by Megan Tayte
Or not.
A wave hit us. Luke collided with me. Hard. We went under.
I felt him against me, writhing. I grabbed at him.
Water turned to air.
I was up.
He was under.
I had fistfuls of his shirt. I yanked.
He was up.
‘Cramp,’ he gasped.
‘What do I do? Tell me what to do!’
A wave hit us. Luke collided with me. Hard. We went under.
My hands reached out for him, grasping, searching.
Nothing.
Luke!
I kicked. Surfaced.
The west cliff. Close.
A frantic splashing behind.
I twisted. He was there, struggling, a few feet away.
I swam to him, and I grabbed him, and he held on to me, coughing violently.
‘It’s okay,’ I told him. ‘It’s –’
It wasn’t okay. Rocks. Black. Jagged. Close.
With all my force I pushed him seaward, putting myself between him and the impending collision. His eyes widened as he glimpsed the rocks over my shoulder. As a wave threw us forwards I stared into his eyes and I thought of Sienna’s chalcanthite on my bedside, of its unyielding solidity, its sharp spikes, and I braced myself for pain. But it never came. At the last moment, like the lead dancer in some desperate tango, Luke clasped me to him and spun us. He took all the impact; his back slammed against a rock.
He let go.
*
The ocean’s momentum carried us to shore, as if it were reluctant to take us. I held tight to Luke all the way – please, please, please, please – and when the water was shallow enough to stand, I braced my feet and hauled. I only managed a couple of steps out of the surf before I dropped him to the beach. He flopped like a ragdoll, broken and lifeless.
I did not check his breathing.
I did not check his pulse.
I did not call for help.
I did what every fibre in me screamed to do; what I knew, I knew, had to be done: I lay my hands on his chest and I willed him to heal.
Blue light lit the darkness. I pushed it out, out, until it was all I could see, until every bit of warmth left in me was flooding into Luke.
I had never wanted anything more in my life than to heal this boy. I would do anything now, give anything – give all of myself. Every weak moment in my life, challenged now. Every strong moment, channelled now.
I felt the coldness creeping up on me, the blackness seeping in.
I ignored all sensation, pushing on, chanting in my head: You will live. You will live.
A stuttering in my chest. Blood drops sprinkling on his white shirt from above, from me. It didn’t matter – nothing mattered but that he lived.
Then, as if God had flicked a switch, it was gone – the light. And it was so dark. And it was so cold.
The last thing I heard as I collapsed onto Luke was the steady thump of his heart beating in time with the midnight chimes of St Mary’s clock.
38: HUSH. LIE STILL.
Flashes of light shooting on an eternal black canvas.
Weightless.
Drifting.
‘Luke?’
‘He’ll be fine. Better than fine. You healed him. And nearly killed yourself in the process.’
‘Jude.’
‘Yes.’
‘You’re late.’
‘For what?’
‘The show.’
‘What show?’
A groan.
‘Scarlett, Luke is stirring. I have to go.’
‘Stay.’
‘I can’t. But I’ll be back. Tomorrow. Now hush. Lie still.’
39: WHAT THE HELL, SCARLETT
The light that woke me was wonderfully, beautifully ordinary – no otherworldly brilliance, just a soft golden glow permeating cotton curtains dotted with embroidered flowers. My grandmother’s sewing.
I was home. Safe. Warm. Really warm – because of the heat emanating from a form beside me.
Luke.
He was asleep, his cheeks flushed, his lashes tangled, his mouth open a little. Beneath the quilt, his bare legs were entwined with mine, and his hand was on my arm. Keeping me here. Keeping me close.
I held tight to him as the fog of dreamland rolled away to expose reality.
What had I done?
Stupid, reckless – assuming Jude would come.
Why hadn’t he come sooner?
Why had Luke followed me?
What had he seen?
What did he think of me?
Oh God, oh God, what had I done?
Because of me, Luke nearly died.
Because of me, he didn’t die.
I healed him.
I healed him.
