Kiss in the Dark by Lauren Henderson Page B

given a chance to locate poor Jason Barnes before the story of his unfortunate father spreads all around school.” She fixes us with a basilisk stare. “You will of course not mention a word of this to any of your fellow students until you are told by me that you are allowed to do so.”
    We stand up and DS Landon shakes my grandmother’s hand.
    “Thank you for your help, Lady Wakefield,” she says deferentially.
    “Please tell poor Mrs. Barnes that I will visit her later today,” my grandmother says, and instead of telling her that the police aren’t a message delivery service, DS Landon nods politely and turns to leave the room.
    Wow. My grandmother could probably shoot someone in the face with a shotgun in the middle of Wakefield village and all the police would do is make her a cup of tea, tell her they’re sure she had a very good reason for doing it, and send her back to Wakefield Hall again.
    I can’t help admiring Lady Wakefield’s perfect composure. But sometimes it’s so cold that it’s positively glacial. I know that’s what she wants me to aspire to, that same level of supreme poise, where the most you allow yourself is a raise of the eyebrow or a tut of the lips on hearing the worst news imaginable.
    The thing is, I don’t think that’s me. No, I know that’s not me. And I don’t want her to try to turn me into a clone of her. I don’t want to end up the kind of person who doesn’t even give her granddaughter a hug and ask how she is after she’s seen a second corpse in under a year.
    As we walk down the corridor, still in the old part of the Hall, the polished boards smelling lightly of wax, I have a flash of memory: being carried down here by my mother. She held me close to her chest, looking over her shoulder at the receding door to my grandmother’s rooms. Winter sunlight on the glass of the oil paintings hanging on the paneled walls, faded Turkish carpet runners on the floor, my mother’s scent all around me, her arms holding me tight.
    I so wish my parents were still alive.
    We cross over into the new wing, concrete and white-painted walls, the contrast stark and immediate. The school corridors are empty and echoing. Everyone else is back in afternoon classes, and I doubt any of the girls have the faintest idea what’s just happened.
    We clatter downstairs to the changing rooms and locker area, which always reeks of smelly trainers and gym clothes, a lingering odor of underarms and feet so ingrained into the walls and floor that even in the school holidays, it never completely fades. I fish my phone out of my locker and pull up Jase’s number for DS Landon to copy onto hers.
    “Anything else you can think of, here’s my card,” she says, handing it to me as she dials Jase’s number.
    I take ages slipping it into my pocket, my heart pounding. His phone must have gone to voice mail, because DS Landon is leaving a message telling him to ring her as a matter of urgency. My fingers are already dancing across my phone keys as I turn away, texting him to ring me ASAP.
    “If you see Jase, tell him to ring me soonest, okay, Scarlett?” DS Landon calls over her shoulder as she walks away, and I nod virtuously and probably unconvincingly.
    “Are you all right?” Taylor asks.
    “I don’t know,” I say. I’ve just rung Jase’s number, but he isn’t answering. I hang up as it goes to voice mail, unsure about what to say to him in a message. All I want is to be able to break the news to Jase, and to make sure he’s okay before he goes to the police.
    “Hey,” Taylor says, trying to lighten the mood, “at least we get to watch crappy afternoon TV, right?”
    But when we get to Aunt Gwen’s, turning on the TV is the last thing on Taylor’s mind. She wanders round the living room, eyes wide, picking up every single china object one by one in awe and wonder.
    “Wow,” she says eventually. “I didn’t know there were this many penguins in the world.”
    “You haven’t even