by Tayte, Megan
This time, I stood with my misty-eyed mother in my childhood home, surveying my decidedly weddingesque dress and wondering what the heck I was doing wearing it when I wasn’t about to marry any bloke – let alone the right one, who was waiting for me downstairs and no doubt expecting me to come down in a moment in my regulation jeans and tee.
‘Mum,’ I wailed for the umpteenth time, ‘I cannot wear this!’
She blew her nose loudly on a tissue. ‘It’s no good, I’ll have to redo my mascara.’
‘Mum! I look like a… like a…’
‘Like a princess,’ she breathed.
She came to stand beside me, so we were reflected side by side in the vast Rococo mirror fixed to the wall. We made a strange couple – Mum tall and willowy in a slender sheath dress with intricate beading and lace open-toed sandals; me in a strapless mermaid-fit gown with an acre of tiered ruffles and a pair of blinged-up pumps. Add a flamboyant fascinator for Mum and a complicated updo for me, plus a full face of what Mum called ‘maxalicious makeup’ for us both, and the result was two very convincing blushing brides – though one blushed with delight and the other purely through a generous application of rouge.
‘My little girl...’ said Mum. ‘Look at you! You’re beautiful! Luke will just melt.’
‘That’s just it,’ I moaned. ‘I don’t want him to melt!’
‘You don’t?’ She put her hands on my shoulders and turned me to face her. ‘Darling, I thought you were getting on better, since that day we spoke about’ – she looked down at our outfits and smile wryly – ‘well, about life not always being a fairytale.’
‘We are,’ I said. ‘We’re fine. It’s just… it’s a bit much for a guy, isn’t it, all this? I don’t want to send him running for the hills.’
‘And you think he’s looking for a reason to do that?’
‘No. Yes. Maybe. I don’t know. Everything just feels a bit fragile right now.’
Mum reached up to adjust a glittery clip in my hair. ‘But Luke came today knowing it was a wedding fair,’ she said, ‘knowing he’d be surrounded by this sort of thing. And it’s not like you chose to wear the dress – these are Cara’s designs; we’re doing it for Cara. And it’s fun, really, isn’t it? Like when you were tiny and you’d dress up in my clothes.’ She finished fiddling with my hair and smiled gently at me. ‘Perhaps you’re worrying a little too much, Scarlett.’
I grimaced and muttered, ‘That sounds familiar.’
‘Pardon?’
‘Let’s just say you’re not the first person this week to suggest I over-worry.’
‘You always have, Scarlett. Sienna was the leap-in-and-think-later sister; you were the more tentative.’
I winced at the mention of Sienna’s name, the affection in Mum’s voice as she said it and the comparison. Mum was right: Sienna was the risk-taker, but look where that had got her. Still, it wasn’t Mum’s fault she was blissfully ignorant of the true difference between her daughters. I wanted it that way.
Mum must have interpreted my silence as hurt, because she was talking again now in an apologetic tone: ‘I understand why you worry, darling, really I do. Goodness knows I spent long enough being frightened of getting hurt. But sometimes you just have to brush away the fears and get on with living. You know?’
I did know. Back when I’d discovered I was dying, I’d made a conscious decision to live – to let go of all the negativity and make the best of people and experiences, of moments. I hadn’t realised until now how far I’d moved away from that philosophy, how much my new life as a Cerulean was marred by anxiety.
‘Okay,’ I said. ‘I’ll wear the dress.’
‘Good!’ said Mum. ‘I’m proud of you.’ She leaned over and gave me a hug that was fairly painful given the thousands of little beads she was pressing into me.
‘And I’m proud of you too,’ I told her when she stepped back. ‘All this – the event. It’s amazing.’
I meant it. On my way upstairs I’d been struck once more by the transformation in Hollythwaite. It was bright and light and colourful and soulful.
‘Thank you, Scarlett.’
I gave Mum a little nudge. ‘And you look pretty fine yourself.’
