Gypsy Girl (7 page)

I gave a pretend sigh. “Are you stalking me?”

He laughed. “You wish. Where’re you heading?”

“Outside. Me sister’s driving me mad. I have to get away.” I wasn’t going to tell him about Milo. That wasn’t his world at all.

“This way’s quicker.” He beckoned for me to follow him, then rushed forward and held a door marked
STAFF ONLY
open for me.

“I thought I might see you around,” he said as we cut through a storeroom. “Everyone’s talking about the big wedding on Saturday, and I realized it was your sister’s.”

He opened another door, and this one led us straight out to a car park crowded with cars and delivery lorries. We both stopped and faced each other. The sun was blazing down. I shaded my eyes.

“I didn’t know you worked here.”

“In the holidays. Me and Cooper – you know, the mate you saw me with yesterday.” He meant the dark-haired one who fancied himself. “It’s just while we’re at college.” He pointed over to the marquee in the middle of the lawn. “I’ll be waiting on you at the wedding reception.”

I liked the sound of that. “So I can order you to get me drink and food, like I’m a princess’s sister at a royal wedding?”

He grinned. “I suppose.”

He was shading his eyes, too, and gazing at me, like he was trying to figure me out. Maybe I should’ve walked off and played it cool. I didn’t. I decided to forget about Milo for now. I wanted to make the moment last. I liked talking to Gregory. I liked the way he was running his fingers through his hair with his hand, messing it up again. I liked the way he scuffed his feet about because he wasn’t sure what to say.

“So what’re you doing now?” he said, eventually.

“I’ve got to get something from our car. Sabrina and Tyson keep altering their wedding plans,” I said. “Are you on your break?”

I don’t know what I was hoping. That we’d go and get a coffee and sit on the back of a bench like we were two normal people?

He pulled a sorry face. “No. I’m on kitchen duty today. I’m the dish pig.”

“Huh, what’s that?”

“It’s my job. Washing dishes. Scrubbing the grills.” He held out his hands. They looked red raw. I don’t know why I did it, but I took hold of one of them, pretending to examine it.

“You need some of me granny’s homemade balm.”

“Ouch. Yes, please. Is it some wise old herbal remedy?”

I pasted an innocent look onto my face. “Yep. She makes it from boiled roadkill hedgehogs.”

That made him laugh. “You are kidding, right?”

“What do you think?”

From behind him came the sound of something smashing and then a man’s voice swearing and cursing. Gregory’s grin faded. “Oops. That’s our chef. He’ll start shouting if he sees I’m not there. Worse luck.”

I let go of his hand – which I still seemed to be holding – and stepped back.

“Ah. Right. OK.”

My brain is always teeming with thoughts, but now I couldn’t think of a single interesting thing to say. He broke the silence.

“So. See you around.” He would’ve walked away, but something caught his eye in the car park. “Oh God, not him.”

I followed his gaze. It was Milo, alone, leaning on a delivery van and watching us. All of a sudden my arms were covered in goosebumps again, my skin was tingling and my hair was rising from my neck and doing its wolf-hackles trick. I’d forgotten about the danger while talking to Gregory. Now it was back. Milo must’ve been there all the time, and I hadn’t noticed. I was getting careless.

“You know him?” I asked.

“Everyone does. But I’ve never spoken to him. And I don’t want to. He’s a dick.”

“Yeah.”

He looked surprised. “You know him?”

I shrugged. “Just heard about him.” I wasn’t going to tell him about the fight. Now it was my turn to back away. “I better go. Before Sabrina finds something else to change about her wedding.”

He nodded, but he looked worried. “Where’s your car?”

“The far corner.”

“Keep away from Milo. Ignore him if he says anything.”

“I will. Boys like him don’t bother me.”

More shouting issued from the kitchen, along with someone hollering Gregory’s name. He glanced round. “Oops, sounds like I’m in trouble. Gotta go.”

He gave a wave and a last glance and hurried towards a half-open door further away, where the clattering of pots and pans and the ranting of the chef floated out on a cloud of steam. I watched him go – I couldn’t help myself – until he got swallowed up by the kitchen. When I turned back to the car park, Milo had disappeared into the maze of cars and delivery lorries. I wound my way through them and found him at the back, leaning on Sabrina’s car, his hands stuffed in his hoodie pockets.

