Forget Me Not (The Ceruleans: Book 2)

by Megan Tayte

  ‘… where? In here?…’

  ‘… with the doctor…’

  ‘… alone?…’

  ‘… if you’d just…’

  ‘… move aside, please…’

  ‘… waiting room…’

  ‘… will not keep me from her!’

  And with that the doors banged open and into the room strode the very last person in the world I wanted to see right now.

  33: LITTLE WHITE LIES

  I cringed back into the pillow and braced myself for a shrill and dramatic ‘Scarlett!’ shriek, but it never came. Instead, the newcomer tiptapped over to me without a word. I took in her luscious red hair pulled back into a ponytail, her freckled face devoid of foundation, her simple white shirt and jeans – jeans?! – in shock. Who was this young, pretty woman?

  ‘Darling,’ said my mother softly, ‘what a day you’ve had.’ She pressed lipstick-free lips to my forehead.

  My mother, here. Of course I’d been planning to see her. Soon. Before… But I’d been putting it off. Because every time I pictured her, I saw a woman lying in bed alone, day after day; I saw a woman sobbing over her firstborn’s coffin, her empty coffin; I saw a woman lying on a stretcher near-dead from the drugs she took to numb pain she just couldn’t bear. I’d been trying to work out a way to protect her. Her standing beside my hospital bed was very, very far from protecting her.

  As I stared at my mother and Dr Morris shaking hands (vigorously, on my mother’s part) all I could think was: How has a simple trip to the zoo gone so horribly, horribly wrong?

  ‘Hello. I’m Elizabeth, Scarlett’s mum. How is she?’

  ‘Er…’

  ‘I’m fine, Mother,’ I said quickly. ‘It was just a….’ What excuse was it Sienna had used? That was it: ‘It was a blood sugar thing. All sorted now.’

  ‘She’ll be all right?’ Mother asked Dr Morris.

  He looked at me, and I shook my head discreetly. I was eighteen, an adult, and so doctor–patient confidentiality dictated that he had no right to tell my mother anything unless I okayed it. But I saw his confusion: why wouldn’t I let my own mother in?

  ‘Doctor?’

  ‘Your daughter is very strong,’ he said at last, smiling wanly.

  It wasn’t an answer to the question, I noted, but a diversion, avoiding the need to lie. Before Mother could seek clarification, he gathered up his files and swept across the room, calling behind him, ‘I’ll get those discharge papers sorted, Scarlett,’ and then he was gone.

  ‘Well,’ said Mother, settling herself comfortably into the chair by the bed, ‘he must be happy enough that you’re all right if he’s discharging you. What happened, darling? Luke, on the phone – it was hard to follow.’

  ‘Luke rang you?’

  She nodded.

  That was how much I’d scared him: he knew I would hate to upset my mother, or let her see me vulnerable.

  ‘I wasn’t far away – up at the Harmony Centre for a follow-up with my counsellor. I drove straight down.’

  ‘You didn’t need to come. I got a bit dizzy, that’s all.’ I tried to wave a hand dismissively, but stupidly picked the one with the cannula in and yelped at the sudden pain.

  ‘Careful,’ said my mother. Then: ‘Why were you dizzy?’

  ‘I can’t remember the name for it. Nothing serious. Just a blood sugar drop. The doctor’s giving me tablets to sort it.’

  ‘Blood sugar. Have you been eating properly?’

  ‘Yes.’ But that wouldn’t explain the problem, so reluctantly I added, ‘Most of the time.’

  My mother rolled her eyes. ‘Do I need to send you weekly food parcels? I thought you were all grown up – that’s what you tell me.’

  ‘I know. I’m sorry.’

  ‘You weren’t trying to lose weight, were you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Good. Because life’s far too short to spend it eating fruit salad while everyone else around you tucks into gateaux and cheesecakes.’

  I stared at my mother, who to my memory had never eaten anything decadent. ‘That’s it,’ I said. ‘You’re officially freaking me out.’

  ‘I am?’

  ‘What’s going on with you? You’re acting odd. This kind of thing – usually you’d totally hit the roof.’

  ‘I would have, wouldn’t I? Horrendous. But this isn’t about me, Scarlett, it’s about you. I’m here for you. And you’ve told me you’re all right, so there’s no need for a song and dance.’

