by Tayte, Megan
‘T-Rex,’ I said. ‘“Children of the Revolution.”’
Estelle grinned at me and wiggled her eyebrows, then demanded, ‘What time is it?’
I was raising my hand to point at the clock when Cara and Estelle sang out in unison:
‘Pimm’s o’clock!’
And with that they began rummaging through the paraphernalia on the table, cackling like two witches over a cauldron, and I sat back and watched them and wondered whether I’d come to regret bringing these two together.
*
Two hours later we were sitting outside at the patio table and the jury was still out, but we’d certainly made good use of Cara’s supplies.
The pizza and dough balls were long gone, but Cara’s cocktail mix was going strong – vile as it sounded, the vinegar and lemonade made a drinkable mocktail version of Pimm’s, though Cara had to admit she’d muddled the standard accompaniment (cucumber, mint and orange) with that of a Bloody Mary (a celery stalk).
Cara was wearing a voluminous pink feather boa and a flashing tiara, which complemented her hot-pink mini dress pretty well. Estelle had a green boa draped over her shoulders and a cocktail umbrella protruding from her ponytail, which jarred with her all-black serious Goth look. All of us had lurid neon ‘Fuchsia Sunrise’ toenails, including the hippo teddy.
Edward and Jacob were watching over us, Aretha Franklin was demanding a little respect loudly from the stereo in the kitchen, and the Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus book was wedged under a table leg to remove an irritating wobble. Only the tissues remained unused – so far.
We’d started off keeping it light, chatting about the cafe opening, Cara’s business, Estelle’s novel writing and why, apparently, life-size cutouts of Twilight actors weren’t bizarre and dated but in fact an essential part of a girls’-night-in kit.
But there was a deeper meaning to girl time, and as I braced myself for the interrogation I knew was coming, I was surprised to find that it wasn’t just me who needed to talk.
Cara led the way by telling us that while she was happy with Si, she was struggling with insecurity. He was so confident and attractive and popular that she sometimes wondered what he saw in her – nice legs or not. And a recent incident in the city had upset her. A gang of white youths had shouted racial slurs at Si, the bottom line being that he should ‘go back where he came from’. Cara and Si had ignored them and walked away, but she worried now that her silence had hurt him.
Estelle admitted that all wasn’t rosy in her relationship either. She and Adam had rowed often in recent weeks over her emerging need for more freedom. He understood her perspective, and she suspected he had his own niggling doubts about the Cerulean way – she knew he missed their first baby, for one thing, who was being brought up by the mannies. But it was hard for born-and-bred Cerulean Adam to challenge the norms, and Estelle said he’d been in tears when they’d told a livid Evangeline about Estelle’s off-island escapade.
Then it was my turn. I’d intended to skim over the surface, but in the face of such raw honesty from my friends, I spilled it all like a girl who’d been downing proper Pimm’s by the pint glass. They were surprised by my revelations – Cara by the intimacy issue and Estelle by the family tree – but sympathetic, if lacking in solid answers as to what I should do.
‘So far as I can see,’ said Cara, licking the sugared rim of her glass, ‘a possible half-Cerulean baby is bothering you a lot more than a lying mother and an estranged Cerulean father.’
I winced at her bluntness, and then remembered to be relieved that she’d quit pushing me to find my father. ‘I mean, I’m curious about him,’ I said. ‘But if Evangeline’s not telling me about him, and Mum’s not telling me, and the man himself has never turned up and told me, I figure there’s a message there.’
‘I’ve never heard of a Rafe,’ said Estelle. ‘But then I can’t keep track of all the blokes off the island. As for the human plus Cerulean equals half-Cerulean to be Claimed thing, well, it’s kind of what I’d always figured anyway.’
‘Why?’ I asked her.
‘Because my mum was a total tramp.’
Cara choked on her drink.
‘No, really,’ said Estelle in a matter-of-fact tone. ‘She’d slept with half of Truro by the time she ODed when I was ten. I remember the constant stream of dodgy men coming through our council flat. I swear, when she died I was glad to get into the foster system. It gets a bad rep, and I had some lazy-arsed foster parents, but at least none of their hands wandered.’
Safe. The word she’d kept using when we were on the island together, in every explanation for why she liked living there. I’d had no idea.