I walked over to him, checking his brothers weren’t creeping up behind me. “Why are you following me?” I asked, making sure I was balanced and ready for him.

He really wanted to fight me: his feral face was sneering, his eyes hot with the need for violence. But he stayed where he was, and I knew why. Yesterday had shaken his little world. Girls should be easy to beat. They were weaker. They weren’t meant to fight back. And win.

He looked me up and down. “Unfinished business.”

“Really? You’d dare try and touch me again?”

“I wouldn’t dirty my hands on you.”

I did the same to him – looked him up and down, at his grubby jeans, his sweaty T-shirt. “Look who’s talking.”

His lip curled, showing his gappy, dingy teeth. “I don’t need to touch you.” He pulled his hand out of his pocket, and for a brief second I saw a glint of something metal. I caught my breath. Was it a knife, or was he just trying to scare me? Knives changed everything.

I held my own hands out, showing him they were empty, showing him I wasn’t going to do anything. “Look, I don’t know you. You don’t know me. So why not just go away and leave us alone? We’re not doing you any harm.”

He stared at me. “Don’t care. I hate ya.”

There was a yell of “Milo, quick!” and then footsteps approached rapidly through the crowded cars. It was one of his brothers, hyped and excited about something. He went over to Milo. “Leave the slag. We’ve got something better.”

“What?”

He mumbled something. Whatever it was, it fired Milo up. He stopped leaning on our car. His pasty face split into a leering grin. “See you around, bitch.”

He walked off after his brother, threading between a couple of lorries. I didn’t get it. Boys like them didn’t normally give up so easily. Maybe they were heading for the marquee, to destroy it in some way.

“Go anywhere near our marquee and you’ll regret it,” I shouted.

The brother ignored me, but Milo turned round. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” He grinned and gave me the finger again. “More interested in your boyfriend.”

I thought he meant he’d seen me with Rocky yesterday, in the high street. I even laughed. “Seriously, you’re going to get Rocky? He’ll flatten you.”

But he’d gone, bouncing on his toes like a fighter before a fight. Good riddance to bad rubbish, as my mother used to say. He was bluffing, talking big to save face. Even with a knife he wouldn’t dare do anything to Rocky. It didn’t sink in until I’d opened the car and was scrabbling about, looking for the receipt.

He didn’t mean Rocky.

My arms goosebumped as the danger came back. I ran back through the cars. The kitchen door was still open. I looked round wildly, hoping to see his fair hair over by the sink as he scrubbed pots. Everything was hectic in there, chefs were pushing past me, shouting, “Hot! Mind your back!”, pans clattered, waves of heat hit me, but I couldn’t see him anywhere. I grabbed one of the chefs as he hurried by.

“Where’s Gregory?”

He glared at me. “Oi, you’re not supposed to be in here.”

“Never mind. Where is he?”

He took one look at my furious face and said, “I don’t know. He was looking out the window and suddenly he shot outside. He said he wouldn’t be a sec. He wanted to check on someone.”

On me? Had he seen me from the window walking over to Milo? No, no, no, please not that. I pushed past the chef and ran. I should’ve known it wasn’t over. Scumbags like Milo never just walked off. Something bad was going to happen.

I slammed through the door and ran back to the car park, weaving my way through the lorries and vans jammed in between the cars. Something yowled to my left. Big wheelie bins were lined up along one wall, and a cat was standing on the furthest bin with its back arched, its fur sticking out like it had got a fright. It was staring at something I couldn’t see because it was hidden behind two big delivery lorries. My heart began to thump.

“Hey, Gregory – where are you?” I called.

No answer.

I sped past the first lorry, checking every shadow. I still couldn’t see anything. But I heard something, a faint groan from behind a lorry, and a burst of footsteps, fleeing. I ran. The car park ended in a head-high wall with a street on the other side. I saw a blur as Milo and his brothers disappeared over the top of it.

But I didn’t care about them. I didn’t care about anything except the huddled figure lying too still on the tarmac. And, next to him, the little puddle of crimson blood that was spreading out, inch by inch.

I ran to Gregory. I couldn’t take my eyes from the blood.

Milo’s knifed him!
That’s what it looked like.

I fell to my knees beside him. He was curled on his side, his legs drawn up, his hands hugging his ribs. His face was splattered with blood. His shirt was ripped and flapping in the breeze blowing through the car park.

I leaned over him, dreading to see a knife wound. “Hey, Gregory?”

