Eighteen Kisses Page 5

  ‘No, of course. I won’t touch anything.’ I said. ‘Thanks for letting me do this.’

  ‘I’ll be downstairs,’ said Libby. ‘If you need anything, just shout.’

  The room was really tidy, but I guess Kayla would have cleaned it before the party. There was a bookshelf in the corner, holding mostly photography and poetry books, and a few magazines, including some copies of Electric. On the bedside table was a Polaroid camera – just like the one from my dream – and a Holga camera too, the plastic back held on with sticky tape. On the glass-topped table there was a Canon camera, a tripod, a camera bag and a couple of extra lenses. Beside a pink Victorian-style doll’s house was a stack of photo albums. Kayla must have really liked photography. There was also a laptop, its case covered with bumper stickers. I was tempted to open it, but Libby did say not to touch anything, and I didn’t want to betray her trust.

  I walked around the room again, taking in all the details. I didn’t feel Kayla’s presence there though. The room actually felt calmer than the others, and I definitely didn’t sense her spirit there.

  When I arrived back in the kitchen, Libby was leaning over one of her textbooks, her head resting in her hand.

  ‘What are you studying in college?’ I asked.

  She jumped. ‘Oh, sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t hear you come back in… er, Medicine.’

  ‘Oh, wow, where?’ I said.

  ‘Trinity…’

  ‘Cool.’

  ‘Did you… did you see anything when you were up there? Do you know what might have happened to her?’ she asked.

  ‘Well, I don’t really work like that. It’ll probably be a while before I have anything to report.’

  ‘Oh yeah, of course. Sorry,’ she said. ‘Is there anything else I can do for you?’

  ‘Actually, do you have something of Kayla’s that I could borrow?’ I said. ‘A piece of jewellery, maybe? It might help me connect with her more easily.’ I wanted to take Ger’s advice and ask, even if she refused.

  ‘Yeah, of course, wait there and I’ll get you something. I’m sure Anna won’t mind if it’s going to help find her.’ I was so relieved she’d said yes.

  As I waited in the kitchen, I looked down at the refill pad on the table. The pages were filled with notes, and in the margins were doodles of hearts everywhere – big hearts, tiny hearts, hearts with arrows through them and hearts broken in two.

  ‘Here you go,’ said Libby, handing me a necklace with a silver star-shaped pendant. ‘It was one of her favourites. She used to wear it a lot.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said, popping it into my bag. ‘I’ll make sure to bring it back when I’m finished.’

  ‘No problem. Thanks for calling over. Like I said, we really appreciate it.’ Libby led me to the door and I said goodbye. I wasn’t sorry to be leaving – I could sense the sadness in every corner of that house.

  I walked up the road, taking a look back before I turned the corner. Libby waved from the doorway, where she stood holding her mobile and smoking a cigarette. I took the list out of my bag along with a pen, and put a tick beside her name. One down, seven to go.

  Chapter 6

  ‘Hello, love,’ said Gran as I came into the kitchen. ‘Have fun at Hannah’s?’ She gave me a warm smile.

  ‘Yep,’ I said. Since she just assumed that’s where I’d been, I didn’t correct her.

  I was so tired, as my visit to Kayla’s had been very draining, but when I sat down at the table I instantly felt better. It was good to be back here. I’d spent so much time in this terraced house over the years that it felt like a second home. I especially liked the kitchen, with its blue cabinets and collectable biscuit tins on the counter. And I loved how Gran was so nice to me, always stocking up on food I like and giving me pocket money and buying me stuff.

  ‘I’m going to Bridge in a few minutes,’ she said. ‘You can come with me if you like.’

  ‘Nah, I’ll just stay here,’ I said. ‘Have an early night.’

  That actually wasn’t a lie. I hadn’t dreamed about Kayla since last Sunday, but I assumed that was because I’d been sleeping in Avarna. Now that I was back in Dublin, where Kayla was from, I expected to dream about her. I expected to dream about her every night for the foreseeable future. I was going to get to sleep early because I wanted to experience the entire thing, uninterrupted. I also thought that if I went to bed early I might get some restful, dream-free sleep before it kicked in. I didn’t want to look tired on my first day at the magazine.

