by Tayte, Megan
I’d ask Jude about the Cerulean, I decided, and until then I’d push the matter from my mind. After all, it either meant something, in which case I’d no doubt know about that in due course, or it didn’t, in which case there was no point wasting time thinking about it. There were more important considerations today.
‘I’m ready to go now,’ said Luke.
I turned to him. He looked paler than usual, but calm.
‘Are you sure?’ I said. ‘Because I don’t mind…’
‘… hanging about in a graveyard all day being morose and wondering “what if”?’
‘Well, if it would help.’
‘No, it really, really wouldn’t.’
He began leading me along the path, out of the graveyard, and explaining:
‘After Cara was born, my parents gave an envelope to my grandparents, just in case. Inside was a list of instructions for their funerals. You know what reading they wanted, the only reading, for the service? “Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep.” And do you know what song Mum insisted was played at the end, when we threw flowers and earth into their graves? “What a Wonderful World.”’
He flung his arm around me and pulled me close. ‘And it is,’ he said. ‘This isn’t a day for moping. Not any more.’
*
Luke and I had dreamed up our date today weeks ago, though in fact it required little imagination, because we were going back in time and re-creating our first date.
Lunch at the River Cottage Canteen was just as good as it had been last year, though this time Luke scribbled down ideas inspired by the menu for his own cafe. Across the water in Cornwall, after a short ferry ride, the Edgcumbe Arms pub had all the charm I remembered, and though it wasn’t sitting-out weather, I insisted we perch on the same picnic bench as before to watch the boats go by. I even drank a pint of beer again, as I had that day, which was disgustingly stomach-turning but brilliantly nostalgic.
After our drink, we set out on our walk across the grounds of the country park – deserted on this gloomy Friday afternoon – and up the steep hillside to the folly, that crumbling old tower set terrifyingly close to a cliff edge. This time, we didn’t hesitate before climbing the steps, and when we reached the top Luke stood behind me, his arms wrapped around me, and I leaned against him, giddy with vertigo and memories.
It began to rain. The roofless folly provided no shelter, but we didn’t head for cover.
‘Happy anniversary,’ said Luke.
The first of July. The anniversary of his parents’ deaths. And the anniversary of our first meeting.
He’d only told me the full story recently: how he’d got up early that day a year ago to lay flowers on his parents’ graves and then surf and surf until he was too numb to grieve, but there I was, thrashing about in the deep water. And after he grabbed me and took me back to shore and dumped me on the beach, he didn’t feel numb at all: he felt anger, and then concern, and then compassion, and then... connection.
The thought of that morning made my heart lurch. If he hadn’t spotted me in the water. If he hadn’t seen past how broken I was. If he hadn’t fallen for me.
A song was playing in my head at deafening volume: the Stereophonics, ‘If I Haven’t Got You.’ Without Luke, nothing had meaning.
‘I wonder where we’ll be this time next year,’ he said.
‘Here,’ I said. ‘We’ll be right here.’
‘In the cold and the rain?’
‘In a hurricane, even.’
He turned me then so that I was facing him and he cupped my face in his hands and I pushed up onto tiptoes and I slid my hand up his back and he bent his head down and our lips collided and we kissed
we kissed
we kissed
until everything fell away from us – the folly, the park, the rain, the tears, the fears, what he was, what I was, what the future would hold. There was only now, and it was ours.
12: CHANGES AFOOT
‘Scarlett.’
‘Mnpf.’
‘Scarlett.’
‘G’wy.’
‘Scarlett, do you want me to just Travel you to the island right now, half-asleep, and leave you in a drooling pile at Evangeline’s feet?’
That got my attention.
I sat up quickly, realised I was wearing nothing more than a t-shirt, pulled the bedclothes up to my chin and then turned to glare at the intruder.
From his nonchalant leaning-on-the-doorframe position, Jude frowned back at me. ‘You seem wiped out. You been doing things you shouldn’t have?’
‘Huh?’
