Darkly, Deeply, Beautifully

by Megan Tayte

  She sprang to her feet. ‘You think I’m our father! You think I’m power-mad – that being a Vindico means more to me than anyone or anything!’

  I had to crane my neck to look up at her. ‘But why else would you have gone with Daniel?’ I said.

  ‘Because I had to, Scarlett! Because it was the only choice. Because whatever I am, whatever I’ve done, there is only one thing that matters now, and I have to get it right. I am not our mother, I am not our father. He is all that matters.’

  And with that baffling outburst, she barked ‘Wait right here!’ at me and then turned on her heel and stalked out of the living room. Moments later I heard the front door bang shut.

  ‘Riiiiiigghhhht,’ I said. I looked at an enormous stuffed duck sitting in the opposite armchair. ‘Are you keeping up?’ I asked. It didn’t reply.

  My back had cramped up, the result of sitting tensely for some time. I stood and stretched. Had a little wander about the room. Checked out the CDs. Took in the view from the glass doors leading onto the balcony.

  The clock on the wall ticked on. The apartment was eerily quiet.

  On edge, I decided to pass the time by taking a wider tour. Sienna wouldn’t mind, I knew. She’d never been one for privacy.

  The kitchen was compact but stylish with red cabinets and a kitsch kettle and toaster. There was lots of colourful plasticware about, and an unfamiliar contraption was whirring away in the corner, some kind of round dish with a plastic lid. I tried to peer inside, but the lid was misted up.

  I backed out of the kitchen and into the little hallway. The first door opened to reveal a bathroom. It was a lot like Sienna’s en-suite at Hollythwaite. An entire family of rubber ducks stood sentinel alongside the bath, the laundry bin in the corner was bulging, and the shower screen was covered in foam letters arranged to spell out the key line of Jack Johnson’s ‘Better Together’.

  That left only one unopened door off the hallway. The handle turned easily and I pushed open the door. But I didn’t enter this room, the bedroom. I stood in the doorway and tried to make sense of what I was seeing.

  A double bed with a vibrant purple quilt, a bedside table with a lamp and radio alarm clock, a tall dresser scattered with makeup and jewellery – all these were normal enough. But the other contents of the room, made of plastic and wood and cloth in every colour imaginable, stacked on shelves and dumped in a makeshift pile on the bed… these items were the very last things I expected to find in my sister’s bedroom. These items, these innocent little things, blended together into one massive, breathtaking punch in the gut.

  ‘Sienna,’ I choked out through a throat tightening with shock and distress and wonder. ‘What have you done?’

  My legs were trembling, and I tottered forwards and grabbed the nearest piece of furniture. As I worked on taking some deep, steadying breaths, I focused on a framed picture hanging on the wall before me. Four blue letters drawn to look like the carriages of a little wooden train.

  I heard the front door open. I couldn’t turn. My eyes were fixed on the picture.

  Footsteps behind me. An, ‘Oh!’ Then, hesitantly, ‘Scarlett?’

  Still I didn’t turn. Four little letters that meant nothing on their own, but together…

  Then another noise. A kind of, ‘Aror-ooga!’

  I released my grip on the cot. I turned slowly, my eyes registering again the toys, the high chair, the miniature denim dungarees atop a pile of tiny clothes. And I found him there, on my sister’s hip, and I took him in – all of him – from his wriggling toes to his dimpled knees to his round belly to his waving fists to his sunset curls to his chubby cheeks to his smoky eyes, the exact shade as his father’s.

  ‘Hey, Jack,’ said Sienna softly, ‘say hello to Auntie Scarlett.’

  And I watched as my sister kissed her chortling son gently on his downy head, and I watched as my nephew reached up and pushed a half-chewed biscuit into his mother’s smiling mouth, and I melted.

  ‘Lemon slice?’

  ‘No, thanks.’

  ‘Autumn crumble flapjack?’

  ‘No, thanks.’

  ‘Chocolate cherry walnut brownie?’

  ‘No, thanks.’

  ‘Ginger whoopie pie with cinnamon dusting?’

  ‘No, thanks.’

  ‘Cheddar and custard tart and with crème de mud and toenail-clipping garnish?’

  ‘No, thanks.’

  ‘Argh!’

  Luke’s exasperated growl made me jump.

