by Megan Tayte
‘I tried to tell myself she was just messing about. It would hardly be the first time a drunk partygoer took a midnight dip. But it was so cold, and the waves were high, and she was fully dressed. So I ran.
‘A cloud blocked the moon. It was dark. I damn near ran into the ocean myself, that’s how much I could see. I shouted for her again.
‘When the moonlight came back, I looked all through the water. I saw her head – she was in so deep – near those rocks, there.’ He pointed to the west side of the cove. ‘I thought about going in, but in those conditions it would have been… it would have been suicide.’ He hung his head.
‘Go on,’ I said in a choked voice.
His voice was barely a whisper now. ‘I ran to Si’s for help. By the time I got back with them all, she was gone. I’m so sorry, Scarlett. I didn’t save your sister.’
‘She couldn’t have survived? You’re sure?’
‘Scarlett, no one could have survived out there. I’m sorry.’
I leaned my head on his shoulder and stared out to sea. The little candle of hope that had lit inside of me had blown out, and that was sad, but I was surprised to realise that my overriding feeling was relief. All this time I had wondered how it had been. The question of whether Sienna could have been saved had haunted me. But I trusted Luke. If he said it was impossible, I believed him.
‘Can you ever forgive me?’
I sat up and turned to face him, meeting his gaze for the first time since he’d begun to talk. ‘For what?’
‘For not going in there – not trying to pull her out.’
‘There’s nothing to forgive, Luke. If you’d have gone in, you’d have been lost too.’ I shuddered. Then a thought struck me. ‘But you did go in – for me.’
He smiled. ‘Because I could save you.’
‘And you did.’
I leaned in then, to kiss him, but Luke held up a hand.
‘There’s more. I have to tell you now. I don’t want any more secrets between us.’
My stomach plunged. More? How could there be more?
‘Okay,’ I said in as calm a tone as I could muster. ‘Hit me with it.’
He smiled a little at that, then his face grew serious. ‘You told me to start with the beach. But before then, at the party, I saw Sienna…’
‘Yes?’
‘She was with Jude. They were out on the decking together. I saw them through the doors.’
‘They were friends,’ I said.
‘But they didn’t look too friendly. They were rowing, Scarlett. Shouting at each other. Hands waving. Sienna shoved him. She was crying.’
He stopped and looked at me expectantly.
‘That’s it? Jude and Sienna rowed? Luke, my sister was always rowing with friends, boyfriends, me. She loved a good drama…’
But still Luke was worried. ‘It looked serious.’
I thought for a moment. ‘Okay, let’s say for a moment it was serious. Luke, we never talked about it, because I didn’t want to talk about it, but at the hospital, what Dr Morris let slip about Sienna…’
‘She was ill,’ he finished for me. ‘She was ill, and she wasn’t going to get better. And that’s why she took her own life.’
I nodded. ‘And if she and Jude were good friends, maybe she told him what she planned to do. And maybe that upset him.’
As I said the words, something in me relaxed. The way Jude was with me, the things he said; it all fit. He took an interest in me because of her. Because he’d lost her. Perhaps, even, because he thought he’d let her down – after all, he hadn’t managed to talk my headstrong sister out of her death.
‘I hadn’t thought of that,’ said Luke. ‘I just thought… well, I don’t like the guy.’
‘All this time you’ve had a thing about him, been avoiding the other surfers if he’s with them, because you thought what – Jude upset Sienna and drove her to kill herself?’
‘No. I don’t know. It’s all a jumble. I thought I saw… Oh hell, forget it. I don’t know. I got it all wrong.’
‘What did you see?’
‘Nothing, I guess. But I thought I did. In the water, when I saw her out there, I thought I saw another head in the waves, right by hers. I was so convinced, I raised the alert for two people in the water. When everyone came out of Si’s and ran to the beach, there was only one person missing besides Sienna: Jude. So I thought he’d been in there with her. I thought he’d drowned too – I told everyone so. The coastguard searched for two bodies that night.
