Nan ushers us into the house, and the smell of freshly baked bread has my stomach rumbling.
“Food?” I say, giving Nana my puppy-dog eyes.
She likes to feed us—well, anyone really.
“Ten minutes,” she replies. “Grandad’s making pasta.”
“Score,” Livvy says, linking arms with Mum and Nana before walking into the kitchen.
Mum doesn’t look for me to take her other arm.
I’m not touchy-feely.
Dad and I follow behind, and we meet Grandad in the kitchen. He’s stirring pasta sauce on the hob and bobbing his head to some seriously old-sounding music. Turning around, he greets us with a smile. I go over to him because he’s not the hugging type either. He’s safe.
“How are you, kiddo?” he says.
Still kiddo even though I’m eighteen.
“I’m good, Grandad. How’s old age?”
“You’re only as old as you feel,” he replies as I mouth the words along with him.
“And how old do you feel today?”
“Thirty.”
I snort and rest my elbow on the worktop beside the cooker. “Yep, still old.”
“It’ll creep up on you before you know it.”
It should have been creeping up on Celia.
“Please. I have ages yet. Can I have a taste?” I ask, pointing to the sauce.
“Have I ever said no?”
He gets a fresh wooden spoon from the pot of a thousand utensils and hands it to me. The sauce is good, and I have another taste before he removes the spoon from my hand.
“Let’s save some for everyone else.”
“Why? We all know I’m your favourite.”
He laughs and kisses my forehead. I do get along with him best. I love them all equally, but I’m closer to Grandad—probably because we both have a general dislike of people and lean more on the sarcastic side.
“How are you feeling about tomorrow?” he asks.
“Just peachy.”
“I know how that feels.”
Celia spent a lot of time with our grandparents in the year leading up to her death, so it hit them really hard, too. Now, I’m filling that void, and I think they love having a teen around the house again. Can’t think why.
“You’ll stay a while tomorrow, right?”
He smiles, and his dark eyes lose their shine. “Of course I will. Nana and I will take you home in the morning, leave you all to visit Celia in peace, and then join you.”
“After breakfast at the café?”
“Absolutely. I want a full-works omelet, and I’m not eating the regurgitated-looking monstrosity your nan makes.”
I laugh and take a look over my shoulder at the same time he does. Nana is deep in conversation with my parents and Livvy, so they didn’t overhear. There is only one dish that woman can’t make, and it’s one of Grandad’s favourites.
“That sounds good to me.” The first part anyway. Celebrating Celia’s birthday is never enjoyable.
Nan and Grandad serve dinner, and shortly afterward, Mum, Dad, and Livvy leave to go home. I feel like I can breathe as soon as they’re out of the house. Everything they want for me and expect of me is suffocating. They don’t know how much I want to be what they believe I can be, and they have no idea what’s standing in my way of it.
Nan and Grandad watch Britain’s Got Talent, which is ironic because ninety-nine percent of the show proves we do not, and I force myself to sit through it. I’m antsy, and I wish they’d just go to bed already.
Half an hour has passed when they finally start yawning. Although they fall asleep quickly, I need to wait a good twenty minutes before I sneak out. It’s almost ten p.m., and I’m tired. The last thing I want to do is go traipsing around town, but if I want answers, I can’t sit on my arse.
At 10:13 p.m., Nana starts to yawn, and five minutes later, her hand covers Grandad’s wrist. I know from experience that she’s telling him it’s bedtime. They go together every night, neither one of them willing to leave the other behind. It’s kind of sweet really.
“We’re heading up, Bella,” Grandad says even though there is no up in the bungalow.
“Yeah, me, too.” I fake a yawn, which leads to a real one, and stand up. “Night,” I say.
“Good night,” they reply at the same time.
This little routine has been rehearsed many, many times before.
I head to the family bathroom with my bag and pretend to get ready for bed. They have an en suite, so I know I won’t see them again until morning. I don’t change because I’ll be leaving soon, but I need to go through the motions. I brush my teeth and take off the small amount of mascara I’m wearing. Makeup doesn’t interest me, mainly because I’ve watched Celia and now Livvy spend absolutely ages in front of the mirror, perfecting their looks. I’d rather have a lie-in. Besides, when I attempt to do my face up, I just look like an extra from The Walking Dead.
Closing my bedroom door, I make sure to slam it enough that Nana and Grandad hear but not too much that they think something is wrong.
Now, I wait, and I despise waiting.
Time is a bitch when you’re waiting for something. Usually, I can lose a few hours with Facebook and days with Netflix, but I need to concentrate, so I can hear when it’s time to make my escape.
Twenty minutes later, I hear Grandad’s snore.
Yes! He’s asleep, so it’s time to go.
Nana is asleep already, as she’s usually gone the second her head hits the pillow. I open the window and hoist my leg over. I kind of feel like a ninja boss as I leap over, close the window, and dart across the front garden.
Or I just look like I’m off my face on acid.
It’s June, so sunset is later in the evening, but it’s dark enough that I probably won’t be seen or at least identified.
For the last couple of months that I’ve been wandering around town when sleeping at Nana and Grandad’s, I’ve been going to the main high street. Today, against all my instincts, I turn in the other direction. It’s the shitty part of town where you lock your doors as you drive through and don’t make eye contact with anyone.
This had better lead somewhere, Celia.
I pull my leather jacket around my body and fold my arms. It’s not at all cold out, so I don’t zip it up, but I’m nervous, and I don’t want to be stabbed.
Right, because leather is basically armour.