  ‘What?’ I said.

  ‘You,’ he said.

  ‘Oh,’ I said.

  We were sitting on the beach in Twycombe having an afternoon picnic. Only somehow the contents of the basket Luke had loaded up in the cafe held little interest for me. Even the cool sand and the crashing waves and the vast sky of the cove, usually guaranteed to soothe a spinning mind, felt distant. I wasn’t quite here. I was still trapped in the evening before, in my sister’s apartment in London. I was still trying to work out what to do.

  ‘Scarlett,’ said Luke sharply, and I looked at him. He was annoyed, I realised.

  ‘Sorry,’ I said automatically. ‘Er, the last cake sounded good.’

  ‘Mud and toenails?’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘Where are you? You’ve been like a zombie all day, since we left London. You’re doing that thing again, when you go off into your own little world and shut me out. I thought we were past this. I came to London. I did it with you!’

  ‘I know,’ I whispered.

  ‘Men don’t like games,’ he blazed on. ‘We’re simple sorts, okay? We can’t read minds. We can’t follow hazy clues. If there’s a problem, you need to just open your mouth and say it. This… this… ah, hell.’

  He’d noticed, belatedly, that I was welling up. Flapjack abandoned, he wrapped his arms around me.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I get it – you need some time to process whatever it is. That’s your style. And I’ve tried to be okay with it. It’s just… this is so familiar, and I feel sick wondering what difficult thing you’re struggling to share with me.’

  I closed my eyes and sank into him. He was right – I was being selfish. It was cruel to leave him in the dark. Only…

  ‘I’m scared,’ I mumbled into his t-shirt. ‘To tell you.’

  He leaned back and put a thumb under my chin and tilted my face up. ‘Hey,’ he said, ‘what’s the worst that can happen? We’ve faced death. We’ve faced separation. We’ve faced vigilantes. Hell, we’ve faced you throwing a dinner party.’

  A little smile escaped. ‘True.’

  He let go of me and reached for the picnic. ‘Go on then, Blake,’ he said. ‘Out with it.’

  I had to, I knew. It was time.

  ‘It’s… well… it’s about, er… babies.’

  The last word was barely a whisper, but its effect was immediate.

  Luke dropped the flapjack he’d just plucked out of the basket. ‘Again? Seriously? How? Oh. That time. But we were careful… Right, okay, don’t panic. The chemist’ll be open. I’ll go now…’

  I put a hand on his arm. ‘Luke,’ I said. ‘I’m not pregnant.’

  He stopped halfway through getting to his feet. ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Positive.’

  ‘Oh.’ He plomped back down on the blanket beside me. ‘Oh. Well. That’s… good.’

  ‘Is it?’ I asked seriously.

  His forehead furrowed. ‘Is that a trick question?’

  ‘No. I just mean, you want kids, don’t you?’

  He ran a hand through his already-wild hair and thought for a moment. Then he said, ‘Have I ever pictured you and me on this beach someday chasing a couple of rugrats about? Maybe. But that’s some hazy dream. We’ve been through this, remember, when you thought you were pregnant before? We’re young, we have our whole lives ahead of us. This isn’t something to think about now. As my grannie says, what’s for you won’t go by you.’

  I swallowed the lump in my throat
and managed to get out the words: ‘But it will, someday, if we’ve stopped doing what it takes to make a baby.’

  He blinked at my bluntness. The one subject we’d religiously avoided over the past weeks was our lack of intimacy. Since I’d gone to the island, since I’d discovered the probable fate of any kids we had together, I’d held back. Other than a couple of lapses – in the deserted cafe one evening and in the treehouse at Hollythwaite – I’d pushed Luke away, over and over. I’d done it in gentle ways. Little white lies. Plenty of hugs and kisses instead. But his confusion and frustration had been apparent. And I knew he’d seen the bigger picture – the distance growing between us.

  ‘Right,’ he said. ‘That. Well, er, I’m not sure why… I mean, is there a problem with… that?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. Hurt flashed in his eyes, and I added quickly, ‘It’s not you, Luke, it’s me.’

  ‘It’s not you, it’s me. Are you serious?’

  Miserably, I nodded. He erupted:

  ‘Crap, Scarlett, you’re ending it? Why? I thought –’

  ‘No!’ I reached out and grabbed a fistful of his shirt. ‘Idiot! Why would you think that?! That’s not it. Just listen. You have to listen.’

