Sugar Secrets…& Guilt Read online

  Jealous-that’s all she is, Cat had thought.

  “There!” she smiled.

  As Cat held up Luke’s arm to inspect her handiwork, her eye suddenly caught sight of his watch.

  “God!” she gasped. “I didn’t realise the time-I’ve got to go!”

  “How come?” grinned Luke, blasting her with a light-reflecting gold tooth as he did so. “Does your coach turn back into a pumpkin or something, Cinderella?”

  “No-it just leaves without me if I don’t get to it in the next fifteen minutes!”

  Cat threw her arms around Luke’s neck, landed a wet, sloppy kiss on his mouth, then broke free, running off towards the cloakroom in her gold flip-flops.

  “Don’t forget to phone me!” she called back over her shoulder, but Luke was already off, heading back towards the dance floor.

  The least he could have done was stare after me and look disappointed for a couple of seconds! she sighed to herself.

  But there was no time to mope about it-there was a queue at the cloakroom and a good ten-minute walk down to the car park where the coach would be waiting.

  “Please, please let me in before you,” Cat whined in her most girlish, eyelash-fluttering voice at a boy who was holding out two tickets to the cloakroom attendant. “I’m late for my bus home and if I miss it I’ll be stranded!”

  Inevitably, under Cat’s full-on beam, the boy melted and ushered her in front of him.

  “Thanks so much-you’re an absolute darling,” gushed Cat, ignoring the tuts from not only the rest of the queue, but from the lad’s girlfriend, who was staring in disgust at her boyfriend’s dopey expression.

  Pulling on her jacket, Cat blew a kiss at the boy, then skipped out of the door of the club, with a flirtatious wink at the doorman.

  I wonder if all the others will already be on the coach? thought Cat as she flip-flopped her way down the poorly-lit, rain-dampened street. She smiled to herself as she pulled the fun-fur collar of her jacket up around her neck. On the way up, all the girls had jokingly been taking bets on who’d be last on board at the end of the evening and Cat’s name had been voiced almost unanimously.

  Well, I’ve got to keep up my reputation as the hardest partying girl at college! she sniggered, basking in what a success the night had been.

  Cat had been determined to have the best time-almost to spite her mother. After their earlier run-in, she’d been feeling so low. Things hadn’t improved when Sylvia had barked her goodbyes as Cat left for her night out.

  (“I won’t bother to wake you in the morning before I go, Catrina” she’d sniped, blowing a funnel of smoke in the air. “I know what you’re like after going to one of these clubs, doing whatever it is you do…”)

  Shuddering at the unpleasant memory. Cat found herself hesitating. To her right was a lane that led down to the car park and the coach home. If she carried on along the main road, it would take her the best part of ten minutes to get there, doubling back on herself by sticking to the signposted route. If she took the lane, she’d be giggling with the others in just a few minutes.

  There was no contest. Apart from the time factor, the leather bars of her flip-flops were rubbing uncomfortably between her toes.

  Ow! How come I always get blisters? she grumbled to herself, turning into the lane.

  Cat was just trying to work out when she’d last seen any of the others from her course-before she started dancing with Luke, she decided-when she became aware of quiet footsteps behind her.

  It’s nothing, she tried to reason. It’s just the sound of my shoes, echoing along the walls on either side of me.

  But she was too scared to turn round and make sure that she was alone in the lane.

  Or it’s the buckle on my rucksack flapping about, she reassured herself. That happened to me once before… or was it Kerry and she told me?

  Her mind was racing, skipping through random half-remembered incidents in her panic as the footsteps sounded softly but unmistakably behind her.

  Her breathing now fast and shallow, Cat stared straight ahead, fixing her eyes on the brightly lit main road beyond the end of the alley. From here, she could make out the dark shapes of the cars parked on the opposite side of the road.

  Even if someone is there-so what? It’s just a person on their way to the car park, same as me…

  The coach, she estimated-shivering-would be parked just to the left somewhere.

  Not far! Cat told herself cheerily, wishing her heart would stop hammering quite so noisily.

