It was two o’clock in the afternoon, the sun was at its hottest, and she’d just come back from a ride. She’d been walking across the field towards the barn where the tack room was when she’d seen Dylan skulking against the hedge.
She’d seen red, literally. And now here they were.
‘You’ve actually drawn blood.’ He was still staring at his fingertips in amazement.
She wanted to tell him to get over it, hadn’t he seen blood before?
‘I’m really sorry,’ she repeated, moving towards him.
But he stumbled backwards, terror on his face. ‘Get away from me, you fucking freak. You’re mental.’
‘And you’re no good for my sister. Leave her alone. She’s not interested in a loser like you,’ she snapped.
He smirked. ‘That’s not what she was saying the other night when she was groaning with pleasure underneath me.’
Heather felt the fury pumping through her again. ‘She must have been drugged up,’ she fired back, ‘because that’s the only way you can get your kicks.’
His expression darkened and she noticed his fists were clenched at his sides.
‘You’re just a scuzzy sad loser,’ she taunted, on a roll now that she was getting a reaction. ‘And at last my sister’s seen through you.’
‘You’re just jealous,’ he said, turning away. ‘Flora is in love with me.’
‘Don’t flatter yourself. She’s moved on.’
He whipped around so that he was facing her again. ‘You’d love that, wouldn’t you? You control freak. She told me about you, you know. How you were such a cling-on, always tagging along after her. Never letting her have her own life. She hates you.’
It can’t be true. Flora would never say those cruel things about her. Never.
‘Get lost or I’ll tell the police you’re giving my sister drugs,’ she cried.
‘Yes. Go ahead. Call them.’ He lifted up his T-shirt. Four deep whip marks were visible along his tanned back. ‘I’m sure they’ll be interested to hear how you attacked me.’ He shook his head. ‘You’re a nutter.’ Then the smirk was back. ‘Flora knows where to find me. She can’t keep away. You’ll see.’
‘If you come back here my Uncle Leo will shoot you with his gun,’ Heather yelled.
He flicked his middle finger at her, then turned and trudged away. She watched his retreating back, angry at his words, yet mortified that she had lost control. Again.
Flora had seen him arrive. She was up in her bedroom listening to her favourite All About Eve album, sprawled on her window-seat and thinking of Dylan, their magical evening two nights ago. From her room she had a view of the Big Wheel’s flashing lights between the trees. She wanted to go to him, but knew she had to be careful. Uncle Leo had given her a stern talking-to about drugs, and warned her that if he ever found her in that state again he’d tell her mum and call the police about Dylan. She couldn’t risk it.
And then, as if her thoughts had somehow conjured him up, Dylan was there, in the garden, talking to Heather. Her heart swelled. He had come to see her. Oh, he was so beautiful, she couldn’t bear it. She touched the leaded-glass window with her palm, her eyes scanning the length of the garden and the accompanying fields for Uncle Leo. Was he out riding? In the caravan park with her mum? Or somewhere with that annoying girlfriend of his?
A yelp of pain made Flora’s eyes dart back to Dylan and her sister. She sat forwards, in shock, unable to believe her eyes. Heather was whipping Dylan, her face filled with hatred. Thwack, thwack, thwack, over and over again while he cowered like a poor animal in pain. No. What was she doing? She was hurting him. Stop! She banged on the glass but Heather kept up her relentless, torturous rhythm, her eyes glazed and unfocused.
She was going to kill Dylan. She had to stop it.
Flora ran from her room and down the stairs, almost tripping over her long skirt, and raced through the living room and out of the French windows, barefoot. But she was too late. Dylan was gone and Heather was standing alone, riding crop at her feet.
‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing?’ Flora screamed, grabbing Heather’s arms and shaking her violently. ‘I saw you! I saw you from my bedroom window.’
Heather hung her head, a patch of red had appeared on each cheek. ‘I don’t know what came over me. I’m sorry.’
‘You’re a little psycho,’ she cried, still gripping Heather. ‘Where has he gone?’
Heather shrugged. And Flora released her, pushingher hard in the chest so that her sister toppled backwards, landing with a thump on her bottom. Then Flora sprinted across the lawn, faster than she’d ever run in her life, her bare feet snagging on stones and thistles but she didn’t care. She had to catch him.
She spotted him in the distance, just as he was entering the fairground. She tried to call his name, but Flora was too out of breath, too unfit, and the word died on her lips. She panted, clutching her side.Come back!She had no choice but to walk through the fair barefoot. She winced as she imagined treading on gum, sweet wrappers and God knew what else. But she was so desperate to kiss him, to soothe away the sores inflicted by her headcase sister that she would have walked over razor blades if she had to.
Dylan paused at the entrance of the fair, squinting into the sun. He reached around and touched the place on his back, near his left shoulder, where Heather had struck him.