I flushed guiltily as I thought of the not-so-innocent things Luke and I had done yesterday evening before he left. Then anger rose as I reflected that really it was none of Jude’s business what I did with my boyfriend. Then calm descended once more as I realised what Jude meant.
‘Oh,’ I said. ‘No, not overdoing it on the healing. I’m just fine and dandy.’
‘And late.’
‘What?’
‘You were expected on the island’ – he checked his watch – ‘half an hour ago. And Nathaniel told me to tell you that lunch is at one sharp. That’s in twenty minutes.’
‘Oh.’
‘Leap out of bed and rush about getting ready, why don’t you.’
Ignoring his sarcasm and the churning feeling in my stomach, I fired back, ‘Scoot, then, and I will. Go make yourself a coffee.’
‘By which you mean caffeinated pond sludge.’
I threw a pillow at him. He laughed and sloped out of sight, and I heard the stair treads creaking under his weight.
After a quick shower, I rifled through my wardrobe. What did a girl wear to return to an island she’d turned her back on? To sit at lunch with people who’d no doubt been hurt by her decision to reject their way of life? To introduce herself to an intimidating lady for the first time as her great-granddaughter?
Suddenly, I was clinging on to the wardrobe door. I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t go back there. The strange little world I’d run from – to go back was to confront everything it was head on. It meant seeing again all the parts I detested: the control, the restrictions, the separation of parent and child. But it also meant seeing again the parts I respected: the sacrifice, the compassion, the heartfelt desire to be good.
Good.
Those on the island were good Ceruleans. All of them. Compared to the Fallen, they were saints. And now, for me to go back there and be among them…
I wasn’t a good Cerulean. I wasn’t furthering the Cerulean line, helping to securing a future in which there were enough Ceruleans to meet the need for healing.
I wasn’t a good Cerulean. I wasn’t out there saving the world, changing lives.
I wasn’t a good Cerulean. I’d put my love for Luke, my need to be with him, above a life of dutiful service.
Why on earth had I agreed to this lunch?
In the aftermath of Mum’s visit, it had seemed like a good idea: confront Evangeline and find out about my grandfather. I had a fool’s hope that Evangeline may know something that could strengthen my relationship with Luke. Yesterday we’d been so solid, but still I worried that the constant separation would wear us down. I worried that –
‘Five minutes, Scarlett!’ yelled Jude from the kitchen beneath.
‘Coming!’ I hollered back.
Too late now. What was the saying? ‘Screw your courage to the sticking-place.’ No, hang on, it was Lady Macbeth who said that when goading her husband into murder; not quite what I had in mind for today.
‘Scarlett! I don’t hear you getting ready!’
‘I’m on it!’
I did a noisy little tap dance to reassure him, then reached out and grabbed the nearest item of clothing: a clingy pink dress that Cara had talked me into buying on a recent shopping trip. It was short, a little too short, so I added a pair of black leggings underneath and then simple ballet shoes. Twisting my hair up, I secured it in place with a jaw clip, then stroked on a touch of mascar
a and a quick slick of lip balm. I stood back and surveyed my reflection in the mirror. Well, at least I looked confident.
‘One minute!’ shouted Jude. He was at the bottom of the stairs now, judging by the volume of his voice.
‘Coming!’
I heard him mutter ‘Heard that before’ and I couldn’t resist a bit of payback for all the cajoling. I thought of the foot of the stairs in the hall, I closed my eyes and I –
‘Woah!’ said Jude as he collapsed onto the hall floor, having been shoved there by my sudden arrival in his personal space. ‘Scarlett Blake,’ he grumbled, struggling up, ‘I hope you haven’t been abusing your ability to Travel. It’s tiring, you know, and I told you to use it only for –’
‘Yeah, yeah, yeah,’ I said, offering him a hand. ‘FYI, that’s only the second Travel I’ve done since coming back.’
‘Good.’ He took my hand and stood, but didn’t let me go. Swapping the chastising tone for a gentle one, he said, ‘Ready?’
No, I thought.
‘Yes,’ I said.
I just had time to hear him say ‘It’ll be fine’ before the cottage melted away around us.