  ‘That’s it?’

  ‘That’s it. As I’ve been telling you on the phone, I’ve come a long way. I feel like myself again. How I used to be, before... well, it’s been years. I’m like a girl again – like I was at your age. I can’t tell you how good that feels.’

  She smiled at me. My mother, my always fragile, always volatile mother, was standing in the trauma room of an accident and emergency department beside a bed on which lay her only living daughter, recently brought in by ambulance and the cause of quite a furore, and smiling. It was hard to believe.

  ‘Mother –’

  ‘Oh please stop calling me that, Scarlett.’

  ‘But I’ve always called you that.’

  ‘I know. And I hate it. It was Hugo that started all that – Mother and Father. I’d much rather be your mum, Scarlett.’

  She was so earnest, so eager; it was agony. Wasn’t that all I’d ever wanted as a child, a mum, a proper mum?

  ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘I’ll try to remember.’

  She leaned in and gave me a long hug. I closed my eyes and breathed in the scent of her: a mix of the familiar, Chanel No. 5, and something new, a sort of earthiness.

  ‘Come home with me?’ she asked when she let me go. ‘I can look after you.’

  ‘I don’t need looking after.’

  ‘Okay. But come visit then. Soon?’

  I nodded. And then seized on the easiest distraction to hand: ‘So what’s with the image change?’

  ‘Not a change, actually, a reversion. I didn’t always wear prim little suits, you know. This is comfier.’

  I pointed at her feet. ‘Those are comfy?’

  She looked down at her six-inch stilettos, then threw her head back and laughed. ‘No. Not in the slightest! But they’re me. I feel naked without them.’

  Behind her, I saw a door edge open and a head peek around. Jude, his eyebrow crooked questioningly – Can we talk?

  ‘Another one?’ I muttered. ‘It’s worse than Piccadilly Circus in here.’

  My mother glanced at the door. ‘Oh, I thought it would be Luke. He was outside with his sister when I arrived, getting some air. Is that a friend of yours, Scarlett?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, it’s one visitor per bed. I’ll pop out for a bit, shall I?’

  ‘Will you check on Luke?’

  ‘Of course.’

  As she stood up I beckoned Jude in. He loped over with easy grace, and came to stand on the other side of the bed from my mother.

  ‘I’m Elizabeth, Scarlett’s mum,’ she said, holding out her hand. I was bemused by my mother’s newfound desire to shake any new person’s hand, but Jude, cool as ever, took the gesture in his stride and put his hand in hers.

  ‘I’m Jude, Scarlett’s friend,’ he returned.

  But my mother wasn’t listening. And she wasn’t pumping his hand up and down as she’d done with Dr Morris. She was holding Jude’s hand quite still, eyes fixed on the Latin word tattooed along his inner arm.

  ‘Serviam,’ she read.

  ‘It means “I will serve”,’ I explained.

  ‘Yes,’ she murmured. ‘It’s... quite beautiful.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Jude.

  It was beyond awkward that she still wasn’t moving, so I said, ‘You were checking on Luke?’

  She dropped Jude’s hand then, quickly, and said to me, ‘Yes, Luke. Your boyfriend. I like that boy, Scarlett. He’s good for you.’

  Then, without so much as a ‘Nice to meet you’ for J
ude, she turned on her heel and clipclopped out of the doors.

  ‘How do you feel?’ said Jude at once.

  ‘Better.’

  ‘You look better.’

  ‘You were there? You saw it happen?’

  ‘No, I was here – working – when they brought you in.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Why the surprise?’

  ‘I just assumed you were watching me.’ When he frowned I added, ‘I know that you do it. I feel you near me often.’

  He cast a look at the far end of the room. All of the medical staff were engrossed in conversation. Still, he dropped his voice before replying, ‘I feel like we’re into guardian angel territory again. I don’t follow you about watching you, Scarlett – that would be an invasion of privacy. I text you, I call you, I see you on the waves when we surf. That’s been enough for me to tell that you’re holding your own. Until today.’

  Until today.

  ‘Was I close, Jude? Did I nearly...?’

