As he said goodbye to Devon and emerged from the restaurant a short time later, Jack waited for a passing Ferrari before crossing the street to his Land Rover. As he unlocked the door, the sleek black sports car stirred a latent memory, long-forgotten.
He took the keys to the Maserati from his father’s desk drawer and slipped them in his pocket. ‘C’mon,’ he invited Maria, the housekeeper’s pretty, dark-haired daughter, ‘it’s your birthday. Let’s go for a ride.’
She looked from the keys to his face in horror. ‘But it’s late! And that’s your father’s car, his most prized possession! He’ll be furious.’
Jack, in all his teenage cockiness, grinned. ‘He’ll never know. He’s away in Athens on business. Come on.’
After joyriding all over the island in the moonlight, he drove them back home and gunned the engine, showing off for Maria, and lost control when the tyres hit a patch of gravel. The Maserati skidded and slewed sideways; before Jack could regain control, he crashed it into an olive tree.
Luckily, neither of them had been seriously hurt. But the bonnet was crumpled beyond recognition, and when he’d returned from Athens, Jack’s father was incandescent with fury.
He felt a stirring of sympathy now for Christa Shaw. He was no stranger to the occasional beating himself. When your father was a sadistic bastard with a penchant for inflicting pain, particularly on his nearest and dearest, beatings just went with the territory.
He got in the car and started the engine, and drove back to his flat with only his troubled thoughts and old ghosts for company.
Jools slung her rucksack from her arm and dropped it by the front door, eyeing the front hallway cautiously for any signs of Felicity – faffy handbag, kicked-off heels, the odd fashion magazine lying on a table. But there was nothing. She sighed in relief and shut the door.
Living at her father’s house felt more and more like living in a demilitarized zone. Both sides had agreed to neutrality, with the den and kitchen serving as the heart of the DMZ.
It was fine during the week, with Felicity gone; but weekends were tense, filled as they were with stilted conversation and meals shared with the bed bunny. Mostly, Jools closed herself up in her bedroom and put her ear buds in and listened to music. She talked to Pippa and Emsie, and once in a while, her mum.
But she hadn’t talked to Adesh.
Her mobile buzzed as she went into the kitchen and grabbed an apple from the hammered copper bowl on the counter.
“Hey, Jools,” Pippa chirped. “What’s up? Are you ready for your exams?”
“I think so,” she said, and bit into the apple. “That’s one advantage of living with dad’s girlfriend at the weekends – I spend so much time locked in my room that there’s nothing else to do but study.”
“She’s not that bad, is she? She dresses really well, and she seems nice. For a teacher,” Pippa hastened to add.
“Would you like her if she were sleeping with your father and you had to look at her over your porridge every Saturday morning?”
“Um, no. Point taken.” Pippa giggled. “Speaking of which,” she added, “you’re invited to mine on Friday night. I’m having a sleepover. One last girls’ night in to do our nails, read the tabs, eat crisps and pizza and Jaffa Cakes, and watch slasher movies until we pass out in a sugar-and-carb coma.”
“Sounds scintillating.”
“Oh, come on, Jools. Don’t be like that. It’ll be fun, like it used to be. We can celebrate the almost-end-of-school. And you can get away from the bed bunny for part of the weekend.”
“True,” Jools admitted. “Okay, I’ll ask dad to drop me off. What time?”
“Seven-ish. Bring a sleeping bag, and some nail polish. Don’t forget that dark-green sparkly one.”
She rang off. Jools threw her apple away half-eaten and turned to go upstairs and study when her mobile vibrated on the counter.
She glanced at the screen. Adesh.
Jools pressed her lips together. She ought to let it go straight to voicemail. It was all he deserved, at any rate, after making it plain he had no time for her any longer.
“Hello, Adesh,” she said as she picked up the phone.
“Hey, Jools.” His words were guarded.
“How are you?”
“I’m okay,” she said airily as she pulled out one of the stools at the breakfast bar and sat down. “Studying for exams, you know.” She couldn’t resist adding, “How’s Chara?”
“I didn’t call to talk about her,” he said, “I called to talk to you.” He paused. “I miss you. I miss hanging out.”
“It doesn’t seem like it.”
“What do you mean?” He sounded truly bewildered.
“You never call. And on the rare occasions when we do talk, you’re always waiting for Chara to come over.”
“Jools,” he said, choosing his words with care, “it’s not good for you, being seen with me. So I’ve stayed away.”
“Why? Because you’re Indian, and I’m not, and mum doesn’t approve? That’s ridiculous! No one else notices, or cares.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“What do you mean, then?”
“It’s not safe,” Adesh said. “Have you forgotten those men who grabbed us? They’re still out there. They were never caught. They grabbed us once – they might try it again.”
“But that was ages ago, Desh. Why are you worried about it now? Has…” She took a deep, steadying breath “Has something happened?”
“Remember that detective, the one who questioned us?”
“DS Matthews?”
“Yeah. He called me in to look at a line-up this morning.”
Jools sucked in a breath. “He did? And?”
“I recognized one of them. It was one of the blokes that grabbed us.”
Her heart lurched. “How do you know it was him? It was dark, we never got a good look at them.”
“You didn’t. But I did. The one who grabbed me had dark curly hair and a tattoo on his wrist – a circle with an upside-down ‘V’.” He paused. “So did the bloke in the line-up.”
“Well, that’s good, then, isn’t it? At least he’s in custody.”
“That’s not all. There’s a car, Jools,” he added. “I’ve seen it twice, once on the Mile End Road, and once driving past our house.”
“A car? What kind of car? It’s probably nothing.” Despite her words, her heart knocked painfully against her rib cage. “It’s just a mum picking up her kids on the school run, or something.”
“No.” His words were firm. “None of the mums round here can afford to drive a Ferrari.” He paused. “It’s them, Jools. I’m telling you – it’s those men. They’re watching me.”
“But how do you know that? Did you see them?”
“No, the windows are tinted, so I couldn’t make out who was driving. I just have a bad feeling.”
“Adesh, it might be anyone. A businessman, a sheik, a rock star…”
“In the Mile End Road?” He let out a mirthless laugh. “Right. Look, all I’m saying is, if you should see this car, this black Ferrari, be careful. And please,” he added, the unsteadiness of his voice betraying his fear, “stay away from me. Don’t call me. Don’t talk to me if you see me in on the street. For your own safety, just stay away.”
“But, Desh—”
“Goodbye, Jools. I’m sorry.” He rang off.