A Is for Apple by Kate Johnson

to sleep but he was back too soon, pressing buttons on my phone and frowning at me. “You didn’t switch it on when you landed.”
    “Erm, no…”
    He shook his head and held the phone to my ear. His own voice rang out: “Hey, it’s me. Listen, if you’re not too jetlagged and Karen doesn’t have you filling out a million reports, I thought we might go to a gig tonight. At Funky Joe’s. I’ll pick you up at eight.”
    I looked up, and Luke was holding my alarm clock in his other hand. 7:58.
    “So I’m a little early,” he said, “but I did think you might be slightly more ready to come out.”
    I was frowning at him in confusion. Er, wasn’t he supposed to be enquiring as to my health? My reason for fleeing the country? My total lack of investigation into Xander’s disappearance, Shapiro’s apparent death, and the goons who’d tried to kill me? My total cowardice in just running away from it all? Any of it?
    Then I remembered I’d only told him I was coming home with not a single reason as to why, and realised he probably thought Karen had ordered it.
    “What gig?”
    “The band. Remember your brother? Well, he plays an instrument called a bass guitar, and he’s in a band with three other guys called—”
    “I know what they’re called,” I said. “How did you know about the gig? I didn’t even know about it.”
    Luke declined to comment on the things I did and didn’t know, as he usually did, but instead said, “Tom came by to drop off your Kaiser Chiefs CD. Which I have now borrowed, by the way. He said they’d be playing at Joe’s and he’d tell Chalker we’re coming…”
    I felt slightly sick. “My brother knows we’re coming?”
    “Yep.”
    Which meant my parents would know. “We’re” coming. And they hadn’t met Luke. Didn’t even know I had a boyfriend. I’d been single for so long before him that they’d never believe me anyway.
    “Oh God.”
    “Come on,” he took my hands and pulled me upright, “get dressed. Do that eyeliner thing you do. We don’t have to stay long. I just thought,” he shrugged, “it might be nice to meet your friends.”
    “You’ve met—wait, my friends are going?”
    “Tom said Ella and Evie are going, and I don’t know them but you’re always talking about them…”
    Jesus.
    I stumbled out of bed and pulled my leather jeans and a strappy black top from the wardrobe. Tired though I was, I knew I couldn’t let Chalker down by appearing as anything less than a full rock chick. I did the eyeliner thing and scrunched up my damp hair with gel to give it some body. It fell back down, flat. Oh well. I wrapped up my feet and put on some thick socks and gingerly zipped up my four-inch heeled black boots.
    “Okay?” I said to Luke, who’d been timing me.
    “Twenty minutes.”
    “That’s a new record.”
    He rolled his eyes. “Got your bag? Keys, makeup, phone—switched on this time—wallet?”
    “You really do sound like my mother.”
    “I’ll find out soon enough.”
    I made Luke park at Waitrose so no one would see his Vectra—it’s an okay car, I suppose (you can stop twisting my arm now), but not exactly what you might call cool—and stumbled up to Funky Joe’s with him. It was a pleasant evening and the band and various groupies were standing around outside Joe’s, waving pints of beer and bottles of alcopops and laughing at something Tom had said. Tom is the scrawny singer in the band. He was in my Drama class at school; the drummer took History with me, and I used to have English with the guitarist. These gigs are like full school reunions.
    Tom spied me and waved. He’s the only one who’s met Luke, at a gig in April, when we had to catch a guy who tried to kill me…
    Chalker, my very big big brother, noticed Tom waving, looked over and saw me. And then he saw Luke and his eyebrows went up.
    And then he came over.
    “Oh, shit,” I said, clutching Luke’s arm. “Oh shit oh