Eighteen Kisses

was no serial killer, or if there was, he hadn’t killed Kayla. Matt Lawlor was right: she’d been murdered by somebody who was at the party, somebody she knew. My heart was racing. I took deep breaths, trying to get the image of the man in the balaclava out of my mind. Eventually my heart stopped beating so fast, and I drifted into a restless sleep. The eyes from behind the balaclava haunted me until the morning.

Chapter 7

I rubbed the sleep from my eyes. I was exhausted from the night before, but I had to give the impression of being at least semi-ready and alert for my work experience. I checked the map on my phone again. I was confused – it told me I was outside Electric magazine, but I couldn’t see the big bold sign I’d imagined such a famous magazine would have. People in suits hurried by, walking with purpose, and schoolkids wearing brightly coloured backpacks passed me by as I tried to decide which direction to go. I really didn’t want to be late for my first day. I probably shouldn’t have spent so much time eating breakfast, but Gran’s scrambled eggs were just too delicious to miss. I ended up walking past the office building three times before finally spotting the tiny and discreet blue, record-shaped sign with Electric magazine written under it. This place was so cool it didn’t even need to advertise itself to anyone. I took a deep breath and rushed inside, taking the elevator to the fifth floor.

The lobby I stepped out into was amazing. One wall was just glass, with a stunning view over St Stephen’s Green. Framed covers of Electric hung on the walls, some dating back thirty years. There was a huge desk in the shape of a guitar inside the door and behind it sat a girl on the telephone. Her hair was styled in a neat braid and she wore lots of jewellery. Her bracelets clinked together as she talked. She covered the receiver with her hand. ‘Work experience?’ she asked.

‘Yes – Jacki King,’ I said quietly.

She pointed to the red leather sofa on the far side of the lobby, then resumed her phone conversation. ‘He’s in a meeting at the moment, would you like to be put through to his voicemail?’

There was a guy already sitting on the couch, flicking through the latest copy of Electric. He had black curly hair and glasses and was wearing jeans and a blue check shirt, its sleeves rolled up. I could see his green eyes as he looked up nervously from the magazine.

‘Hey,’ I said.

‘Hey,’ he said with a smile.

‘I’m Jacki; are you here for work experience too?’ He was about my age and looked just as apprehensive.

‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘I’m Dillon.’

Up close he looked vaguely familiar and I wondered where I’d seen him before.

‘I think I know you…’ he said. ‘You’re friends with Hannah Murray, right?’

‘Yeah…’ I said, still not recalling where we’d met.

‘I’m mates with her brother Mark,’ he explained, and then it began to dawn on me.

‘I thought I knew you all right,’ I said. ‘You look different though.’

‘I cut my hair.’

‘That’s it.’ I knew exactly who he was now. He used to hang out with Hannah’s brother, reading comics and listening to music in their garage. Hannah was always complaining because they rarely let her in there, and when they did they’d make fun of her musical taste, just because she’d never heard of whatever obscure band they were listening to that week. I’d never actually spoken to him or even been introduced, but I remembered he looked a lot different back then – his hair was really long and used to kind of take over his face. I hoped he wasn’t as pretentious as Hannah had described.

‘So, you want to be a music journalist too?’ he said.

I realized I should probably fake an interest in journalism. I wouldn’t tell him that I really wanted to be a singer-songwriter.

‘Yeah, maybe,’ I said. ‘I thought this would be interesting anyway.’

‘But you don’t actually want to work on a music magazine?’ he said, sounding surprised.

‘Well, I’m not sure yet, but music is my life.’

He looked at me like I was crazy.

‘What?’ I asked self-consciously.

‘No offence,’ he said, ‘but you do know that loads of people would kill for this internship? Why did you apply if you don’t really want to work here?’

‘Um… well, isn’t the whole point of transition year to try things you might not normally do?’ I couldn’t believe I was actually quoting Miss Jennings, but how dare he talk to me like that.

‘So how’d you get this?’ he asked. ‘Does your dad work in the music industry or something?’ he added with a grin. He probably didn’t mean it in a bad way, but I couldn’t help but be offended.

‘No, actually, my dad’s dead,’ I said bluntly. ‘Does yours?’

‘Sorry,’ he muttered and looked away awkwardly.

I heard my phone beep in my bag and took it out, hoping it would be Nick. It was Mum, wishing me luck. I texted her back, then we sat in silence. I tried not to let this Dillon guy get to me, but I couldn’t help feeling annoyed. And I wished Nick would text me. I couldn’t believe he still hadn’t apologized. I wasn’t having a good time with boys this week it seemed.

After a few minutes a blonde-haired girl came into the lobby. ‘Hi,’ she said. ‘I’m Ellie, assistant to the editor.’

We introduced ourselves and she shook our hands. She was wearing high-waisted shorts, a white T-shirt, dusky pink brogues and a gold necklace that said ELLIE, which was good, because the second she said her name it went out of my head. I could feel Dillon looking at me, but I didn’t make eye contact. I couldn’t believe I’d have to spend two whole weeks with him. He was just as irritating as Hannah described.

‘Follow me,’ said Ellie. We walked behind her into a room with over a dozen desks arranged in rows.

‘This is team Electric!’ she said. ‘Michael, Patricia, Cliona, Paddy…’ Each person waved or said ‘Hi’ to us in turn. They were all incredibly stylish. I looked down at my own purple skinny jeans and Thin Lizzy T-shirt, and wished I’d gone for something a bit more sophisticated.

‘The two of you will share this desk,’ said Ellie, pointing to a table in front of us with one Mac and two chairs.

‘In there is the office of our editor, Tim,’ she added, pointing to a door on the far wall.

‘Beside it is my office, and beside that is the meeting room.’ Dillon and I both nodded. ‘And over there is the archive.’ She motioned to a box room where hundreds of magazines were shelved. ‘We’ll probably get you guys to tidy that up at some stage, although we’ve got lots lined up, so there may not be time. Firstly, I’ll give you a quick overview of what you’ll be doing for the next two weeks.’

Dillon took out a notebook and I rooted in my bag for a notebook that wasn’t there. I was so disorganized. I thought we’d just be photocopying stuff and making cappuccinos – I didn’t think we’d have to do actual proper work. Dillon seemed to notice my panic and tore off a page from his notebook and gave it to me. I took it from him grudgingly and grabbed a pen from the desk to start writing down what Ellie was saying.

‘… Next Wednesday is the Electric Unsigned showcase in Rage Rock Bar and you two will be working on the floor. We’ll need you there at four p.m. till late; it’s tough going, but you’ll get guest passes for your friends in return.’

Dillon’s eyes went wide with excitement.

‘The following Wednesday we’re going on location and you’ll assist on a shoot. It’s a cover shoot so it’ll be a great experience for you both.’

‘Who are you shooting?’ asked Dillon.

‘Willis Middleton.’

‘No way!’ he said.

I couldn’t believe it either. I’d always found Willis Middleton fascinating – an ageing British rock star who lives in New York, but also owns a castle in Galway. He’s known for his awesome bass solos and outrageous behaviour.