The Sound

  He heads to the counter and reaches across it for a notepad. After scribbling something on it he tosses it to me.

  ‘Fill in the blanks,’ he says.

  I take the pencil he rolls my way, eyeing him as I do. There are guys with attitude, and then there’s this guy. He needs his own special category in Urban Dictionary. I thought America did customer service like no other country on earth but he’s currently blowing that theory out of the water. I’m tempted as I write my name down in block capitals to toss the pad back and tell him that I’ve changed my mind. There must be a dozen other bike rental places on the island. I know I passed one when we got off the ferry.

  But then I notice the price he’s scrawled at the bottom – it’s cheap. I’m not sure I’d get such a good deal anywhere else. And I’m here now. And he’s raised the seat. I glance up at him. He’s staring at me with his arms crossed over his chest. His foot isn’t actually tapping but his whole body feels like a ticking bomb.

  I hurriedly finish writing my name and address.

  ‘Bring it back when you’re done. All we need is a deposit upfront,’ he says, reading the details I’ve written down.

  I reach into my bag for my wallet and count out the fifty dollar deposit. He takes the cash and tears off the receipt, handing it to me without a word.

  Behind me the door pings.

  ‘Ren!’

  I turn at the sound of my name.

  ‘Hey,’ I say, blinking as I recognise Sophie – the blonde girl from the night before who I last saw staggering drunkenly off with Matt to find somewhere to puke. She looks much more sober right now.

  She comes speeding over to me, grabs me by the arm and starts tugging me towards the door.

  ‘Parker called and said he’d seen you coming in here,’ she whispers into my ear. ‘Like what are you doing?’

  ‘Like, I’m renting a bike,’ I answer. I’m still vaguely amused by the overuse of the word like. I thought it was something that Hollywood scriptwriters used to emphasise vacuity in female characters. Turns out that’s actually the way Sophie speaks.

  She lowers her voice to a stage whisper. ‘We don’t rent bikes from here. Nobody does.’ Emphasis on the nobody.

  I glance up to see if moody bike guy is watching. He is. His eyes are narrowed at Sophie, half in amusement, half in threat. He looks like he’d like to leap over the counter and twist her head off with his spanner.

  ‘Um, well I kind of paid my deposit already. And I got myself a two-wheeled means of transport.’ I point at the bike standing there waiting for me to make friends with it.

  Sophie starts dragging me to the door. ‘Forget the bike,’ she hisses. ‘Come on, let’s just get out of here.’

  ‘Wait,’ I say, frustrated now. ‘I’m taking my bike.’

  She stops to stare at me, her baby blue eyes popping like a cartoon character’s. Glancing nervously over her shoulder at the boy behind the counter, she huffs. ‘OK, just hurry, OK? Before it’s all around town.’

  I roll my eyes and start wheeling the bike towards the door, forgetting at first about the kickstand and wondering why the bike is fighting me to escape this place. The guy walks around the counter towards us and Sophie skitters for the door as though he’s a serial killer. I see the trace of a smile on his lips as though he finds her behaviour amusing. I’m finding it embarrassing. Despite how rude he’s just been to me I have been conditioned by my mother to be polite at all times and so I smile at him in apology. He notices but doesn’t smile back at me, rather his eyebrows raise a fraction as though he’s taking my apology and wringing it by its neck before handing me back its broken corpse.

  I realise my hands are shaking on the handlebars. He opens the door for me – Sophie having slammed it in my face – and I pass under his arm.

  ‘Thanks,’ I murmur.

  He lets the door bang shut behind me in reply.

  7

  I mutter angrily at myself for having bothered to say ‘thanks’. Sometimes politeness conditioning sucks. I never actually say what I mean in case I offend someone. That guy did not deserve a thank you. He deserved a kick in the shins. I vow next time to make a point of impoliteness.

  ‘Wow, what’s with him?’ I ask Sophie, jerking my head at the door.

  Sophie is rooting around in her handbag like a crazed terrier, looking for something. She pauses to look up at me, her eyes wide. ‘You just met the infamous Jesse Miller,’ she says and I notice that she’s practically panting with excitement.

  ‘Infamous?’ I ask, wondering whether I missed something – as in, maybe Jesse’s the last, forgotten, Jonas brother. ‘What’s he infamous for?’ I wonder out loud. ‘His superlative customer service?’