  He shook his head. ‘No. Do you really think I’d have given you your space these past weeks if I wasn’t sure you had time still? You’re not dying today, Scarlett. Or tomorrow, or the next day.’

  ‘Good. Good!’

  For the first time since I’d woken up in this room I felt a glimmer of hope. I’d get out of here, smooth things over with Luke and Cara, and get back on course. The nearby town of Tavistock was holding its legendary Goose Fair next weekend...

  Jude’s hand tapping mine pulled me away from a vision of Luke and me on the big wheel, kisses sugary and sticky with candy-floss, back to a room where the sweetest treat on offer was IV dextrose.

  ‘Scarlett, I saw Luke when they brought you in. He was really, really upset.’

  Fear, sudden and cold, made me snatch my hand away. Luke – where was he? He’d gone for coffee ages ago. He’d promised he’d be back soon.

  ‘He knows I’m keeping something from him,’ I said. ‘He thinks – God, I don’t know what he thinks. Earlier, before the doctor came... Jude, he asked whether there was something going on with you and me!’

  ‘Well,’ said Jude, ‘you can hardly blame the guy.’

  ‘Why? Why would he think that?’

  ‘Because you said my name.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘When you collapsed. I heard him tell Cara: the last words you said were, “Jude. I need Jude.”’

  I stared at him in horror. ‘But I didn’t mean it like that!’

  ‘Obviously, but how’s he to know?’

  ‘What can I say to him? How can I fix it?’

  ‘I’m not sure you can.’

  He stood silently, watching me struggle for a response. Usually, he was so compassionate, so gentle with me, but now he was sterner, harder.

  ‘There must be something – some logical explanation for why I’d say that.’

  ‘Another lie, you mean? This isn’t fair on him.’

  ‘I know! Don’t you think I know that? He shouldn’t be here – he shouldn’t have seen this today.’

  ‘He’ll see it again.’

  ‘I know,’ I said. ‘I know. Don’t say any more, please – I know it all.’

  The tears that came softened him. He reached out a hand, but it froze just over mine – I’d pulled away from his touch last time. Instead, he began pulling tissues from a dispenser on the wall.

  ‘It won’t always hurt so much, Scarlett,’ he said.

  That was the first time it should have occurred to me that Jude, too, could lie.

  34: REMORSE

  It was dark by the time I got home. Luke took the keys out of my bag and let me into the cottage and helped me pull off my wellies on the doormat, then he padded from room to room downstairs, turning on all the lights. Their soft yellow glow was a relief after the stark brilliance of the hospital, as was the quiet. Since I’d come round that afternoon, it seemed all I’d done was talk – to Cara, to the doctor, to my mother, to Jude. But not to Luke. Not properly.

  Now, Mother – Mum – had driven back to Hollythwaite, with my assurance that I’d visit her soon; Cara was back at her house, still in a huff with me, still suspicious; and Jude – well, Jude was wherever he went when he wasn’t with me. Leaving Luke and me alone. I didn’t know whether to be relieved or anxious.

  ‘You should eat,’ said Luke. ‘I’ll make you something.’

  ‘Can I shower first?’ I said. ‘I need to shower.’

  ‘Okay.’

  He followed me upstairs and turned on the water as I stripped off clothes that were crusted with mud. He didn’t watch me undress; he busied himself wrestling the shower curtain into position. Self-conscious, I grabbed a towel and wrapped it around myself. He didn’t comment on it when he turned to me. He just told me he’d meet me in the kitchen when I was ready, and then left me. Alone, but for the girl in the mirror whose eyes I couldn’t quite meet.

  I crammed my soiled clothes into the small pedal bin and got into the tub. A bottle of body wash stood open on the side of the bath, where I’d left it that morning. Then, I’d lathered it up until I was high on ylang-ylang, singing loudly all the while. Only a few hours ago – it seemed so much longer. I put the lid on the bottle and picked up the soap instead and began carefully cleaning away the traces of the day. When I’d washed from top to toe, though, it wasn’t enough. There was an undertone beneath the tang of lavender that was intolerable. I picked up a washcloth and started over, rubbing harder, faster. But it didn’t matter how hard I scrubbed, I couldn’t get it off me – that smell, metallic and cloying. Blood. And then, when my skin was pink and raw and still I needed to keep scrubbing, it was no longer just a scent; I could see it on me, running down me in rivulets, thick and impossibly red.