‘Estelle,’ I said, ‘that’s...’
‘... the past,’ she said firmly, wiping a smudge of jet-black mascara from under her eye.
Cara and I exchanged a quick glance, and I saw that Estelle’s revelation had upset her too, but for once she didn’t probe.
‘So,’ she said to Estelle, ‘you think your mum most likely slept with a Cerulean.’
‘Yes. I asked her once who my father was. All she’d say was a tattooed bloke with a velvet voice who was gone by morning.’
‘Do you think it was deliberate? A one-night stand to get her up the duff?’
‘I think that’s exactly how it works. They send a group of studs out to impregnate. They watch, from a distance, until the kid comes of age, and then they Claim her – well, or him, I guess.’
‘That’s twisted.’
‘Way too twisted for Ceruleans,’ I broke in. ‘Think about it, Estelle: if it was deliberate, if Evangeline and your father knew about you, they’d never have left you in that situation with your mother. They’d have brought you to the island. Ceruleans are all about minimising suffering, not allowing it.’
‘I was human, Scarlett. Can’t bring up a human on the island.’
‘What about Michael? He was human, and he grew up there.’
Estelle cocked her head. ‘You have a point there. You think he was half-Cerulean and they rescued him from some diabolical mother?’
‘Maybe. Who knows?’
‘Michael?’
‘I don’t think so. He’s told me as much of Cerulean history as he can.’
‘We’re off-topic,’ interjected Cara. ‘The question for today isn’t how half-Ceruleans get made, it’s whether Scarlett – and my brother – would be prepared to make one.’
I looked at my two friends across the table. Cara’s tiara bulbs had blown and Estelle’s ponytail umbrella was wilting.
‘Would you do it?’ I asked seriously.
‘Yes,’ said Cara at once. ‘If I wanted kids someday, I wouldn’t let the Cerulean thing put me off. What you can do is amazing. Healing. Saving lives. It’s a gift, not a curse.’
‘But there’s no choice, Cara. No free will. It’s so damn hard.’
‘Was hard, for you. But the kid’s experience of turning Cerulean wouldn’t be anything like yours, Scarlett. For you, the Claiming was a total shock. You were all alone and you thought you had to do it to save your sister. And you thought being Cerulean meant losing everyone you loved. But you can bring the kid up to know what’s coming, and afterwards, they can keep their human life, like you have. Then they’ll accept the change – maybe even welcome it and transition before they get ill.’
‘Plus, you have to remember,’ said Estelle, ‘that the times they are a-changin’.’ When I stared blankly at her, she added, ‘Bob Dylan song? Never mind – my point is that by the time the next generation is our age, the Cerulean way will be different.’
‘You sound sure of that.’
‘I am.’
‘So you’d do it – have half-Cerulean kids?’
‘I wouldn’t be afraid to,’ said Estelle. ‘If you love Luke and you both want kids and you’ll love those kids, that’s what matters. And ultimately, it really doesn’t hurt the world to have more Ceruleans in it someday.’
‘Someday,’ I echoed. I
sat back in my chair and looked up at the sky. Blue. Cloudless. On the stereo, Candi Staton was imploring young hearts to run free. ‘This is crazy,’ I said. ‘This is stuff for the distant future, not now. I’m not even ready to be a mum.’
‘I don’t think anyone ever is. But once you have a baby, you’ll know you could never, ever regret it.’
At the mention of motherhood, all the lines on Estelle’s face softened and she smiled with such tenderness. Motherhood! And yet she was only twenty.
‘I just never saw myself as a young mum,’ I said. ‘And the way Evangeline was talking, even if Luke and I are careful...’
‘I bet your mum didn’t plan to have kids when she did,’ said Cara. ‘I mean, how old was she when she had Sienna?’
‘Nineteen. My age.’
‘And my mum was twenty. Really, it’s not like we’re talking thirteen. A baby at your age isn’t exactly shocking.’
I frowned at Cara. ‘Sounds a bit like you’re trying to talk me into this.’
She shrugged. ‘Maybe I am. Luke loves you. You love Luke. Having a baby together is totally magical.’
‘Nothing brings you closer,’ added Estelle.
I turned to look at her. ‘You too?’