  It was then that she heard the whistling.

  “All right?” he said, appearing by her side.

  “Yes, thanks,” she nodded, giving the lad only the briefest of glances. He didn’t look particularly scary, she was slightly relieved to see: just a dark-haired boy like hundreds of others who had been at the club.

  “Got a light?”

  “No,” she replied, keeping her eyes fixed ahead.

  OK, so he looked ordinary, but talking to a stranger in a bustling, crowded club was one thing; having someone sidle up to you in a deserted alleyway was quite another. Cat pictured her lighter lurking somewhere in the deepest recesses of her rucksack; for the purposes of making this encounter as brief as possible, she was a non-smoker.

  “You don’t say much,” he commented.

  “I’m tired,” Cat shrugged, wishing he’d just get lost.

  “No wonder-you were dancing a lot tonight.”

  Cat’s heart did a back-flip and her breath seemed trapped in her chest.

  “You’re a great little mover,” he continued. “And you looked well sexy-’specially in that outfit.”

  Cat could feel his eyes slither up and down her. She wished she’d taken her mother’s advice for once and bought a long black coat, instead of this short jacket. Suddenly, her legs felt bare and exposed in the chilly night air.

  “What-not talking at all now?” he asked.

  There was a distinct note of menace in his voice-Cat knew for certain that she wasn’t imagining it. Her mind flew ahead of her, thinking of possibilities and escape plans. She couldn’t run, she realised lightning quick-not in these shoes. They weren’t her trademark high heels, but gold flip-flops weren’t any easier to run in.

  And that would be over-reacting anyway, wouldn’t it? she fretted. I mean, he’s only coming out with the same sort of stuff as some of the other guys I spoke to at the club… So why is this freaking me out?

  “Can I get a closer look at that tattoo thing on your belly button?”

  As soon as the words left his lips. Cat felt his hands fumble at the buttons of her jacket.

  “Hey, get off!” she yelped, pushing his hands away.

  “Aw, c’mon-you were happy enough to show it off to every other bloke tonight!” he laughed, ignoring her protests and continuing to yank at her jacket.

  The alcoholic fumes from his breath overwhelmed her and his hands took on octopus tendencies-they were everywhere, moving too fast and too insistently for her to keep them at bay. All of a sudden, she felt his fingertips push up under her jacket and lay claim to the exposed skin of her stomach.

  In a split second of inspiration, Cat reached into her pocket with a frantically trembling hand and felt her fingers fold round a cool metal phial of breath freshener.

  Flipping off the cap with her thumb, Cat heard it tinkle on to the path as she blasted the mint spray directly into the lad’s face.

  “You little bitch!” Cat heard him squeal as he tumbled to the ground, madly rubbing his eyes.

  Kicking off her flip-flops, Cat scooped them up with one hand and got ready to run towards the safety of the car park.

  But the rain-streaked pavement flew towards her face as she tumbled forward, as the boy’s hand reached out and grabbed for her ankle…

  CHAPTER 5

  FATHERLY ADVICE

  “Mmm-that bacon smells good!” said Matt’s dad, wandering into the kitchen on Sunday morning.

  His son seemed caught unaware
s and shuffled a card he’d been writing under the music magazine that was propped open in front of him. Matt had bought the birthday card on the spur of the moment-and against his better judgement-when he’d wandered round to the newsagent to pick up Select and the News of the World earlier that morning.

  Bacon? What’s Dad on about? thought Matt, staring down at his breakfast bowl of Cheerios. Suddenly, he realised it was his father’s lame attempt at humour.

  “How was your, uh, business trip? I didn’t even realise you were back when I got in last night,” said Matt, waving his spoon in the air as he tried to remember what exactly his father had been away doing this time.

  “It was a golf tournament. And it went great, thanks.”

  Matthew Ryan Snr flicked on the kettle, pulling his dressing gown belt tighter around his well-fed stomach.

  “Did you, um, win?”

  “Nope, but that wasn’t the point,” his father explained, staring hopefully into an empty jar of coffee. “These things are about connections. Meeting people you can work with later on.”

