The Time of Your Life (10 page)

Belle: Nothing to Declare

The following Monday afternoon Belle was coming
to the end of her piano practice. She always booked
the five-o'clock slot on Mondays and Wednesdays in
the corner practice room, which housed her favourite
piano – a lovely old Steinway.

She started to play Chopin's
Nocturne in E-flat major,
and was so absorbed in the romantic melody that it was
several minutes before she registered that someone was
watching her. Lettie Atkins – who usually booked the
six-o'clock slot for her cello practice – must have
arrived early.

But when Belle turned round, she was astonished to
find not Lettie but Jack standing in the doorway.

Her stomach leaped.

'Beautiful,' Jack murmured, strolling into the room,
hands in pockets.

'Oh . . . er . . . thanks . . .' Belle mumbled, flustered
by the compliment.

'You play beautifully,' he added.

Of course, he meant the music!
Belle realized. This was
real life – not some soppy love-story film; he was hardly
going to just march in and tell her she was beautiful! 'I
love Chopin.' She smiled. 'Do you play?'

'Badly!' he said, grinning. He reached across and
picked out the first few notes of
Greensleeves.
'Er, hope
you don't mind me barging in . . .'

'No, of course not!'

'I was, er . . . well, hoping to catch you . . .'

Belle looked up into those clear hazel eyes, trying to
hold his gaze. She was getting that x-ray feeling again.
She suddenly remembered what it reminded her of:
walking through the Nothing to Declare channel at
the airport. When the customs officers looked at you,
you couldn't help
feeling
guilty even though you
knew
you weren't – as if just maybe you
had
accidentally
slipped a few endangered reptiles into your suitcase at
the last minute . . .

Except that now all she was trying to smuggle through
was a racing heart and a bungee-jumping stomach.

It had been so much easier at the bonfire party, with
all the hustle and bustle of the crowds; they'd chatted
and laughed like old friends all evening. But now she
felt awkward again.

'Have you ever been to the Tower of London?'
Jack asked.

Belle shook her head, confused by this turn in the
conversation. 'Er, no, why?'

'Me neither. I was thinking of going to have a look
round on Saturday.'

'Great idea! I bet it's so-o-o interesting,' Belle said,
forgetting her emotional-smuggling worries in her
enthusiasm. 'It's where the Tudor kings and queens kept
their prisoners locked up. Where Henry the Eighth had
two of his wives beheaded.'

Jack grinned. 'Yeah, I could tell you were really into
the Tudors in history class. And you were reading that
book in the library.'

'It's amazing,' Belle agreed. 'Did you know that Lady
Jane Grey was executed in the Tower when she was
only sixteen? She was Queen for nine days.'

'So that's why I wondered if you, er, well, might like
to come with me . . .'

There was a silence. Belle gazed at him in disbelief.
Now it was Jack's turn to look away, unnerved by her
stare. Did he really just ask her to go with him to the
Tower of London?

'You mean, like, on a
date
. . . ?' Belle said
slowly, gripping the sides of the piano stool. She felt
dumb asking, but she needed to be sure she wasn't
imagining things.

'Yeah! Kind of a
weird
date, I know,' Jack said, 'but I
heard they have a small ice rink in the grounds, so we
could maybe go skating when we've had enough
torture and execution.'

'That sounds perfect!' Belle was so happy she could
hardly stop herself from bursting into song. She started
gathering her music, trying to keep the big smile on
her face under control.

Suddenly she heard a knock at the open door. 'Oh,
hi, Lettie,' she gabbled, stuffing the music into her bag.
'I'm just on my way out. See you Saturday!' she called
over her shoulder to Jack.

Belle floated on her own personal pink fluffy marsh-mallow-cloud
all the way back to her room. Jack had
asked her to go on a date. Even better, Jack had asked
her to go on
the perfect date.
The Tower of London!
Somewhere she'd been longing to visit. And then
ice-skating. How did he
know
she loved skating?

Maybe Jack really could read her mind.

'Guess what!' she screamed, throwing open the door
of her room, where Holly was helping Cat practise her
Macbeth
lines.

'Er, Justin Timberlake's asked you to sing on his next
album?' Cat wondered.

'The English National Opera want you to sing
Madame Butterfly?' Holly suggested.

Belle was far too impatient for any more guessing.
'Jack asked me on a date!'

'
Woo-hoo!'
Holly and Cat screamed as they leaped up
and hugged her.

