Forget Me Not (The Ceruleans: Book 2) (21 page)

The rain had eased up by the time we creaked back down the
wooden steps and made our way through the trees, across the field and towards
the house. Still, Luke kept tugging my hood up, fighting a losing battle with
the wind that was intent on sweeping it off. I joked that he was trying to hide
my new – dramatically shorter – haircut.

‘No,’ he said seriously. ‘I quite like that. I’m just trying
to keep you warm. Come on, your mother’ll be wondering where we’ve got to.’

‘She’ll be fine. She’ll be happy. She likes you.’

‘Does she… she doesn’t know?’

‘No.’ I lurched to a halt. ‘And she mustn’t, Luke! She lost
Sienna. It’s too much.’

‘She’s your mother, Scarlett. She has a right to know, to
say goodbye.’

I shook my head vehemently. ‘You can’t tell her – please –
you have to promise –’

‘Okay, okay!’

We walked on.

‘But you can’t keep it from her forever,’ he added gently.

I said nothing. The thought of my mother – lying to her,
leaving her – made me wretched. Reflexively, I raised a hand and rubbed it
across my forehead.

Luke’s arm was around me in a flash. ‘Are you all right?’

His eyes bored into me, wide and worried. This was exactly
what I hadn’t wanted – him anxious and jumpy and obsessed with a hood.

‘I’m okay, Luke.’

‘Are you in pain?’

I opened my mouth to dismiss the idea, but then checked
myself. I had decided:
no more lies
. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I have a bit of a
headache. But there are pills back at the house that will help.’

‘The pills the hospital doctor gave you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Okay.’

He stepped up the pace a little.

*

Mum was, as I’d anticipated, delighted to see us enter the
hallway holding hands, and she gave each of us a tight hug before ordering us
upstairs and into hot showers and clean clothes. Nachos were abandoned in
favour of something more warming for two frozen souls, and within half an hour
Mum and Luke and I were sitting at the kitchen table dunking home-baked bread
courtesy of Marnie into steaming bowls of vegetable soup.

I was worried that Luke would be awkward and sombre, letting
on to Mum that something was wrong. But the atmosphere was light and warm, and
we talked quite easily together – me jesting Luke about wearing my father’s old
hunting gear; Luke telling Mum about the bread-making course we’d done; Mum
telling us about a careers fair at London Earl’s Court she was planning to
attend the following weekend. Sometimes, though, I’d turn suddenly and catch
Luke watching me, and before he could smile or say something interesting or
witty, I’d see it, the grief in his eyes, and it ripped me apart.

‘Will you stay tonight, Luke?’ asked Mum as we cleared away
the dishes. ‘You’re very welcome to. We’ve plenty of rooms, or Scarlett’s bed
is a double…’

‘Mum!’

She held up her hands. ‘Sorry!’

‘We’re not staying,’ I told her. ‘We’re driving back to
Twycombe. Tonight. Now.’

‘Oh.’ Her face fell for a moment, and then she recovered her
smile. ‘Well good. That’ll be good for you both. I’ll find some of those
cupcakes for you, for the journey…’ She wandered off into the pantry.

Luke ditched his dishtowel and reached for me.

‘We can stay,’ he said. ‘Another night won’t hurt.’

‘No. We have to go back now.’

‘What’s the urgency?’

‘I’ll explain when we get there.’

He frowned. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Yes. The tablets helped. Stop worrying.’

‘I can’t do that. I can’t bear the thought of you in pain.’

‘Got them!’ sang Mum, sweeping into the room. ‘And look –
little cartons of juice. That’ll see you through the drive. Now, Luke, Marnie’s
washed your clothes and they should be dry now. You’ll find the laundry room
down the hall, on the left.’

‘Thank you.’ He gave my arm a squeeze and then left the
room, leaving Mum and me alone for the first time since he’d arrived.

‘Everything all right now, darling?’ she asked me. ‘All
forgiven?’

‘It will be,’ I said. ‘Soon enough.’

‘What about New York?’

I thought about it. ‘I’ll cancel the tickets. For now.’