  ‘You are SO lucky I came along when I did,’ Sophie says, pulling out her iPhone which is so bedazzled with crystals my eyes start tearing up.

  ‘Lucky? Why?’ I ask. Now I’m figuring, by the mixture of lurid excitement and squee in her voice, that Jesse Miller is not the last, forgotten, Jonas brother after all, but rather a porn star, or, as I suspected, a serial killer.

  ‘He almost killed Tyler Reed,’ Sophie announces.

  ‘What?’ The pedal scrapes my calf as I squeeze the brakes (they are brakes).

  ‘You know Tyler?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I say, remembering the tall, dark-haired guy dancing with Eliza last night.

  ‘Well,’ Sophie says, ‘last summer Jesse almost killed him. He got arrested for it. I swear it was like, almost murder. Except Tyler didn’t like, die. He was just in hospital for like forever with all these wires and casts and plugged into all these beeping machines. We went to visit him. It was all over the newspapers and everything.’ She pauses for breath, tipping her head to one side and looking at me quizzically. ‘How could you not know that?’

  I think about answering but don’t bother. A boy beating up another boy on a small island off the coast of Massachusetts is not going to make news in London but Sophie seems blissfully unaware of this fact.

  ‘Jesse got three months in juvie,’ she continues at hyper-speed, not pausing to suck in another breath, ‘and I guess, now he’s out, they just let him wander around the island which is like totally insane. I think Tyler’s family have a restraining order out on him. That’s what I heard anyway. I mean, Jesse’s totally psycho. I’m going to see if I can get a restraining order on him too.’

  I turn back to the bike. My heart is beating about a thousand times a minute. I recognise the residual effects of the adrenaline from my run-in with Jesse in the shop and now, though I try to slow my heart and take a long deep breath to stop it from happening, my throat starts to close up. I kick frantically at the bike’s stand and with numb fingers start digging through my bag for my inhaler. Sophie’s voice is like static filling my ears. Once I’ve found the familiar plastic tube I pull it free and take a long puff. Almost at once I feel the edge of the fog retreating from my lungs and easing its fingers from my throat.

  A hand on my shoulder makes me turn. I am expecting it to be Sophie checking to see if I’m OK but it’s not. The boy from the shop – Jesse Miller – is standing in front of me. What’s he doing? Did he hear what Sophie was saying about him? I flinch and immediately drop my gaze to his hands. He isn’t holding a spanner anymore. He’s holding something else.

  ‘Here,’ he says, not meeting my eye. ‘You forgot this.’

  He hands me a bicycle helmet.

  ‘Thanks,’ I manage to stutter, snatching it so he doesn’t notice the way my hands are shaking.

  He nods and then walks off back into the shop.

  I watch him go, clutching my inhaler tighter and letting the helmet dangle from my other hand.

  ‘Seriously, just wait until I tell the others,’ Sophie says, her iPhone already in her hand. ‘I totally caught that all on camera. You know. To use as evidence.’

  Just then though a jeep comes careering down the road and tears into the lot in front of Miller’s Bike and Boat Store. It screeches to a halt by
what I assume is Sophie’s red Mercedes and the driver and passenger doors both swing open.

  I recognise Matt and Parker straightaway. They don’t notice us though and start heading straight for the door.

  ‘Matt!’ Sophie yells.

  He turns at the door and when he sees Sophie waving he runs over to her.

  ‘What the hell’s going on? What are you doing here?’ Matt demands, taking hold of Sophie by the arms. ‘Did he do anything to you?’

  ‘No, we’re OK. Ren here was just renting a bike.’

  Matt turns to me with a look of stunned incomprehension on his face. ‘You were renting a what?’

  I point at the bike. ‘A bike.’

  ‘From here?’ He turns to Sophie, ‘You didn’t warn her?’ – then back to me – ‘I could have lent you a bike.’

  I shrug.

  ‘Take it back,’ Parker suddenly says, appearing beside me. In daylight I notice that he’s got sandy blonde hair and green eyes. ‘Come on, I’ll go with you.’ He takes hold of my bike by the handlebars.

  I wrestle with him for control of the bike. ‘No, no. It’s fine. I’ve got it now. I’ll keep it.’

  ‘Don’t make her go in there again,’ Sophie complains.

  Parker shrugs and lets go. ‘Alright,’ he says, but it sounds more like ite.