Luke stirred. He muttered something, grimaced. Then his eyes flew open and he gasped and his hand flailed about, grabbing at me.
‘I’m here,’ I said. ‘It’s okay.’
It took him a moment to process the fact; he just stared at me. His eyes were so blue in the light; last night, in the ocean, they’d been a fathomless black.
He let go of me and sank back onto the pillow. ‘You’re here. You’re okay,’ he breathed.
‘Are you?’ I asked, running a hand over his hair. It was stiff and sandy and smelt of the sea.
‘I’m fine,’ he replied at once.
‘Hey,’ I said gently. ‘That’s my line.’
He almost smiled; I saw the corners of his eyes begin to crinkle. Then his eyes widened. He was remembering – remembering it all. I could only imagine the scene playing out in his head. Me on the beach. In the water. Just like my sister. My suicidal sister.
He shot upright.
‘What the hell, Scarlett –’
‘I’m so sorry, I –’
‘You could have died – what were you thinking – you could have died –’
‘I didn’t mean –’
‘I could have lost you – why didn’t you tell me – it’s not the answer!’
‘I know that; I was –’
‘After your sister, how could you think –’
‘I didn’t think –’
‘Why didn’t you tell me you felt so low –’
‘I don’t!’
My shouting pulled him up short and we stared at each other, panting and flushed.
‘I don’t understand…’
‘I’m sorry.’ I came to kneel in front of him on the bed. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘I don’t care about sorry, Scarlett,’ he said. ‘I care about why. Tell me why. Please.’
I had never heard him so tormented; never seen him so hurt. I was desperate to change that, to make him my Luke again – smiling, tender, full of faith in me, not this terrible doubt. But I didn’t know what to say. How could I undo the damage I’d done? I couldn’t have him thinking I’d meant to die, but I couldn’t tell him the truth either. I didn’t even know what the truth was in full – I healed him; I healed him! – and he would never believe all I had seen, all I had done.
‘I saw you on the beach,’ he prompted as I sat mutely. ‘I decided to leave the party too. No fun without you. I thought I’d catch you outside, drive you home. But you weren’t at your car. You were on the beach. And you ran into the water…’
I knew what came next: you ran into the water just like Sienna. I couldn’t bear it; I couldn’t let him think that. I opened my mouth and words tumbled out.
‘I saw something in the water. I thought… I thought it was a person. Waving. Drowning.’
Luke’s eyes bulged. ‘You saw someone?’
‘I thought I saw someone. I was wrong. I’m an idiot.’
‘You thought you saw someone. So you ran in. In that dress. In the dark. All alone.’
‘Like I said, I’m an idiot.’
He reached over and gripped my arms. ‘You were trying to save someone? You weren’t trying to kill yourself?’
‘I wasn’t trying to kill myself.’
‘Swear to me
.’
‘I swear.’
‘You wouldn’t lie about this to me?’
‘No.’ Not about this.
He stared at me. ‘You are okay,’ he said at last. ‘You’re okay!’
He leaned forwards to kiss me. The relief was exquisite. He believed me. But his lips didn’t meet mine. Suddenly, he was moving away, out of the bed. I reached for him, but let my arm drop when I saw the look in his eyes and the muscle working furiously in his jaw. He was really angry.
‘What were you thinking going in there! Why didn’t you run for help?’
Tears pricked at my eyes – I hated being the target of anyone’s anger, let alone Luke. I deserved it, though, I knew that, so I tried to hold back my emotions.
‘The water was calm enough, I thought. It didn’t look too dangerous.’
‘But it was! The rip current.’
‘I didn’t know it was there.’
‘I told you back in our surf lessons. I told you we get them in the cove occasionally. I told you what to do to get out of one. You forgot everything – you were fighting against it. You’d have drowned carrying on that way!’
He wasn’t yelling, but I almost wished he would. He was right – I could have died. And he’d risked his own life to get me out of the current. The image of him limp and lifeless on the beach came to me. My chest ached with the effort of holding back the tears.