‘But then, the next morning, he was there on the beach. And when I confronted him, all he would say is, “You couldn’t have saved her, Luke. Neither could I.”’ Luke shook his head. ‘I thought, if he was out there in the sea with her that night…’
‘Hey.’ I put my hand on his arm. ‘What is this? You thought Jude was out there in the ocean that night and failed to save Sienna but saved himself?’
He grunted in a way that told me that wasn’t what he’d thought at all.
My hand on his arm gripped him. Hard. ‘Tell me you haven’t been going about all these months thinking he killed her? Luke, my sister killed herself. Sienna entered the sea of her own free will, and you said yourself no one could have survived out there – she knew she would die. Jude didn’t make her do that. And even if Jude was in the sea – which you admit is impossible, because he couldn’t have survived – what do you think he did? Drown her? Bit pointless if she was already out there planning to die?’
Speaking in such stark terms of my sister’s death was painful, but I had to get through to Luke.
‘I know. I realise that now. I just…’
‘… don’t like the guy, I get it. But think about it, Luke. If Jude cared about Sienna, and he knew she was ill, and he knew she was planning to die, just think what he’s been going through. He’s grieving. Just like me.’
Luke was quiet, clearly wrestling with the idea that he’d got Jude’s actions and motives all wrong.
‘I’ll talk to Jude,’ I said. ‘I’ll find him and I’ll ask him. He’ll tell me the truth.’
Finally, Luke nodded. ‘Are we good?’ he asked quietly.
‘We’re good.’
‘Can I…?’
‘Always.’
So he kissed me, and I kissed him, and we fell back onto the sand and into each other.
*
Later, when the sun was dancing on the horizon and the sky was streaked with pink, we walked down to the water and kicked off our shoes and stood in the surf.
‘My sister always loved the ocean,’ I said. ‘She had this shell when we were kids that she would hold to her ear so she could hear it. She’s part of the sea now. She would have wanted that, I think.’
I let go of Luke’s hand and waded into the cold waves. When the water was lapping at my waist I stopped. I gazed out at the dying sun, hands trailing across the surface, letting each gentle wave rock me back and forth.
When I was ready, when my jeans were moulded to my legs and the salt had burned the ache out of me and I was shivering but whole again, I turned and went back to Luke and kissed him and took his hand, and I walked away from the past, away from the pain and away from the blue that forever would hold my sister in its embrace.
30: HOLY SHAMOLY
In the days that followed I scoured Twycombe for Jude. Now that I knew the truth of that night, I had to speak with him – and not just to put Luke’s fears at rest. The more I thought about it, the more convinced I was that he had known something of Sienna’s illness. What was it he had said when he saw me at the hospital – ‘Not you too?’ It was hazy in my memory; I had a thwack on the head to thank for that. Frustratingly, our next conversation – in my living room, post-tequila – was also vague. All the more reason to find him now and have a straightforward, honest conversation.
But he was as elusive as a ghost.
I was the first in the water each morning, and the last to leave – but he was not among those catching an early wave, a
nd nor did he surf in the evening. Each day, with Chester at my side, I moved between the cafe, the pub, Dan’s Dive Shop, the cliff paths and the winding streets of Twycombe, but the search was fruitless.
In between scouting, I asked around. I started with Luke and Cara.
The most Luke could offer was, ‘I think he once said he was an islander, whatever that means.’
Cara was similarly stumped. ‘I only ever see him on the water,’ she said, ‘or occasionally at one of Si’s things – usually fleetingly, towards the end. The only other place I ever saw him was St Mary’s.’
I thought back to when I’d first seen Jude. ‘Where, in the graveyard?’
She looked at me oddly. ‘No, at a service. It was Sienna’s memorial service. Reverend Helmsley arranged it – for everyone who’d looked.’
I remembered now; she’d mentioned it when we first met.
‘Why weren’t we there – my parents and I?’
Cara thought about it. ‘I don’t think anyone would have known how to contact you. I mean, I’ve never seen your parents around here. But you’d have liked it, I’m sure. Reverend Helmsley spoke so kindly of her. Was she a churchgoer? ’Cause I got the feeling he knew her.’
