Forget Me Not (The Ceruleans: Book 2) (4 page)

Falling.

Big drop.

Rocks below.

Death.

One grasping hand found a thick tree root and closed around
it on reflex. My arm was just about yanked from my socket as my freefall met
the sudden obstacle. I let out an involuntary scream even as I kicked my legs
and gave myself enough momentum to reach up the other arm and grab the root
with both hands.

Holy mother of… I was hanging off a cliff.

My feet kicked desperately at the rocky cliff-face.

Hold on. Hold on. Hold on.

The root shifted and I dropped down.

Shrieked.

Stopped.

The root held firm.

I scrabbled with my feet – there must be something –
anything…

There: a tiny crack in the rock, just wide enough to shove
one trainer toe in. The screaming muscles in my arms eased up a little as I
braced my weight on my wedged-in toe. I leaned my head against the rock and
took a deep, shuddering breath. I was safe, for now – as long as I didn’t let
go.

Up on the path, Chester was beside himself, alternating
between barking and – randomly – growling.

‘It’s okay, Chester,’ I panted. ‘I’m still here.’

I tried to think beyond the terror:

Rocks. Hard. Sharp.

Will it hurt?

Body broken.

Don’t look down, don’t look down.

‘Stop it!’ I told myself. ‘Focus.’

So, aside from panicking and screaming a lot, what was the
correct protocol for getting oneself off a near-vertical cliff-face? Climbing
up or down was out – I was well and truly stuck. So that left outside help. The
surfers in the bay had gone home, and the beach had been deserted when I left
it. It was unlikely that some passerby would happen upon me anytime soon; the
west cliff was usually quiet. I could send Chester for help – but then he’d
already exhibited a complete disregard for my orders, and when it came to a
serious situation, he was more Goofy than Lassie. My mobile was in my back
pocket. It was my only hope. But to get it, I’d have to let go of the root with
one hand. I released one shaking hand and reached down for my back pocket…

‘Chester!’

The frantic shout from above startled me enough that I
nearly lost my grip. I grabbed the root quickly with both hands. Then took
stock.

I was saved!

‘Where is she?!’

A pale face appeared over the edge of the cliff.

I was doomed.

Jude. Typical. The only person in the entire universe I
could not be happy to see right now.

I leaned my head on the rock and closed my eyes. ‘Go away,’
I told him.

‘Scarlett! Quick, grab my hands.’

‘No.’

‘What? Grab my hands.’

‘Not letting go.’

‘You have to! I’ll pull you up.’

‘No, thanks. I’ll wait here for someone else.’

‘For who?’

‘Someone with ropes and harnesses and things. Mountain
rescue.’

‘The coastguard, you mean? Don’t be ridiculous. What if you
can’t hold on that long? I can pull you up. Just grab my hands.’

‘No.’

‘Do it!’

‘NO!’

‘Why on earth not?!’

‘You’ll let go! You want me to die!’

‘No, Scarlett – not now, not like this! This is horrific!
Please, take my hands – I won’t let you fall. I promise!’

I looked up at him. His eyes were wide and wild, and he was
reaching down to me with both hands.

‘Please, Scarlett – do it now. Quickly.’

‘I don’t want to die.’

‘I won’t let you die.’

‘Promise me.’

‘I promise.’

I took a final breath. Then, in a quick movement, I let go
of the root with one hand and stretched it up. He grabbed it and squeezed it
tight enough to break it.

‘The other one. Now!’

I did it fast, and in a moment I was entirely at his mercy.

‘Just hold on,’ he said. ‘I’ve got you.’

‘Don’t let go...’ I pleaded, but already I was moving
upwards. He threw all his weight back, every sinew in his body standing out
with the effort, and hauled me up. I tried to help, kicking at the rock for a
foothold, but there was nothing. My shoulders reached the top of the cliff, and
he switched his grip quickly to grab me under the arms. Then he was pulling me
back, well away from the edge, and tripping on my abandoned surfboard and kit,
and we were falling, but this time away from the cliff, into undergrowth.

We lay panting, him beneath me, me on top. I stared at the
pulse beating frantically in his throat and let the rhythm of his breathing
move me up, down, up, down. I was saved. He had saved me. Jude. I closed my
eyes.