  Matt puts his arm around Sophie. ‘You coming to the beach?’ he asks.

  ‘Sure,’ Sophie smiles. She turns to me. ‘You coming, Ren?’

  ‘Um.’ I stare at my bike.

  ‘You could meet us there,’ she offers.

  ‘Yeah,’ I say, trying to think.

  ‘Jeremy will be there,’ Sophie says. I glance at her and her expression is totally innocent. She’s smiling in her wide-eyed way but is there a hidden layer to her words?

  I shouldn’t care either way if Jeremy’s going to be there or not but there’s an undeniable jolt in my stomach at the thought of seeing him again.

  ‘We’re going to Dionis,’ Matt says. ‘It’s three miles in that direction.’ He points.

  ‘OK,’ I finally say. ‘Maybe I’ll see you there later.’

  8

  I watch them climb into their cars and wait until they are long gone before I swing my leg over the bike seat. I told them maybe I would go, not because I was playing it cool, but because Matt said three miles. And three miles might as well be the distance to the moon for the likelihood of me making it there on two wheels in this lifetime. Still, I’ve come this far. I’ve hired a bike from a psycho almost killer, I am going to try to ride the damn thing.

  I put on my helmet and rest one foot on the pedal, wait for the road to clear of all traffic, and then I push off. I wobble for a few feet and then I am fine. Wow, I think to myself, it’s true what they say – it’s just like riding a bike. This is easy. Then a car comes tearing towards me around the bend, honking like crazy, and I teeter, swerve wildly and go crashing into a bush. I manage not to go flying over the handlebars but my arms are almost pulled out of their sockets from trying to keep hold of the bike and the inside of my leg is grazed from the pedals.

  ‘Damn,’ I say, trying to pull the bike free of the tangly bush. My legs are wobbly and my palms are sweating.

  ‘You might want to try biking on the right side of the road.’

  I turn. Jesse is standing leaning against the door jamb with his arms crossed over his chest. He’s staring at me in wry amusement. I glare back at him and he saunters towards me.

  ‘Are you OK?’ he asks as he reaches me, but his eyes are checking out the bike.

  ‘Yeah, I saved the bike,’ I say. ‘Don’t worry.’

  He looks at me then, a flash of something crossing his face. ‘I asked if you were OK, not about the bike.’

  ‘Oh, yeah, I’m fine,’ I stammer. I rub my leg. ‘Just a scrape.’

  He wheels the bike across the road and I follow. I am coming to know humiliation in all its constituent parts, so the shame of him having seen me crash while wearing this helmet almost doesn’t impact anymore. I just shrug it off and bury it deep inside along with all the other humiliations of the last three weeks – Will’s dumping me via Facebook, baptism by baby vomit . . .

  Jesse is standing holding the bike. ‘OK, get on,’ he orders.

  I hesitate and then I do. By this point I don’t believe humiliation can make any more indents. I’m already flattened by it.

  ‘The trick is the balance,’ he says.

  ‘And cycling on the right side of the road?’ I ask, shooting him a sideways glance.

  It’s possible a smile might be about to crack but he fights it back and just nods at me instead. I notice that his eyes are a shade lighter than his brown hair but then look away quickly, remembering what Sophie told me about him being a total nut job. I don’t want to provoke him and sometimes a look is all it takes. ‘Just concentrate, go slowly,’ he says, ‘keep your eyes on the road and remember to use your brakes.’

  ‘Got it,’ I say.

  ‘You sure?’ he asks. He’s looking more than a little concerned.

  ‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘I’m just a bit rusty.’

  He nods, frowning. ‘OK, if you have any problems at all just call me. The number’s on the receipt.’

  I squint at him. He’s standing against the sun. ‘Thanks,’ I say.

  I’m not sure what to think anymore. Ten minutes ago I was ready to agree with Sophie about the restraining order. This guy put someone in the hospital, he clearly has anger issues and makes surliness into an art form. He definitely makes me nervous. I can’t hold his gaze that’s for sure, so I look away and study the little box attached to the handlebar and start pressing it with my thumb.

  ‘Do you know how to use the gears?’ he asks me.

  ‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘Of course.’

  His eyebrows raise in a silent question. He reaches over and puts his hand over mine, squeezing his thumb over the little stick. ‘Press this one to go up a gear,’ he says, ‘the other way to go down.’