  ‘OK,’ said Gran. ‘Well, there’s a pepperoni pizza for you, if you fancy it. I better get going.’

  She kissed me on the cheek and I got the familiar smell of her expensive moisturiser. She used to let me put on a tiny bit when I was younger, and then I’d climb into her bed and watch the countdown on MTV while she read. When I fell asleep, my grandad would carry me into my own room and kiss me on the forehead before he left.

  ‘I really like your hair like that,’ she said as she went out of the door.

  ‘Thanks, Gran!’ I said. I liked my new hair too, mainly because it helped me look older than I was.

  She left, and the silence that descended on the house made me feel kind of uneasy. My grandad died three years ago, and since then my gran had got involved in lots of things – volunteering in a local charity shop and taking up new hobbies. I think it helped her cope, helped fill the silence.

  I took the star-shaped necklace from my satchel and put it on the table. I wondered if it would help me to connect with Kayla. Last summer, after I’d found Beth’s bag, things had started to happen more quickly. I agreed with Ger, and sensed that it would be useful to have something of Kayla’s to keep close to me.

  After I’d finished my dinner I watched some TV, then headed up to bed. I like the spare room in Gran’s house. It used to be Mum’s, and when we both stay over she gets to have it, but when she’s not there then it’s all mine. It has a wooden floor and pink wallpaper. The dresser drawers are lined with scented paper and there’s an old rocking chair in the corner. It reminds me of the carefree days when I used to stay over and spend all day playing with Gran.

  I unpacked the last of my stuff, including my copy of Mastering Psychic Protection – the book that Ger had advised me to read. This time I was going to be prepared. I wasn’t going to let headaches or panic attacks slow me down. I read some pages, but it was written in very old, complicated language and I was quite tired, so I decided to leave it for another day. I’d make sure to do what Ger had suggested though, and imagine a white light round me, protecting every part of my body. Lying there in bed, I couldn’t quite shake the uneasy feeling I’d had since going to Kayla’s house. Without really thinking, I leaned over, picked up my mobile and rang Nick’s number. I just wanted to hear his voice – someone comforting and familiar.

  ‘Hey,’ he said.

  ‘Hi! How are you?’

  ‘Good,’ he said, his voice suggesting that he wasn’t.

  ‘How was practice?’ I asked, trying to sound upbeat, even though there was obviously something wrong.

  ‘Fine.’

  I sighed. The upbeat thing obviously wasn’t working. ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘Yeah. Why?’

  ‘You seem a bit annoyed.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ he said tightly. ‘I just don’t think we need to talk every night, you know? I’m kind of tired.’

  ‘Oh, right, yeah… sorry,’ I said, a little bit shocked.

  ‘Night.’

  ‘Night.’

  He hung up and I got a sinking feeling in my stomach, that emptiness I felt when he did stuff like that. He’s just upset, I told myself. He’s just upset because I’m missing his gig. I looked down at the guitar bracelet on my wrist – a reminder that he obviously still loved me. I shouldn’t be so sensitive. It was fine and he was right, we didn’t need to talk every night. But still, I knew I wouldn’t have said something like that. I could feel the anger rising inside me. I snatched my phone off the
locker and texted him.

  There’s no need to be so moody.

  I didn’t regret sending it, I wanted him to know I was annoyed. I waited a few minutes, but there was no reply, no apology, no nothing. I slammed the phone down, got under my duvet and closed my eyes.

  The dream was the exact same – the car, the covered-up number plate, the stilettos, the rain. We followed the man in the balaclava, over the low stone wall, but this time I wasn’t staring at the arm because I’d noticed something in his back pocket. A Polaroid photo – the same one from the file. He had an invitation to the party.

  The surroundings suddenly switched, and once again we were standing beside the barbed-wire fence.

  ‘Where’d he go?’ I asked. She didn’t reply. She smiled and completely ignored the question, as if I’d never said it. I squinted my eyes, searching for him in the distance, but all I saw was blackness.

