Gypsy Girl (8 page)

His radio started squawking, and he began relaying Gregory’s injuries. “Bruising, head wound, trauma. Not life-threatening.” He patted Gregory’s shoulder. “You’re not too bad. But we’ve got paramedics coming for you.”

I tried to move closer. “I know who did it. It was—” I began, but the chef dragged me back.

“You heard the policeman,” he hissed in my ear. “Stay away from him or you’re going to be in even more trouble.”

I wanted to kick my foot back at his shin and drag my heel down it. That would have made him let me go.

“Don’t you listen?” I said. “I was helping him, that’s all!”

The policeman looked up. “Save it for later. For now, just keep out of the way.” He was trying to keep Gregory still.

“I don’t need an ambulance,” he was insisting. He’d got himself up onto his elbow, and he was looking at me.

I forced a smile. “It’s OK. You’ve got to get checked out,” I told him. “You hit your head.” I wanted to crouch by him and hold his hand, but I couldn’t.

There was a crowd gathering at the entrance to the car park, both customers and staff. They kept creeping nearer, trying to find out what was happening. Until they heard the sirens. The ambulance must’ve been near by because it had taken only a few minutes for it to make its way here. The crowd moved back as its flashing blue lights reflected in the windows of the hotel and it came slowly towards us, manoeuvring between the lorries and the wheelie bins.

A couple of paramedics jumped out and rushed over to Gregory. They started by asking him if he knew what day it was and his name. They held a wad of bandage to his head wound and checked out his ribs, before trying to move him. Now that help was here and he could see that Gregory wasn’t stabbed or bleeding to death, the policeman turned his attention to me. He signalled for the chef to let go of me. But only so that he could grab hold of my arm and pull me to one side.

“OK. Tell me what happened?”

“It was a boy called Milo Scarret. I had an argument with him yesterday. He followed me here today.”

He frowned. “So if he was after you, why did he beat up this lad?”

Why couldn’t he understand? “To get at me. To make me and my family move. He was too scared to fight me again.”

I could tell by his face that he didn’t believe me. No way would he think that Milo was scared of a girl. But I didn’t care right now. I couldn’t stop watching the paramedics as they checked Gregory over.

“So you know Gregory? He’s a friend?”

“No. Yes.”
He’d come out to check if I was OK. He’d done that, and now look at him
.

“Make up your mind.”

“No, he’s not a friend, not really.”

The policeman was getting fed up. “So why would Milo Scarret think hitting Gregory Langton would make you leave town?”

I shrugged. How could I explain that he must’ve seen me holding Gregory’s hand, that he thought we were together, but we weren’t and never would be? “Maybe you should be rounding up Milo and asking him.”

That got me a blank stare. I’d annoyed him. “We don’t need you telling us what to do.” His radio squawked. “Shut up and stay still while I get this, or you’ll be in trouble.”

He turned away from me and began talking into his radio. I stayed where I was. The crowd had grown bigger. Two waitresses about my age, in black and white uniforms, were creeping forwards, trying to see what was going on, their eyes wide.

“Aw no! It’s Gregory!” I heard one of them say. “Does Alice know?”

“Someone tell her. She’s in the bar. No, wait! Here she is! Oh, poor Alice.”

The girl with the fair, shiny hair and the kitten face came running towards us, pushing through the watchers.

“Alice! Quick. It’s Gregory!” they shouted.

She was frowning. “What’s happened?”

When she saw him and the pool of blood, her hand went to her mouth. She ran up to the paramedics, her blonde hair swinging from side to side. “Oh my God. Let me speak to him.”

They ignored her. The policeman put his free hand out to stop her. “Hold on, miss. Let them do their job.”

She saw me and frowned, probably trying to remember where she’d seen me before. “Do you know what happened?”

I didn’t have time to answer her. She saw the policeman’s hand around my arm and her mouth dropped open. I could read her mind. She thought I was being arrested. Her perfect face crinkled up. Her eyes narrowed, her voice became all trembly. “You know something about this. What did you do to him?”

Stupid girl. I wanted to shout at her, tell her I would never attack anyone. But I didn’t. “Nothing. I was helping him.”

She came closer, her eyes going sparkly as well as narrow. “Helping him! You—”

But the policeman pushed her away. “Please, stand back. We’ll find out all the facts soon.”

