A Sea of Stars (10 page)

A
few days later, Cat and I have to tidy up the sitting room for Mum because her migraine's really bad. I've been out surfing with Luca loads of times now and I want to hurry so I can go and meet him again. But Cat's being really annoying. She wants to do it really, really neatly, just like her colouring in.

“I don't want you to go surfing, anyway,” she says. “I hate it when you go.”

“I wish you'd come with me,” I say. “We could even get Chloe down there too. She'd love surfing.”

It's the same discussion every day and neither of us will budge.

We polish all the furniture so the room smells waxy and clean. Then we puff up the cushions on the sofas and arrange the colourful silk ones from India in pairs. Then we start playing this mad game, pretending we're on a TV advert. We keep smiling at the camera, saying, “Beeswax fresh, it's gotta be the best!” We laugh so much I think we're going to crack in half with giggling, and for a teeny-weeny moment we get so close I think we might even touch. I hold my breath, waiting to feel her hand on my bare arm. But, just as she's about to touch me, she pulls away. She makes a cough like Tania and hops over to Alfie's mossy shelf.

“What's this for?” she says. “I keep looking at it, but I can't work it out. Is it like the nature table at school?” She picks up the little photo of Alfie. “Is that you when you were a baby?”

“No,” I say, “its Alfie.”

“You all keep talking about Alfie,” she says, “but who is he?”

“My brother,” I say. “The one I told you about
that day I stopped you screaming and scratching Dad.”

She peers at the picture; she picks up a tiny blue speckled egg and a beautiful pale pink shell. She turns Alfie's footprint thingy around and around in her hand.

“I don't understand…” she says.

“There's nothing to understand, Cat. It's just Alfie.”

“But why did you have to get rid of him?” she says. “Why didn't they take you away as well? Why just him?”

“We didn't get rid of him, Cat,” I laugh. “You don't get rid of babies! He died. I wanted to tell you about him in the book about our family. But Mum said it would complicate things.”

“Oh!” she says, nibble-nibble-nibbling on a nail and twisting her hair round her finger until it's all red and shiny with blood. “They took me away, and my brother.”

All the sadness in the world washes over her face and a million people sit in her eyes and cry. It's so
hard living with Cat. There are so many eggshells around her and it's tricky not to keep treading on them. Cat's lip trembles. My cheeks start burning. She's trying so hard to keep her lip still and her face in place, but I can tell she's really upset. She starts dusting the shelf carefully, picking up the precious bits one by one. She keeps nibble-nibble-nibbling on her nail.

“That's a really sad story,” she says, stroking Alfie's face. “Really, really sad.”

“Not as sad as yours,” I whisper, staring at the carpet.

Because I'd be the saddest girl in the world if I had to lose my family and pack my whole entire life in a bag and go and live with strangers. But then again if no one's taking care of you being adopted might be better. And if only Cat would come surfing with me she might even have some fun.

Cat shrugs, like she's tired of thinking about it all. I stand there, twisting the duster in my hand, not knowing what to say. Cat kisses Alfie's tiny little face and that feels really weird. Like she'll kiss
him, but she won't even touch me. She holds the photo up to her eyes, peering right into Alfie, like the picture will help to make sense of everything.

“His little face reminds me of…”

But then her voice trails off like a steam train leaving tiny puffs of smoke behind. She dumps Alfie back on the shelf, slumps down on the sofa and hugs her favourite pink cushion. She stares off into space. The damselflies start whirring. Saying the wrong thing now would be like treading on one of Alfie's blue eggshells. And I know I should just leave it, but I can't. I can't seem to leave anything at the moment and I know it's getting me into trouble but I have to know stuff. I want to peep inside her ‘Life Story Book' and find out everything.

“Does Alfie remind you of your brother, Jordan?” I whisper.

Cat freezes. Her emerald eyes narrow to slits.

“It's OK to talk about Jordan,” I say, “and your mum. No one will mind. I'd really like to know all about them and have a look at that ‘Life Story Book' thingy you keep carrying around.”

“Well, you can't,” she says, sticking her nose in the air, plumping up the cushions for the second time and putting them back in pairs. “I don't want to talk about Jordan or my mum. They're private and my book's private too. I already told you, it's special. Not for just anyone's eyes.”

I can't help it now. I'm so angry and confused. Cat's not being fair. I was trying to get closer to her, trying to understand, trying to help. Five minutes ago we were laughing together and I thought we were getting on. Now she's made me feel small and stupid again and I don't even care about her stupid book. I don't even want to see it. I'm not that interested, anyway; it's probably full of boring stuff.

“Well I'm not telling you anything, either,” I say. “Nothing more about Alfie, not ever! I have other secrets too! Big ones!”