*
We arrived on a lawn fringed with carefully tended flowerbeds. It was like stepping from a low-budget, poorly lit movie into glorious HD Technicolour. Everything was a little brighter, a little more colourful; even the bees in the lavender seemed buzzier. Without a word, Jude led the way up the path towards the large white building that dominated the island – Cerulean HQ – and I followed along, taking in deep breaths of fresh air.
The doors to the conservatory were flung open and we headed directly to them. I got a glimpse of a group of people inside, watching our approach, and promptly stumbled over the doorstep. Jude reached out and steadied me, and before my fear could plunge me into some further embarrassing act – face-planting on the tiled floor, say, or shouting out, ‘Hey, Great-Gran, how goes it?’ – I was being greeted by my fellow Ceruleans:
‘Welcome back, Scarlett.’
‘You’re looking well.’
‘Lovely day for it.’
‘So good to see you.’
‘Missed you.’
This last from Estelle, from the depths of a bone-crunching hug.
Nathaniel ushered us all into the dining room, to sit at a long table he’d set for lunch. I was seated between Adam, Estelle’s partner, and Michael. The other chairs were occupied by the older vanguard of the island: Nathanial, James, Paul, Tobias and, presiding over us all from the head of the table, Evangeline. Once we’d bowed our heads obediently as she said grace, Nathaniel urged us to tuck into his chicken parmigiana, created entirely from island-grown ingredients, he told us proudly (I tried not to think of the happy little chickens I’d once fed in the yard).
As we ate, Evangeline carefully steered the conversation along safe lines: a recent sports day at the boys’ school, Kikorangi; the purchase of a new milking cow, which Estelle had named Madonna; the plans for the Lux Beneficent Society’s next fundraiser. We were all polite, we were all friendly, we were all model dinner party guests, and yet a single word echoed in my head:
Awkward.
First, there was Estelle and Adam. He was quieter than I remembered, a little withdrawn, while she was more vocal, and there was an edge to her that I didn’t recognise.
Michael, meanwhile, was no doubt there on Evangeline’s instruction; she must have thought that he’d put me at ease given that we were friends. And we were friends, I thought, but there was little sense of it at lunch. If I caught his eye, he looked away. If I asked him a question, he answered concisely. It would have been easy to assume that he felt guilty, here in the company of both me and Evangeline, for the way he’d covertly helped me in the past weeks. But guilt wasn’t an emotion I associated with Michael. He was aloof, yes, but he seemed certain in himself and his choices.
Nathaniel, at least, was his usual calm and cheery self, but there was no doubting that Evangeline was far from either of those moods. Jude was right: she was different. She put on a good performance of being the Mother, but she looked older and thinner, and her fingers wouldn’t be still, constantly smoothing invisible creases in the tablecloth or fiddling with her napkin ring.
I didn’t know what to make of her. I’d never been able to fathom this woman. At times, she’d seemed like the ultimate mother indeed – warm, loving, understanding, generous. But there were cracks in her façade. She lied to me. She couldn’t be trusted. And yet here I was, hoping to get the truth from her today, which suggested I had some degree of faith in her. Why?
Because she’s family, said a quiet voice inside.
It was an unsettling reason. Because since that dark alleyway in Newquay, when I’d disowned my own sister, I’d fought against the pull of family. My father, who’d left. My sister, who’d left. They were nothing to me.
It was easier to believe that blood didn’t matter. Easier, but not entirely truthful.
*
After lunch, Evangeline suggested we ‘youngsters’ take a walk around the island. The eager agreement by all betrayed that it wasn’t only me who’d found the atmosphere at the table stifling. Only Michael declined, explaining that he had work to be getting on with and then excusing himself swiftly.
‘Perhaps you could come and find me when you’re back, Scarlett, and we can catch up over a pot of tea?’ suggested Evangeline.
‘Of course,’ I said at once.
I returned her smile, and then followed Jude and Estelle and Adam outside. I was glad that Evangeline was framing our chat in such relaxed terms. But most of all I was glad, right now, to escape her company and the confusion she stirred up in me.
