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.
‘Yep, it’s his first interview in three years,’ she said. ‘And his first contact with the press since he got out of rehab. He’s known to be a bit… sensitive, so it’s really important that it goes well. Hair and make-up starts at seven a.m.’
‘Have you heard his solo album yet?’ I asked Ellie.
‘He sent us a few tracks,’ she said. ‘They’re awesome.’
Dillon seemed impressed that I knew about his solo venture. Not that I cared.
He resumed scribbling away, his face intense with concentration. This all sounded like a lot of fun, but I didn’t want to get too excited. I had to remember the real reason I was in Dublin. I still had to talk to another seven people and hopefully solve the mystery of Kayla’s disappearance before I went back to Avarna.
‘You’ll be working on lots of different projects,’ said Ellie. ‘So you’ll get a feel for all the different aspects of the magazine.’
Dillon pointed to the gigantic pile of CDs beside our desk.
‘Is that…’
‘The demo pile? Yes. Paul has been away for a few days so it’s building up. That can be your first task, actually, to listen to these. Arrange them into two piles – good and bad, basically. If you need anything I’ll be in my office. Oh, and lunch is at one. Good luck!’
I sat down on the swivel seat nearest to me and Dillon sat on the other one, his leg brushing off mine as he did. Our shared workspace was a bit too cramped for my liking.
‘I’ve always wanted one of these chairs,’ he whispered, spinning round. It was obvious that he was trying to make up for earlier, but I still found him super-annoying. I gave him a forced smile.
‘Isn’t it kind of crazy that they leave this to us?’ he said, looking at the pile of demos. ‘That we get to decide people’s fate?’
‘Yep, choose wisely,’ I said, taking a CD from the top of the pile and putting on my headphones. At least if we were listening to music then I wouldn’t have to talk to him.
After two hours of bad drum beats and too-long guitar solos, however, my head was just about ready to explode. I was so relieved when Ellie opened her office door and waved at me. I took off my headphones. ‘Jacki, can you help me in here?’ she said.
I wondered what she wanted me to do. I didn’t really mind what it was as long as I got a little break from this. Dillon was so engrossed in the CD he was listening to that he didn’t even look up. I walked into Ellie’s office and closed the door behind me.
‘I’m so glad you’re here,’ she said. ‘I was starting to think they’d forgotten about Kayla altogether.’
For a second I was taken aback, but then it clicked. She was Eleanor Higgins, a name from my list. I didn’t recognize her from the party video, but then I had only watched it once. I should probably watch it again, like Sergeant Lawlor had told me to, even if it made me uncomfortable.
‘I’m Kayla’s best friend,’ she said, signalling for me to take a seat. Her desk was covered in stacks of paper and CDs and magazines. ‘Well, I suppose she has three, but I think she’s probably closest to me. Every time my phone rings, I hope it will be her.’
Unfortunately I knew that was one phone call Ellie was never going to get.
‘Do you think she ran away?’ I asked.
‘No, no way. I think she was taken,’ she said. ‘But since she went missing, I’ve heard of two girls who were held captive and then escaped, years later… not in Ireland, I know, but still. You’ve probably heard about the serial killer theory, but they haven’t actually found any bodies. So maybe he’s keeping them somewhere? Sometimes I wish we could search every house. I didn’t want to stop looking, but eventually I had to. As much as I’d like to, I know I can’t look everywhere.’ Ellie was so composed earlier, but now she looked like she might cry. She took a tissue from the box on her desk and I looked around the office, giving her a moment to wipe her eyes. The place was chaotic, there was stuff everywhere, but there did seem to be some sort of order to it. Huge cardboard copies of recent covers of Electric were propped up against the walls. Gemma Hayes was on the February cover, Nick Cave in March, and Imelda May was the face of Electric in April. The covers were really cool. The artists were all impeccably styled; I’d have done anything to get my hands on Imelda May’s red dress.
‘How long have you worked here?’ I asked Ellie.
‘I started when I was nineteen,’ she said. ‘I did a diploma in journalism, then began as an unpaid intern.’
‘It’s a really cool job.’
‘It has its moments.’ She smiled meekly. ‘Kayla would be so impressed if she knew I was working here,’ she added. ‘She’s big into photography. Whenever we go to gigs she always brings her giant camera with her.’
I suddenly remembered Kayla’s outstretched arm in my dream, handing me the photograph, and a shiver ran through me. I tried to block it out. I could recall the dream’s details so vividly, which was useful, but also unsettling. I’d never experienced a dream quite so frightening. Well, not since last summer.
‘Ellie, was there anybody at the party who you were wary of?’ I asked. ‘Anyone you didn’t trust?’
‘No, not really. It was just our friends – you needed an invitation to get in. Not that Kayla wanted it to be exclusive or anything, but her dad would only let a certain number of people into the house at any one time. Hazel’s boyfriend was manning the door, making sure nobody crashed it.’
‘And nobody did?’
‘No, it wasn’t that big a gathering. I knew every single person there.’
‘Did Kayla seem upset?’ I asked. I figured if Ellie was her best friend she’d be able to tell me what kind of mood Kayla was really in.
