‘I didn’t know you had a motorcycle.’ Though I wouldn’t be surprised.
‘No motorcycle, those days are long gone.’
Of course they are, seeing as the image he plumps for now is squeaky-clean golden boy. ‘Just a regular old push bike then?’
He nodded. ‘That’s right. What’re you doing out this way?’
I was flustered; I hadn’t even thought to prepare an answer to this question, so sure I wouldn’t bump into anyone I knew. ‘I’m avoiding people,’ I said honestly. ‘With what’s happened to Elodie and with Dad being arrested, it’s just easier to drive that little bit further out.’
‘And how is Martin?’
‘Fine. With Mum in Kent, taking a little break.’
‘Well, Richard got what was coming to him. I warned him not to sell any stories on Elodie, but he did it anyway.’
I frowned. ‘You knew before the article came out?’
‘I went to school with the editor of The Crosshaven Herald. He mentioned it.’
And then it hit me: that day at my house when I caught Dad and Jack talking in the hallway right before Dad stormed off, it was because Jack told him Richard was going to the papers. Jack wound our dad up like one of those clapping monkeys and let him march directly into the line of fire. ‘You used my dad,’ I levelled at him.
‘I’m sorry?’
‘You couldn’t stop Richard from selling his story, so you used my dad to get revenge.’
I caught the surprise on his face that I’d put it together, then the quirk to his lips as he realised I couldn’t prove my theory even though I was right.
‘You did, didn’t you?’ I pressed. He didn’t answer. He turned and started browsing the products as though I wasn’t even there. ‘Come on, Jack, it’s not like you to avoid confrontation.’ He started walking away. I followed. ‘Well?’
‘He deserved to know.’
We turned past the bakery, the inviting aroma of fresh bread doing nothing to soothe my rage. ‘How could you do that to my family?’
He stopped just before the checkout and said, ‘Ada, I can’t take responsibility for Martin’s behaviour. He’s an adult – what he did with that information was his choice.’
God, Elodie, he’s a condescending, arrogant bastard. As he turned to dismiss me once more, I reached out and snatched his basket from him. ‘I see you, Jack. Don’t think I don’t because I do.’
He smirked, then reached out and took the basket from my hand. As he did, I looked at it and saw, among a few ready meals, was a bag of cherry cola bottles and a box of tampons. An alarm went off in my head: SOMETHING’S NOT RIGHT! SOMETHING’S NOT RIGHT! He saw me eyeing the contents of his shopping and smoothly dropped the basket to his side, out of view. Too late. I’d already seen. It occurred to me then, I’d been so distracted by my own panic at being asked why I was so far out of town that I hadn’t returned the question.
‘So why aren’t you shopping locally, Jack?’ I asked evenly, detecting just the briefest flicker of nerves.
‘I’ve really got to get on, Ada,’ he said, already joining the queue.
Heart racing, I dropped my basket and left.
Tampons and cherry cola bottles. The only person I know over the age of twelve who still enjoys cherry cola bottles is you. Jack can’t keep a woman longer than the night he acquires her, so it was unlikely the tampons were for a secret girlfriend. And what about that black eye? Was I really supposed to believe he’d fallen off a bike? Something was off and if I could catch him out in one lie, maybe I could catch him out in others.
I broke the speed limit a few times to get to Jack’s house before he did. Parking haphazardly outside, I jumped out of the car, hurried up the drive and around the side of the house. I’ve only been to his a few times for family parties and such, but it’s enough to know that his garage was reserved for Jeffrey’s vintage cars, and if Jack owned a bike, it was bound to be in his shed. My heels sank into the grass as I moved quickly across the lawn. Knowing I didn’t have much time, I wrenched the door open, gaze zeroing in on the distinctly bike-shaped object beneath a dusty old sheet. I lifted it up to reveal a blue and black bike with a missing front wheel and a rusty old chain. It hadn’t been touched in months and his bruise was probably only a week old. He’d lied to me about that black eye, Elodie. I knew it, didn’t I tell you I knew it? Why lie about it if he had nothing to hide? I looked back towards the house, my heart slamming against my ribs. Were you in there? Was he keeping you in his house?