“Sorry,” I gasped.
Then the growl and hiss of a labouring engine made me raise my head. A double-decker lumbered round the corner glowing like Christmas and it was a Routemaster with an open rear.
A whoop whistled out of me and I hurled myself towards the road. As the bus passed, I reached for the pole, leaped and swung myself on board.
Immediately I turned. The dead girl was only two steps behind. Quickly I lifted my hand out of her reach, but kept contact with the metal pole. She grinned and reached out, already jumping towards me.
As her hand went straight through the metal her eyes widened. So, she was new enough not to have known about that. Or maybe she was just stupid.
She hit the floor with her chest, her feet dragged on the road and she scrabbled desperately, trying to get the rest of her body onto the bus.
I crouched just out of her reach and looked at her in silence.
“Please,” she begged. “I know you can help me.” She stretched out her hand, as though I’d take it.
I watched her without moving until she lost her grip.
“That was dangerous, young lady.”
I turned with my heart in my throat.
It wasn’t another ghost but the bus conductor, glaring at me with rancid disapproval.
“You don’t know the half of it.” I showed him my card and he gestured to an empty seat.
“You should wait at a bus stop, like everyone else. If you’d been run over who’d be blamed?”
I nodded and mumbled apologies as I made my way down the aisle. A quick glance in the mirror at the bottom of the stairs revealed three passengers on the top deck. I wondered about going up to check that they too were among the living, but the conductor frowned at me.
“Sit down, or I’ll have to ask you to get off at the next stop.”
I sighed and compromised by choosing one of the seats in the disabled area, so I couldn’t be pinned in place. Then I slumped onto the chair, crossed my arms, pulled my hood over my hair and leaned my head on the window.
Ten minutes towards Brixton the bus pulled into a crowded stop. My shoulders tensed and I prepared to jump for the exit if I had to.
“Oh Gawd, look who it is.”
The familiar drawl penetrated my eardrums like a dental drill. It was Tamsin Harper, she of the faux US accent, the fake blonde hair and the fluffy angora jumpers.
I blinked.
She wasn’t alone.
Tamsin leaned into her boyfriend’s chest, giving him a primo view down the front of her gaping trench coat. His eyes glazed for a moment, then flickered up to meet mine.
For a moment there seemed to be something deeper than the usual disdain in the rich brown of them, and I pictured him as I always secretly saw him, a Victorian poet dumped into the wrong era. Justin was almost, but not quite, too thin; his uniform always clean and pressed, but not like a dork, more like he was too cool to bother to mess with it. Even when he was quietly directing the rest of the gang, he had a sprawling air. He always looked as if he was leaning on something, even if he wasn’t.
For a moment he looked almost pleased to see me. Then his mouth assumed its familiar curl and his long fingers brushed Tamsin’s wrist. “So who picked the 118?” he laughed. “Did you know she’d be here, Petey? You trying to tell us something?” And there it was, tacit permission given to his cronies. I was fair game.
“She who?” Pete’s newly bald head bobbed from the centre of the pack. He’d been laughing with Harley but now he stopped and stared. “What’re you doing here?”
I grit my teeth. “Minding my own business,
“Whatever.” Pete gave Justin a nudge. “C'mon, man, pick a seat, I gotta take a load off.”
As Justin steered Tamsin towards the stairs, I relaxed. Then Tamsin glanced back and pursed her lips like an evil kiss. She pulled Justin to a stop. “Actually, I want to sit down here.” She led the way to the back of the bottom deck, watching me over her shoulder; a cat anticipating a cream-filled mouse. She hadn't finished with me yet.
Harley’s voice tore my eyes away from her. “Awright, Chickety China.” He leered at me from beneath his heavily gelled ringlets, shoved past Pete and loped after the loved-up couple.
But when Pete tried to follow him a thick forearm barred the way: James.
Justin led the group and Tamsin was nastiest but James was the most dangerous. I'd fought with him since I caught him pulling the legs off crane flies when we were nine years old. For some reason though, the teachers loved him. With his blond hair and blue eyes, I suppose he appeared to be a good guy.
I exhaled with deliberate calm as my eyes raked the fine hairs on his exposed wrist and stopped on the edge of a tattoo. Despite myself I tilted my head trying to see the whole thing. It looked like a letter “V”.
“New tattoo? You still trying to be cool, Jimbo?” My voice shook slightly, betraying my nerves only to Pete who knew me almost better than anyone else. His eyes widened in a silent warning to back down and take whatever James was planning to dish out. It was the single concession he'd give me. Whatever James did, Pete would fall in line, it was one of the reasons we were no longer close.
But James seemed to ignore my comment. He shifted to address Pete, even as his eyes continued to burn into mine.
“You should stay here with your girlfriend,
I glared into James’ dead orbs. His hair caught the orange light, setting his head on fire as he gave Pete a shove. “Why don’t you give her a kiss?”
Pete cannoned into my arm and I jerked as if burned. Pete jumped back just as violently. “Cut it out,” he growled and he rubbed his arm where it had touched me. James just grinned and planted himself in the aisle.
“You're not getting past till you give her a kiss, Petrol Pete.”
A giggle from the back of the bus caught my attention. Tamsin was leaning forward, red lips parted in an excited exclamation. Justin was trying to regain her attention, but to her, it seemed, he no longer existed.
Trapped by my seat Pete avoided my eyes. Invisible red ants crawled over me as I played my part and forced myself to pretend he wasn’t standing there and that we'd never meant anything to each other.
Finally the bus lurched into motion.
“Do it, Pete, I dare you.” Tamsin was laughing out loud now.
“Kiss, kiss,” Harley was chanting. Pete's mahogany skin glowed with mortification.
James sneered. Then I jerked as he caught my hood and yanked it back. One big hand curled around the back of my neck and forced my face up to the light. I tried to reach back and dislodge him, but the seat was in the way. I squirmed, but he started to squeeze and I stopped moving. Beneath James' jock facade simmering violence bubbled and I was in too vulnerable a position to knock off his veneer. So I held myself still, trying not to feel like a pinned bug.
He examined me as I glared, turning my face with pressure on my carotid and in the sensitive dip above my collar bone.
“She's pig ugly, Pete,” James leered. “But I have seen worse. Don't worry, we won't tell anyone at school.” Involuntarily I shuddered and he grinned. He forced me to lift off my seat, pulled my head back and slanted it towards Pete. I clenched my fists, refusing to look at my former friend with anything like pleading.
Dog-like pants moistened my forehead as James leaned in, excited. He narrowed his eyes at Pete. “Do it,” he snapped.
Pete shuffled and glowered downwards as if the situation was my fault. “C'mon, man, let's just sit down.”
“Not till you give her a proper snog.” James shook me. “Loosen her up a bit.”
“It's not going to happen. Let it go.” I spoke through gritted teeth.