“I don't want to know anything about you,” Cat snaps. “I'm not interested. I don't care about you or your life. And it's not private one bit. You're all over the walls, Maya. You're part of this house. You're everywhere. Dad's even made plates and stuff with
a surfer girl on, with the same colour hair as you. He probably has videos of you surfing on YouTube for the whole world to see.” Her eyes bore into my skin like hot marshmallows from the fire. “There's nothing private or secret anywhere in this house, Maya. And your brother's not private either. Look, he's up there on the shelf for anyone to see.”

“Shut up!” I say. “You can't talk to me like that. I'm older than you!”

Cat laughs in my face.

“You might be older than me, Maya,” she hisses, “in years. But I know more about everything than you do. You haven't even been on a bus on your own. You can't even fry without a grown-up.”

Now I'm stinging. Cat's cold, empty eyes are staring at me, as if I'm an X-ray in the hospital and she can see right through to the soft bit in my bones.

“You don't have any secrets,” she says, with her twisted smile. “You're too scared to have secrets, Maya. Scared of getting caught and told off by your mummy. There's nothing private about your life.
You're splashed and painted everywhere.”

“I do have a secret,” I say. “I do!”

Cat laughs again. She goes back to Alfie's shelf. She starts fiddling with the things like she owns them. I want to swipe her hand away. I want to wrap Alfie up in tissue paper and put him in a box and surround him with a bubble of light and loads of angel bodyguards and tuck him somewhere private and out of view so he's not just for anyone's eyes.

I hate Cat. I'm really angry that she's right. I am splashed all over the walls. Dad's plates and stuff with me surfing on them sell all over the place, even in the department store in London! And there are loads of videos of me surfing on YouTube. Loads of them. The only stupid secret I have is going down to the beach that night with Anna. And I bet Cat has millions of secrets hiding under her ribs, tucked away somewhere in the bottom of her heart.

“Have either of you seen the big carrot cake that was in the cupboard?” Mum says, wandering in with a cold flannel on her head. “My head's feeling a bit better and I really fancy a piece with a cup of tea.”

I haven't seen the cake. I haven't touched the cake, but I bet I know who has. Cat's face closes. Guilt melts over her skin. And if I had X-ray eyes that could see right inside her, I'd see her cake-stealing secret running for cover, hiding somewhere under her tongue, sitting there feeling like silver.

I stare at Cat. Then at Mum. And I so, so want to tell.

“Don't look at me!” Cat shouts. “I haven't seen the cake! I don't even know what you're on about!”

Mum strokes Cat's hair and tells her to calm down. Cat tugs away and shrugs her off. Dad comes in and says not to worry about it because cakes aren't that important and if the Borrowers have taken it away then we can always zip down the café and buy more. Cat starts nibbling and I know she's lying. I know she's scoffed it all, just like the cheesy bread and the chocolate cake and Dad's special biscuits. It's written all over her face in neon lights, brighter than Chloe's orange wheelchair. I wish I were brave enough to tell. I wish I could twist things round like Cat does for once and feel
big and tall and powerful.

“You think I'm lying!” she roars. “You all do! Little thief, little thief – that's what you're thinking. You all hate me! Why don't you just send me back to Tania's? I know you really want to!”

Dad sighs.

“Now stop this, Cat,” he says. “You're going to get yourself wound up about it and into a right old drama again. It's just not necessary. Drop it. Forget about the cake. It's not important.”

Cat picks up the pink cushion, throws it across the room and starts heading for the door. Mum holds her poorly head and sighs. Cat's huffing and puffing. She kicks a lamp over, drags a pile of books off the shelf and watches them tumble to the floor.

“I never wanted to come here in the first place!” she screams. “I lied about it! And I never wanted a dad. Or a sister! Not ever!” She glares at Mum. “And I never, never, never, ever wanted a mum. I have one of my own and she's much, much better than you!”

“Cat,” says Mum, patiently, “sweetheart, tell us
what's going on. Talk to us.”

“Nothing's going on,” Cat spits. “I haven't seen your stupid cake and you can't stop me doing anything! You're not my mum!”

“That's where you're wrong,” says Mum, squinting her eyes from the migraine pain. “You're a part of this family now, Cat. I can stop you. It's my job, my responsibility to teach you how to resolve things, and I promise you that running away won't help.”

Cat darts around Mum, trying to escape from the room, but Mum grabs hold of her arm and, while Cat flaps about like a moth on a light bulb, Mum grows tree roots, deep and strong. I've never seen her stand so firm before. Dragon's flames crackle and burn between them; hot specks of hatred spark from Cat's eyes. But Mum's like an ancient chestnut tree not bending in Cat's tornado.

