She ran her hand along his forearm, She felt the veins and the downy hair on his skin. He pulled away, hovering close to her face, looking straight at her with his glistening mouth just millimetres away from hers. Was this all about making her want him? She hated that it was working. Her hand on his arm trailed down to his wrist and her fingers brushed against the knotted braid.

‘Where did you get that friendship band from?’ she asked, surprising herself.

His smile faded immediately.

‘A good friend of mine gave it to me.’

‘A woman?’

‘Yes.’

‘Where is she now?’

He thumbed the knotted band gently, a softness creeping across his face, an expression she didn’t recognise. He had so many faces, she wondered if she had even seen the real one.

He looked at her again, all trace of sentimentality gone, a storm raging behind his eyes.

‘She’s dead,’ he replied.

The way he said it petrified her. He had never uttered two more loaded words in their time together. His statement felt like a warning, or maybe even a threat.

The sound of her parents’ car crunching on the gravel outside startled her. They would walk in at any moment. She had to decide right now if she was going to tell them what she had seen him doing in their room. Telling them that would lead to a whole load of other questions that could put her relationship with them at risk – it might change what they thought of her, what they thought about what happened with Mr Morrell. She couldn’t tell them. She was close to Tim now; she could try and play him at his own game. She thought about her mother at her own age and wondered what secrets she had kept from her parents, whether she’d ever done anything like this.

‘Sorry,’ Jasmine muttered.

‘I need to go. I’ve got things to do.’ He pulled away from her and left, grabbing his bag from outside the kitchen door and walking into the guest house without looking back.

Chapter Thirty-Five