‘Good idea. But keep the option open. Even if you and Luke
are back together, there’s no harm in having a little time apart if you decide
you’d like that. He’ll be waiting when you get back, I’m sure.’

She was busy packing a tote bag with items to send me off
with. Along with the cakes and the juice I’d seen her slide in a rom-com DVD
we’d planned to watch that night and a travel guide to New York. Now, she was
attempting to squeeze in a bone china teapot she’d bought in the gift shop of
the Tate Modern.

‘What are you doing?’ I said. ‘You
love
that teapot.’

‘Which is why I want you to have it.’

I stared at the teapot. It was quirky and odd and I had no
idea what I would do with it – its price tag alone made me nervous to handle
it, let alone chuck a teabag into its depths. But my mother had loved it on
sight; she had been so excited in the shop and had talked most of the way home
about its designer, the artist Yinka Shonibare. The memory of that day together
made this teapot unspeakably precious and beautiful.

I went to her and put my arms around her. ‘Thank you, Mum.’

She squeezed me tight, and then released me and said
earnestly, ‘Thank
you
, Scarlett.’

‘For what?’

‘For giving me a second chance.’

That was it: the tears I’d been holding back surged up in a
tidal wave, threatening to engulf me. I grabbed her again and hugged her hard,
like I could press into her everything I wanted her to know, to understand.

‘Darling,’ she said, rubbing my back. ‘What is it?’

‘Nothing,’ I whispered. ‘I love you. That’s it. That’s
everything.’

‘I love you too, darling. Always have done. Always will.’

Always,
I mouthed.

And then Luke was walking into the room, and I stepped away
smartly.

‘We could stay a while longer,’ he suggested.

‘No. It’s time to go.’

I picked up my coat and began wrestling it on. When my
fingers kept fumbling on the zipper Mum stepped in to help.

‘I can manage...’ I told her, but she smiled and said:

‘Let me.’ She slid the zipper right up to my chin. ‘Don’t
want you catching cold.’

A week at Hollythwaite, and it was a simple zipper that
would be my undoing.

I couldn’t leave her.

I couldn’t do this.

I loved her.

I needed her.

My
mother
.

Luke’s hand closed around mine. ‘Now or never,’ he said.
Jokingly, for Mum’s benefit. Only he wasn’t joking at all.

I looked at Mum, smiling so easily at us. Smiling. How
seldom she’d done that through my childhood. She was happy. I
would not
take that from her.

‘Let’s go,’ I said.

Out in the hallway Luke picked up my bags. Mum opened the
front door.

‘Goodbye, Luke,’ she said. ‘Lovely to see you again.’

‘And you, Mrs Blake.’

‘Elizabeth.’

‘Elizabeth.’

He moved outside and hovered at the bottom of the steps,
waiting for me.

Mum hugged me. ‘Bye for now, darling,’ she said. ‘Take care
of yourself.’

‘You too, Mum. Promise me that you will.’

‘Of course!’

I pressed a last kiss on the apple of her cheek, right where
I’d always kissed her goodnight. Then I turned and walked away from her. Luke
held my hand tightly as we crunched across the gravel of the drive, but said
nothing until I veered to my Mini.

‘You’re not driving,’ he hissed. ‘Come with me, in the van.’

‘No,’ I whispered. ‘I love my car. I need my car.’

He fought himself for a moment, then gave a brusque nod.
‘But you drive slowly, got it? I’ll follow right behind.’

I nodded and got in the car and focused on starting up and
navigating around the wide turning circle. Only when I reached the drive
leading down to the gates did I look for her, in the rear-view mirror. She was
waving. I wound down the window and waved back, until my view was blocked by
the van. Then I forced my foot onto the accelerator and I drove away from the
mother I’d finally found only to lose her all over again.

It was late when I finally pulled up on the drive of Luke
and Cara’s house, all of ten seconds before Luke, who’d pretty much tailgated
me all the way. Several hours of my ‘Chill’ iPod playlist and deep breathing
had not, as intended, calmed me down: I was stiff with tension. Massaging my
neck, I got out of the car and looked up at the house. Lights were on in every
window.