  Matt was as confused by and disinterested in his father’s property development business as Matthew Snr was in his son’s fledgling DJ career.

  “Tea?”

  Matt looked round and saw his dad holding up a couple of tired-looking tea bags he’d found in a tin in the cupboard.

  “Nah…” said Matt, turning back to his Cheerios. “So, how long are you home for?”

  “Ooh, about three hours. Going away today to check out that big project down in Somerset.”

  “Ah, right,” nodded Matt, though he hadn’t a clue what ‘that big project’ was. “How long for?”

  “Till next Sunday night. Might as well make a bit of a holiday of it too. Have a bit of a break.”

  Matt had to smile to himself. Most people’s fathers-if they were into that kind of thing-would assume that a weekend away at a golf tournament was pretty much a break in itself. Hard graft it did not sound like.

  “Is the newspaper around?” his dad asked, pulling out a chair and settling himself down.

  “Yeah, here it is,” said Matt, pulling The Sunday Times out from under the carton of milk on the table.

  He’d woken at the sound of it clattering through the letterbox around 8 o’clock and couldn’t get back to sleep. Not that Matt had slept much in the first place. And why his father insisted on getting a paper delivered every day when he was hardly ever there to read it was a mystery to Matt, as was the reason his father had held on to this rambling great house after the split. It had been too big even when his mum had been at home, but now that there were just two blokes passing like ships in the night along its corridors, it seemed like a complete waste. Though, without it, Matt knew he’d be unable to lay on the best house parties in Winstead.

  Must have been like a total mausoleum all those years before I moved back permanently, Matt had often thought, recalling the long period after his parents’ break-up, when he’d spent term times at school and holidays at his mother’s succession of stylish and child-unfriendly flats. The only contact he’d had with his father back then was when Matthew Snr came roaring up to the school in whatever expensive car he’d treated himself to, laden with guilt-motivated presents for his son, then roaring away again on another business trip.

  “What’s that?” His father’s voice interrupted his meanderings.

  Matt saw the card sticking out from its hiding place and tried to make up an excuse fast.

  “It’s just a birthday card. For… one of my mates,” he shrugged.

  “Well, call me old-fashioned, but I hope it’s not for Ollie or Joe. I don’t think garlands of flowers are quite their thing,” joked Mr Ryan.

  Matt laughed self-consciously and tried to shove the card back out of sight.

  “Ah, come on-let’s have a look,” said his father, sliding his hand under the magazine and hauling the card out. “New girlfriend, is it? ‘Bout time a handsome young lad like you got someone new-it’s been ages since that young girl. Nicole, wasn’t it? Or Gabrielle? Something French anyway. I—”

  Matt Snr suddenly stopped his banter when he opened the card and saw who it was written out to.

  “Of course-it’s your mum’s birthday soon. Next weekend, isn’t it?”

  Matt grunted a yes.

  “You don’t have to hide it from me, you know.”

  He knew that, but Matt still felt strange about sending it; it was like an admission of weakness.

  “I’m sure she’ll be pleased to get it.”

  “I doubt it,” muttered Matt bleakly. If he’d grown up thinking that his dad was too busy with work to bother with him, then he’d always felt totally surplus to requirements when it came to his mother.

  Before he was packed off to boarding school-his skinny legs sticking out of a pair of regulation shorts, and with a family photo album and teddy shoved into his backpack-Matt had vague memories of being at home, but always feeling second-best. Vanessa Ryan had designer friends to see, designer shops to visit and flashy parties to attend in her new designer clothes-all of which seemed to take precedence over her young son.

  After she left his father, the lifestyle continued much as it had before, only with a new home for Matt to go to and a new bedroom decked out with the latest computer games, to keep him entertained in the long, lonely, boredom-drenched holidays.

  A few years ago, it had all changed, but not, as far as Matt was concerned, for the better. His mother had fallen hook, line and sinker for a landscape gardener, swapped her love for Gucci for a love of the great outdoors, moved into his rambling farmhouse and became a born-again earth mother.