  ‘O-kay,’ he said, eying my hand on him.

  ‘Sorry,’ I said, letting him go. ‘I am so sorry for all of this.’

  Then I told him. I told him what made me pull away from him, though I so badly wanted to be close. I told him how much I wanted a future with him, but what that may mean for us. I spouted words like ‘fertility’ and ‘human’ and ‘Cerulean’ and ‘destined’. I laid out a vivid picture of what a child of ours would be, what life they would lead.

  ‘So if we’re together,’ said Luke slowly, when I ran out of words, ‘if we’re together together, we could make a baby. And that baby most likely wouldn’t stay human; it would be like you and Sienna. It would die and become a Cerulean.’

  Chin to chest, I nodded. I couldn’t look at Luke. I was too ashamed. He didn’t like the other world I’d pulled him into, I knew he didn’t. It was bad enough that his girlfriend wasn’t normal, but a child of his?

  ‘Scarlett, is this why you’ve been pulling away. The only reason?’

  I nodded again.

  He sighed heavily. ‘I wish you’d told me sooner.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I wanted to. I was just…’

  ‘Just what?’

  ‘Afraid. Of losing you.’

  ‘Because of what you are – something you’ve had no control over?’ He shifted on the blanket to kneel in front of me. ‘Look at me,’ he said.

  When I didn’t, he ducked right down so he could see my face. He looked so uncomfortable hunched over like that, about ready to nosedive into the sand, that I had to straighten up. He matched me and leaned close enough that I could see fiery flecks in his eyes.

  ‘Scarlett,’ he said, ‘I loved you before you were a Cerulean. I loved you. Nothing from that world will change it.’

  ‘But it’s not about love,’ I told him miserably. ‘Love isn’t enough.’

  ‘Yes, it is. Grannie sang it to me just the other day: “Love is all you need”. Apparently, it’s the indisputable wisdom of a lobster from The Little Mermaid.’

  He smiled at me.

  I didn’t smile back.

  ‘Where does this leave us?’ I said. ‘I mean, you must need time to think.’

  ‘I guess.’ He sat back on his heels and huffed out a breath. ‘Yeah, I should think about this.’

  I knew it was a fair answer, but my heart lurched. I would lose him. He would leave me. He had to. He couldn’t be with a girl he could never be with, and nor could he ever accept a future with abnormal kids in it. But the end… it would hurt so much.

  This was it: the moment I’d been running from for weeks. I felt a wave of emotion building, and I knew it would be engulfing. I couldn’t let him see it. It wasn’t fair on him.

  I scuttled back and stood.

  ‘Hey,’ said Luke. ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Leaving you to think,’ I said, already walking away.

  I was almost at the shoreline when he caught up with me. He darted in front and put his hands on my shoulders.

  ‘Woah!’ he said. ‘Don’t go stalking off like that.’

  I tried to edge past him, but he blocked me.

  The wave was cresting, and it was going to take me down with it, and if he didn’t get out of my way right now I was going to break down in a sodden, sobbing heap.

  ‘Please,’ I said. ‘I need space.’

  ‘What you need,’ he said, ‘is the total opposite of space. You need me. And I need you.’ He held me firmly in place. ‘Listen: I don’t know what we – we – are going to do about all this. But I do know that wherever we end up, it’s together.’

  I wanted to believe him very, very badly. But he was just being kind to save my feelings. I told him as much. He wasn’t impressed.

  ‘Now who’s being an idiot! I’ll spell it out for you. You’re not leaving me. I’m not leaving you. No one’s leaving anyone. There’ll be no leaving. Only staying. It’s that simple.’

  ‘But staying isn’t simple at all,’ I told him. ‘Leaving is the simple choice.’

  ‘Leaving is simple?!’ His hands, clamped on my shoulders, shook me a little. ‘What planet are you on, Blake? We did leaving, remember, for months? We did so long, farewell, have a nice life without me. And it was absolutely bloody awful.’

  ‘I know, but…’

  ‘Will you stop it with the buts! You’re driving me insane! Why do you make everything so complicated?’

  ‘I’m sorry. I just… I don’t get it. Why wouldn’t you leave?’