'The Tower of London!' Cat giggled, when Belle
had filled them in on the details. 'He certainly knows
how to show a girl a good time!'

'Now, I wonder what I'll wear . . .' Belle mused,
opening her wardrobe and contemplating the neatly
hanging garments.

Cat grinned. 'Tricky! What
does
one wear to make a
stylish transition from Tudor prison to ice rink?'

'Well, whatever you pick, don't let me within a mile
of it,' Holly joked. 'I'll only tip something all over it!'

One thing is certain,
Belle thought happily.
I'll
definitely be wearing my lucky poncho brooch!

Belle: Shepherds' Warning

Two days later Belle was humming
Eternal Flame –
the
mega-romantic opening song for the Walthamstow
wedding gig – as she strolled across the courtyard to
her afternoon piano practice. The wedding was only
ten days away now, and Nobody's Angels and The
Undertow had all been putting in as much rehearsal
time as they could. Belle was looking forward to her
next big chance to sing in public, and to spending
the night at Holly's house – and, of course, now she
had her date with Jack on Saturday to look forward
to as well. All in all, Belle was in a blissful Snow-White-singing-with-baby-birds-in-a-sunny-wood-land-glade
kind of mood as she floated down the
corridor.

She immediately noticed that the door of the corner
practice room was standing open.
Strange!
she thought.
It was usually locked when she got there.

Then Belle recognized the arm of the person
standing in the doorway – or rather the sleeve the arm
was wearing. It was Jack – in his favourite blue and
black striped T-shirt. She felt a ripple of excitement.
Maybe he'd found out that she practised at this time
and come to see her again. She ducked into a corner
and quickly smoothed down her hair and applied a
touch of lip gloss.

Suddenly she heard voices: Jack was talking to
someone in the room.

'We'll have a few moments to talk in private
here . . .' he was saying gently.

Who could it be?
Belle tiptoed along the corridor and
stopped outside the practice-room door, which was
now firmly closed. She felt a little sneaky but it wasn't
really
spying, was it? There was a glass pane in the top
of the door, after all. It wasn't the place to pick if you
wanted privacy. Anyone who happened to be passing
could just look in.

Which she did.

And immediately wished she hadn't.

Jack was in there with another girl!

And whatever they were doing, it wasn't talking!

And it wasn't piano practice either.

He was holding her tight, stroking her blonde hair.
She had her head buried in his shoulder.

Belle gasped. She couldn't bear to watch but she
couldn't look away either.

The girl glanced up mid-nuzzle and caught her eye.

Belle turned and ran. Piano practice was cancelled
for today – maybe for ever.

The girl was Bianca Hayford.

Belle tore across the courtyard, past the Redgrave
Theatre, and only when she reached the dark sports
field did she slow to a miserable trudge.

Why was Jack doing this? she puzzled. He'd
asked her on a date – yet now he was
snogging
Bianca!
OK, I didn't actually see them
kissing,
but it was
pretty obvious what they were up to,
she fumed, her
despair gradually turning to rage. Just when she'd
started to think that that rebellious look in his eyes
was charming and gorgeous, he'd proved himself to be
a
total creep.

This must be what the shepherds were trying to warn me
about with the red sky the other day,
she thought.
Not killer
sheep but a two-timing boy! A wolf in sheep's clothing!
But she'd been too dumb to pay attention.

Jack was worse than Henry VIII. No wonder he
wanted to go to the Tower of London. All that cheating
and torturing and beheading would be right up his
street. Well, there was no way she was going to go out
with him now, she vowed, now on her third lap of the
football pitch. She never even wanted to
see
him again
– not even for long enough to
tell
him she didn't want
to see him again.

In fact, she would leave him a note!

Belle had been too distraught to notice the fine
drizzle before, but now, as she headed straight for
Mrs Butterworth's desk, she felt damp and shivery.
She borrowed a pen and notepad, and scribbled a
short note:

Dear Jack,
Thank you for the offer of the Tower of London on
Saturday. On second thoughts, I think it would be
better if I don't come with you.

Belle

She folded the note and placed it in Jack's
pigeon hole, then wandered in a daze to the common
room, where Holly and Cat were sitting with
Gemma and Nathan, toasting marshmallows on the
open fire.

'Belle, where've you been?' Holly gasped, making
room for her to sit down. 'You're soaking!'