‘You all right?’ asked Luke, beside me already.

‘You’re going to need to stop asking me that all the time,’
I told him. ‘Wasting words.’

Movement at the living room window caught my eye. Cara was
looking out at us. She held up a hand in a rigid wave. I smiled at her.

Luke sighed. ‘Can we do the whole “Cara says sorry for
hating you” thing later? I’d much rather go to your place and be alone.’

‘No. I need to talk to you. And Cara. Right now.’

His eyes widened. ‘That sounds ominous.’

Stretching up on tiptoes, I kissed him. Then I took his hand
and tugged him to the door. I didn’t even make it over the threshold before I
was felled by a deliriously excited Chester.

‘Chester!’ roared Luke. ‘Careful.’

‘It’s okay,’ I said. ‘He missed me.’

I let him shower me with meaty dog kisses for a little
while, and then struggled upright. Luke grabbed the dog’s collar and attempted
to pull him off me, but Chester resisted furiously enough to make his eyes
bulge. Changing tack, Luke disappeared into the kitchen. I heard a bag rustle
and Chester’s head snapped around. With a joyous woof that was clearly
dog-speak for ‘Doggie drops!’ he hurtled across the hall and through the
kitchen doorway. Moments later, the door closed.

Cara was waiting for me in the living room. Her eyes were
red, her shoulders slumped.

‘Hey,’ I said to her.

‘Hey,’ she said miserably.

I walked over to her and hugged her hard. She started
crying.

‘I’m so sorry, Scarlett! I was such a bitch. I thought…’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ I told her, letting her go.

‘But –’

‘No!’ My tone was sharp.

‘What’s up?’ said Luke, who’d just entered the room, minus
our canine friend.

‘I need to talk to both of you. Sofa. Sit. Now.’

Wide-eyed, they looked at each other, and then shuffled over
to the sofa and sat down. I walked to the patio doors at the back of the room,
looked out at the dark garden, walked to the front of the house, looked out at
the lights of Twycombe below, walked to the back, walked to the front, back,
forth.

‘Er, Scarlett…’

‘Wait!’

I needed to think, to work out what to say.

Whether or not to tell them the truth wasn’t the issue – I’d
decided to do that back in the treehouse, the moment I’d understood what Jude
had done. In playing God for his own unfathomable reasons, he’d eliminated one
hurt from Luke and Cara’s hearts and thrust into it a new, worse one: losing
me. I remembered too well Cara’s question to me at Bert’s funeral:
‘Do you
believe in heaven?’
I knew both of them were torn apart by the loss of
their parents, and a big part of the pain was the not knowing – were they okay?
Did they exist still? I would not let that pain be part of my passing for them.
I would do all I could to provide solace for them now. And answers, real
answers. I was done with lying.

But where to start? How to explain everything that had
happened – all the detail in Sienna’s diary, all that Jude had told me, all
that had happened to me, all that I’d done…

That was it. There were no words. But there were actions.

I stopped pacing and they both looked up at me expectantly.
Cara’s cheeks were wet and she was gripping a cushion to her chest. Luke was
leaning forwards, hands fisted at his sides. They were poised for bad news.

‘It’s okay,’ I said. ‘Really.’

Neither of them relaxed an iota.

I moved over to them and sat down on the coffee table so
that I was knee to knee with Luke.

‘Scarlett –’

‘Shh,’ I said. ‘Watch.’

I leaned close to him, so close that his breath tickled my
face, and I raised my index finger and touched it lightly to the scar on the
bridge of his nose – the scar he’d had since the night of the car accident that
had taken his parents’ lives, the scar that had remained after Jude’s healing.
Slowly, very slowly, I stroked along the scar, willing it to heal, picturing
smooth, even skin. My fingertip glowed blue.

Cara let out something between a gasp and shriek and a very
rude swearword.

‘What?’ demanded Luke. ‘What are you doing?’

I ignored them both, just kept moving my finger along,
until…

I sat back.