  ‘Let me take your picture,’ she said. She held up the Polaroid camera and once again the flash blinded me, sending little coloured dots dancing in front of my eyes. I looked around, searching for some landmark, anything that would help me to figure out where we were. I saw a tree to our right, its branches all twisted and bare as if it had been struck by lightning. Wild red roses were growing in the hedges either side of it. The sharp pointed edges of a barbed-wire fence glinted in the moonlight.

  She held the photograph out to me. I leaned over to look at it, but to my surprise, I wasn’t in it. Instead it was a picture of the man in the balaclava, his brown eyes staring straight at the camera. I gasped and stumbled backwards, narrowly missing the barbed-wire fence.

  ‘Careful,’ she said. ‘You’re standing on my grave.’

  I woke up with a jolt, sweating and shaking, taking in gulps of air, as if I might stop breathing altogether. There was no serial killer, or if there was, he hadn’t killed Kayla. Matt Lawlor was right: she’d been murdered by somebody who was at the party, somebody she knew. My heart was racing. I took deep breaths, trying to get the image of the man in the balaclava out of my mind. Eventually my heart stopped beating so fast, and I drifted into a restless sleep. The eyes from behind the balaclava haunted me until the morning.

  Chapter 7

  I rubbed the sleep from my eyes. I was exhausted from the night before, but I had to give the impression of being at least semi-ready and alert for my work experience. I checked the map on my phone again. I was confused – it told me I was outside Electric magazine, but I couldn’t see the big bold sign I’d imagined such a famous magazine would have. People in suits hurried by, walking with purpose, and schoolkids wearing brightly coloured backpacks passed me by as I tried to decide which direction to go. I really didn’t want to be late for my first day. I probably shouldn’t have spent so much time eating breakfast, but Gran’s scrambled eggs were just too delicious to miss. I ended up walking past the office building three times before finally spotting the tiny and discreet blue, record-shaped sign with Electric magazine written under it. This place was so cool it didn’t even need to advertise itself to anyone. I took a deep breath and rushed inside, taking the elevator to the fifth floor.

  The lobby I stepped out into was amazing. One wall was just glass, with a stunning view over St Stephen’s Green. Framed covers of Electric hung on the walls, some dating back thirty years. There was a huge desk in the shape of a guitar inside the door and behind it sat a girl on the telephone. Her hair was styled in a neat braid and she wore lots of jewellery. Her bracelets clinked together as she talked. She covered the receiver with her hand. ‘Work experience?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes – Jacki King,’ I said quietly.

  She pointed to the red leather sofa on the far side of the lobby, then resumed her phone conversation. ‘He’s in a meeting at the moment, would you like to be put through to his voicemail?’

  There was a guy already sitting on the couch, flicking through the latest copy of Electric. He had black curly hair and glasses and was wearing jeans and a blue check shirt, its sleeves rolled up. I could see his green eyes as he looked up nervously from the magazine.

  ‘Hey,’ I said.

  ‘Hey,’ he said with a smile.

  ‘I’m Jacki; are you here for work experience too?’ He was about my age and looked just as apprehensive.

  ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘I’m Dillon.’

  Up close he looked vaguely familiar and I wondered where I’d seen him before.

  ‘I think I know you…’ he said. ‘You’re friends with Hannah Murray, right?’

  ‘Yeah…’ I said, still not recalling where we’d met.

  ‘I’m mates with her brother Mark,’ he explained, and then it began to dawn on me.

  ‘I thought I knew you all right,’ I said. ‘You look different though.’

  ‘I cut my hair.’

  ‘That’s it.’ I knew exactly who he was now. He used to hang out with Hannah’s brother, reading comics and listening to music in their garage. Hannah was always complaining because they rarely let her in there, and when they did they’d make fun of her musical taste, just because she’d never heard of whatever obscure band they were listening to that week. I’d never actually spoken to him or even been introduced, but I remembered he looked a lot different back then – his hair was really long and used to kind of take over his face. I hoped he wasn’t as pretentious as Hannah had described.

  ‘So, you want to be a music journalist too?’ he said.

  I realized I should probably fake an interest in journalism. I wouldn’t tell him that I really wanted to be a singer-songwriter.

  ‘Yeah, maybe,’ I said. ‘I thought this would be interesting anyway.’

