Fiona Harper Read online

  ‘Nearest tube station?’ He waved his hand in front of her eyes. ‘Fern? Come on!’

  She flinched. ‘Um…’ Her brain seemed to have sprung a leak. She knew the city like the back of her hand but, all of a sudden, she couldn’t remember where the nearest tube was.

  Josh grabbed her hand and started running off in the direction of Charing Cross station. Oh, she’d known that this was going to be a huge mistake. She hadn’t even thought of that.

  ‘I know some of the other teams are hailing cabs, but I thought we would do well to save our money for later,’ Josh yelled at her between pants. The pounding of her feet, the sound of her breath rushing in her ears and the noisy traffic made it difficult to hear him even then.

  She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t even think. Panic welled up inside her. Josh seemed to sense that something was wrong because he turned his head, slowed a little and gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

  Finally, she exhaled properly. She’d never been good at this kind of thing: pressure, deadlines, the feeling that time was ticking away and there was nothing you could do to slow its progress. It had been that way as long as she could remember. Ever since she’d known that her older brother only had weeks to live. Terrified didn’t even begin to define what she’d felt. And, even now, any sense of a high-stakes deadline had her sweating, living in a strange kind of emotional flashback.

  She felt the pressure of Josh’s fingers curled between her own and warmth seemed to seep into the cold spaces inside her. He’d been there for her then and he was here for her now. She began to run faster.

  They rushed down the steps of the tube station, avoiding tourists staring at folded-up maps and ran towards the ticket hall. Thankfully, their Travelcards meant that they didn’t have to queue up to buy tickets; they merely had to touch them to a pad on the barrier to open the gate.

  Fern followed Josh to the top of the escalator. It was an unwritten rule that on the underground network, all those wishing to save their energy and enjoy the ride stayed to the right, allowing those in a hurry to double their speed by running up or down the escalator on the left-hand side. She didn’t need to be telepathic to know that she and Josh weren’t going to be standing still and admiring the scenery.

  Luckily, a train arrived within seconds of them bursting on to the platform and they jumped inside, grinning at each other and gulping in much-needed oxygen. Another team had been right behind them and had also managed to squeeze on to the tube train just before the door slid shut. She knew it was naughty, but she couldn’t help chuckling as she saw three further teams skid to a halt and watch with dismay as the train hurtled into the dark tunnel.

  Josh was holding on to the rail attached to the ceiling of the carriage, but he was restless, constantly twisting this way and that. She knew by the look of satisfaction on his face that he’d just had his first adrenaline surge of the day. The man was an addict.

  The same chemical was throbbing through her veins. Only, in her case, it raced away, chaotic and uncontrolled. While Josh enjoyed the ride, she just couldn’t feel the buzz, held too tight in the grip of the competition. With every heartbeat, she was willing the train on. Faster, faster, faster.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  FERN and Josh squeezed themselves out of the tube train doors before they had barely opened halfway and raced up the stairs and escalators of Oxford Circus tube station. Walking down Oxford Street, one of London’s prime shopping areas, was hardly a gentle stroll at the best of times. In high tourist season, it was more like a rugby scrum.

  ‘This way,’ Fern yelled and set off running down a pedestrianised street beside the tube station. She glanced back over her shoulder and saw Josh hesitate for a second, then run after her.

  It wasn’t long before they were navigating the narrow streets of Soho. She stopped at a pedestrian crossing and pressed the button. Josh, who was already halfway across the street, stopped in his tracks.

  ‘Fern! This is a treasure hunt, a race. You can’t tell me you’re going to stand there and wait for the little green man to flash?’

  She blinked. She’d done it on automatic but it was hardly a bad idea.

  ‘You can’t take any chances with the traffic in this city,’ she yelled back at him. ‘Crossing the road, you’re literally taking your—’ she broke off as Josh leapt out of the way of a courier cyclist who had just bombed round the corner ‘—life in your hands,’ she finished quietly, still staring after the cyclist as he mounted the pavement and disappeared down an alleyway.

  ‘Come on! Live a little,’ Josh shouted as he jumped on to the pavement on the other side of the road and started running again. Thank goodness the crossing signal beeped and flashed right at that very moment and she was saved from doing anything stupid. She sprinted across the road after him.

  The noise of Berwick Street market reached them before they saw the stalls. Fruit and vegetable salesmen shared space with fabric merchants and dodgy-looking ‘geezers’ flogging second-rate electrical goods. She’d bet all the money in her pocket that one of those toasters would either burn the kitchen down or refuse to work at all.

  The Secret London stalls were down near the end of the road. Fern’s mouth dropped open as they ran up to them and they both slowed to a jog. All the stalls were taken! How had the other teams got here so quickly?

  She slapped her hand to her forehead. She was so stupid! How long had she lived in the city? How many lunch hours had she spent exploring it? A matching look of exasperation was on Josh’s face.

  ‘They came on foot,’ she explained wearily. ‘It’s only a ten minute walk from Trafalgar Square to here—less if you run. We spent twice that jumping on the tube and running up and down escalators.’

