Free Killing You Softly by Lucy Carver Page A

told me.
    ‘What thing?’
    ‘You kind of wrinkle it when you’re thinking.’
    ‘You make me sound like a rabbit.’
    ‘Sexy bunny,’ he murmured as he leaned in to kiss me.
    Some questions for the agony aunt – how do you go on with your own, independent life when you love someone as much as I love Jack? And, secondly, does every girl in the
entire world struggle with this?
    You want to be with your guy all the time, every minute of every day. But your head tells you to keep some parts of yourself separate, not to smother each other, not to make too many demands.
You have to plan for a career, keep a circle of friends, follow your own interests, develop your own talents. I know this in my head, but the reality is – my heart leads me astray.
    When we reached Chartsey Bottom and got off the bus outside JD Repairs, it was four o’clock and already dark and beginning to snow.
    Jack slung his bag over his shoulder and took a look around. ‘You expect the place to change but it never does.’
    Always the same Main Street with its church and graveyard, its upmarket greengrocer’s shop called Five-a-Day, its cafe and pub. Whatever the season, whether the trees lining the street are
full of pink blossom or sparkling with Christmas lights, the Bottoms always looks like a scene from a greetings card.
    ‘Hey, Jack, are you ready to lose our next match big time?’ Micky Cooke taunted as he came out of Driffield senior’s workshop and spotted him.
    ‘Why – when is it?’ Jack asked. They were talking football, acting like I wasn’t there. Even Jack has this laddish streak.
    ‘Friday afternoon.’
    Jack made a mental note. ‘See you then.’
    ‘Yeah, see you.’ Micky sauntered off towards the Squinting Cat cafe, talking, looking over his shoulder and grinning.
    Jesus – he saw the Facebook pics! was my instant overreaction. It was the lechy way he was grinning and looking.
    But I stayed quiet and Jack ignored him as we turned in the opposite direction, ready to head out of the village. The snow fell more thickly, quickly covering the pavements and glinting white
and sparkly under the street lamps.
    ‘The other two things that happened while you were in Denver are, one, a girl from Ainslee Comp got killed early on New Year’s Day and, two, I found a dead robin on my
windowsill,’ I told him as a sleek silver car pulled up at the kerb and Marco Conti stepped out.
    ‘A dead what?’ Jack frowned.
    ‘Robin. Never mind, I’ll explain later. Hi, Marco – meet Jack Cavendish. Jack, this is Marco Conti.’
    They nodded cautiously, taking time to size each other up. Jack saw a guy in an Aston Martin with dark curly hair and Adonis physique. Marco saw a tall, tanned blonde athlete who, alone amongst
the students at St Jude’s, could match his amazing looks inch for inch. I stood between them feeling edgy.
    ‘Marco’s dad played football for Italy,’ I told Jack.
    ‘Paoli Conti,’ he realized straight away. ‘Yeah, I see the resemblance. He was a great player, by the way.’
    There was an awkward pause and I saw it as my job to edge the creaking conversation forward. ‘Jack likes to ski but his main sport is tennis. He’s just got a place in the British
junior squad.’
    Marco nodded. He didn’t seem in a hurry to get where he was going. ‘You want to get on to the pro circuit full time?’ he asked Jack.
    ‘Yeah, maybe. Listen, Marco, how would you like to join our football team? It’s just five-a-side on an indoor pitch’ but the St Jude’s team needs a striker. You do play
football, don’t you?’
    ‘No,’ Marco contradicted. ‘I made a rule when I was a little kid – never do anything my father wants me to do.’
    ‘So how come you’re out here in the sticks?’ Jack shot back.
    ‘My mother. She chose this place because of Bruno Cabrini. I said OK, I’ll come for two terms.’
    ‘You sing?’ Surprise showed on my face and in my voice. It came out as ‘
Y’sing?
’ and reminded me