She checked her reflection in the mirror and grinned. ‘Not too shabby, if I do say so myself. Much better than I looked on my wedding day to Hugo! It was a registry office affair, you know, and I didn’t think a wedding gown was appropriate, so I wore this ghastly green smock thing…’
Her voice trailed off. I could guess why – she’d been about to describe a maternity dress, worn to encompass her large Scarlett-baby-bump. But of course I wasn’t meant to know she’d been pregnant with me before marrying Hugo. I wondered how many other little slips I’d missed over the years.
She looked a little sad, and I thought perhaps she was remembering something painful, so to distract her I gestured to her dress and said brightly, ‘Well, maybe one day you’ll do it again. Do it right.’
But if anything the shadows in her eyes deepened, and she simply replied, ‘No, Scarlett, I don’t think so. I had my chance, but that ship sailed long ago.’ Then she gave herself a little shake and, injecting cheer into her tone, said, ‘Right then, T minus twenty minutes. I’d best go do my job – my job; how bizarre is that? I have a job! Anyway, you enjoy your day, darling, and I’ll catch up with you later.’
‘Okay. Good luck, Mum.’
I waited until the clip-clop of her heels had died away before taking one last look in the mirror and then reaching for a tissue to wipe off the crimson ‘maxalicious’ lipstick that just wasn’t me.
21: SENSELESS
I made it an hour downstairs helping Cara and Luke and Si on the stand amid the fast-growing throngs of people – excited brides-to-be and battleaxe mothers and hen-pecked fathers and bewildered-looking grooms. I stood beside the stand, smiling and chatting to those who stopped to look at Cara’s wares and trying to get my head around the transformation of this once cavernous, cold hallway into the very heart of a marketplace. But too quickly I felt like I was drowning in the tide of wedding planners – suffocating.
I tugged on Luke’s arm to get his attention, interrupting him mid-conversation with a lady who was sniffing a beaded bag. He took one look at my face and said ‘Excuse me’ to the bag lady and then ‘Cara, we’re taking a break’ and then ‘C’mon, Scarlett’.
Slipping his arm around me, he led me out of the main doors and along the driveway, neatly steering me around a juggler, a magician and a balloon modeller, and down a deserted path along the side of the house. At the end we turned the corner and stumbled straight into a menagerie of animals in cages and pens, and a horde of people clamouring for a complimentary I Dove You Wedding Animal Rentals keyring.
‘Blimey,’ said Luke, eyeing a miniature donkey braying in its pen, ‘is anywhere wedding mania free here?’
Speaking was too much, so I just pointed towards the far end of the estate. It was an area Luke knew well.
‘Good idea,’ he said as he guided me past a strutting peacock. ‘That’s better,’ he said as we slipped through an archway and saw a clear path ahead of us. ‘Come on.’ His hand pressed my back and he set off at his usual pace, but I had to grab him and shake my head.
‘What…?’
He looked down at my mermaid skirt and high heels. ‘Oh, I see. Leisurely stroll it is then.’
The effect of an hour in uproarious crowds appeared to have unleashed a rush of adrenaline in Luke, and unable to expel it physically, he became uncharacteristically talkative:
‘… I mean, I’ve heard of doves for a wedding, but donkeys, really?… Did you see that hen and stag supplies stall? Who knew they made pasta in that shape?… At least fifteen orders already; Cara’ll be beside herself on the drive back… A cool thousand for cake toppers modelled on the bride and groom; I’m in the wrong catering business… Videographer chap wandering about; did you see him – he had you right in shot…’
Eventually, when we
reached the wildflower meadow, my silence registered with Luke. He stopped us at the bottom of the long hill we were about to climb.
‘What is it?’ he said. ‘Are you upset? Have I said something wrong? Because when you came down the stairs in that dress and I said “Oh my God!”, you know I meant “Oh my God, you are the most beautiful creature in the world and I can’t believe you’re my girlfriend”, not “Oh my God, what the hell are you wearing”, right?’
I managed a wavery, ‘Right.’
Suddenly, Luke was alarmed. ‘What is it? All the people – have you overdone it – do you need to leave?’
I shook my head. I’d thought that was it when we were inside – simple exhaustion from the crowds. But being away should have brought instant relief, and yet I still felt like I was suffocating. Because, I realised abruptly, I was.