“I'm not listening to you,” Cat spits at Mum. “You can't make me do anything. You can't pin me down and keep me in, like you do Maya. I can call social services. And I'm never, never, never going
to call you ‘Mum'. Not in a million years! You're a rubbish mum, much more rubbish than mine. We all managed just fine without you.”

Cat tugs away from Mum and runs for the door.

Mum slumps down on the sofa, rumpling up the cushions. I'm jangling like a bucket full of spoons. I look at Cat hovering in the doorway – not quite staying; not quite running – so small and angry and alone.

I have to do something quickly to stop her running away. However mean she is, she is my sister. And Mum has her migraine and I need to calm it all down. I have to do something to help. I open my mouth and watch my words pirouette towards the sky.

“I did it,” I whisper, my voice growing stronger with each word. “It was me! I was hungry and I ate up all the cake in the night.”

I
don't know why I bothered to pretend that I'd eaten the cake. Cat didn't thank me one bit for it.

“I did it so you didn't get in trouble,” I whisper.

Cat glares at me.

“I'm not frightened of them like you,” she snaps. “I'm not scared of trouble. I've told you before, I don't care about anything.”

Mum got really, really cross with me. She slumped down on the kitchen sofa, picked up her trauma books and started flicking through them, reading and reading, even though her migraine was still really bad. And now it's late and I'm trying
hard to get to sleep, but every time I close my eyes I get nightmares. All the children waiting to be loved on the internet adoption site and the ones on the NSPCC advert keep calling me into this dark, dark tunnel. They're telling me to catch a wave of sadness and surf it for a million years. And Cat's beetle-black custardy hair keeps wafting up my nose. Her screams are grating my skin and it's all raw and bleeding. Now Chloe's there too, struggling across the sand with a smile on her face like her world is made of chocolate.

I can't stop crying and the gnarly waves keep crashing over me. I can't breathe. I'm in the surf competition and Luca is laughing at me and his mouth is so big I surf straight into it. And Anna's down in his tummy with a tattoo of a mermaid on her face. And Alfie has turned into a zabaloosh twinkling little star.

Then Cat walks in front of everything. She's as tall as a house and her eyes are red and her lips are painted green.

“You're splashed all over the walls, Maya,” she
snarls, “for everyone to see. You've never had a secret in your life.”

Her voice echoes through me. I wake up. It's really dark outside and I'm covered in an icy cold sweat that's shivering my teeth off. I pull on some clothes, grab a towel from the bathroom and creep downstairs. I don't care if it's dangerous. I don't care about anything. I have to have another secret that no one knows about. I need lots of them to prove that I'm not a baby.

Through the kitchen door the moon is a thin silver bowl, heaped to the top full of stars like ripe fruit fireworks exploding into the night. I find Dad's torch, slip on my pumps and creep outside. An owl hoots in the tree. A sly fox shines his eyes on me, two tiny torches piercing the dark. Then he sniffs the air and slips away like a whisper. The deathly bones creak the gate open, but I don't care about them. I don't care if their long white fingers break up through the earth and drag me deep underground.

Down near the Surf Shack Café a thin trail of
smoke rises up to shake hands with the moon. And there's the sound of a ukulele playing music to the stars. I switch off my torch and creep closer and closer, sideways like a crab. This is my special beach, my special time, my special secret and intruders aren't welcome! I hate it that Cat's right. I am scared of getting told off. I'm scared it's Gus or Rachel down by the fire and that they might see me and tell my mum. I should stay away; I know I should. I should run straight back home and snuggle in bed all safe with Peaches Paradise. But the music is drawing me closer – a witch towards a spell.

As I get used to the darkness, I see a pair of eyes watching me – two diamonds, twinkling like stars. And now I feel shy, really shy.

“Hey, Maya,” says Luca, when I step out from the shadows into the glow of the fire. He spreads his blanket out. “Take a seat.”

I know I'm not crushing on Luca, because Anna is. I've spent loads of time with him lately, surfing. But it feels a bit weird, us here, down on the beach in the middle of the night – alone! And something
makes my heart beat fast.

“I couldn't sleep,” I say. “I kept having weird dreams, kind of nightmares about stuff.”

“Me too,” he says. “I can't stop thinking. I sometimes wish I could switch myself off. Fancy some of my dad's famous pecan pie? It's totally awesome.”

I nod because words are clogged and shy in my throat. Luca digs deep in his pocket. He pulls out a long piece of grubby string with a key on the end that glints in the firelight. He opens up the café. It's weird being in the Surf Shack at night. I feel really nervous that someone will catch us and we'll be in big trouble; my mum would go mad. Luca's at home here, though. He pulls the pecan pie from the fridge, cuts two enormous slices, heats them in the microwave and tops them with my favourite whippy cream.