One of the waitresses was tugging on her arm. “He’s right, Alice, get away from her!” she whispered, in a voice loud enough for me and everyone else to hear. “It’s her. Cooper told us about her.”

“Does it matter who I am?” I said, glaring from one to the other. “Gregory’s hurt. Shouldn’t you be worrying about that?”

That shut them up. Alice gave me one last glittery look and hurried over to the paramedics, who were helping Gregory into the back of the ambulance.

“Can I go with him,” she pleaded. “I’m his girlfriend!”

His girlfriend? My heart missed a beat. Miss Kitten Face, with the delicate ballet shoes and the perfect, shiny blonde hair, was his girlfriend. I watched as she climbed into the ambulance with him. And I listened to the whispers starting up close by. It seemed as though all the teenagers in town had jobs at the hotel. I recognized Gregory’s dark-haired friend, Cooper. He was standing with one of the waitresses.

“That’s her. The girl from Gypsy’s Acre!” he hissed. “What’s she got to do with it?”

“Chef says she attacked him!”

“What? Like a mugging? No way. Her sister’s wedding’s costing a fortune. They don’t need to mug people.”

“Not a mugging. She just attacked him.”

Another girl joined in. “I love her look.”

“What? Slutty tart?”
Thanks, Cooper
.

“Shut up. She can hear. She says Milo did it.”

“He’s a dick, but why would he attack Greg?”

“I don’t know. Why would she attack him?”

“She was giving him these looks yesterday…” Cooper again. “maybe they got it together, and then he dumped her…”

“No. He wouldn’t do that to Alice.”

“You didn’t see them together, the way she was looking—”

I swung round as best as I could with the policeman still holding me. Soon as they saw me looking, they shut up. It didn’t sound like any of them were on my side, but I wasn’t going to explain to them. Let them think the worst of me. I knew the truth. If I hadn’t searched for him, Gregory would’ve lain there for longer and the crimson pool that still glistened on the tarmac would be bigger.

But he’d only been attacked because he’d come out to check on me
.

A moment later, the whispering started up again, but that was because Rocky was pushing his way through, shouting, “What’s going on? Someone said there’d been a fight.”

Rocky is like me, he gets pulled towards danger. Most of the whisperers would know him. He’d probably been at school with some of them. And once you met Rocky, you never forgot him.

No one answered. Everyone looked at me.

“Gregory Langton got beat up,” I said.

“Langton? Why would anyone fight with him?” asked Rocky as the doors closed and the ambulance eased its way out of the car park, taking Gregory and Alice off to the hospital.

I shrugged. “I found him. They think I did it, but it was Milo Scarret.” I watched the ambulance disappear down the street. “Him and his brothers attacked me yesterday.”

The policeman heard this. He raised his eyebrows. “You don’t look like someone who’s been attacked.”

“I beat them,” I said.

Rocky groaned and made faces at me, trying to get me to shut the hell up. People didn’t understand about the Smith strength. The policeman definitely didn’t. “You’re saying you fought the three Scarret brothers? On your own?”

I looked him straight in the eyes, my chin up. I let him see I was telling the truth. “Yes. I had to defend myself. No one else was there to help me. The next time I saw them was this morning.”

I told him everything, how Milo had pulled faces at us through the hotel window, and how I’d seen him and his brothers go into the staff car park.

“Hmmm.” The policeman didn’t look totally convinced. “You’re the family stopping on Langton’s land, aren’t you?”

“What’s that got to do with it?” I asked.

Before he could answer, a voice shrieked, “Leave her alone!” It was Sabrina, blazing towards us. “She never did anything! Let her go.”

She was in full princess mode, long, dark hair billowing, high heels tapping, her eyes blazing. She glared at the whispering waitresses as she pushed her way through them. “I can hear you! I can hear what you’re saying about me sister! You should be ashamed of yourselves.”

They backed away from her and looked helplessly at the manageress, who was hurrying along behind Sabrina.

“Go!” the woman told them. “Get back to work.” She bustled forward. “Now, what’s going on out here? What’s happened to Gregory?”

I expect she was hoping that her bride’s chief bridesmaid wasn’t about to get arrested before the big wedding on Saturday, especially as I was the one who paid all the bills. The chef, who was still hanging around enjoying himself, told her all that had happened, and in the end the policeman let go of me and put his notebook away. I rubbed the finger marks on my arm.