‘Dress,’ I gasped. ‘Lacing at the back.’
In an instant Luke was at my back, wrestling with the ties.
‘Man these are tight. Was your mum trying to kill you?’
‘Didn’t want… wardrobe malfunction.’
‘A what? Hang on... got it!’
Relief flooded through me as the vice around my chest eased right off.
Luke came around to face me. ‘Better?’ he asked.
‘Bliss,’ I said. ‘Who knew breathing was so essential?’
He grinned. ‘Shall we sit in our spot?’
I looked up to the top of the hill. There I’d sat after we’d broken up, when I’d lost Luke and fled to Hollythwaite in pieces. There Luke had found me when he’d raced up here to bring me home.
‘Perfect,’ I said.
Hand in hand, we climbed the hill – no mean feat for me in a mermaid skirt. At the top Luke trampled some grasses and flowers and then shrugged off the jacket Cara had insisted he wear and laid it down. I sat carefully and he settled beside me. Together, we looked down at Hollythwaite. From up here the visitors looked like swarming ants.
‘So many people,’ I said.
‘Your mum must be thrilled – the wedding fair is a huge success.’
‘Yes, but so many people!’
He put an arm around me and I laid my head on his shoulder.
‘Want to hide up here for a while?’ he offered.
‘A long while, please.’
‘Okay. Could get a little boring, though. We may have to find… things to do.’
What was there to do, exactly, up a hill? But Luke’s next words made that abundantly clear:
‘I see what you mean about the wardrobe malfunction.’
He gestured to my chest, and I looked down, then grabbed the bodice of the dress and held it to me. His hand covered mine.
‘Don’t,’ he said. ‘Let it go.’
‘But…’
‘Or if you don’t want to ruin the dress, take it off.’
My head snapped around. He arched an eyebrow suggestively.
‘But Luke... we’re up a hill... people could see us...’
‘So we go over the brow of the hill. Or to the hideaway.’
The treehouse. Where we’d been close before, very close. But the risk – I hadn’t decided myself whether I could risk it – I hadn’t told him still – I wasn’t ready –
‘Unless you don’t want to,’ said Luke, and his fingers, which had been tracing circles on my back, stilled.
‘No!’ I said quickly. ‘I want to.’ And I did. Of course I did. ‘It’s just...’
‘It’s just what, Scarlett?’
When I didn’t reply, because my racing mind couldn’t come up with a decent answer, he let go of me. Wrapping his arms around his knees, he pulled them up to his chest and stared silently down at Hollythwaite. Without his touch I was cold, and I hugged my dress to me tightly and tried not to cry.
Tried, and failed.
When he heard my breath catch, he glanced at me and cursed under his breath.
‘I’m sorry...’ I began, but he cut me off.
‘Don’t,’ he said. ‘Please don’t.’
He stood up and walked a few steps downhill. I saw his shoulders fall and rise with a deep breath, and then he turned back to me and said, ‘I hate it when you’re sorry, Scarlett. I don’t want you to be sorry. I just want you to be yourself. If you don’t want to... then that’s fine. Just own it, all right? Don’t be sorry. Don’t make me the bad guy who’s pushing you into it. I’m not that guy.’
‘I know you’re not!’ I said, scrambling to my feet. ‘I never meant for you to feel that way!’
‘Well, you did. You have.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Will you stop being sorry!’
‘S–’
I clamped a hand over my mouth, and he made a sound of frustration that turned into a laugh. ‘What am I going to do with you?’ he said, rubbing a hand over his face.
‘I don’t want to upset you,’ I said. ‘It’s just... I don’t...’
‘Will you stop it! Stop beating yourself up. If you can’t say the words then don’t.’
I gaped at him. He was never usually so blunt.
With two strides he came back to me. Hands on my waist, he looked me right in the eye and said, ‘Scarlett Blake, when are you going to realise that I know you? I know you’re worried about something, and I know you don’t want to share that with me right now. And yes, that leaves me in the dark – again. But I don’t need to know right now. I don’t need to have a deep-and-meaningful with you. I just need to kiss you until you forget to hold your dress up.’
He grinned cheekily, and a laugh burbled up in me and escaped.