  Josh put one arm around her shoulder and gave her a squeeze. ‘Never mind. We’re not first, but we’re not last either.’

  She shook his arm off. ‘Yes, but I should have realised! I knew it would be quicker on foot and the thought didn’t even enter my head.’

  She crossed her arms and turned away from him, scanning the stalls to see if any of the other contestants looked as if they were going to be finishing soon. Once again she’d proved that she was going to be as good as useless to Josh over the next few days. Why hadn’t he listened to her? Why had he made her do this? He needed someone who was good under pressure, someone who loved the feeling of blood pumping in her ears and the adrenaline crashing through her system.

  She spotted Kate, the Lara look-alike, fluttering her eyelashes and using her assets to help her sell cantaloupes. Much as she hated to admit it, she was the kind of partner Josh needed—a girl up for anything.

  Let’s face it, she told herself. You just don’t cut the mustard. Usually, the biggest thrill of her week was trying a different flavoured syrup in her decaff latte. And, as much as she hated to admit it, that was just how she liked her life.

  It was an agonising forty-five minutes before a space on one of the stalls was free. Fern tied on an apron with money pockets on the front. Looking at the other competitors, the idea seemed to be to try and copy the calls of the authentic fruit and vegetable sellers. Their sing-song shouts were almost like a foreign language. She stood in front of the stall and took a deep breath.

  ‘Cherries! Seventy pence a pound.’

  Pathetic. Her voice was little more than a croak. She sounded like a particularly timid librarian asking someone to keep it down.

  ‘You’re going to have to put a bit more welly into it if we’re going to shift some of this produce,’ Josh said, picking up a cucumber.

  In her book, ‘welly’ was a big rubber boot you wore when it was raining. She sighed, then had another go at enticing someone to buy her bag of cherries. Nobody even glanced in her direction. She obviously didn’t do ‘welly’.

  Josh gave her a wink, then let out a shout that drowned out half the other competitors as they struggled to make their allotted thirty pounds. ‘Come on, then. Get your lovely cucumbers! Twenty pence each or three for
fifty pence!’ he mimicked the other market traders perfectly, but he hadn’t finished yet—oh, no. He went right on into charm-the-pants-off-them tycoon mode.

  ‘You, madam,’ he said, pointing a cucumber at a portly-looking woman in a raincoat. She scowled at him. ‘How about a lovely fresh cucumber? Good for the waistline—keep that lovely figure of yours in trim and, not only that, a couple of slices on your eyelids of an evening will keep those eyes sparkling.’

  The woman stopped in her tracks and, just as Fern thought she was going to whack Josh with her shopping basket, she smiled. ‘Go on, then,’ she said. ‘And you can chuck a couple of those tomatoes in as well—as long as they’re nice and juicy, mind.’

  ‘Madam,’ Josh said as he loaded the produce into a brown paper bag and took her money, ‘they’re as juicy as I am.’

  ‘I’ll bet they are,’ she replied and popped the bag into a shopping basket, then went off up the road smirking to herself.

  And that was how the next hour went. Josh charmed the passers-by while Fern hovered in the background and took care of the money. Takings really went up when he started juggling the oranges and generally making a spectacle of himself. A small crowd even gathered.

  Fern leafed through the notes in her money pouch and put the coins into piles to count them. They’d just about reached their target. ‘Josh,’ she whispered loudly.

  But he didn’t hear her. He was too busy betting a stocky-looking guy that he could juggle a banana, an avocado and a pineapple for a whole minute without dropping them. Fern shook her head furiously. What was he doing? If they lost the bet, they’d have to part with over half their takings and they’d definitely be in last place.

  ‘Josh, no!’

  It was too late. Money had changed hands and Josh was giving the pineapple a few practice throws. Fern crossed her arms and huffed. However, she couldn’t keep up that stance for long as Josh got going. The pineapple was obviously five times heavier than the other items and his juggling routine, which had been so smooth and rhythmical, was now syncopated and clumsy-looking. The stocky guy stood back and looked smug.

  The second hand on her watch was crawling. It crept round the Roman numerals on the watch face far too slowly. Twenty seconds. Ten seconds. Five…

  Fern let out a gasp as the pineapple left Josh’s hand at an odd angle. There was no way he was going to catch that—not with the avocado making a break for freedom in the opposite direction.

  ‘No!’ The shout had left her mouth before she even realised she’d planned on saying it. Josh instinctively turned to look at her, taking his eyes off the fruit, and everything went into slow motion. The stocky guy punched the air in triumph.

  Fern lunged forward, aiming for a piece of airborne fruit—any piece, as long as she caught something. They couldn’t pay for damaged stock as well as lose the bet.

  By some miracle reflex, Josh turned again and dived to the left to catch the pineapple in his free hand. The avocado continued plummeting towards the dirty tarmac off to his right but, just as Fern was about to scream, he swung out his right foot, made contact with the avocado and deftly kicked it into his waiting hand to join the banana.

