I break my “no creepy mysterious stuff for one afternoon” resolution almost immediately.

Within seconds of me arriving at the Night Owl, I hear Mrs. Leyton calling my name across the room. I can see my friends waiting for me at our usual spot – Jamie’s newly-dyed bubblegum pink hair has its uses – but they haven’t spotted me yet.

I’ve already kept them waiting thirty minutes. A few extra won’t make much difference.

So I put on my best fake smile and walk towards Mrs. Leyton’s window-side table. The wealthy elderly widow has been a regular customer as far back as I can remember – every single afternoon since her husband died, she sits at the same table with a slice of cake and a cup of tea, and writes.

She’s known locally as a “colorful character”, which is really saying something in Portland, home of The Vacuum Cleaner Museum and the world’s only vampire-themed vegan strip club. It’s not just her habit of wearing the same figure-hugging black velvet dress every day, or her fondness for intricate bejeweled brooches shaped like insects (today’s is a golden praying mantis with emerald wings), or her love of Pomeranians, of which she has more than twenty apparently. Her reputation has more to do with her intense personality. She either loves you, or she hates you. Luckily, I’m in her good books, but there’s one person who I know isn’t.

Bea.

They’ve been archrivals as long as I’ve known them, not even frenemies, just straight-up, no frills enemies. They can’t even stand to be in the same room together, after Bea dumped a whole bowl of punch over Mrs. Leyton’s head at a fundraising dinner a few years ago. My mom told me once that they actually used to be friends – along with gran, back in the day – but something happened. I never thought about it much, but now I see an opportunity.

If anyone has any dirt on Bea, or knows anything dark in her past, it’ll be Mrs. Leyton.

She smiles warmly as I approach her table, her crimson lipstick slightly smudged, long grey hair pinned up in an elegant bun.

An older grey-haired man dressed in a smart suit is sitting opposite her. He rises up to greet me, pulling out a chair for me.

A few weeks ago Jade mentioned that Mrs. Leyton bought a mystery man to the Night Owl with her. This must be him.

“Ashling, sit down darling!” Mrs. Leyton says.

“That’s ok, thanks,” I say. “I’m running late to meet some friends, so I can’t really be too long.”

Mrs. Leyton’s whole face crumples with disappointment as her male companion sits back down again.

“Well that’s a pity,” she says. “Robert, this is the girl I was telling you about, Ashling Shields. Brian and Anna’s daughter. Pretty little thing, isn’t she?”

“Quite lovely,” he says, his eyes flickering instantly to the spot just below my left breast, where my scar is – even though it’s completely hidden beneath my dress. His eyes linger there only a second, but its long enough for me to feel a slight stabbing, an echo of the original pain when a shard of glass embedded itself in my ribcage during the bus accident.

I instinctively wince and gasp, clutching my chest, and Mrs. Leyton grabs my wrist, her face creased with worry.

“Perhaps you ought to sit down after all, dear,” she says.

The grey-haired man is watching me with sharp eyes, silent and alert as a hawk.

Keep it together. Don’t show them any weakness.

“I’m fine, totally fine,” I say. “Just my underwire poking me. Haha.”

Now they’re both picturing my bra. Good one, me. Real smooth.

“What a nuisance, that’s why I go without,” Mrs. Leyton says, her smile returning. “Stupid fidgety things. Anyhow, have you met Robert? He’s here on holiday, all the way from Oxford. He’s a professor there.”

“Wow,” I say, trying to sound suitably impressed. “What do you teach?”

His eyes twinkle as he leans over the table, smiling widely in a way that I’m sure Mrs. Leyton finds utterly charming, but I find ghoulish and slimy.

“History,” he says, quite vaguely. History of what? I almost ask him, before Mrs. Leyton pipes up.

“Robert’s taking me to England next month,” she says, taking his hand across the table. “I feel like the luckiest old duck in the whole wide world. I can’t wait to see your home, Pumpkin.” 

She blows him a kiss across the table, and he catches it with his hand, before putting it into his pocket for safekeeping. He winks at her, and she giggles.