‘Sometimes, Scarlett,’ she said, ‘you worry too much. You can choose to just let this go. Let God or the universe or fate or science or whatever it is you believe in decide.’
‘A baby!’ breathed Cara. ‘Teeny toes! Fuzzy head! Chubby cheeks! I’d be a cool auntie. Oooo – I could start a baby fashion line! Lickle-ickle socks with –’
‘Stop!’ I held up a hand. ‘I get it. Please, no more baby talk.’
Cara pouted, but when she saw my expression she said, ‘Okay. But you did ask for our opinions. So at least think about what we’ve said. And don’t make a huge issue for you and Luke unless you really have to.’
‘But it is a huge issue. When I tell Luke, he’s going to flip out. What are his options? Be with me and likely have kids soon, even though we’re not ready for that, and we’ve only been together for a year. And know our kids will wind up like me, unable to have a normal life, which he hates – he absolutely hates. Or be with me but never be with me – never sleep beside me and never sleep with me. Or... just... end it.’
Across the table, Cara snorted. ‘Really, Scarlett, Estelle has a point about your worrying. Luke adores you! Nothing short of murder would put him off you…’ Her face fell. ‘Oops. Sorry.’ She pointed a cocktail stirrer at her foot and then her mouth.
‘I’m lost,’ said Estelle. ‘How’s Cara put her foot in it?’
I sighed. ‘Because my sister’s a murderer and that’s what finally led to the guy who adores her giving up.’
Estelle shot upright. ‘What? Who? I mean, I knew Sienna was, well…. but who gave up on her?’
‘Jude.’
‘Oh. Oh! I didn’t realise. He never told me that part of the story.’
‘It’s not very romantic, is it?’ mused Cara. ‘In a proper love story, the hero doesn’t give up on the heroine. Ever.’
‘Then the hero’s a plank,’ scoffed Estelle.
‘And murder isn’t very romantic, Cara,’ I added.
‘Yes, but plenty of romantic heroes and heroines take lives.’ She pointed earnestly at the cutouts standing guard over us. ‘Jacob and Edward do in the Twilight series. And Bella still loves them both. Well, Edward more, but –’
‘Baddies, Cara,’ said Estelle. ‘They take out baddies. That’s very, very different.’
Her words stirred up the memory of Sienna in the alleyway in Newquay, her hands on the man’s chest, draining him of life. He was just an old man, frail, vulnerable. Not a baddie.
Estelle caught my shudder. ‘Anyway,’ she said brightly, ‘this has been great, huh?’
‘A blast,’ said Cara. ‘We should do it again soon! Scarlett?’
‘Um, yes, sure. The next time Estelle can creep off the island.’
‘Oh, I didn’t creep off,’ she said. ‘Evangeline knows I’m here today. Seemed pretty okay with me spending some time with you, Scarlett, actually.’
Cara clapped loudly. ‘Hooray! So you can come again soon.’
The two of them began hatching plans for our next meetup, but I sat back, looking on quietly. Evangeline wanted Estelle to spend time with me? That went against the grain. Wasn’t I a troublemaker? Didn’t Evangeline blame me for Estelle’s recent disobedience? She must. And yet, she was prepared to grit her teeth and allow Estelle and me to be friends. There had to be a reason.
All I could think was that Evangeline still hoped I would change my mind and return to Cerulea, and she thought spending time with Estelle would bring me closer to that decision. After all, Estelle remained a true Cerulean – still living on the island. Just how keen was Evangeline to entice me back to her side? Keen enough to tolerate a little progress for women? Perhaps Estelle’s approved visit was a message to me: come home and we’ll compromise. Or perhaps Evangeline had assumed Estelle would talk me out of a future with Luke.
Whatever the plan, it had gone a little awry, I thought. Because right now Estelle – mother of two Cerulean heirs, wife of a loyal Cerulean healer and until now an apparently sane and sensible girl – was waltzing around my garden with Edward Cullen, having a Braveheart moment with a twirling Cara/Jacob couple:
‘Freedom!’
20: MY LITTLE GIRL
With the pregnancy scare having thrust the future in between Luke and me, it would have been nice, when we next spent decent time together, to keep it light and fun. Cara had assured me that our plan for the following Sunday would be just that, and I’d agreed that a little trip away from Twycombe, just me and Luke and Cara and Si, would do us all good. But beyond considering the broad context of where we were going, I’d failed entirely to consider the detail.