  The crowd erupted in a cheer. Some people even threw change. The defeated customer grudgingly handed over a twenty pound note.

  Whether she liked it or not, the blood was certainly pumping in Fern’s ears now. She grabbed at the wad of notes and stacks of coins, sending a tower of fifty pence pieces flying.

  Josh turned to her, flashing a how about that? smile. It seemed he’d been able to sell the pineapple, banana and avocado to an impressed onlooker. His grin faltered as he took in her expression.

  ‘How much?’ he asked, stepping closer, an overly casual look on his face. She glanced up from scraping the coins off the ground and snatched the twenty pound note from him.

  ‘Over fifty pounds.’

  Josh started to do a little victory dance, but managed to contain himself. The vibes she was sending out must be hitting him thick and strong.

  ‘Just take the darn photo, Josh,’ she said, stuffing the cash into her pockets, then reaching into her backpack for the digital camera. She handed it to him and crossed her arms.

  ‘Say cheese,’ he said. He was being cheeky, but she saw a flicker of nervousness in his eyes. It was an old trick—one he’d used many times in the past. He’d always been able to jolly her out of her bad moods, but this time it just wasn’t going to work. The result was a picture of some wonderfully vibrant fruit and vegetables, piled high on the market stall, and one grey and thundery-looking Fern.

  Yes, she loved spending time with Josh—or at least the idea of spending time with him—but he played havoc with her nervous system on so many levels that being around him was never comfortable. She was always on edge, waiting for the next surprise.

  They got one of the treasure hunt marshals to verify that they had collected enough money and were handed their next clue. Josh ripped the red envelope open and passed the card to Fern.

  Fern looked at it and handed it back to him. ‘Next stop, Hyde Park,’ she said and picked up her backpack, carefully putting her arm into each strap without looking at him. ‘Our best bet is to walk back up to Oxford Street and catch a bus down to Marble Arch.’

  Josh started running but, rather than jogging, she decided to set off at a brisk walk. She’d collapse before the end of the day if she didn’t pace herself. Josh could race headlong into everything if he wanted and end up burned out. Pretty soon he noticed she wasn’t right behind him and waited for her, falling into step beside her.

  ‘Fern? What’s up?’

  She turned to look at him without breaking momentum. ‘I thought we were supposed to be a team.’

  ‘We are!’

  ‘Oh, really? Then how come you took an executive decision back there and did something without consulting me first?’

  ‘What?’ He stopped and placed a restraining hand on her arm. She shook it off and started walking again.

  ‘That stupid bet.’

  ‘It wasn’t that stupid. We got an extra twenty quid out of it.’ ‘You took a risk, adopted a strategy without running it past me. That’s not being a team player.’

  He was silent for a few moments. ‘Fern, I’m sorry. I didn’t think. I suppose I’m so used to being in charge that it just didn’t occur to me.’

  She harumphed, but her anger had lost its fierce glare.

  ‘I know it was a risk,’ he continued, ‘but it was a calculated risk.’

  Now she laughed. ‘Hah! Calculated, my foot! You just did it because it seemed like a good idea at the time.’ Like he always did. Like he always would. At that realisation, something inside her let out a long, heartfelt sigh. It wasn’t a life she could live.

  ‘It paid off, didn’t it?’

  ‘Only just! If that avocado had been an inch or two further to the right, we would still be back there, flogging apples and in last place.’

  The noise of the traffic increased as they turned into Oxford Street. There was a bus stop close by and they ran to it just in time to hop on a red double-decker bus. They squeezed their way down inside until they were standing near the exit doors, ready to jump off when they reached their destination.

  Fern shifted so she no longer had somebody’s elbow jutting into her spine. ‘You don’t have to take every opportunity just because it’s there, you know.’ She tried to keep her voice as low as possible, but loud enough for him to hear above the growl of the bus’s engine. As usual, no one was talking inside the bus and she was aware of a few curious ears listening in to their conversation. ‘Some of the risks you take aren’t calculated; they are just plain stupid—like today, for example. You were lucky, that’s all.’

  Josh just stared at her, his face expressionless. They obviously weren’t going to see eye to eye on this one. The bus paused at a stop and the doors whooshed open. As the passengers who needed to get off squeezed past them, they were pushed apart. She made an effort to sof
ten her expression, add some warmth into her tone. When the doors sprang closed again, she edged closer to him.

  ‘Okay, in the grand scheme of things, the bet wasn’t the end of the world. Nobody died. Nobody’s life was ruined. But one day, Josh Adams, your luck is going to run out. I just don’t want to be there when it happens. I don’t want to see you hurt.’

  He said nothing, but the deadness in his eyes was swallowed up by a look of understanding. She felt an answering prickling behind her own eyes and he reached out to steady her as the bus lurched forward.

  There were no other teams in sight as they reached Hyde Park. Fern didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. The market challenge had separated the contestants into two packs of twenty couples. She hoped that this meant she and Josh were at the front of the second group.