  ‘Why?! Because we belong together. I knew that the day I kissed you in that crumbling tower. No, before then: right here, on this beach, the day we met, when all I wanted was to be numb but you made me feel. You think it was just random luck that we were both in the same place at the same time that day, both of us grieving and lost? I don’t. I think we were meant to meet. On that exact morning. In that exact way.’

  With that, he threw his head back and launched into the chorus of ‘Written in the Stars’, completely off-key but endearingly earnest. I stared at him as he attempted some Tiny Tempah moves. He was goofy and he was gorgeous and I loved him so much it hurt.

  When I didn’t move, didn’t laugh at his antics, he quit jiggling and prised my arms, wrapped around myself, away so that he could hold me.

  ‘I mean it, Scarlett,’ he said seriously. ‘We belong together. You and me, we’re crumble and custard. We’re scones and jam. We’re cupcakes and frosting! There’s always going to be stuff that makes life a challenge. I don’t know what we’ll do, but we’ll find a way through it. We have to. Cupcake without frosting? I’d be dry and bland and boring.’

  He waited anxiously for my response. He needn’t have been anxious; he’d had me at cupcake. The wave had receded for now, sucked back into the ocean.

  ‘I’m the frosting?’ I said.

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘Well, I figured out of the two of us you’re the more sparkly, sugary, mushy one.’

  ‘Mushy?’

  He raised the other eyebrow.

  ‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘I think.’

  He smiled. And this time, I smiled too.

  ‘I love you, Scarlett,’ Luke said, running his hands up my back. ‘I love you, and that’s enough.’

  His lips were so close to mine, his eyes so full of love, and I couldn’t resist.

  ‘Now who’s mushy?’ I said.

  With astonishing speed he bent down, put his shoulder into my waist and stood, so that I was hanging over his shoulder. I shrieked and kicked as he ran to the water’s edge and dangled me over. Then – just as a massive wave broke right by us and I thought he was going to dunk me, and I was preparing to twist and grab him and take him down with me – he laughed and swung me away. He strode back up the beach and dumped me on the blanket hard enough to take my breat
h away. Or maybe it was his face, as he leaned over me, that took my breath away – his lips, oh-so-kissable; his eyes, that impossible blue.

  ‘Hey,’ I said. ‘What was that for?’

  ‘Proving my manliness,’ he growled.

  ‘Ooo,’ I said. ‘I like it. Prove it some more.’

  And his fingers tangled in my hair and his lips crashed onto mine and he kissed me with such intensity that I forgot everything but him and me and the sea and the sky and the rightness of it all.

  Later, we sat together picking through the picnic basket and looking out at the ocean.

  ‘There’s more,’ I said.

  Luke paused mid-chew. Winced. Swallowed. ‘Will I ever finish this flapjack?’ he said mournfully, surveying the gooey barely-nibbled bar in his hand.

  I smiled and patted his leg. ‘It’s okay. This is a kind of an eat-cake-and-listen bit. There’s no drama for us.’

  ‘Does it affect us?’

  I thought about it. ‘A little. But not in a bad way.’

  He took such a large mouthful of flapjack I suspected he feared it may be his last, chewed, swallowed and said, ‘Okay. Shoot.’

  So between nibbles of whoopie pie, I told him about my sister. Her discovery last year that she was pregnant with Jude’s baby. Her fear for her child’s future, and of Jude’s reaction to the news. Her confession to Daniel, and subsequent meeting with Gabe. And our father’s careful explanation that the baby may survive Sienna’s death or he may not, but that if he lived then his fate depended on which side his mother chose. If Sienna joined the Ceruleans, her child would be separated from her. If she joined the Vindicos, Gabe would do all he could to support her being a mother in the true sense of the word.

  By the time I’d finished talking the flapjack was no more and neither was the easy smile on Luke’s face.

  ‘Man,’ he said. ‘Poor Jude.’

  ‘And Sienna,’ I added. ‘And little Jack. She’s with him as much as she can be, but it’s not enough – she can’t stay with him all the time; he drains her. Gabe’s hired nannies, humans. Jack stays on the ground floor with them for part of the day, and then Sienna has him. But she can’t stand that he’s being raised partly by strangers. She’s so determined to be a good mother – better than our parents. But she feels like she’s doomed to fail because she can’t physically be there enough.’