  I was bleeding. I was bleeding out.

  I was dying

  right now

  right here in the bath tub

  and Luke would find me

  it would be him who found me

  and it wasn’t right

  not Luke

  not like this –

  ‘Scarlett!’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I sobbed. ‘I’m so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you.’

  ‘It’s okay, you’re all right.’

  ‘I’m not all right, I’m dying, oh God I’m dying –’

  ‘No –’

  ‘I’m dying, and I don’t want to, I don’t want to die –’

  ‘Listen, listen to me. You’re not dying, you’re not. You’re home. You’re safe. I’m here. Nothing bad is going to happen to you. I will never let anything bad happen to you. Just breathe. Breathe. Breathe.’

  I did that. I breathed.

  ‘Open your eyes. Look at me.’

  I did that too. His eyes were so blue. Had they always been so blue?

  ‘It’s okay,’ he said. ‘You’re okay now. Just breathe.’

  The room came into focus. I wasn’t in the tub; I was on the floor, on the bathmat. Luke was kneeling in front of me, hands gripping my arms. I looked down: I was wrapped in a towel, a clean towel. No bloodstains. No blood on my bare arms and legs. No blood anywhere.

  ‘It wasn’t real,’ I said.

  ‘No. You had a panic attack, I think. But you’re okay now.’

  ‘There was so much blood. I saw it.’

  ‘You saw blood?’

  Something in his tone shook me from my shock.

  ‘Not my blood,’ I said straightaway. ‘At the hospital, before I was discharged, they brought in a man. There was so much blood.... I’ve never seen so much blood.’

  ‘Oh, Scarlett.’ He crushed me to him fiercely and it was the first time he’d held me, really held me, since the zoo, and it was bliss, and it was torture.

  In his arms, all I could think of was the woman in the doorway to the trauma room, sobbing as she watched alarms go off and medics shout and the bleeding man just lie there, unmoving.

  Please, she’d begged. Please, love. Please. Please.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Luke. ‘I’m sorry
you had to go through that. Go through everything today.’

  ‘No,’ I told him. ‘You have it backwards. It’s me who must be sorry.’

  *

  Downstairs, we sat side by side on the sofa in the living room. At my request Luke had turned every light and lamp on and set the old gas fire to maximum output, but still the room seemed dim to me and cold. At least the tea and toast Luke had made were warming.

  ‘I had to make the toast on the grill,’ he said. ‘Because your toaster looks like it’s sustained a nuclear blast.’

  ‘Yes, it, er, exploded a little.’

  ‘And I had to boil the water for tea on the stove. Because the kettle isn’t working.’

  ‘Yes, it’s the wiring, I think.’

  I knew, in fact. It had given me a fairly nasty shock the other day.

  Beside me, Luke sighed heavily. ‘You’re not taking care of yourself properly, Scarlett. Your kitchen’s barely functional, and it’s just about empty of food. Is that why you collapsed today?’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘I told you – it was just a blood sugar thing. I forget the name. But it’s not serious.’

  ‘And the medicine the doctor gave you – it’ll sort the problem?’

  I thought of the paper bag shoved in my handbag and nodded. ‘Yes, it will.’

  ‘So it won’t happen again?’

  ‘No.’

  Not with you.

  ‘Thank God,’ breathed Luke. ‘I never want to go through that again. You were like a ragdoll in my arms. And that tiger was terrifying.’

  ‘The tiger?’

  ‘It went ballistic when you collapsed. Roaring, ripping at the wire, throwing itself towards you. It was pandemonium: kids screaming, zookeepers running about. There was no calming it, even when I carried you away. It was awful – frightening. All of it.’

  I reached for him, saying, ‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,’ but he jerked back.

  ‘You keep saying that,’ he said. ‘What is there to be sorry for?’

  I knew what he meant; dread was written all over him. I said quickly, ‘Nothing with Jude. He’s a friend, nothing more.’

  He searched my eyes, and I silently begged him to see the truth there, because there was nothing more I could say to him on the subject that wouldn’t be a lie.