‘And then the rocks… Scarlett, what the hell happened after we hit the rocks?’
‘I brought you back to the shore,’ I whispered.
‘You? But you were out of it! When I woke up on the beach you were lying on me, and when I sat up you just slipped off onto the sand, and there was blood all over me and all over you, and you wouldn’t wake up. I thought you were dead, Scarlett. Again!’
His voice broke; my heart broke – I threw myself out of the bed to go to him. My legs were weak, shaking, and I crashed into him, and it was he who had to hold me. I wrapped my arms around him and I sobbed ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry’ over and over.
He sat me on the bed. He cupped my face with his hands. He forced me to look at him.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry.’
He stopped the torrent with his lips. Soft. Hot. He kissed my lips, he kissed my cheeks, he kissed my nose, he kissed my ears, he kissed my neck, he kissed the hollow of my throat; he kissed me for so long and with such feeling that eventually I lost track of where he ended and I began – there was just heat and fire and the crushing relief of forgiveness.
*
A little later, when we were all kissed out, we curled up under the patchwork quilt together, face to face. Luke drew swirls down the skin of my leg with his finger. The bare skin.
My leg was bare?
In all the commotion, I hadn’t registered such mundane details as what I was wearing, what Luke was wearing. But now I took in the pile of soggy clothes abandoned in the corner – my dress, Luke’s suit.
I lifted the quilt and looked at Luke. He was wearing one of my black t-shirts, which was stretched taut across his chest, and his underwear. Nothing else. Which was a sight to behold. But a glimpse of my own attire dispelled any thought of passion.
I groaned.
‘Hey,’ said Luke. ‘I like it.’
I didn’t. A Winnie the Pooh nightdress. The least attractive item of nightwear I owned.
‘Why am I wearing this?’
The smile dropped from Luke’s face. ‘You don’t remember?’
‘Of course!’ I said quickly.
Luke regarded me soberly. ‘What do you remember, after the ocean?’
I remembered Jude’s voice; his hands on me – warmth, light. Then Luke: Luke shouting my name; Luke’s eyes, open; Luke wet but unharmed – beautifully, miraculously unharmed; Luke talking urgently; Luke making me walk and walk and walk; Luke sitting me on the living room rug and wrapping blankets around me. And then, nothing.
‘I remember bits,’ I said.
‘I guess that’s okay,’ he said, rubbing my arms. ‘I mean it’s normal when you’re in shock. You were so confused – you weren’t making any sense. You kept saying, “What am I? What am I?” I should’ve taken you to hospital. I wanted to, but you were desperate to go home. Your nosebleed had stopped. And you were so cold – we both were – I figured warmth was the most important thing. So we came back here, and we got dry, and we got changed, and you fell asleep in front of the fire downstairs, and I put you to bed.’
‘And you stayed.’
‘Of course I stayed.’
Silence fell between us, and unspoken words hung heavy in the air.
Stay with me.
Be with me.
I want you.
I love you.
They were in me, they were on my lips. But that question held me back: What am I? How can you give your heart to another if you don’t know the content of that heart? How can you give yourself to one person when you’re somehow connected to another?
In my mind, Jude’s voice: ‘I’ll be back. Tomorrow.’
I shivered.
‘Are you cold? Come here – I’ll warm you up.’
Luke pulled me close.
‘Scarlett?’
‘Yes?’
‘There’s something else, something I’ve been meaning to say…’
My breath caught. He sounded so serious. What now?
‘Yes?’
‘It’s important.’
‘Okay.’
‘It’s big.’
I closed my eyes. ‘Right. Hit me with it.’
So he did: a tuneless and loud and merry rendition of that timeless song ‘Happy Birthday to You’.
I smiled and I made myself look in his eyes. Not at the window, beyond which, I knew, the blue was waiting, waiting for me.
40: OUT THERE
We stayed in bed a little longer and then, reluctantly, we kissed goodbye. Luke had errands to run, he said, but I was to come to his house at five for a birthday tea.