‘OMG, OMG, OMG!’ Cara sprang up, arms flailing about. ‘I
KNEW it. I frickin’ KNEW it.’

Luke’s head snapped from me to his sister to me. ‘What is
it?’

I took his hand and pulled him up, over to the mirror above
the mantelpiece. ‘Look,’ I told him.

He did, but he didn’t see it, the difference. Until Cara
yelled:

‘Your scar, dummy! Look – it’s gone. Scarlett took it away.
Scarlett
did that!
’

‘Scarlett... but how… that’s...’

He let me lead him back to the sofa and push him down. ‘Cara,’
I said. ‘Sit.’ She stopped squirling about the room and plomped down next to
her brother.

‘Fiction is fact!’ she declared. ‘Oh man, this is –’

‘Pipe down,’ I told her. ‘And lift up your trouser leg.’

She blinked for a second and then a wickedly wide grin
spread across her face. ‘I-knew-it-I-knew-it-I-knew-it,’ she crowed as she
pulled up the leg of her loose pyjama bottoms.

I checked on Luke. No sign of a grin on his face.

‘Watch,’ I told him.

I picked a scar right under the knee – much less angry than
it had once been, but there nonetheless, the skin around it puckered, the scar
itself silvery and thick. This time, for the first time since I’d healed Luke
on the beach the night he’d nearly drowned, I didn’t hold back. Electric blue
shot from my hand for a second, two, and then winked straight out. I inspected
the result. Smooth, healthy, beautiful skin.

‘HOLY CARDEA!’ shouted Cara.

Luke leaped up and grabbed my hand, inspecting it and
muttering stunned questions I couldn’t hear over Cara’s whooping and shrieking
and cackling.

‘What... how...’

‘She’s a frickin’ SUPE, Luke,’ announced Cara gleefully.

‘I’m a what?’

‘Supernatural being. All those movies and books you scoffed
at – fact, not fiction! What are you? Tell me, tell me!’

Well, at least Cara was taking it well. Luke, on the other
hand, was a worrying shade of white.

‘Sit down,’ I said urgently to him, pressing him back onto
the seat. ‘Head between your legs. Breathe. It’s okay, it’s okay.’

‘Your hands were blue,’ he spluttered. ‘And you… you healed
her. Oh God, when I said you were my angel, I didn’t mean it literally…’

‘I’m not an angel, Luke.’

‘So what are you?’ demanded Cara. ‘Was it some kind of
science experiment that backfired? Bitten by an exotic insect? Freaky witchy
spell? Ooo – did your mum have it off with an alien?’

‘Cara!’

‘What else can you do? Can you read my mind? Are you really,
really strong? Really, really fast? Immortal – wow, are you immortal?’

‘No, Cara,’ I said. ‘I am
not
immortal.’

Luke looked up at that, and he grabbed my hands. ‘Tell me.
Tell me everything.’

‘Tell us,’ echoed Cara. ‘Tell us everything.’

So I did. Over the next hour I told them the whole story –
from the moment I first met Jude in the graveyard of St Mary’s, through to the
sorry mess he’d created for me last Sunday when he stripped off his t-shirt and
climbed into my bed. They both listened attentively, hooked on every word, and
after a few excitable interjections from Cara that led to Luke shoving her into
the cushions and shouting at her to shut up, they stayed silent, letting me
talk freely.

When I was finished, Cara said, ‘So you’re dying, but you’re
not
dying
dying – you’re going someplace else, where your kind live, but
you can never come back.’

‘That’s about the sum of it.’

I looked at Luke. His hair was standing on end madly where
he’d been running his fingers through it and his chest was heaving up and down.

‘I wanted to tell you both,’ I said. ‘Right from the start.
I hated keeping it a secret. But how could I tell you? You’d have thought I was
mad. And, well, I don’t think it’s something I’m meant to share with…’

‘… with regular humans like us. But we won’t tell, will we,
Luke?’

He said nothing. He just stared at me with an expression in
his eyes I couldn’t read.

‘I knew something weird was going on,’ declared Cara.
‘You’ve been mental – manic. Up and down, sad eyes one minute, desperate to
party the next. And that “magic cream”! Ha! Nice try. I
knew
no cream
could do that much to me.’