'You look as if you've seen a ghost,' Cat added.
'What happened to your piano practice?'

Belle didn't trust herself to say anything without
bursting into tears, so she smiled weakly and stared into
the flames.

Just then, Jack entered the common room and came
towards them. 'Hi, Belle!' He smiled at her. 'No piano
practice today?'

Belle ignored him.
Talk about rubbing it in!
Well, if he
thought she was going to speak to him, he was very
much mistaken . . .

'I don't think Belle's feeling very well,' Holly
explained. 'She got caught in the rain.'

'You'd better change out of those wet things,' Jack
said in a concerned voice. 'You'll get a chill . . .'

Like you'd care!
Belle thought. How could he act as
if nothing had happened? He obviously thought she
didn't know about his secret love-tryst with Bianca in
the practice room. And he probably hadn't checked his
pigeon hole yet so he hadn't seen her note.

Belle risked a quick glance at Jack's face through her
curtain of dripping hair. He was looking at her with a
confused, hurt expression.
Well, tough!
What did he
expect if he was going to get all smoochy with Bianca?

'Yes, I
am
starting to feel sick,' Belle said through
clenched teeth. 'I'm going to bed.' She mustered her
last shreds of dignity and stalked out of the room with
her head held high.

She would never, ever trust Jack Thorne again.

Holly: Tumble-dryers and Broken Hearts

What on earth had happened to Belle?
Holly wondered as
she and Cat ran after their friend. She wasn't the kind of
girl to even leave her room without perfectly straightened
hair and a co-ordinated designer outfit. But she'd
lurched into the common room with mascara running
down her face and mud spattered over her boots.

Belle threw herself down on her bed and, with the
help of a cup of camomile tea and a hot-water bottle,
eventually sobbed out the story of Jack's Treachery.

'The stinking slimebeast!' Cat shouted. 'How dare
he? And with Bianca of all people! The boy's insane, as
well as a two-timing sleazebag!'

'Maybe things weren't how they looked?' Holly
suggested, unable to believe that Jack could be so
out-and-out monstrous as to cheat on Belle only two
days after asking her on a date. 'Perhaps there's some
other explanation?'

Belle snorted into her tea. 'I know what I saw!'

'Hols, just because
you're
going out with one of
the few decent boys on the planet, don't try and
make excuses for that
scumball!'
Cat stormed. 'Some
other explanation? Let's see . . . Oh yes, maybe Bianca
asked him to check her wisdom teeth for her –
with
his tongue?'

'Aaarghh!'
Belle wailed.

Holly knew better than to try to defend Jack
further. The case against him did look pretty
conclusive, she had to admit. But she couldn't help
wondering. Bianca would do
anything
to get what she
wanted. And she would do
anything
to get one up on
Belle. Conning Jack into kissing her, just when she
knew Belle would be there to witness the event,
would tick
both
those boxes.

But how could you possibly
trick
a boy into kissing
you?

Then again, Bianca wasn't playing Hecate, Goddess
of Witchcraft, for nothing!

The next morning, as Holly swam up and down the
pool with Ethan, she was still pondering the Belle,
Jack and Bianca situation. But she didn't come up with
any answers.

Jack seemed like such a
genuine
guy, in spite of
his Pirate Boy looks. Surely he couldn't have been
faking
how much he liked Belle – Holly had seen the
way he looked at her – at the football match and at the
bonfire party.

The last lesson of the morning was history. As
Holly sat down between Cat and Belle near the
back of the class, Jack turned round in his seat and
glanced uncertainly at Belle. She ignored him.
She was wearing a glazed, rigid look, but as they
unpacked their books, she returned Holly's smile
bravely.

As usual, Miss Chase-Smythe was talking like the
Queen or an old-fashioned newsreader. 'In the Tudor
period,' she began, switching on the projector, 'traitors
would be imprisoned, tortured and even executed, here
in the Tarv-Londen . . .'

The Tarv-Londen? Where was that?
Holly wondered,
squinting at the slide on the screen. It looked just like
– oh, yes, it
was . . .
the Tower of London.

Uh-oh!
she thought, instantly turning to check
Belle's reaction. Her smile had faded. Now a silent tear
was rolling down her cheek.

Perhaps Miss Candlemas was right, and boys
really were more trouble than they were worth. Holly
gave Belle's hand a little squeeze under the desk.

It wasn't just tumble-dryers they broke. It was
hearts too.