And I’m betting she’s come back into our lives for a reason.
Chapter Eleven
I am on her trail.
Alicia has never mentioned Camp Windylake. She doesn’t want us to know she was ever at that camp. She doesn’t want us to know we’ve met before.
Excitedly, I pick up the phone.
“Kate, can you meet me at the Beach House in twenty minutes?” I ask. “I have something to tell you all.”
“What? Why can’t you tell me over the phone?”
“Just meet me at the Beach House,” I insist. “I’ll explain all.”
I set the phone down, and lean back with satisfaction. It’s time to expose Alicia for what she really is.
I hum to myself on the short drive over there. For some reason, I am not the least bit scared of confronting Alicia. In fact, I’m looking forward to it.
“This is all very mysterious!” Rhett says, as he lets me in.
“Don’t tell me. Gucci’s having a sale,” Deacon guesses, without looking up from his paper.
“No, it’s something much more important than that,” I say, pulling off my boots.
“Well, come on, out with it.”
“No. We have to wait until Kate gets here. We all have to be here.”
A nervous buzz of energy pulses through me as Kate arrives. I wait until everyone has sat down. Then, feeling a bit Miss Marple, I slap the incriminating photo down on the kitchen table.
Explain that, Alicia.
For the teeniest fraction of a second, a hint of colour rises in her cheeks, but it’s gone in an instant, and she’s all dimples and smiles again.
No one says anything. I don’t think the rest of them have got it yet.
“Look closely.” I urge.
They all look.
“Wow, doesn’t that little girl look like me?” Alicia bursts out. “Where did you say this was again? Camp Windmill Lake?”
“Camp Windylake,” I correct her, though I’m sure she knows damn well.
“Wow, wouldn’t it be an amazing coincidence if this really is Alicia?” Kate whistles.
“A bit too much of a coincidence, don’t you think?”
But they don’t seem to be getting it.
“They do say that everyone you meet is just seven connections away,” Rhett says.
“I once read about these twins who were separated at birth but found each other years later. And get this – they lived less than a mile apart.”
“Well, I got talking to this girl in the pub the one time, and it turned out we lived next door to each other when we were 5.” Kate jumps in.
“This is different!” I interject.
But it’s no use. Nobody is listening to me anymore. They’re all trying to outdo each other with ridiculous tales of coincidence. I glance in Alicia’s direction and she flashes me a triumphant smile. With a sinking feeling, I realise I should have kept this to myself. It was a mistake to reveal my hand so soon. A big, colossal, gigantic mistake.
I try on practically every item in my wardrobe on Saturday night, before finally deciding on skinny jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt and Ugg boots. I refuse to let this latest business with Alicia ruin my night out with Deacon. I have decided I’m going to go to the concert, and what’s more, I’m going to damn well enjoy it.
Also, it’s occurred to me that my friends might be right. I mean, Alicia was just a kid at Camp Windylake. I suppose it’s plausible that she really doesn’t remember me, or even the camp. After all, I don’t remember her. I don’t know, this whole thing is so confusing. I would give anything to have it all go away. No better still, to have her go away. Crawl back to wherever it was she came from.
I outline my eyes in grey and smudge a little shadow into the sockets. Now, what shall I do with my hair? I try plaits, but they make me look too babyish, so I take them out again. Maybe a French braid? This is silly. Why am I spending so much time on this? It’s not like I’m going on a date! I run my brush through my hair till it gleams and set it down on the nightstand. There. Done.
All this messing around means Deacon’s been waiting a while when I finally arrive at our meeting place.
“Sorry I’m late.”
“I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.”
But he’s relaxed and smiling, as if he half expected me to be late.
He’s shaved, I notice, and he smells of soap. His breath is warm on my face as he leans in and kisses me on the cheek. And when he pulls away, I have to fight the urge to pull him back again.
“You look great,” he tells me. I wait for the punchline, but instead he glances at his phone to check the time. “We’d better get going.”
The atmosphere in the Arena is electric. The warm-up band is just finishing and people chatter excitedly as they wait for Depeche Mode.
“Where are we sitting?”
“Let me see…”
As he stops to examine our tickets, I feel a pair of eyes on me. I glimpse a face in the periphery of my vision. Pale, with curly black hair. I turn my head to look, but she’s already melted away, into the crowd.
“I hope this is OK,” he says, leading me to a row near the back. “I couldn’t get anything closer to the front.”
“This is great,” I assure him, scanning the stands. I can’t see her, but I know she’s here somewhere, watching. I just wish I knew her plan.
The lights go down and everyone cheers as the first notes sound. My spine tingles with excitement as they start to play one of my favourite songs.
I won’t let Alicia ruin this for me.
Then someone in front of me flicks on their lighter and waves it about in time to the music. One by one, lighters light up around the arena. They look fantastic in the darkness. Smiling, I reach for my own lighter and give it a flick.
The flame bursts into the air, three times higher than normal, narrowly missing my fringe, and the back of the girl in front of me.
“Whoa!” I snap it shut quickly and stuff it back into my bag. Alicia must have tampered with it.
I glance at Deacon, but he’s so caught up in the music that he hasn’t even noticed.
I need something to steady my nerves.
“Do you want a drink?” I whisper in his ear.
“Yeah, I’ll have a beer, thanks.”
I head for the loos first, amazed to find there’s no queue. I walk into a cubicle and set my bag down on the ground, then I hover gingerly over the seat. I try to pee, but I can’t go. I squeeze my eyes shut. Sometimes that helps.
What was that?
My eyes snap open. For just a second, it felt like there was someone in the cubicle with me. I glance around.
Nope, no one here.
Hold on.
There! There it is!
A hand.
Reaching under the wall that separates this cubicle from the next. Small, pale fingers close themselves around the straps of my favourite green Prada handbag and begin to tug it from view.
“Hey!”
I grab hold of the handle and try to pull it back. For a moment, we both tug, and then my beloved bag disappears from sight.
“No!”
I yank up my jeans and struggle with the zip.
To my surprise, the bag slides back into view. I grab it back. The hand slips away.
I am up and out of the cubicle as quickly as possible but the thief has already made a run for it, leaving the door to slam in my face. I run out and look up and down the corridor.
“Did you see who just came out of the toilets?” I ask a group of girls standing outside.
“Was it someone famous?”
“No, I just…”
“Was it Madonna? I heard she’s here tonight.”
“No, it wasn’t Madonna.”
“Lily Allen?”
“No, I… oh, forget it!”
I stalk off and join the queue at the bar. While I’m waiting, I look through my bag to see if anything’s missing. To my relief, my wallet, cards, keys and phone are all still in there.