he
says in the softest, lowest voice imaginable (the vocal equivalent of someone running a strip of velvet across your naked, shivering body), ‘you have the most incredible eyes. They’re
beautiful. As blue as the Sound and just as deadly.’

It would be safe to say that my whole body is riding one long quiver but I clutch hold of the bench and try to keep my voice even when I answer him, ‘Why do you always do that?’

‘Do what?’ he asks, leaning back again and smiling innocently.

‘Flirt every time we start talking about something serious – you switch and start flirting with me.’

He sighs, still smiling. ‘You know, you’re the first girl that it hasn’t worked on.’

‘I didn’t realise you wanted it to work,’ I shoot back. Given how many times he’s told me he’s only interested in me as a friend, it’s getting annoying that
he keeps flirting.

‘I’m just joking, Ren,’ he says, laughing at me and holding his hands up defensively, ‘I didn’t mean it. I don’t want it to work with you. I am emphatically
not wanting it to work with you. I will stop flirting.’

I look down at my sandwich and the wilting lettuce on the side of the plate which looks exactly like I feel right now. He devastates me every single freaking time. I am going to punch him if he
says anything like this again. Fact.

I hear him sigh loudly and when I look up he is swinging his leg over the bench and standing. ‘I keep messing up, don’t I?’ he asks.

‘Kind of,’ I answer.

‘Sorry,’ he says.

He drives me back to the bike shop so I can pick up the car. We’re both a bit subdued and I want to say or do something to fill the space between us which feels as impenetrable as
bulletproof glass. I glance quickly at Jesse who is fixing the road with an intense stare as he drives. Before I can think of anything to say to lighten the mood he switches on the radio, obviously
thinking to fill the space between us with music. Except he manages to tune into a news report and instead of pop music we hear the end of a reporter’s announcement.

‘. . . the girl who was attacked on Dionis beach four days ago has died of her injuries.’

Jesse immediately spins the volume dial to high and I lean forward, gripping the sides of my seat.

‘Doctors at the hospital in Boston where she was airlifted on Sunday night say that her injuries were significant and that despite their best efforts she lost her fight for life early this
morning. The police have no significant leads on the attacker, though the investigation is ongoing in what is now being referred to as the Nantucket Nanny Murders.’

‘The Nantucket Nanny Murders?’ I blink, nausea bubbling up my throat. ‘Are they serious?’

Jesse turns off the radio. ‘It’s just the press. They need to sensationalise everything.’ I feel him turn his head to glance in my direction and then his hand closes around
mine. ‘Don’t panic, OK?’

‘Don’t panic?’

‘I’m sure the nanny part is purely coincidental.’ He doesn’t sound so convinced.

‘Maybe he has a nanny fetish,’ I say. ‘How many nannies do you think there are on the island?’ I shake my head. ‘No, don’t answer that. I’m not sure I
want to know. Oh God.’ I rock forwards. Jesse removes his hand and puts it back on the wheel to turn a corner. But then it’s back, covering my own again.

‘Ren,’ he says, ‘you’ll be fine. I’ll make sure nothing happens to you.’

I glance over at him. That is a ridiculously sweet thing to say. But my brain screams –
how do you plan on holding to that promise?

When I get home with the kids later, Mike and Carrie are waiting for me. They sit me down in the living room on one of the sofas. Mike takes the chair opposite and Carrie
perches on the arm. For one horrible moment I think they’re about to fire me, but then they say, ‘Ren, you’ve probably heard about that poor girl – the one that was attacked
on Dionis? That she died?’

I nod silently.

‘And the theory they have that she was attacked by the same man who killed the nanny last year?’

I nod again.

‘So we want you to know that if you want to go home we’re perfectly OK with that. We would miss you, of course, the kids too – they’ve grown very fond of you – but
we don’t want you to stay if you feel in any way threatened or worried about the situation.’

I pause, not sure what to think or feel, and then I speak. ‘I want to stay.’

They both blink at me but I see they are relieved.

‘Are you sure?’ they both ask at the same time.

‘Yes,’ I say, swallowing hard. I had been thinking about whether to leave but the fact is, despite everything, I really don’t want to. I mean, I don’t want to end up dead
either, but, ‘Those two girls were out at night on their own, right, when they got attacked?’ I ask.

Mike nods.

‘So I just won’t go out at night on my own. I won’t go
anywhere
on my own. And I won’t get into a car with a stranger.’ I attempt a smile.

Mike frowns and rubs at his stubble. ‘Ren, I’m just not sure it’s a good idea that you stay. You should really talk to your mother before you make a decision. If you were my
daughter, I’d want you home.’