I inhaled the smell of freshly mown grass as the school lawn received its last cut of the summer. For me, it marked a new beginning, and as my Year 11 students filtered in through the classroom I pulled the window shut and offered them a warm smile.
‘Good morning, class,’ I said, raising my voice to gain their attention. ‘My name is Luke Priestwood and I’m replacing Mr Piper, who’s retired early due to ill health.’ They seemed surprised but pleased to see me, and I glided over the lie. In reality, Mr Piper had been pushed. Last year’s exam results in Art & Design had been shamefully poor. According to the head, I had been brought in to inject some ‘fresh blood’ into the class. That and my indisputable talent had landed me the job. My eyes roamed over the class. At twenty-three, I was freshly qualified and only seven years older than most of the people in the room. Not that I was intimidated. I watched the male students hitch up their trousers before taking a seat. Arseless and charmless, they paled into insignificance next to me. The chatter in the room quietened and I gazed down on their expectant faces. Already I could see the effect my presence was having on the female students. My morning gym sessions left me lean and toned, a vast contrast to the pot-bellied Piper, who could barely climb the stairs without coughing up phlegm. I licked my lips as a tinge of satisfaction made itself known. It felt good to be back in the school I’d been taught in. I felt like I had gotten somewhere in life. That I was in control.
I loosened my tie, my eyes roaming over the chattering female students. Sweet sixteen and never been kissed. There was little evidence of that here. They were the stereotypical gaggle of teens: layers of make-up, tight short skirts and the stink of cheap perfume lacing their skin. Beneath the confines of the school uniform, they held little mystery to me. The shrill ring of the bell jolted me out of my thoughts, signalling it was time for class to begin. I walked to the door, curling my fingers around the handle to push it shut. It met with resistance from the other side as one last student ploughed through.
She may have been a poor timekeeper but my new arrival was deliciously pert, with curves in all the right places. Laden with books, her bag slapped against her thigh when she came to a sudden stop. She briefly met my gaze, and I felt an instant spark of attraction as her cheeks flushed a furious pink. Her dark wavy hair was swept over in a sexy side parting, framing her face. She brushed an errant lock from her cheek, panting from the exertion of rushing to be on time. I regarded her with a look of amused curiosity. Inside I was thrilled that a gorgeous young creature would be subservient to me for the forthcoming year.
‘Sorry, sir,’ she mumbled self-consciously, before finding a table at the back of the room.
Tugging at her skirt, she took a seat, entwining her summer-tanned legs. Devoid of make-up and jewellery, she carried an innocent beauty as yet untainted by the modern world.
I began the class without a moment’s hesitation, explaining my plans for the curriculum. She gave her name as Emma, and I struggled to keep my thoughts in check. She was jailbait and I was newly qualified. I could not afford to be caught up in an illicit affair. ‘If you can take out your text books . . .’ I said, clearing my throat as I tried to focus. But I knew that I was fooling myself. My mind was not on the history of art, it was on the brooding schoolgirl at the back of the room.
CHAPTER FIVE
EMMA
2017
My keys rattled as I locked the shop’s front door. It had been a long day and I was dying to get home and kick off my shoes. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, then.’
Theresa smiled, her shoulder-length blonde hair catching the last of the dying sun. ‘No need to detour to the nursery, I’m picking Jamie up today.’ Theresa was Jamie’s godmother. With no other siblings, I had not had many choices when it came to candidates, but there was nobody better suited for the role than my big sister. At thirty-seven, she hadn’t yet had children of her own and was more than happy to take on babysitting duties. She and Jamie made a fantastic team, and she spoiled him rotten during their time together. ‘Are you sure?’ I said. ‘It’s news to me.’
Arching one eyebrow, she gave me a conspiratorial smile. ‘Alex asked me to babysit for a few hours. Looks like he has something in store for you.’ Alex was an old romantic at heart and I loved his little spontaneous acts – even now, after almost a decade, he still had the ability to give me butterflies.
After rolling down the shop shutters, I thanked Theresa and left. But as I walked to the car park, my nerves got the better of me. Sure, Alex was no stranger to sweet gestures, but this felt different. Had Theresa misunderstood? Did Alex have something else in store?
After paying for my ticket, I entered the Osbourne Street multistorey car park. My heels echoed ominously down the hollow concrete construction. Devoid of fresh air, it carried the stale smell of engine oil and diesel fumes that I could not wait to escape. Level C had been full when I’d driven there this morning but, apart from a rusted Mercedes in the far corner, my yellow Volkswagen Beetle now stood alone. A sudden sense of vulnerability sharpened my senses, hastening my steps. I didn’t notice the newspaper nestled under my windscreen wiper until I opened the car door. Odd, I thought, plucking it from its resting place. I was used to seeing flyers but never a whole newspaper. In the absence of a bin, I threw it on to my front seat, locking myself inside my protective yellow shell. As the car engine rumbled into life and I put the car in gear, I gave the paper another glance. Why had it been placed on my car? Sighing, I threw the gearstick back into neutral while I unfolded the paper, smoothing over the creased pages to reveal the front-page headline. CRASH INVOLVING THREE CARS CAUSES MAJOR DELAYS. I frowned. I didn’t remember hearing about that. It was only when I glanced at the date that I froze: 1 October 2013. The same date indelibly branded on my mind. The day I killed a man. I exhaled a painful breath, the blood draining from my face. It was a coincidence. It had to be. Maybe it was some kind of promo. Maybe they were on all the cars. My mind raced as it tried to provide me with answers, fuel to enable me to push my fears away. It was someone messing around. It had to be. Only two people knew the significance of that date – and the dead kept their secrets well. I breathed fast and deep, panic rising as the past returned to haunt me. I spun the car round, desperate for the open air. Through my windscreen, I caught sight of the CCTV camera, my glance falling guiltily back to the newspaper on the passenger seat. I could hardly afford to draw attention to myself, not when I had gotten this far. I lowered my window, depositing the newspaper in a litter bin on the way out. It was silly, I told myself, panicking like this over nothing. Just as I always had, I pushed my fears to the back of my mind, focusing on my journey home.
I didn’t know what to expect when I walked through the front door. I adjusted my eyes to the darkness of our narrow hall, negotiating our uneven terracotta tiling, which was in need of repair. The smell of spicy food wafted from our kitchen and, despite my anxieties, my stomach grumbled in response.
‘Hey, you, how was your day?’ Alex said, looking relaxed in sweatshirt and jeans. His enviably clear skin still glowed from the Indian summer we had enjoyed before the cold autumn winds took hold. Taking my coat, he kissed me on the cheek. I slid my fingers beneath his jumper and he gasped at the contact of my icy skin.