I shook my head.
‘Oh. Well. He did a good job. I went with Luke. He was upset. I thought it was just because any death opens up our old wounds. I didn’t realise…’ Luke had kept the details of that night from Cara too, but at my insistence he’d told her on Sunday, when we got back from the beach. ‘Anyway, I saw Jude there. He stood at the back. I remember, because he looked awful. I think he was the only bloke in tears.’
After speaking to Cara, I went to St Mary’s. I looked in the church. I looked in the graveyard. Nothing.
I tried some surfers next, quizzing them early one morning as we hung out on the water waiting for a good wave. But no one had seen Jude. No one had a phone number or an email address for him. In fact, no one seemed to know much about him at all.
‘He flits in and out,’ Big Ben told me.
‘Yeah,’ said Andy. ‘Appears when he feels like it, leaves when he wants.’
‘A free spirit,’ added an elfin Chinese girl called Lucy.
‘What does he do for a living?’ I asked.
There was a puzzled silence.
‘Model?’ suggested Lucy dreamily, and the guys jeered. ‘What?’ she demanded. ‘He has that look about him.’
I tried again: ‘Where does he live?’
Shrugs all round.
‘What does he drive?’
‘Drive?’
‘You know – car? If he’s not local, he must drive here to surf?’
They looked at each other.
‘I’ve never seen him arrive,’ said Lucy.
‘What about other friends – girlfriends?’
‘He’s just one of those guys you know but you don’t really know, you get it?’
I thought about Drake’s Island, when I’d probed for information on Sienna. The sense I’d got that no one had known her here. A flare of irritation lit up in my stomach.
‘No, I don’t get it,’ I said. ‘He’s been hanging out with you guys for… for how long?’
Big Ben scratched his head. ‘Dunno. This year I think?’
‘It was spring,’ said Lucy. ‘Right around the time your sister turned up.’
She coloured up and they all looked down at their boards.
‘It’s okay,’ I said. ‘You can talk about her. I’m okay with it.’
‘He taught her,’ said Lucy. ‘At first, I thought they were together – you know, together together. But there was this other guy she hung out with as well. What was his name, Andy? You remember, the intense guy with the scar.’
Andy shook his head. ‘Dunno.’
‘I know who you mean, though,’ said Big Ben. ‘Remember Si’s flaming sambuca party for Valentine’s? Man, that guy could put ’em away. I liked him. Don’t think I’ve seen him since, though.’
Daniel. It had to be. If the last time they saw him was February, by the sound of it he and Sienna had broken up well before she died. At least that was one less person hurting over her death then.
‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Back to Jude. You’ve known him for all these months, but you know nothing about him?’
‘That’s just how it is sometimes,’ said Big Ben. ‘You get these types in surfing. It’s all about the sea and the parties. Jude, he’s a decent bloke, but kinda quiet, like – so you respect that. You don’t push it.’
‘Unless you’re Si,’ added Andy.
‘Yeah. The disappearing act’s not quite so cool when everyone thinks you’re dead. Si was raging when Jude strolled back onto the beach the morning after…’ Big Ben scratched his chin awkwardly. ‘Well… But he chilled out once he realised Jude hadn’t a damn clue what had happened.’
Could that be true? Could Jude have stormed off after the row with Sienna and been oblivious to what happened next until the following day? Had he not realised she intended to kill herself that very night? Or had he not known she was going to do it at all?
So many questions. I really needed to find the guy from the graveyard.
*
It was Bert, in the end, who provided the first useful piece of information. He was worse, so much worse – his skin like paper, his bones jutting, his breathing coming in painful gasps. A nurse visited twice a day now, to administer medications and check his oxygen supply. Still, this Wednesday afternoon dying was not deterring Bert from working his way through a box of fondant fancies. He’d put on some eighties series I’d never seen before called Father Dowling Investigates, but it was stilton-level cheesy. Even Bert’s attention wandered after a while, and he got stuck into ranting about some battleaxe nurse he’d locked horns with that week on his outpatient appointment at the hospital.