It was the enormous pastel-pink bows on the gates to Hollythwaite that gave me the first dose of reality. Then the delicate ribbons trailing from the trees lining the drive. Then the bloke chainsawing a unicorn out of a massive chunk of ice. Then the field full of fancy vehicles ranging from vintage motors to stretch limos to Cinderella carriages. Then, finally, my mother striding out of the front door to greet us wearing jeans, a shirt and a voluminous white wedding veil.
‘Oh wow!’ squealed Cara from the backseat.
‘Oh crap,’ I murmured under my breath.
Luke, shoehorned into the passenger seat of my Mini, was conspicuously quiet. I didn’t dare look at him. Last weekend babies, this weekend weddings – the poor bloke was probably desperate to shoot back to Twycombe and bury himself in work at the cafe. Even though it was shut on a Sunday.
‘Hello all!’ called my mum as I wound down the window. She leaned in and kissed me on the cheek. ‘Bright and early – well done. Plenty of time before kick-off, so go park in the stables courtyard and then you can set up the stand. Cara, I’ve put you in prime position by the front door and everything you couriered up is waiting for you there.’
‘Thank you!’ she said. ‘Loving the veil!’
Mum laughed. ‘This? Totally not me, right? Was just messing about with Gail’s Veils. Now must scoot – time to change. Scarlett, I’ll see you in my old bedroom ASAP!’ And with a mysterious wink at Cara, she turned on her towering heel and headed back inside.
I sighed, put the car in gear and drove around the gravelled turning circle towards the stable block.
‘I can’t believe you grew up here, Scarlett!’ chirped Cara from the back. ‘It’s maHOOsive! Like a stately home or something!’
‘Or something,’ I said. ‘When I lived here it was gloomy and spooky and echoey and dark and depressing.’
‘Well, it looks amazing now!’ Clearly, nothing could dent Cara’s enthusiasm today.
At the stables I parked and we disembarked – the boys stretching cramped limbs. As Cara began rummaging in the Mini’s tiny boot, I stared at a shiny red Volkswagen Beetle convertible parked in Mum’s spot in the corner of t
he stable yard and wondered where on earth it had come from. Last I knew, she drove a Mercedes.
Arms sliding around me made me start.
‘Hey,’ said Luke in my ear, ‘you okay?’
I leaned into him. ‘Yes. It’s just weird being here.’
‘Because Ceruleans aren’t meant to be able to cross the Devon border?’
Actually, I’d meant being at a wedding fair when I wasn’t getting married, but I settled for: ‘That and the fact that my childhood home isn’t my childhood home any more, and my mum’s prancing about in a veil.’
Luke laughed softly. ‘At least she’s happy.’
‘It’s just taking some getting used to, the new her. Or the old her – whatever she is now.’
‘And I suppose “prancing about in a veil”, as you put it, doesn’t really shout “rational”.’
But Cara, who’d retrieved her bags from the back of the car and sidled closer, interjected, ‘Actually, brother dear, there’s nothing remotely crazy about women dressing up in wedding wear. They do it all the time!’
Before Luke could protest, she shoved a bag at him, forcing him to let go of me and catch it.
‘C’mon,’ she said imperiously, ‘we’ve got loads to do setting up the Cara Cavendish Customisations stand. Luke, you’re on unpacking duty – I’ll tell you where to put everything. Si, you’re my stand guy – start by sorting the signage, would you? Scarlett, you head upstairs to your mum’s room.’
‘But don’t you want me to help?’ I cut in.
‘You are helping,’ she said.
‘But –’
‘No time for chitchat, people. Go, go, GO!’
And off she marched us with all the presence of a sergeant-major but a great deal more leg on show.
*
Every little girl dreams of the moment she stands before a mirror in her wedding finery, ready to float off and live her happy-ever-after. In my case, though, it seemed apparent I was destined to have the mirror moment but never the fairytale ending.
The first time I’d done this, I’d stood alone in a room on a little island, surveying my decidedly non-weddingesque dress and wondering what the heck I was doing marrying the wrong bloke.