I could smell the metallic tang of his blood. For a moment, he didn’t move. And then suddenly he was coughing, spraying red droplets into the air as he pushed himself over onto his back, the breath hissing through his teeth.

He was alive, at least. I put my hands on his shoulders, but he thought I was one of the bad boys and tried to push me away. I had to grab his hands and make him lay back.

Straightaway there was a click from above us. “Aw, did your boyfriend get hurt?”

Milo was perched on the wall like a monkey, phone in his hand, taking photos.

“Why did you do this?” I shouted, my voice breaking.

He laughed. “To teach you a lesson. Next time it’ll be your sister – if you don’t leave town.”

He gave me the finger again and disappeared over the wall, like a rat. I would’ve loved to follow him. My blood was boiling. But it could wait. I had to see to Gregory.

“It’s Sammy-Jo. Just lay still. Let me check you over.”

His eyes flicked open. He squinted at me, and then he relaxed back onto the tarmac. I pulled his shirt back, fumbling with the buttons. One was stuck. I ripped it away. He was skinny, his bones showing under pale skin that looked as new and tender as a baby’s. I almost fainted with relief when I saw his ribs.

He hadn’t been stabbed.

There was no wound, but he was a mess. There were bruises, already going purple and black, down both sides of his ribs. Milo and his brothers must have taken turns to kick him as he lay sprawled on the ground. A pain shot through my heart as I imagined Gregory trying to curl himself up as the blows rained down.

The cat miaowed and came rubbing round my feet, but I had to push it away, and it paddled off through the blood, shaking its feet. The puddle of crimson blood was coming from a gash in Gregory’s head. It ran straight across his eyebrow and over to his temple. It would need stitches. I’d been trained to do the first aid at the gym because fighters are always getting cuts, especially on their eyebrows, where the skin is thin and hard bone lies just beneath. But this was the worst I’d seen. It hadn’t been caused by a punch. The cowards had jumped him from behind as he came looking for me. He’d fallen forwards and smashed his head against the kerb. I scrabbled in my pocket and found a paper napkin. I pushed his blood-soaked hair back, then folded the paper napkin and put it over the wound. Immediately it was patterned with crimson.

“Can you hold it there?” I asked him.

“Uh-huh. What happened?” He put his hand up. The knuckles were split and scuffed. He managed to push himself up.

“Never mind for now. Don’t move. Lay still. You might have broken ribs. Does it hurt when you breathe?” I pushed him gently back down again, and he flopped back onto the ground. “I’m going to ring for an ambulance.”

“No. I’m OK.” He had a small cut on his lip, but it wasn’t bleeding too badly. He’d bitten it when he fell.

“You’re not OK.”

But he was determined to sit up, and I really didn’t think that was a good idea, so I got hold of him even more firmly and insisted he lay back, even though he tried to struggle.

“Oi! Stop!”

There were hurrying footsteps behind me, and a man grabbed me around the waist and hoisted me up off my feet and dragged me away from Gregory. I smacked my fist on his clasped hands, and when he swore and let go I whirled round, my own fists coming up. It was the chef from the kitchen.

“Get away from him,” he shouted as I tried to head back to Gregory. “I’ve called 999. The police’ll be here as well as the ambulance.”

“No, you don’t understand,” I said. “I’m trying to help him. He’s been beaten up.”

“I saw you. Didn’t look like you were helping him to me.”

Someone else was running towards us, one of the waitresses, her eyes wide with fear. “I’ve stopped a patrol car. An officer’s coming!”

The policeman was right behind her. He barged straight by us and knelt down beside Gregory. “Just stay still, lad. Help’s on its way. Whoa! Stay lying down,” he said as Gregory tried to sit up again. “We don’t know what damage you’ve got yet.”

“It’s his head, and maybe his ribs,” I said, trying to get back to Gregory’s side, but the policeman shoved me away.

“Someone keep her back!” he ordered.

I think the chef was pleased about that. Straightaway he came up behind me and grabbed my arms again, his fingers digging into my skin. I could’ve broken his hold in seconds, but I stopped myself. They already thought I’d got something to do with Gregory’s attack. I wasn’t going to show them how strong I was. So I watched as the policeman checked Gregory. His head had started to bleed again, and he was looking confused and trying to hold the napkin on to it, even though it was soaked in blood. The policeman came to the same conclusion as me. Gregory was going to live. No stab wounds.