Back outside, we sit on Luca's blanket and eat in silence. We listen to the rush of the surf and the crackle of the fire and the beating of our hearts in our ears.

“Where's your mum?” I ask, when the silence has stretched too long and I've licked my plate clean and wiped my mouth on the back of my hand.

“Trekking in the Alps with my sister.” He smiles. “They don't much like the surf; we don't much like mountains.”

He picks up his ukulele and plays.

“I don't think my mum likes my dad much any more, either,” he says, hiding his face behind his fringe. “I overheard my dad telling Gus and Rachel about it the other day. If they split up, I think my dad and I will stay here, which means I won't get to see my sister. I don't care about Mum right now, but I do care about my little sister; she's cool. I heard my dad crying in his sleep and it freaked me out. That's why I got up.”

“I'm sorry,” I say. “I've been so obsessed with my problems, I didn't think to ask you about yours.”

“S'OK,' he says. “Playing this helps me better than talking.” He knocks his ukulele with his knuckle. “Just me and the strings and the music.”

“Surfing does the same for me,” I say. “I'm like
the wildest and freest girl alive out there. Cat goes practically mental-o-phobic every time she looks at the sea. She likes rabbits and colouring in.”

Luca laughs and his diamond eyes shine. His total American cheese accent fills me up with giggles.

“Why did they even put Cat with a family whose house is about to fly off the edge of a cliff, if she's so scared?” he asks. “I mean, your house's gonna fall straight into the sea any day soon.”

“It's not that bad!” I say. “It's actually perfectly safe. My granddad was an architect; he designed it so it looked like a seagull about to take flight. That's the whole point of it! Maybe the social workers don't know about Cat's sea-o-phobia.”

“It's called thalassophobia,” says Luca, “for your information. That's the real name for it.”

“I prefer mental-o-sea-o-phobia,” I say, “but whatever it's called it's annoying. I hate myself sometimes, though. I mean, I moan on and on about stuff, but I haven't got anything that big in my life to deal with. Not like you and everyone else around me; not like Cat and Chloe. I mean,
imagine what it must be like for them.”

“It's all relative,” Luca says. “You know, your problems are your problems and sometimes they feel big. You can't trash how you feel because Cat or Chloe or me might be feeling worse.” He smiles. “There's always going to be someone in the world worse off than you and there's always going to be someone else better off. It's just how it is.”

Then Luca looks at me with a wicked glint in his eyes and, without speaking, goes round the back of the Surf Shack. He grabs a couple of boards with special night reflective stuff on them and some head torches and, before we know it, we're out there paddling in the oily water, surfing in the darkest black. My mum will go total-o-mental-o-phobic if she finds out, but I don't care. I don't care about anything. This is another special secret from Cat.

We catch wave after wave after wave after wave, each one different but perfect. It's really tricky to surf in the dark with the torches and the reflective stuff, but we work on pop-ups and bottom turns and forehand turns. We get better and better, work
harder and harder until our skin is stinging with salt and sand and our mouths are all thirsty and dry.

“It's totally sick out here!” whispers Luca.

Then his eyes melt in the torchlight.

“I really needed this,” he says. “Thanks.”

“Let's score each other!” I say. “Like our own mini competition.”

“OK. But first,” laughs Luca, putting on a Dalek's voice, “you-must-tell-me-the-mission-of-a-surfer.”

“OK!” I smile, remembering. “A surfer must perform radical, progressive manoeuvres in the critical section of the wave to achieve maximum scoring potential! There, see! I did it!”

“You-are-very-correct!” he says, eyeing a wave. “Or-in-other-words-a-surfer-must…” – he pops up on his board – “…totally rip it out here! Woooooooooooo hooooooooooooo!”

Then I'm alone in the black. I think of the old film,
Jaws
, that Dad really shouldn't have let me watch and fear coils round me like a snake, squeezing me tighter and tighter. But then my wave
comes and I throw off the snake and my worries and I catch the best, most zabaloosh wave in the world.

Back shivering by the fire, Luca gives me a 6.5 and two 8.5s and I give him a 6.5, a 7.5 and a 9. We both start yawning and Luca throws sand on our fire.

“I'm around tomorrow,” he says, “if you want to train some more?”

And as we walk away from each other he calls, “Peace out, Maya! Peace out!”

I giggle because I've heard some of the bigger boys say it before, and I know it kind of means goodbye, see you later, take care. But I've never actually said it myself and it's chinking on my teeth like silver, dancing on my tongue like gold.

“Peace out, Luca,” I giggle. “Peace out!”

I'm freezing now and I'm running home as fast as I can. And I don't notice anything's wrong for a while, but then I see all the lights on in the house. I hear my mum's voice calling. I see the silhouette of my dad clambering down the cliff towards me.