‘Don’t be late,’ he warned.
After he left I took a long shower, slowly working my way through a shelf of products as I stripped myself of every remnant of the night before, from makeup to nail varnish, sea salt to bloodstain. I dressed in comfortable old jeans and a cardigan big enough to hide in, and sat at my grandmother’s dressing table, combing out my hair and scrutinising the girl in the mirror. She followed my every move, but I had the unsettling sense that she was Scarlett and I was someone, something, else.
Downstairs, I made a coffee. Took it into the living room. Sat on the sofa. Stared at the rug on which blankets were piled. Sipped the strong, bitter liquid.
Finally, when I could take the ticking of the clock no longer, I stood, walked through to the kitchen, opened the back door and stepped out into the sunshine.
He was sitting on a patio chair overlooking the cove. I went over to him and sat on the opposite chair, leaving the white metal table as a barrier between us. I studied him. He wore jeans and a hooded sweatshirt. He sat on the edge of the seat, leaning towards me, his elbows resting on the table. His eyes were grey, his hair was blond, his lips were chewed and curved gently at the edges. He looked handsome, yes, but ordinary, as ordinary as the girl I’d seen in the mirror upstairs. Except for the pallor and the shadows under the eyes, that is. He looked as drained as I felt.
‘How are you?’ Jude asked.
I’d never found it particularly easy to talk to him; now that the time had come, I was like the deer in the lane watching my car advance. Frozen.
He tried again: ‘Are you all right after last night?’
I stared at him. He sighed.
‘I’m sorry, Scarlett – I’m sorry to put you through this. I can only imagine how strange and frightening this all is for you.’
He was sorry, I could see that. And worried for me. The ice melted a little: I nodded.
‘You know you have nothing to fear from me, right?’
‘No,’ I managed. My voice was scra
tchy, and I cleared my throat and tried again. ‘No, Jude, I don’t know that.’
He looked appalled. ‘I’m not going to hurt you, Scarlett! Surely you know that’s the opposite of what we do. We heal. We help.’
When I said nothing, he added quickly:
‘All these weeks, I’ve been trying to keep you safe, to look out for you. In the hospital, I healed the bleed in your brain. On the island, I found you and brought you home. At Bert’s, I stopped you intervening, stopped you crossing the line. And last night, I brought you back, Scarlett, from the edge. You nearly died, you nearly died pouring your light into Luke, and you –’
He broke off when he saw the look on my face.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I’m no good at this. You’d think I’d know the right words to say, but I don’t. There’s no rule book. Just… please, don’t be afraid.’ He reached a hand out to touch me, but I jerked back so fast my chair leg shrieked against the patio slab beneath.
‘You’re wrong, Jude,’ I said. I had good reason to be afraid. Just like the deer standing in the path of my car, I knew instinctively what was to come: pain.
‘Please, Scarlett. I’m not going to hurt you! I’d never –’
‘But it is going to hurt, Jude, isn’t it? What you want to tell me. It’s going to hurt. Or you’d have said it by now. You’d have said it long ago.’
He frowned at that, but he didn’t deny it. ‘I would have,’ he said. ‘I would have told you that first day in the graveyard, if I could have, if it were that easy. But it’s not, Scarlett. It’s complicated. And I wasn’t allowed to tell you until today. Still, I’ve tried; I’ve tried to lead you. So it wouldn’t be such a shock. So you’d understand your own experiences.’
I gripped the edge of the table, hard – my lifebelt in the flood of feelings engulfing me. ‘Understand? I’ve understood nothing, Jude. From the day I met you, you’ve been an enigma. I’ve seen you do things. I’ve done things. The deer was dead! It was dead, and then it wasn’t! The little boy at the hospital… I thought I was crazy, losing my mind. Then Bert. Then last night. I healed him. I healed Luke. It’s impossible!’
‘Scarlett,’ said Jude gently. ‘Your hands…’
‘They glow, Jude! With light!’
‘I know they do, but right now – the table – you’re hurting; please, stop.’