‘No, she was in great form. She was enjoying the party. Yeah, she was a bit quiet, but she’s like that anyway, kind of introverted. But everybody likes her. I can’t think of anybody who would want to hurt her…’
Ellie was obviously another person who didn’t suspect any of her friends. I wondered if I would know, if I would sense during any of these interviews, that I was sitting across from a killer. Probably not. After all, I hadn’t sensed who the killer was last summer; I’d only figured it out when it was almost too late. But this time I had a head start – I wasn’t going to ignore Kayla like I’d ignored Beth. I was going to follow the signs she gave me and I was going to do everything I could to find out what had happened to her.
‘Sergeant Lawlor told me what you can do,’ said Ellie. ‘I hope you can find her.’
‘I hope so too,’ I said. There was such expectation in her eyes, it made me uneasy.
‘I better get back to those demos,’ I said, wanting to get out of the office. This was particularly difficult for me. I knew Kayla was dead, but I couldn’t tell Ellie. I felt so bad for her. I didn’t know what I’d do if something happened to Nick or Colin or any of my friends.
‘Yeah, of course,’ said Ellie. ‘I hope it’s not too boring. Sergeant Lawlor said you needed a reason to be up here, so I put in a good word.’
‘No, not at all, thanks a million,’ I said. ‘I love music, so this is perfect.’
I left the office and sat back down. I listened to a few more CDs, including a jazz ensemble, who were actually really good. The time went by so much more quickly when the music I was listening to wasn’t terrible. Before I knew it, it was one o’clock.
‘See you back here at two sharp,’ said Ellie as she passed our desk. She talked to us like she had earlier, like the exchange in the office had never happened, which I suppose was necessary. Nobody else could know why I was really here.
‘Hey, you wanna go somewhere for lunch?’ asked Dillon brightly. He picked up his bag and put it over his shoulder.
‘Listen,’ I said. ‘It’s fine about earlier. You don’t have to make it up to me; I suppose you couldn’t have known that my dad is dead. But I’m entitled to be here too, you know.’
‘I know,’ said Dillon. ‘I’m really sorry. I was just nervous about starting here, and when I’m nervous I say things that I immediately regret. Let’s start over, OK? Would you like to go for lunch?’ He shuffled awkwardly on the spot.
‘OK then, sure,’ I said, picking up my own bag. ‘Where do you want to go?’
‘Do you like crêpes, by any chance?’ he said.
‘Love them.’
‘Cool, follow me so,’ he said, and we made our way towards the elevator.
I took a bite out of my ham and cheese crêpe. The place was packed – the waiters were calling out order numbers as they walked past the tables, balancing plates expertly on their arms. I could feel the heat coming from the huge hot plates behind the counter, where a guy was flipping crêpes with a spatula. The sweet smells of cooking batter, melting chocolate and burning sugar filled the air. We sat at a small table in the corner. It was a bit crowded, but totally worth it because the crêpes were amazing.
‘Do you come up to Dublin much since you moved away?’ asked Dillon, who’d already eaten half of his chicken one.
‘Yeah, a good bit,’ I said. ‘I’ve played a few gigs up here.’
‘I remember seeing you upstairs in Whelan’s once,’ he said. ‘I was there with Mark.’
‘Oh yeah?’
‘You played a cover of “Pale Blue Eyes”… I remember cos it’s my favourite song.’
‘That was ages ago,’ I said. ‘Did you want to strangle me?’ I added with a laugh.
‘No!’ he said. ‘It was a really good cover.’
That was nice of him to say, I thought. I loved playing that song – it was one of my favourites too.
‘Most of the time people talk so loud you can hardly hear me, and sometimes there’s only, like, six people in the audience,’ I said with a sigh.
‘There were only six people at U2’s debut gig in London,’ he said with a smile. ‘So you’re in good company.’
I smiled too. Maybe Dillon wasn’t that annoying after all.
I wanted to turn the attention away from me. I love singing and love performing, but I don’t really like talking about myself all that much. ‘So, you want to be a music journalist?’ I said. ‘Who do you most want to interview -’
‘Hayley Williams,’ he answered before I’d even finished the sentence.
‘What would you ask her?’
‘To marry me,’ he said, trying to keep a serious face.
I laughed. I had to admit that he was kind of funny too.
‘I can’t believe we get to meet Willis Middleton,’ he said. ‘That’s class.’
‘He’s meant to be crazy,’ I said. ‘Genius on bass though. Do you play anything?’
‘A bit of piano, but not very well,’ he said.
‘Me too. Gran made me learn, but I much prefer guitar.’ She still asks me to play to her occasionally; I think it’s just so she can make sure that I’m still practising.’
‘You should give your demo to Electric,’ said Dillon. ‘Your stuff is probably so much better than the crap I’ve been listening to all afternoon.’
‘I sent it in to them a while ago,’ I said. ‘Never heard anything though.’
‘I’ll try to find it,’ he said. ‘Move it to the top of the pile.’
My phone beeped and I took it out of my bag. It was a text from Nick.
Hey babe, hope your first day’s going well x
I felt a flood of relief. I was so glad Nick had contacted me. He didn’t mention my angry text from last night at all, but maybe that was a good thing. I’d thought that he might apologize for being cranky, but it was probably best to just forget about it. Every couple has fights; I didn’t have to turn it into a big deal. I was just so happy that everything was OK between us again.
‘Oh gosh, it’s nearly five to!’ I said, spotting the clock on my phone. Dillon and I had been chatting so much that I hadn’t noticed the time pass.
‘We better get goin’,’ said Dillon, gulping down the rest of his Coke.
I rushed out after him, devouring the last bit of my crêpe as I ran.