Shell Beach was quickly decided on as the destination for our walk, and Adam and Jude strode off, leaving Estelle and me to catch up. Estelle slipped her arm through mine and touched her head briefly to my shoulder.
‘Missed you,’ she said.
‘Missed you too,’ I told her.
‘You left without saying goodbye.’
‘I know. I’m sorry. There was no time.’
‘But you wouldn’t have told me the truth anyway, would you? That you weren’t in love with Jude and you weren’t staying on this island.’ Before I could answer she added, ‘I don’t blame you. I was very loyal to this place.’
‘Was?’
She glanced ahead, at Adam and Jude, then back at me. ‘There are changes afoot,’ she said in a low voice. ‘Evangeline doesn’t talk of your leaving. She wants everything to carry on as it was, before you came. But it’s not that simple. You changed things.’
‘I did?’
‘You did. For one thing, you exposed the lie that women can’t Travel.’
‘How do you know I can Travel? Surely Evangeline let it be known that it was Jude who took me away?’
‘Yes, she did. But I cornered Jude once he was back and wheedled the whole story out of him.’ Estelle grinned. ‘I can be very persuasive, you know. Poor bloke didn’t know what had hit him.’
‘And he calls me manipulative...’
‘Well, we girls have to play to our strengths. But it’s Adam I have to work on now. To get him onside.’
‘Onside with what?’
She evaded the question. ‘Leaving like that and not coming back – it was brave, Scarlett, really brave. It made me think long and hard about who I’ve become on this island. How the relief at being in a safe place has made me willing to bow my head and do as I’m told.’
‘But Estelle, you like it here,’ I reminded her. ‘You love Adam, you love having babies – you get Cerulea in a way I never did.’
‘That’s true,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to walk away, like you did – though I understand why you have, and I respect that. But I do want more freedom.’
‘And how are you going to achieve that?’
‘Let’s just say I’m working on it. And that, Scarlett Blake, escapee Cerulean, is all I’m saying for now.’
I stopped an
d stared at her. There was so much I wanted to ask her, gripped as I was by excitement (changes in Cerulea?) and fear (would Estelle and Adam end up Outcast?). But she tugged me onwards and said brightly, ‘So, Ms Dark Horse, tell me all about this luscious Luke of yours.’
*
We left the big house sensible, mature. We were Ceruleans after all – bearing weighty, life-changing responsibility. But somewhere between the cliff top overlooking Shell Beach and the vast, pale expanse of sand, we shed all the shoulds and musts and leapt into the fantasy that as well as being young we were free.
We kicked off our shoes and raced each other across sand so soft it sucked at every footfall. We threw seaweed at each other and whooped when we scored a hit. We rolled up our jeans and paddled in the surf, and then kicked in it, and then splashed in it. We played a riotous game of football with a ball Estelle produced from a nearby rock pool. We held a ‘most interesting thing found on the beach’ competition, and Jude won for his discovery of a lesser spotted dogfish washed up on the eastern rocks.
Finally, we collapsed, giddy and giggly, on the beach.
‘There,’ said Adam. ‘See it? There – on that wave. Dorsal fin. Has to be. I’m telling you, Jude’s dogfish pales in comparison.’
‘Not. A. Shark,’ Estelle and I repeated in unison.
‘Seriously, mate,’ said Jude. ‘Would I ever have taken Scarlett out surfing off this beach if the waters were shark-infested?’
‘It is a shark!’ protested Adam. ‘I’m sure of it! A basking shark – the gentle giant of the sea. Second largest fish in the ocean...’
Adam was animated and firmly in teacher mode; I’d seen him like this when he looked after the children on the island. The kids loved it, but judging by the grimace on her face, Estelle was less enthralled.
‘... and not unheard of by any means in British waters,’ continued Adam, oblivious. ‘Seriously, you can read all about it on The Shark Trust’s website. And remember, the papers reported that sighting of a ten-foot shark near Exmouth.’
‘No, I don’t remember that, Adam,’ said Estelle a little sharply, ‘because I don’t read the papers.’