Houses slowly slip from manicured lawns to old kitchen appliances on overgrown lawns. A river runs through the whole town, so I head toward it in the hopes that I won’t attract too much attention. At some point, I’ll have to talk to someone, but now, I just want to know where people hang out and what they get up to.
Turning right, I head toward the river where the greenery gets thicker, and you can’t tell who would sooner stab you in the eye than who would help you carry your shopping bags.
This is a bad idea.
If Celia did hang out around here, then she was stupid.
Why would she choose this? I mean, the bad-boy thing is hot and all, and it looks like there are a lot of them around, but I’m not sure I’m willing to die for it.
Hugo must look like a Greek god. Or Nick Bateman.
The warm breeze sends chills down my spine, and I look over my shoulder. No one is around, and I hear no other footsteps on the floor, but I still feel like I’m being followed.
God, this place gives me the creeps.
Standing taller, I continue as confidently as I can while my legs feel like jelly, and my heart is jackhammering in my chest. I don’t know where the hell I’m going, but it doesn’t matter, especially not if I find Hugo. My safety stopped meaning that much to me a long time ago. The only thing that matters is finding the man who killed my sister.
I owe her.
When I was younger, there wasn’t a lot I could do but live with the guilt. Now, I can try to find him and hope the guilt will lessen when I do. Obviously, I know I have to be careful. Celia was terrified of someone, and I’m not dumb enough not to be scared, too. Heck, I am scared. Like really, really scared.
Keep going.
I eventually stumble upon a small river beach. The same river is behind a white railing in the nice part of town. Apparently, safety and drowning risks aren’t important here. Down on the mud is a group of people hanging out, drinking and sitting around a bonfire. It’s odd, as there are teenagers and adults, some who look well into their forties.
What kind of party is this?
“Who the fuck are you?” a deep voice snaps.
I spin around and have to do a double take. My frozen heart skips a beat. He’s gorgeous. Tall, muscular, short and dark hair, and caramel eyes framed by a ring of chocolate.
Asking if I can lick him seems entirely inappropriate.
He doesn’t look pleased to see me though.
I prepare for a fight. It doesn’t matter how gorgeous you are; if you’re an arsehole to me, I’m going to fucking own you.
Or you’re going to die because he looks like he can handle himself.
“Are you a police officer?” I ask.
His nose scrunches slightly as he frowns. He looks confused, and it’s cute.
“I’ll take that as a no, so forgive me if I’m being rude, but jog on.”
The shock of my words is evident on his expression even though he tries not to react. Too late; it’s clear that he’s not used to people standing up to him, so that puts me at an advantage.
“You need to watch your mouth, little girl,” he threatens.
“Or?” Perhaps I’m a bit too gobby, but I don’t like his attitude any more than he likes mine, and I won’t be intimidated.
He takes a step closer, and his caramel eyes turn darker. If he wants to play the big, bad guy, he really needs to ugly himself up. “Or I’ll make you. Am I clear?”
“Yes, I have no problem understanding, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to listen. Now, unless there’s anything else, I’d like to get on—”
“What’re you doing here?”
Sighing sharply, I narrow my eyes. I don’t like questions. “I recently moved nearby, so I wanted to explore the area.”
“At this time of night?”
He doesn’t believe my story about moving here.
“It’s eleven,” I deadpan. “If I’m keeping you up—”
“Isn’t it past your bedtime, sweetheart?”
Patronising fuck.
“Want to come tuck me in?” I shoot back.
His eyes smoulder, and I realise that maybe that wasn’t the best thing to say. I mean, I would absolutely go there, but he’s pissing me off too much right now.
“Name,” he demands.
He’s bossy.
“Bella Hastings.”
“Good. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
I ignore that. “What’s yours?” I ask.
He smirks, and I know I’m not getting it. He can’t be Hugo; he’s too young. He looks to be in his early twenties, and Hugo, assuming he was older than Celia, will now be in his thirties. This is getting me nowhere.
“Well, this has been a delight. It was nice to meet you,” I say sarcastically.
I turn to walk away, but I don’t get far because his hand circles my wrist, and it steals my breath. I’m not sure if I’m more scared that he’ll hurt me or annoyed that the contact makes my hormones freak out.
“What’re you really doing, Bella?”
I snatch my arm back and stand my ground. “I’m checking out the area. What don’t you understand about that?”
“Watch your back,” he says. Then, he disappears into the darkness of the night.
I watch until he turns up again, closer to the fire. There’s about twenty feet that’s unlit between where I am and where the fire is, and knowing anyone else could pop up makes me jittery. I have things to do, so I don’t dwell on it, and instead, I walk into the dark area, so I can spy on the insanely good-looking, weird guy.
If this is where Celia escaped to all those years ago, then I question her sanity. It’s strange. I wouldn’t want to hang around with old people.
What do they all have in common anyway?
I’m jumping to conclusions. They could be family, but if they were, why wouldn’t they be at home and not at the saddest-looking river beach I’ve ever seen? The bleakness doesn’t exactly scream party.
There’s something about them, about them being out of the way, that makes me think there’s more going on and that Celia’s been here—probably anyway.
It’s not like I’m fucking Sherlock Holmes, so, really, I need to look at everyone, everywhere. Someone has to know Hugo and has to remember Celia. The fact that no one has ever come forward shows just how deep in the shit she got herself.
People don’t talk when they’re afraid.
That doesn’t exactly make me feel confident about finding him…or living to tell the tale. Whatever happens, happens. Celia deserves to have him pay. Maybe then my family can start living again.