  The pressure of his hand is unexpected. I hold my breath and then pull my hand out from under his. He steps back and I notice his jaw tense and the quick flare of irritation in his eyes.

  ‘I have to go,’ I mutter.

  He shrugs and backs away, holding his hands palms up in surrender. ‘Good luck,’ he says.

  I grit my teeth, You can do this, Ren, I hiss to myself. And then I’m off – unsteady at first, but gaining in confidence after the first ten metres when I manage to keep my balance and not fall off. The whole way down the road I am convinced I can feel him staring after me, but even if I wanted to I can’t check if I’m right because I’m too scared that if I turn my head I’ll lose my balance and go flying.

  9

  I make it. I actually make it. I took one small tumble and grazed my knee when I hit the brakes instead of the gears and I’m fairly sweaty but I am alive! Also the tops of my thighs are pink because I forgot to put sunscreen on. I take off my helmet and ruffle my hair. I don’t have a mirror but I have a pretty good idea of what helmet head looks like. My hair is thick, dark and wavy and in climates like this it tends to frizz – and not in a good way but in an 80s perm type way. I untie it from its ponytail and run my fingers through it before tying it back up. I take a long swig of water from the bottle that Carrie insisted I take with me and pour some over the graze on my knee. I wipe my face on the corner of a towel and then I scan the parking lot.

  I spot Sophie’s red Mercedes and Matt’s jeep. Straightaway the nerves that have been plaguing me ever since the bike incident start up. It feels like someone is strumming a wrong chord on my insides. I feel uneasy. I take a long slow breath in and then out, hoping I don’t have to reach for my inhaler. I hate the way my lungs refuse to participate at moments like this. What if I was ever really under pressure in a life or death situation? I’d be totally screwed.

  I grab my bag and head for the beach. It’s the first time I’ve seen a Nantucket beach in daylight and it makes me smile instantly ??
? the sand is golden and warm beneath my toes and the sea is a colour I associate with pictures of the Caribbean. This is the Sound, I think to myself, staring at the water. I vowed not to step a toe in it but it does look pretty inviting, albeit cold. A lot of the boogie-boarders are in wetsuits. A group of bikini-clad girls are lying in a row not far away – four guys are playing Frisbee by them. I spot Sophie amongst the girls and then to my disappointment see Eliza lying next to her – wearing a white bikini which perfectly offsets her golden tan. Several new chords twang inside me.

  Jeremy is one of the Frisbee four. Matt, Parker and Tyler are the others. For no apparent reason my feet slow and drag in the sand as I get closer to the line-up of girls.

  ‘Hey!’ It’s Sophie. She is sitting up and waving at me. I feel a rush of gratitude and smile as I drop to my knees in the sand beside her.

  ‘Hi,’ I say.

  ‘You made it!’

  ‘Yeah, I made it.’

  ‘Eliza said she saw you fall off your bike.’

  Eliza sits up now. The other girls turn their heads in my direction as if they’re all attached to a single string which Eliza is pulling. She’s the puppet master, I think to myself, the evil puppet master. ‘Yeah, that looked painful,’ she says, ‘did you hurt yourself?’

  Is she being genuine? It’s hard to tell as she’s wearing sunglasses and I can’t see her eyes, but if I had to gamble, I would bet on disingenuous.

  ‘No it’s fine,’ I say carefully, ‘just a graze.’

  She lies back down murmuring something. The girl on her other side giggles.

  ‘Everyone,’ Sophie announces, seemingly oblivious to the fact her friends are currently laughing at me. ‘This is Ren. She’s from England.’

  I hold up my hand in greeting. ‘Hey.’

  ‘That’s Paige, Summer, and you know Eliza,’ Sophie says, pointing to each of them in turn. Summer is easy to remember because like Sophie she’s blonde and perky and wearing a bikini the colour of the sky. Paige is pale – her skin so white against her dark hair that I wonder what she is even doing on the beach. She must have coated her entire body in factor one hundred sunblock. She’s wearing a large brimmed hat and a black 50s style bikini. ‘Hi,’ she says, before standing up and announcing, ‘I’m going for a swim. Anyone coming?’ Summer jumps straight to her feet and I watch them flip their hair and tug on their bikinis to make sure they’re covering all the right bits, or rather to make sure that they’re not covering the right bits.