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I do a full-body cringe as Jack’s eyebrows rise.
He doesn’t believe me. He knows I’m lying.
“Cool,” he says, sitting down at the desk and looking carefully at its surface, as if he’s trying to work out if there’s anything out of place. My skin turns clammy as it occurs to me that he might have memorized the layout, or left something on the desk — like a hair, say — so he’d know if anyone had been in here. But that’s painfully far-fetched even for me, so I give myself a quick mental shake, trying to snap myself out of this paranoia that’s taken over me.
What was that Jack was saying about me and drama?
“Well, I best be off,” I say brightly, turning to leave, then stopping in my tracks as I remember what he was supposed to be doing.
“How’s your dad?” I ask casually. “Did you get him out of the sauna okay?”
Because you got back here pretty quickly, if so.
“Oh, Mum managed to get it open,” he says, without looking up. “We met them both on their way back. She’s surprisingly strong, Mum.”
“That’s good,” I reply, hesitating in the doorway. “Oh, by the way,” I add in a rush. “I was just wondering; who did you buy that land from again? You know, the Emerald View bit?”
“Who did I buy it from?” he says, frowning. “I didn’t buy it from anyone, Emerald. It was part of the estate. Why do you ask?”
“Oh, just wondering,” I say, hoping my flaming red cheeks don’t give me away. “No reason, really. I’ll let you get on, then.”
I hover awkwardly in the doorway for a moment, keenly aware that I’m poised, not just between the study and the hall, but between two possible futures, and two versions of myself. I could be Good Emerald. I could step back into the study and tell Jack what I was reallydoing at his desk (The right choice), so we can talk this through, like adults. Or I can continue down this weird path of subterfuge and suspicion; of snooping in desks and hiding behind library books, as if I’ve learned absolutely nothing at all from the whole “impostor” thing I went through when I met him (A very, very wrong choice).
I take a deep breath and step back into the room, closing the door behind me.
“Jack,” I say firmly, “I know you’re busy, but I really think we should talk some more about the —”
“Just a second.”
Jack picks up his phone, which has started silently vibrating on the desk, and gives me an apologetic look.
“Sorry, Emerald,” he says, putting his hand over the speaker. “I really need to take this. We’ll chat later, okay? And try not to worry so much about those stupid crank messages — it’s not worth wasting your time on.”
He goes back to his call, and I continue standing there for another few seconds before leaving the room, feeling like I’ve been dismissed.
This is fine. It’s absolutelyfine. I can still tell him what I was doing in the office. We can still talk. I can still choose Good Emerald and leave Impostor Emerald in the past, where she belongs.
I just can’t do itright this second, is all.
Which, like I say, isfine. Really. I mean, Jack’s made it pretty clear he doesn’t want to hear any more about this, anyway, hasn’t he? But I need to know who’s behind these messages, and why they’re doing it, so I can put it out of my mind and move on. Ihaveto find out what’s really going on here.
And if my fiancé isn’t going to be the one to help me do it, then it looks like I’m going to have to find someone who will.
Chapter 7
List of People Who Know I’d Told — Or Was Going to Tell — Jack About the Messages
Frankie.
McTavish.
Brian.
Jack’s sleazy PR guy, John.
Anyone John might have told.
Jack’s parents.