  “How, er, old are her girls now?” asked Matt’s father, staring at the flowery card.

  “Um, Ellie’s five. Bethan’s… nearly four, I think,” replied Matt, pushing the unfinished bowl of cereal away from him.

  It wasn’t that Matt didn’t like his half-sisters-he just didn’t feel he had any connection with them. He used to turn up during school holidays at this new house, miles from anywhere, to be faced with a picture-perfect family set-up and feel like an outsider. He’d come downstairs in the mornings to videos of The Little Mermaid; to cheesy nursery rhymes playing on the tape deck; to shrill giggles from the kitchen as small hands helped Mummy make carrot cake, and he felt… lost.

  It was even worse when he saw the way the girls looked up at him warily when he walked in the room, like he was some unwanted stranger.

  “When did you last speak to your mum?”

  “Christmas. She called to see that I got her cheque-remember?”

  His father shrugged.

  “You should phone her, you know.”

  “She doesn’t exactly phone me on a regular basis.”

  “Still,” said his father, “you should try. I don’t want her thinking I’m stopping you or something.”

  “Dad, I don’t think that would even cross her mind-she’s too wrapped up in the girls and Simon and their happy little life to notice whether I’ve been in touch or not.”

  Much to his surprise, his father started to laugh.

  “Matt, how old are you?”

  “Nineteen next month,” he said defensively.

  “Well, you sounded like a sulky six-year-old.”

  Matt looked at his father with hurt in his eyes. “Don’t I have a right to be angry?”

  “Why? Aren’t you pretty happy with your life now? You’ve got good friends, you live here rent-free, I give you an allowance, I don’t hassle you about getting a proper job…”

  “But what about growing up? What about having a crap childhood?”

  Matt could hear the emotion in his voice-he was shaking all over. He’d never actually said as much out loud before.

  His father sighed and rubbed at his face with his hands.

  “Son, there’re plenty of times when I’m sitting in some bland hotel room, that looks identical to any other bland hotel room I’ve ever stayed in, and think about you, and your mo
ther, and what I’d have done differently with my life.”

  Matt stared at him. He’d never thought of his dad agonising over the past. He always seemed so confident, so self-contained.

  “And I might wish I hadn’t chosen a job that took me away from home so much,” he continued, “and I might wish my marriage hadn’t broken up, and I might wish I’d seen more of you growing up… but then I stop.”

  “Why?” asked Matt, immediately thinking how shallow his dad was.

  “Because even if I wanted to, I can’t change any of that, Matthew. It’s done. All I can do is enjoy a job that I love-most of the time; one that’s given me more money than I’d ever expected to have. And enjoy having my freedom. And enjoy having you with me… which I never thought would happen. I used to think you’d stay with your mother, then take off on your own somewhere as soon as you were old enough, and never give your old man a second thought.”

  Matt gulped. He hadn’t ever considered that his moving back to the house mattered one way or the other to his dad. Obviously, he was wrong.

  “See what I’m saying?” his father looked at him earnestly, his thick, bushy eyebrows rising in emphasis. “Bearing grudges and holding on to stuff that happened in the past is a waste of time, son. It’s all about now-being as happy as you can be now.”

  Matt gazed down hard at the blur of words in the magazine article in front of him and was only dimly aware of the older man picking up the card again and flicking it open.

  “Thinking of you-have a wonderful day…” Matthew Ryan Snr read the printed message out aloud. “It’s a terrible card, Matty boy. You’ve got no taste, have you?”

  It was joke time again, Matt realised with relief-the tension in his shoulders immediately began to ease.

  “Probably got that from you, Dad,” he joked back.

  “Probably. It wouldn’t be your mother-she always had a bit of style.”

  Matt went quiet again at the mention of his mum.

  “I mean it, Matt,” said his dad quietly, “don’t bear grudges. Why don’t you give her a call, instead of sending this rubbishy thing? Or better still, why don’t you go and visit her? Take a birthday cake or something?”