  ‘But you don’t actually want to work on a music magazine?’ he said, sounding surprised.

  ‘Well, I’m not sure yet, but music is my life.’

  He looked at me like I was crazy.

  ‘What?’ I asked self-consciously.

  ‘No offence,’ he said, ‘but you do know that loads of people would kill for this internship? Why did you apply if you don’t really want to work here?’

  ‘Um… well, isn’t the whole point of transition year to try things you might not normally do?’ I couldn’t believe I was actually quoting Miss Jennings, but how dare he talk to me like that.

  ‘So how’d you get this?’ he asked. ‘Does your dad work in the music industry or something?’ he added with a grin. He probably didn’t mean it in a bad way, but I couldn’t help but be offended.

  ‘No, actually, my dad’s dead,’ I said bluntly. ‘Does yours?’

  ‘Sorry,’ he muttered and looked away awkwardly.

  I heard my phone beep in my bag and took it out, hoping it would be Nick. It was Mum, wishing me luck. I texted her back, then we sat in silence. I tried not to let this Dillon guy get to me, but I couldn’t help feeling annoyed. And I wished Nick would text me. I couldn’t believe he still hadn’t apologized. I wasn’t having a good time with boys this week it seemed.

  After a few minutes a blonde-haired girl came into the lobby. ‘Hi,’ she said. ‘I’m Ellie, assistant to the editor.’

  We introduced ourselves and she shook our hands. She was wearing high-waisted shorts, a white T-shirt, dusky pink brogues and a gold necklace that said ELLIE, which was good, because the second she said her name it went out of my head. I could feel Dillon looking at me, but I didn’t make eye contact. I couldn’t believe I’d have to spend two whole weeks with him. He was just as irritating as Hannah described.

  ‘Follow me,’ said Ellie. We walked behind her into a room with over a dozen desks arranged in rows.

  ‘This is team Electric!’ she said. ‘Michael, Patricia, Cliona, Paddy…’ Each person waved or said ‘Hi’ to us in turn. They were all incredibly stylish. I looked down at my own purple skinny jeans and Thin Lizzy T-shirt, and wished I’d gone for something a bit more sophisticated.

  ‘The two of you will share this desk,’ said Ellie, pointing to a table in front of us with one Mac and two chairs.

&nbs
p; ‘In there is the office of our editor, Tim,’ she added, pointing to a door on the far wall.

  ‘Beside it is my office, and beside that is the meeting room.’ Dillon and I both nodded. ‘And over there is the archive.’ She motioned to a box room where hundreds of magazines were shelved. ‘We’ll probably get you guys to tidy that up at some stage, although we’ve got lots lined up, so there may not be time. Firstly, I’ll give you a quick overview of what you’ll be doing for the next two weeks.’

  Dillon took out a notebook and I rooted in my bag for a notebook that wasn’t there. I was so disorganized. I thought we’d just be photocopying stuff and making cappuccinos – I didn’t think we’d have to do actual proper work. Dillon seemed to notice my panic and tore off a page from his notebook and gave it to me. I took it from him grudgingly and grabbed a pen from the desk to start writing down what Ellie was saying.

  ‘… Next Wednesday is the Electric Unsigned showcase in Rage Rock Bar and you two will be working on the floor. We’ll need you there at four p.m. till late; it’s tough going, but you’ll get guest passes for your friends in return.’

  Dillon’s eyes went wide with excitement.

  ‘The following Wednesday we’re going on location and you’ll assist on a shoot. It’s a cover shoot so it’ll be a great experience for you both.’

  ‘Who are you shooting?’ asked Dillon.

  ‘Willis Middleton.’

  ‘No way!’ he said.

  I couldn’t believe it either. I’d always found Willis Middleton fascinating – an ageing British rock star who lives in New York, but also owns a castle in Galway. He’s known for his awesome bass solos and outrageous behaviour.

  ‘Yep, it’s his first interview in three years,’ she said. ‘And his first contact with the press since he got out of rehab. He’s known to be a bit… sensitive, so it’s really important that it goes well. Hair and make-up starts at seven a.m.’

  ‘Have you heard his solo album yet?’ I asked Ellie.