‘… and then she wanted to admit me, right there, right then! Telling me it was for the best. Talked to me like I was a stroppy toddler. Would quite happily have strapped me down, I think, given half a chance. She was hell-bent on keeping me in. “But what about Chester?” I said to her.’
‘You know I’d have him, Bert,’ I interjected, ‘if…’
‘I know, Scarlett. And thank you. But that’s not the point. Evil hag had no respect, and no concept of free will. If it weren’t for that nice young man stepping in, I think I’d have clubbed her to death with her reflex hammer.’
‘Some guy helped you?’
‘Yes, that tall chap who works there. He heard me shouting – whole damn hospital probably heard it, mood I was in – and he came over and put a hand on her arm, and you know what he said to her?’
I shook my head.
‘He said: “A man has the right to choose how, and where, and when, and for what he dies.” Just like that. Quiet as anything. And d’you know, she backed right off!’
To out and out say that Bert was dying in front of him like that – it shocked me. ‘You know this bloke?’ I said.
‘No. I’ve never spoken to him. But I’ve see him around the hospital. Kind of hard to forget him, with that Latin tattoo. Who gets a Latin tattoo these days? One of the most painful places to get one too, you know, your inner arm…’
Bingo. Jude.
*
I can’t say I found it easy going to the hospital the next day. I’d have much preferred a coffee with Cara or a walk on the beach with Chester or getting ready for my date that night with Luke. Hell, even ringing Mother, whose calls I’d been ducking since the cenotaph debacle, would be preferable to spending a single minute in the company of the sick and the dying. But somehow talking to Jude had assumed vital importance. It was like the final step on the journey I’d been on this summer – getting his version of events, thanking him for caring about Sienna; it was the closure I needed.
But as I stood at the main entrance to the hospital, amid the bustle of medical staff and patients going about their business, I realised I hadn’t a clue where to start. I remembered the night
I’d been in A&E Jude had told me he was there visiting someone; and Bert had said he’d seen him around the cardiac outpatients’ department. Was he a medical student? A nurse? Or perhaps some kind of volunteer visitor – I’d seen candy stripers on US sitcoms; did we have those in the UK?
As I stood, frozen, a familiar voice startled me.
‘Scarlett?’
It was Dr Morris.
I smiled. ‘Hello there.’
‘Scarlett, what are you doing here? Are you okay? Are you ill?’
I shook my head. ‘No, um…’ What to say? I could hardly admit I was looking for some random guy who may or may not work here. ‘I’m just visiting someone,’ I said. ‘In the, er, cardiac department.’
‘Ah,’ he said. ‘You want the east wing. To the right, straight on, second left, first lifts up to Floor B, past the chapel, follow the signs – you can’t miss it.’
I thanked him and turned to leave, but his hand was on my arm.
‘No issues since the accident?’ he said. ‘Headaches, for example? You refused a CT scan then, but I’d be happy to book you in for one as an outpatient, given the family history.’
I smiled brightly. ‘Not at all,’ I lied.
‘That’s good.’ He smiled.
It was only when I was walking away that his words sank in: family history. He’d never told me what diagnosis he’d given Sienna, and of course I couldn’t ask – he thought I already knew. Since that day when I’d learned Sienna had a fatal condition, for some reason I’d assumed cancer – after all, wasn’t it one in four people who died of that? But I’d never thought further than the C word. It was like a shutter had gone down in my mind, and I didn’t want to know the details – it was enough to know Sienna had been ill, and she’d known it. But now, the doctor had implied a family history that was related to headaches. My medical knowledge did not extend much beyond episodes of ER, but my mind did a simple sum:
Cancer + Headache = Brain Tumour
All at once, I couldn’t breathe. I stopped in the middle of a deserted corridor – where was I? – and braced my hand against a noticeboard. But it wasn’t enough; my legs wouldn’t hold me, and I slipped down to lean against the wall.