“So I’m not a suspect?”

He cleared his throat. “For now, no. I’ll go and talk to Gregory, hear his side of the story. But I might have to ask you some more questions. So go home and stay out of trouble.”

“But what about Milo—”

Sabrina pushed me and gave me a warning look. “Sammy-Jo, leave it.” For once she was taking control. She turned on the policeman, who took a hasty step back, away from her. “You better secure the crime scene.” She poked him in the chest. “And get forensics onto this. Sammy-Jo never did nothing.” Then she spun round to me. “Wait here. I’ll go and get the car.”

She stomped off through the thinning crowd, as everyone slowly drifted back into the hotel. In the end there was just me, Rocky and the policeman, who was waiting for support officers to arrive.

“So tell me all,” said Rocky, quietly. “How come you were with Gregory Langton?”

I shrugged. “He works at the hotel.”

He didn’t look convinced.

“I didn’t know he worked here,” I insisted. “I’m not guilty.”

“Never thought you were.” He grinned. “You’d never beat anyone up. But I think you’re guilty of something. I told you. I hear rumours.”

“Right back at ya. I hear them about you.”

He shook his head. “No, don’t try to deflect me. You’ve got secrets, Sammy-Jo. You’re up to something. Something dangerous. Something that gives you the name Gypsy Girl.”

“I told you. It’s not me. It must be someone else.”

He gave me this long look. “I don’t think so.”

Luckily I was saved by Sabrina. There was a loud revving of an engine, and her car shot round the back of the lorry and screeched to a halt in front of us. Sabrina’s idea of slowing down is to jam her foot on the brake as hard as she can. I threw myself gratefully into the passenger seat.

Rocky stood back, still watching me. “I’ll find out if it kills me,” he said.

“Don’t bother.”

Before I could shut the door, Sabrina leaned over me. “What’re you doing here anyway, Rocky?”

“He wants a receipt, that’s all.” I rummaged about in the glove compartment. “Here it is.”

I handed it to Rocky and slammed the door without another word to him, and sank back in my seat.

“Thanks for coming to the rescue,” I said as we set off.

But she was back on planet Sabrina. She was glancing at her reflection in the rearview mirror as she drove. I could tell she was worrying about something.

“What’s up?”

“My eyelashes aren’t long enough. I need extensions.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do. I can’t believe you’d let me go to me own wedding with short eyelashes.”

It wasn’t true. All the Smith sisters have got long eyelashes, but that wasn’t good enough for Sabrina. She couldn’t get married without them being super-long and studded with tiny little diamonds to make them glitter.

So back we went to the Paradise Beauty Bar. She had her eyelashes fitted, and I sat and fretted.

This was all my fault.

“Kings, that’s what they were! Kings of the Gypsies.”

Granny Kate’s eyes were sparkling.

“More kingly than royal kings. In fact, royal kings were nothing compared to them – they only sat on a throne. Any old fool can do that. But the kings of the Smiths, our Samsons, they could’ve lifted the throne above their heads and thrown it across the palace!”

She paused from stirring the blackberry wine and leaned on the counter, looking into the distance, remembering far back in time. It was late afternoon, and we were in her trailer, listening to the history of the Smith fighters.

“The first of them all was old Samson Absalom Smith, three hundred years ago. He had the blackest hair and pearly skin, like a Greek statue. They called him Samson because he was so strong. Remember in the Bible – that strong fella who pulled down the temple, until Delilah cut his hair off? Well, our Samson was just as strong as that, and had hair to match. He wouldn’t have put up with that Delilah, though. He wouldn’t have cut his hair and been tricked. The Smiths were wily, even back then.”

Granny Kate’s trailer is an old one, with beautiful engraved mirrors on all the cupboard doors, lace curtains at the window and a tiny Queen Anne wood stove to keep her warm at night. But she likes her mod cons as well. In the corner, a little flatscreen TV was burbling quietly, showing one of her favourite black-and-white films. Today the whole place was steamy and smelled sweetly of blackberries.

“The housed folk were in awe of us back then,” she carried on as she cooked. “They could tell we were special as we came rolling into villages and towns. They could see we were different, not heavy and stuck in the mud like them, but here today and gone tomorrow.”