‘That’s better,’ he said. ‘Your smile is beautiful. You’re beautiful. In that dress. In this field. In the sunshine. Can I kiss you senseless now?’
‘Yes,’ I said.
So he did.
What a kiss.
Whatakiss.
What
a
kiss.
Poppies dancing at my ankles, dandelion seeds catching in my hair, a butterfly clinging to my skirt... I knew nothing, only him. And I whispered:
‘Treehouse.’
22: YOU KNOW ME
It wasn’t the coolness in the air that ended the fairytale escape. Nor the entanglement of one of my hair combs in a fraying blanket. Nor, even, the impressively large splinter I’d just dug out of my shin. It was Kasabian’s ‘Lost Souls Forever’.
‘Sorry,’ said Luke, scrabbling in his jeans pocket for his phone. He brought it out, checked the display, groaned, hit ‘answer’, touched it to his ear and said, ‘What, Cara?’
As he listened to his sister chattering away excitedly, I looked around the treehouse. For an old play space, it was surprisingly free from dirt and dust and bugs. The windows were cracked but clean, and in a few places new boards had been nailed over holes. A shelf above the door held some basic camping kit, and a few worn blankets were piled up on a crate in the corner. I was glad to see someone was taking care of my old den – William, perhaps, out of a sense of nostalgia, or Laurence and Kathryn, the kids from the next-door estate.
‘I don’t know, Cara,’ said Luke. ‘Yes, if she rests. But it’s up to her, okay?’ With that he ended the call.
‘What’s up to me?’ I asked.
‘Remember the plan was to leave mid-afternoon, so you could get back and rest up? Well, your mum’s invited us to stay on this evening for some wedding music showcase.’
‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Well, I suppose there’s no harm in it.’
‘You want to stay?’
‘Do you?’
‘Kind of depends on the acts. If it’s some cheesy bloke on a keyboard wailing that song from Titanic…’
I laughed.
Luke laughed.
We grinned stupidly at each other.
Amazing what a tumble in a treehouse could do for creating a happy glow. And I was happy. What we’d just done was right. I loved Luke, he loved me – we were good together. Young. Free. Alive.
I’d tell him, of course I
would, about the children. But they didn’t exist here, now. They were ghosts. They could wait until we got home.
All at once, I was eager to extend this little escape from Twycombe.
‘Okay, we’ll stay,’ I said. ‘So long as I can change out of this dress.’
‘Or keep it on,’ he suggested. ‘But leave the top undone.’
I gave him a little shove and his grin widened – but then dimmed as he said:
‘You’ll need some time alone now. So you can manage staying on.’
‘Right. Can I borrow your phone?’
He passed it over, and I rang my mother and explained I had a headache and needed somewhere quiet for a lie-down. She was delighted we were staying for the evening and quickly offered up the gatekeeper’s lodge as a sanctuary.
‘Spare key under the Buddha statue in the garden,’ she said. ‘Help yourself to whatever you want inside. There’s clean towels in the bathroom. Oh, but my bedroom’s locked. And the guest-room bed isn’t fully assembled yet. So if you’re lying down, it’ll have to be on the sofa.’
‘Sure, Mum,’ I said. A lock on her bedroom door? Clearly, she’d considered the possibility of showing me her new home today. She really didn’t want me seeing her blue room and its memory wall.
‘Off you go then,’ said Luke once I hung up. ‘You can Travel to the lodge, right?’
I nodded.
‘Right, well come and find me when you’re ready. I’ll be the bloke with lackey felt-tipped on his forehead who’s knee-deep in beads and bows and frills and lace and heaven knows what else.’
I leaned over and gave him a last, lingering kiss. ‘Speaking of lace… just one last thing, before I go. Those black bands you’ve got wrapped around your wrists?’
‘Oh. I forgot to take them off.’
‘You might want to. They’re not, as Cara told you earlier, motion sickness bands to counteract the effects of travelling in a Mini Cooper. They’re garters.’
‘Which are?’
‘Lingerie. For holding up stockings.’
‘What? When I get my hands on her, I’ll –’
Laughing, I faded away.
