Inferno(19)

I saw it then. Outside the black gates, halfway down the other side of the street, was the black Mercedes. I craned my neck and stood on my tiptoes. Black rims! There was no mistaking it; the car was back and it was getting bolder, following me around in broad daylight.

I marched towards the end of the driveway. Down the street the car door was flung open and the girl with purple hair emerged on to the footpath. She was wiry but small, wearing low-rise jeans and a black tank top. A Falcone, I thought. There were definite shades of Elena Genovese-Falcone in her. She had to be one of them, a spy probably, which only added another lie to the pile Nic had built already.

This had gone on long enough.

I squeezed myself through the gap in the chained gates again. It was harder this time because I had an audience, and I was vaguely embarrassed of my squishing cheeks as I slid them against the metal. My attempts at intimidating her wouldn’t exactly thrive after my compacted-chipmunk display. She waited, propped against her car as I surged towards her. I might not have had any official karate training, but I was damn scrappy – if I needed to, I could probably kick her in the face at least once if she tried to come at me.

‘Persephone!’ A shout rang out behind me. I almost stopped but I registered the voice in time. Mrs Bailey, Cedar Hill’s resident gossip merchant, was not about to mess up my showdown with whoever this nosy Mercedes chick was.

Purple Hair actually looked taken aback as I stomped towards her, but still, she made no effort to approach me. She simply waited, and the arrogance of it just made me angrier. Get out of my life, I wanted to yell. It would be easier to say it to her than to Nic, because I couldn’t look at him without remembering the intensity in his kisses, or the way he looked at me. But this girl was just a straight-up pain in my ass and I would have no trouble telling her exactly where to go.

I could hear Mrs Bailey bustling her way up the street behind me.

‘Persephone Gracewell!’ The wail was shriller this time – half car alarm, half dying cat – and somehow, somehow, it stopped me.

I skidded to a halt.

Purple Hair peered around me, at the commotion. From her vantage point, she couldn’t see Mrs Bailey and Mrs Bailey couldn’t see her, and I was stuck in between them both, wondering which was the greater annoyance in my life.

‘Mrs Bailey,’ I laboured, turning around. ‘I’m kind of in the middle of something.’

Mrs Bailey was pottering up the street as fast as she could. She was shiny with sweat. Her cropped hair was flopping into her eyes and her dress was bunching around her ankles, threatening to trip her.

She grabbed on to my arm, gasping for air like she was drowning. ‘There. You. Are.’

I mentally ran through the checklist for CPR in my head, just in case. I didn’t particularly like Mrs Bailey, but I wasn’t above trying to revive her if she collapsed at my feet. ‘Is everything OK?’

She removed her grip from me and clutched at her heart. ‘I’ve. Been. Looking. For. You. For weeks!’

I was still acutely aware of the girl behind me. Time was of the essence. I was about to hand out a much-needed lesson in Inappropriate Snoopery. After all, I was the expert. ‘Can you hang on just a sec, Mrs Bailey?’

‘Why? Where are you going?’

When I turned around, Purple Hair was back in her car. Mrs Bailey blinked over my shoulder at apparent nothingness.

Crap. I started towards the Mercedes. ‘Hey!’ I yelled. ‘Wait!’

She revved the engine and pulled away from the curb. I tried to run after her but I fell short, stumbling and panting. ‘Hang on! I want to talk to you!’

The car sped off down the street, squealing around a faraway bend, and I had to swallow the string of curses welling up in my throat.

I doubled back towards Mrs Bailey, already feeling fed up with her company. She had the worst timing.

‘Who was that in the car?’ she asked.

Count to five. Calm down. Do not punch her. ‘I don’t know.’

Her face changed, and she remembered why she had stopped me. ‘You haven’t been at work in weeks, Persephone. I’ve barely seen your mother. I thought you were an apparition when I saw you just now.’

‘Well, I had an accident,’ I told her. ‘I’m sure you heard?’

She cocked her head, running her gaze along my stiffened frame. She lingered over the faint swelling around my eyes, stared for too long at the faded bruises near my jaw. ‘You look dreadful,’ she informed me.

‘I’ve missed this.’

‘You look like you have jaundice.’

‘Yeah, well you know how it is …’ I trailed off, gesturing at myself and searching for the words I needed. ‘One minute you’re standing on the top of the stairs playing on your phone, and the next minute you’re hurtling down them, toppling over yourself … and just generally … hitting your face off stuff … repeatedly … until it bruises … a lot …’ I flashed a sheepish smile. That ought to do it.