He shifted underneath me, and gently slid me off his chest
and out of the prickly gorse and onto my back on the cliff path.

Somewhere nearby Chester whimpered. ‘Quiet,’ Jude said. The
whining stopped.

A hand stroked down my face.

‘Scarlett?’

I opened my eyes. Jude was eclipsing the sun, making him a
shadowy silhouette trimmed with gold. I couldn’t work out where to look: the
darkness or the light.

‘Are you all right? Are you hurt?’

I shook my head.

‘Which – you’re not all right or you’re not hurt?’

‘Not hurt.’

‘What happened? How did you end up…’

‘I fell.’

‘But how?’

‘I fell off a cliff, Jude!’

‘I saw that. What happened?’

I thought about it. Chester. He was so excited. After all
these days being subdued, getting his groove back had been really, really
exciting. ‘Chester was behind me,’ I said. ‘He shoved me. It was an accident.’

Jude frowned. ‘Are you sure?’

‘What, you think I’m that much of a klutz that I just
tripped and fell off?’

‘No, that’s not what I meant.’

I struggled to sit up. Chester came to me and buried his
nose in my lap, and I stroked his trembling body and told him quietly, ‘It’s
okay. We’re okay.’

‘Scarlett, listen to me…’

When I ignored Jude, he reached out a hand and patted my
arm. I couldn’t hide the instinctive wince as my graze complained at the
contact.

‘What is it? You
are
hurt – let me see.’ Before I
could do anything he was pushing my sleeve up and inspecting my arm. ‘What is
this? This isn’t from today.’

I grabbed the sleeve and tugged it down. ‘It’s no big deal.
I tried to heal it, but…’

‘You can’t heal yourself, Scarlett. It doesn’t work that
way.’

He brushed a hand lightly over the scab. There was a sense
of warmth and the slightest suggestion of a bluish haze, and then – pale, even,
healthy skin. I shouldn’t have been shocked, but I was. Shocked, and awed.

‘What happened?’ he said. ‘How did you hurt your arm?’

I told him.

He looked appalled.
And angry. ‘You have to be more
careful, Scarlett!’

‘Hey, don’t blame
me
that you didn’t show up.’

‘What?’

‘Well, you plucked me off a cliff today – where were you in
the graveyard?’

‘Scarlett, we’ve been through this. I’m not some guardian
angel who watches over you all the time!’

‘And yet you turned up right on time today.’

‘Luck, Scarlett! Luck! I checked in on you at the cottage. I
heard Chester barking.’

‘Oh.’

‘Yes, oh. So you
must
take more care.’

‘Of what – cliffs? I do, Jude. But I can hardly help
accidents, can I? Like you said: Death’s coming for me.’

Jude was shaking his head. ‘It doesn’t work like that,
Scarlett. There’s no Grim Reaper stalking you, setting you up to fall off
cliffs, throwing bricks at you. You’ll get sick – like Sienna did. Your body
will shut down.’

I shifted away from him and pushed up to stand. He was on
his feet at once, reaching out to steady me, but I stepped back, away from him.

‘Look, I appreciate you pulling me up. But I’m not ready to
talk to you, Jude. I haven’t finished Sienna’s diary yet.’

‘When?’

‘I don’t know. The weekend, maybe. I’ll call you when I’m
ready.’

Jude was shaking his head. ‘It has to be soon, Scarlett –’

‘End of, Jude,’ I growled. ‘Back off.’

He sighed. Frowned. Nodded. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I’ll respect
your wishes. But you can’t keep running from me, Scarlett. You and I, we have a
future ahead. And the sooner we talk about that, the sooner I can make sure
you’re safe. I need to keep you safe.’

I took a step back. ‘I’m dying, Jude, so you say. There’s
nothing safe about that.’

He opened his mouth, ready to say something, but when he saw
the hard expression on my face he thought better of it.

Grabbing Chester’s collar, I led him away, down the path.
Carefully. When I reached the turning to the cottage garden, I looked back just
in time to catch a blur in the air behind me – a Cerulean dematerialising. The
conversation was over. For now.

*

I cancelled dinner with Luke that evening; I told him I had
a headache, which was no lie. I wanted nothing more than to be with him and
tell him all about my brush with death, so he could soothe away the trauma. But
I could well imagine how that would play out:

Me: Hey, babe. Good day?