“I can’t wait to show it to you, Sugar Puff,” he says with a sleazy smile, which makes Mrs. Leyton’s cheeks turn pink.

Gross.

“Enough about us,” she says, sounding a little breathless. “What have you been doing with yourself Ashling? It’s been ages since I last saw you.”

“I’ve been busy,” I say, hoping she won’t pry further.

“Don’t tell me you’ve found yourself a nice boy?” Mrs. Leyton says, leaning in closer to me. “What’s his name? Do I know him?”

“No, nothing like that,” I say, not entirely sure whether or not I’m telling the truth. “Just... um… music stuff.”

“Oh,” she says, sitting back disappointed. Her male companion, however, seems unwilling to drop it so easily.

“I find that hard to believe,” he says. “Surely a captivating young lady such as yourself has a whole horde of suitors? There must be some handsome young devil who’s caught your eye. Pretty girl like you.”

I don’t know whether to blush or vomit.

“Oh Robert, you’re embarrassing her,” Mrs. Leyton says, tapping his hand as if to scold him. “She’ll run away if you keep it up.”

“Actually, there’s something I wanted to ask you about,” I say. “It’s about Beatrice O’Cahill.”

Mrs. Leyton’s mouth immediately twists into a sour grimace, her eyes go hard as pebbles.

“Gran told me you were friends,” I say, which makes her cock an eyebrow. “Used to be friends, I mean. She’s been acting really… strange… and I feel like maybe something’s bothering her… something that happened a long time ago. A really, really long time ago. I thought you might know something.”

She stares hard at me for a moment, and I quickly add, “I’m worried about her. Earlier on today she said some-”

“Well of course she’s on her worst behavior today,” she says. “Today’s the anniversary, after all. 

“The anniversary of what?” I ask.

“You don’t know?” She asks, sounding surprised.

I shake my head, and her face softens slightly, her eyes seem to glaze over somewhat with memory.

“It’s the anniversary of Hugh’s death,” she says.

“Hugh?” I ask.

“Yes, my fiancée. Her brother,” she says, as Robert reaches out and squeezes her hand across the table. “It was forty-seven years ago today. She still blames me, of course.”

Well this is new information. No one ever mentioned Bea having a brother before.

“It wasn’t your fault, Sugar Puff,” Robert tells her, his voice dripping with sweetness. “He wasn’t well.”

“No, he wasn’t,” Mrs. Leyton says firmly. “Anyhow, I really do detest talking about that woman. I’m sure your friends are waiting for you, Ashling dear.”

“Yes,” I say, relieved to be able to get away bit disappointed I didn’t get more from her.

“It was an absolute pleasure,” Robert says, rising from the table, clasping my hand in his.

“Before you go, one last thing sweetheart,” Mrs. Leyton says to me. “I’m helping out at the July Jubilee this year. You’ll be there, won’t you?”

The July Jubilee is an annual party my school puts on near the end of July. It sounds lame going to a school event during summer vacation, but it’s always awesome, and everyone’s there even though it’s totally optional. It’s the perfect way to see your crush again half way through the break, and there’s always a fancy dress theme. Because it’s not technically during term time, teachers turn a blind eye to any inappropriate or revealing costumes, so it’s understandably popular with the entire student body, girls and boys alike.

I hadn’t even thought about this year’s July Jubilee. It’s the 8^th of July now, and the event is usually around the last week of the month. The Fable boys will probably be back in England by then.

 “I’ll be there,” I say, nodding my head. “I should get to my friends, I’ve kept them waiting ages.”

“You do that darling, take care,” Mrs. Leyton says, pulling me in suddenly for a very wet kiss on the cheek.

“Till we meet again,” Robert says with a wink. He waves me a polite goodbye, and that’s when I see it.

For just an instant, but it’s enough.

As I walk away, my mind is replays the moment over and over.

A flash of silver, as the sunlight hits a thin band wrapped around his ring finger.

Tiny indentations in the silver, which may or may not have been text.

It could be a coincidence. It could be just a ring. It could be nothing.

Or it could be everything.