Uprising. Scott G. Mariani

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СКАЧАТЬ Ten

      Kate Hawthorne was awoken by the sound of her mother coming into her room.

      ‘Come on, young lady. Can’t lie there all day. It’s nearly ten past eight and you’re going to be late for school.’

      Kate groaned and crawled in deeper under the duvet. ‘Leave me alone.’

      ‘That’s what you get for all this late night cavorting about,’ her mother snapped. She ripped open the curtains and then marched over to the bed to yank back the edge of the duvet. Kate flinched as the pale autumn sunlight hit her in the face. It was hardly bearable. She tried to grab the duvet back from her mother but fell back, half blinded and gasping.

      ‘Look at you. What on earth’s the matter with you?’

      ‘Please, Mum. I’ve got a terrible headache.’

      ‘You’ve been drinking, haven’t you?’

      ‘I haven’t been drinking.’ But the truth was, Kate realised, she could hardly remember a thing about the night before. She vaguely recalled being with Dec, then the argument. Storming off down the road; the big posh Rolls stopping for her.

      And that was it. The rest was a big, yawning blank. How had she got home? Had the man brought her back? Who was he? And where had she seen his face before?

      Kate squinted up at her mother. The expression of tight-lipped disapproval made it perfectly clear that her daughter had not been driven home to 16 Lavender Close in a Rolls-Royce. That would have been cause for celebration for Mrs Gillian Hawthorne.

      ‘You don’t have to look so sour.’ You old cow, she wanted to add. She kept it back, but it must have shown in her eyes, because the disapproving look on her mother’s face deepened a couple of tints.

      ‘The police called here earlier about your boyfriend.’

      ‘He’s not my boyfriend,’ Kate protested.

      ‘That’ll be why your neck is covered in lovebites. Little tart.’

      Kate put her fingers to her neck and winced. Did Dec do that? ‘What about the police?’ she murmured.

      ‘He crashed his car last night. Drunk, no doubt.’

      Kate tried to sit up in bed, and the ache thudded through her head. ‘What? Is he all right?’

      ‘He’ll survive. That’s what cockroaches do, isn’t it? Why couldn’t you go out with Giles Huntley?’

      ‘I hate Giles Huntley. He’s a creep and he has bad breath.’

      ‘At least he has a good education and a future ahead of him when he goes to Cambridge. He’s not going to spend his life poking around in filthy grease under a car bonnet. Have you seen the state of Declan Maddon’s fingernails?’

      Please make her shut up, Kate thought. The pain felt like a blunt chisel blade being hammered into her skull and then twisted from side to side. Her vision was exploding with it.

      And still her mother went on. ‘You know what’s going to happen if you keep this up, my girl, don’t you? Pregnant. That’s what happened to Chardonnay Watson, isn’t it? Going around with lowlifes. Next thing, a bun in the oven. What a disaster. Mind you, with a name like Chardonnay it was to be expected and it’s probably all she was good for anyway…’

      Kate watched her mother ranting on. The words faded out in her ears. For a brief instant she felt a rush of emotions surging up inside her, momentarily blanking out the pain in her head. Feelings she’d never had before, and a sense of power that was almost overwhelming.

      Before she knew what was happening, she had her mother by the throat. Shaking her like a terrier with a rat. Screaming, ‘Shut your fucking mouth!’ Her mother’s tongue hanging out, her face turning blue as she throttled the life out of her.

      But then she was back on her bed and her mother was still standing there, going on at her.

       What was happening? Was she going crazy?

      ‘—should have done a long time ago. St Hildegard’s will be a far better environment for a young lady. You’ll make proper friends, with the right type of people.’

      ‘Boarding school?’ Kate burst out.

      ‘Didn’t you hear a word I said? Starting after the Christmas holidays. And in the meantime, you won’t be going anywhere near that family of pikeys next door, I can tell you.’

      Kate buried her face in the pillow as her mother went on and on. The migraine was making her want to cry, and she felt sick to her stomach. And weak, so terribly weak, as though the energy had just been sucked out of her.

      But somehow, deep inside, she knew something was different about her. Something had happened. Everything felt somehow sharper. More defined. Smells, colours, the floral pattern on the wallpaper her mother had insisted on for the bedroom.

      Kate knew she had changed. How and why, she didn’t yet know.

      But for some reason she couldn’t understand…

       She wasn’t afraid.

       Chapter Eleven

       The Ritz Hotel, London

      Alex walked into the grand entrance lobby and crossed the red carpet to the desk, with Greg trailing along behind her.

      ‘We’ve come to see Mr Burnett in the Trafalgar Suite. He’s expecting us.’

      Two minutes later Alex rapped on the door of the suite. It opened and a woman in her late fifties, with a thin face and short hair, stood in the doorway giving them an icy stare.

      ‘Where’s Baxter?’ Alex said.

      ‘He’s busy at the moment. I’m his agent. You can talk to me.’

      Alex’s nose twitched at the woman’s human scent.

      ‘I don’t think so. Out of the way.’ She shouldered past her and through the door. Greg followed, looking around him in awe at the decor. The agent tried to squeeze in after them; Alex shoved her hard out into the corridor and slammed the door in her face.

      Baxter Burnett wasn’t that busy. He was settled back confidently on a plush sofa in the suite’s living room, his feet up on a table and his arms behind his head. He looked like he’d been working on his tan, and his hair was immaculately groomed. The sleeves of his white shirt were turned up just enough to show off the toned muscles of his forearms and the chunky gold watch on his wrist. He smiled a glittering Hollywood smile as Alex and Greg walked into the suite.

      ‘You certainly have a way with people, Miss—?’

      ‘Special Agent Alex Bishop. What we have to discuss with you isn’t for human ears.’

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