I raised an eyebrow. ‘So you knew I was healing you?’

‘Well, no. Who’d bloody guess that? But my weirdar was
certainly going off.’ She whistled. ‘Holy Cardea.’

‘Why do you keep saying that?’

‘Cardea – you know, the Roman goddess of healing. And door
hinges, randomly...’ She had a sudden thought and clapped her hands together.
‘If
you
exist, maybe goddesses do too! Heck, there could be anything out
there. Vampires. Werewolves. Wizards. Goblins. Those little Irish pixie things
at the end of rainbows!’

Still Luke was silent. I moved to sit beside him. ‘Are you
all right?’

That at least raised a small smile. ‘So it’s okay for you to
ask me that…’

‘Well, I did just lay rather a lot on you.’

I’d put my hand on his a hundred times, a thousand, but he’d
never flinched as he did then. Still, he wouldn’t let me move my hand away – he
grabbed hold of it.

‘Why did you tell us, Scarlett?’

When I looked in his eyes, I couldn’t read the meaning
behind the question. Did he wish I hadn’t? Cara was euphoric at discovering the
existence of Ceruleans. Luke, not so much.

‘I thought it would help,’ I said. ‘Jude – him telling you
I’m dying. All that pain for you. I thought, if you knew what it all meant, if
you knew I’d be okay, still out there somewhere, not lost, just away…’

‘Jude,’ said Luke, and his lip curled. ‘I hate that guy.’

Cara sighed. ‘
Status quo ante bellum
, then.’

‘What?’

‘It means –’

‘Look,’ I interjected. ‘We’re all exhausted. Can we save the
rest until the morning?’

‘You’re right,’ said Luke. ‘You should rest.’

‘And tomorrow, will you heal some more scars on my legs?’
said Cara.

I beamed at her. ‘Absolutely.’

She hugged me. ‘So glad you’re back. Love you.’

‘Love you too, crazy lady.’

She laughed and walked to the door.

Luke stood up. ‘Come on.’

He pulled me up by the hands, but the combination of an hour
sitting on a hard wooden surface and two bouts of healing had taken their toll,
and I staggered. He caught me before I could collapse back onto the table and
held me up.

‘What is it? What’s wrong?’

‘Shush,’ I said. ‘It’s okay.’

‘Is it your head? Do you need your medication?’

‘No. It’s just…’

‘What?’

‘The healing. It wipes me out.’

‘Dammit, why didn’t you say?’

Before I could so much as say ‘No big deal’ he’d slid one
arm under my knees and another around my back and lifted me up. I protested but
it was his turn to shush me. He carried me upstairs, to his bedroom, sat me on
the bed and started pulling off my shoes.

‘I’m okay, Luke, you don’t have to fuss.’

‘Just let me,’
he said. Then, quieter: ‘Sorry. Sorry.
I just… I need to do something, okay? Let me take care of you. Please.’

I nodded, and he helped me out of my clothes and into an old
t-shirt of his. Then he threw back the duvet and I climbed in. I barely had
time to register that his sheets were cold before he was filling the bed with
his heat. I settled into his arms, and sighed at the perfection of the fit.

For a little while, we just lay there, listening to each
other breathe, being warm, being still, being together. Then I said, ‘I’m sorry
for dumping all that on you. It must be quite a shock.’

‘In twenty-four hours I’ve gone from thinking you’re leaving
me for a tattooed surf bum, to thinking you’re not leaving me for a tattooed
surf bum but you’re dying, to thinking you’re dying but not dying but you can
never come back because you
are
leaving with a tattooed surf bum. My
head’s fit to explode.’

‘Then let it go,’ I told him. ‘Just sleep. Tomorrow things
will be clearer. And brighter.’

He pulled me in tighter, then, and I felt wetness on my hair
that was pressed against his cheek.

‘What if tomorrow doesn’t come?’ he whispered.

‘It will.’

‘Promise. Promise you won’t leave me.’

‘Not yet. I promise.’