Luke: Not bad. You?

Me: Well, the falling-off-a-cliff bit kind of sucked.

Luke: You what?! Are you hurt?! What happened?! You could
have died! I nearly lost you! I’m never letting you out of my sight again! How
are you still alive?!

Clearly, sending Luke into a spin wasn’t fair, especially
when I couldn’t be entirely honest…

Me: Jude pulled me up. Which was kind of pointless as I’m
going to die.

So instead, I put on pyjamas, dragged my quilt down to the
living room and sought solace in an evening of brainless television viewing.

In retrospect, I really should have stuck to BBC One. A spot
of bird-watching in
Countryfile
and then a squabble over a fruit-and-veg
stall in
EastEnders
, followed by a sedate period drama in which the most
violence on offer was a fencing match watched by swooning women. But while
channel-flicking I happened upon an oldish teen film I hadn’t seen with a
rather attractive male lead.

I realised fairly quickly this film was dark. But by the
time it registered that it was a gory horror movie about a bunch of young
people being stalked by Death, some sick, masochistic part of me couldn’t turn
over. You know when you’re crawling down the motorway in an almighty traffic
jam and blue flashing lights signal an accident ahead and you know, you
know
you shouldn’t look, but you do anyway – taking in the twisted metal and
scattered glass, fascinated, compelled? That was me. I sat, with mounting
revulsion, through a strangulation, an RTA, an impalement and a decapitation.

By the time the final credits were rolling, I was a
gibbering wreck. I had imagined every possible permutation of my own end, each
more implausible than the last: drowning in the bath, electrocuting myself on
the toaster, choking on a chocolate raisin, getting a t-shirt stuck as I pulled
it on and suffocating. Jude had told me it wouldn’t be that way. I would be
sick, was already sick. Like Sienna. But the brick, the cliff – I had some
sense of danger around me, of violence looming.

Death wanted me.

Outside, the wind tapped a tree branch against the window.
At least, I assumed it was a tree. It was a tree, right?

I crept over to the window. The sun had set, and here on the
cliff, away from other houses and streetlights, there reigned the pure darkness
of nature. I’d always found the isolation peaceful, but tonight the night
seemed thick with threat and I had the crawling sensation that someone –
something – was out there. Watching me.

I snatched up the phone and dialled Luke.

‘Hey. Are you feeling better?’

‘Yes. No.’

‘What’s up? Are you okay?’

‘I watched a horror film.’

A soft laugh down the phone.

‘Let me guess – you’re all alone in the house, and it’s dark
out, and every sound is a psycho coming to get you.’

‘Bingo.’

‘What’s Chester doing?’

I looked over at the dog. ‘He’s fast asleep with his legs in
the air.’

‘Doesn’t sound like there’s much threat there to me then.’

I was silent.

‘You want me to come over?’

‘No. It’s okay. It’s late. Just needed to hear your voice.’

‘Well, here it is. What film did you watch?’

‘Final Destination.’

‘Ah.
In death there are no accidents, no coincidences, no
mishaps, and no escapes
.’

My stomach lurched. ‘What?’

‘It’s what that Candyman mortician says in the film, isn’t
it?’

‘Oh. Right. Luke?’

‘Yes?’

‘I don’t want to be squashed by a bus, or impaled, or
decapitated.’

‘I don’t imagine anyone does.’

‘I don’t want to die at all.’

‘Scarlett, are you okay? It’s just a film.’

I closed my eyes and forced a brighter tone. ‘I know. Sorry.
All spooked out.’

‘Don’t be sorry. I find clowns disturbing thanks to Stephen
King’s
It
. And Cara still has
Exorcist
nightmares. But maybe you
should stick to chick flicks when I’m not there to hide behind.’

‘There’s no maybe about it.
Bridget Jones
all the way
from here on.’

‘I like that film. I like her enormous pants.’

That made me laugh.

‘I also like her blue soup.’

‘Could be one for the menu in your future restaurant.’

For the next ten minutes I listened and smiled as Luke
talked emphatically on the theme ‘What’s in a colour? A soup by any other
colour would taste as good’, until finally the shadows receded and the cottage
felt cosy and the tree outside the window was just a tree once more.

‘Luke?’ I said.

‘Yes?’

‘Thank you.’