Don't Come Looking by AJ Campbell (always you kirsty moseley .txt) 📗

They’ve left the door ajar. Raised voices come from the kitchen. I sneak along the hallway and peer through the crack in the door, curious to hear what they are arguing about. They are standing sideways on to me, by the centre island.

‘We had words that got a little heated, that’s all,’ Annie says.

Sasha’s inquisitive tone craves the truth. ‘What about?’

Annie pauses, crossing her arms across her chest.

‘You have to tell me.’

‘Look, it’s not important. Totally irrelevant.’

Sasha shakes Annie’s arms. ‘Everything is relevant. Every single thing.’

Annie sighs. ‘He owes me and Art money, and we need it back.’

Sixteen

‘Money for what?’ Sasha asks. Annie turns towards the door as Sasha roughly grabs the sleeve of her dress. The fabric rips. ‘Oh, my God, I’m so sorry,’ Sasha says, obviously appalled at her uncharacteristic display of aggression.

Annie, her mouth agape, strokes the ripped material in horror. I’m watching from a distance but can feel the tension. One of them was bound to snap.

‘What did he owe you money for?’ Sasha repeats. ‘Tell me.’

‘It’s not my story to tell. It’s between Marc and Art.’ Annie turns to walk out. This time Sasha doesn’t try and stop her. ‘It’s nothing sinister if that’s what you think,’ Annie turns and adds.

‘Annie, please.’

Annie pauses in the doorway. She stands still for a few seconds and tilts her head to the side. ‘He said he was short for the month. You had some bonds coming up for maturity, and he wanted a short-term loan, that’s all. I told you it was inconsequential.’

I press myself up against the hall wall, praying she won’t glance back when she walks to the front door. When the door slams, echoing along the hallway, I rush into the kitchen.

‘Did you hear that?’ Sasha asks. Her shining eyes mirror her glossy lips.

I nod as I place my empty beer bottle on the worktop.

‘We’ve never had any bonds. Not that I know of, anyway.’ She sucks in air and looks to the ceiling, her lower lip trembling as much as her hands. ‘I mustn’t cry. Not tonight. It’s not fair on Harry.’ She takes several deep breaths and drives her fisted hand down hard on the chopping board. ‘God, I miss him.’

I hug her because that’s all I can do. Words can’t counteract her suffering.

‘I will get to the bottom of this. I will,’ she says with dogged determination. She dabs her eyes and takes another deep breath, smashing her hand down again. ‘I need to get back out there.’

After I’ve used the loo, I wander outside, where the party atmosphere has changed. Alcohol has soaked into bloodstreams. Chat is faster and laughter louder. The summer sun is dipping beneath the horizon, but its golden rays are still illuminating London’s sky. Upbeat music thumps through the celebrations, injecting rhythm into a group of teenagers dancing on an improvised dance floor in the parking area between Sasha and Marc’s and Art and Annie’s houses. Harry is in the mix, joking with his mates, much more confident than I’ve ever seen him. He surprises me. I’ve always had him down as an adolescent wallflower.

I look around and spot Annie by the entrance to the close in an intense discussion with Art. It’s time to find out what is going on around here. I sneak along the side of the house with the SOLD sign standing proud in the garden and slide behind a car parked in front of Pen’s Parlour.

Annie is revealing the mess of her sleeve to Art.

‘Why did you have to argue with Marc in the first place?’ Art grabs his wife’s hand, examining the tear before releasing her arm with contentious force.

‘Careful.’ She shakes her arm.

Art folds his arms across his jacket.

A voice disturbs their squabble. ‘Hi, is this Hazza’s eighteenth?’

Art smiles at the new arrivals and asks their names. Cross-referencing his list attached to a clipboard, he lets them in as Annie flounces off back towards the party.

The wind is picking up. A chill sweeps through me. Shivering, I look around for Jim. I left my cardigan on the back of his chair. There he is, by the bar, thumbing his iPhone with Harry looking over his shoulder. Making a beeline for him, I pass Hannah, still manning dessert of the day with Grace, coating marshmallows with chocolate. But Hannah’s attention is elsewhere. I follow her gaze. Luke is sitting with a girl by Tom’s studio.

I walk over to offer Hannah some distraction when I notice Luke and the girl are no longer sitting. Are they arguing? That twisty feeling in my gut draws me to take a closer look. Passing the vacant house next to Art and Annie’s, I notice some empty glasses on the ground. After picking them up, I hide behind a bush lining the side of the house and watch and listen. The girl is wearing denim shorts and a lace bra top which parade more of her taut midriff than they cover. She obviously missed the black tie dress code.

‘Quite impressive, isn’t it?’ Luke laughs as he holds his phone with the screen turned towards her. ‘Who would have thought? Little Miss Perfect, A star student, Chelsea Clark.’

‘Why would you do that?’ Chelsea asks, continually tugging her side plait.

‘Why wouldn’t I?’ Luke replies.

‘I thought we were friends?’

‘So did I.’

‘Why are you doing this to me, then?’

‘Don’t you think it’s more of a case of… why did you do this to yourself?’ He peers at the screen. ‘That’s a more appropriate question.’ He pushes the screen closer towards her until it’s touching her nose.

She swipes it away. ‘It’s nothing to do with you.’

‘It is now.’

She shakes her head, pulling her plait through her hands like a rope she’s contemplating hanging herself with. ‘Why? Why?’

A glass slides from my hand. Damn, I try to catch it, but it drops on the concrete tile, shattering.

They both jump as if I’ve caught them doing something they shouldn’t. They simultaneously turn in my direction. There’s nothing I can do but come