Forget Me Not (The Ceruleans: Book 2) (20 page)

The rest of the week went too fast. I ignored the headache
dulled to a nagging ache by my medication. I ignored the desire to curl up in a
ball and sleep for a decade. I ignored the tiger that prowled in my peripheral
vision. I ignored the phone that kept buzzing with texts and calls from Jude –
in fact, come Tuesday, I switched it off permanently. I ignored everything,
except being with Mum.

We went to look at a cottage for sale, but it turned out to
be more hovel than home. So we slipped away while the estate agent was
extolling the virtues of the thatched roof, sniggering like schoolgirls over
his dodgy hairpiece.

We threw the dustsheets off Father’s 1926 Bentley, waiting
in the garage to be moved to his London home. With plenty of enthusiasm but
precious little skill, we drove it around the estate, belting out the signature
tune of
Chitty Chitty Bang Bang
.

We caught the train to London and ate lunch in the lofty
restaurant of the Tate Modern, overlooking the Thames and St Paul’s Cathedral.
Then we wandered the galleries aimlessly, arguing over the relative merits of a
Monet versus a Miró, a Mondrian versus a Matisse.

We baked together – dry and hard cupcakes with sloppy yellow
frosting – and offered them around the staff, who were bemused but touched.

We walked over the hills to St Augustine’s church and laid
flowers before my sister’s cenotaph, and then sat on a bench and exchanged
memories of Sienna.

We went to the salon and got our hair cut – she in her usual
style; mine shorter, and shorter, and shorter, until the girl in the mirror
didn’t look quite like me any more, and that, I decided, was a very good thing.

And then, so quickly, it was Saturday afternoon, and
tomorrow it would all be over: no more ‘we’ time. I’d told Mum I would be
leaving after lunch, to return to Twycombe and pack before heading to the
airport for a flight to New York. In fact, I planned to drive no further than
the end of the road and then make the call.

To Jude.

Because of course I had to call him. My threat back at the
cottage, that I would not go with him, was empty – born of rage; designed to
hurt him as he’d hurt me. Over these past days with Mum, the anger had faded.
He’d been wrong, there was no arguing with that, but he’d meant to help me, I
thought. And when it came down to it, really there was no choice to make.
Sienna needed me. I wouldn’t turn my back on her just to spite some boy.

I was restless that afternoon, couldn’t settle to anything.
Mum was busy with a string of vulturous estate agents valuing Hollythwaite for
sale, and without her to distract me, it was increasingly harder to block out
the ticking clocks everywhere – in every room; why were there so many goddam
clocks? She spotted me wandering about in the conservatory and bundled me into
her parka and pushed me out the door.

‘Walk it off,’ she instructed. ‘Come back for dinner. We’ll
make those poncho things you told me about.’

‘Nachos.’

‘That’s it. Now blow the cobwebs away. Go, scoot!’

So I did. Through the rose garden, across the lawns, through
the orchard – wandering aimlessly, I thought. But my subconscious didn’t do
aimless, I realised, when I found myself at the very boundary of our land,
standing in front of the field that had served as playground for my sister and
me.

The latch on the gate was stiff, and I gave up struggling
with it and climbed up the wooden supports instead. With one leg over and one
dangling behind, I took in the field. The autumnal weather and a rigorous
mowing had left the earth exposed, vulnerable. But it was easy enough to
imagine it as it had once been, a meadow of wildflowers. Violet-headed knapweed
and ruby-red poppies. Daisy-like field chamomile and pinky-purple corncockle.
Sunshine-yellow corn marigolds and buttercups of gold. Delicate white-petalled
hedge bedstraws and, in the spring, forget-me-nots the colour of the sky. When
I closed my eyes I could smell the flowers, and I could see Sienna’s head of
crimson hair bobbing among them, and I could hear her laughing on the breeze
and her challenge: ‘Come find me, Scarlett.’

When I jumped down from the gate my trainers sank to the
laces in mud and I had to brace myself on the gate post while I hauled them
out. The walk across the field to the hill at the far end was squelchy and
slippery, but I persevered until I stood on the crest of the hill. The view was
as I’d remembered it: Hollythwaite laid out below, and beyond, patchwork fields
and the odd turret of a great home and the steeple of St Augustine’s.

I’d stood here often as a child, but I’d never lingered. Our
favourite game was to run as fast as we could down that hill. We ran quickly
enough that it felt like flying, and by the end of the incline our little feet
would struggle to keep pace with our momentum, and we’d scream with the
delicious thrill of it all. Sometimes we’d tumble. Usually, we’d make it. Either
way, we’d turn straight around and climb the hill to do it all over again.

I thought about racing down now. But there were no flowers
to tickle my hands as I ran. And there was no one to race – no sister waiting
at the bottom to laugh when I fell and then tug me to my feet again.

Here, in our field, I missed her. But for once, it was a
good kind of missing. Where you know it will be over soon, and the reunion will
be all the better for the missing. I would find Sienna. We would be sisters
again. My death would not rob me of everyone I loved.

My legs were heavy, and the walk back to the house seemed a
trek, and it was peaceful here and quiet. So I let my knees soften and sat
down, heedless of the squelch that signalled borrowed white coat meeting boggy
ground, and hugged my legs to my chest.

It began to rain, just soft spray at first, and then more
serious drops, until the heavens opened and rain was bucketing down onto me –
Big
ol’ fat rain,
I thought, and smiled; it was a quote from one of my
favourite films,
Forrest Gump
. Well, it had been my favourite. But now
that I thought about it, didn’t the woman he love die?

I should have headed back. But I didn’t. I put my hood up,
and then tilted my head back and let the rain run onto my face, relishing the
cold wetness of it. My neck began to ache, but I didn’t want to turn away from
the rain, so I leaned back further, further, until, with a gentle
sploosh
,
I was splayed on my back on the ground, blinking up at a crying sky.

I closed my eyes and lay like that for a long time,
drifting, breathing, being. Until the almost quiet in my mind was pierced by a
voice. Luke’s, of course Luke’s.

How many times had I heard him say my name, in how many
different ways? There was that first time, on the beach after he pulled me from
the water –
Scarlett
, tinged with surprise and sympathy. There was the
time I mastered the art of balancing on a surfboard –
Scarlett
, loud and
proud. There was the time at the folly when he told me how he felt about me –
Scarlett
,
raw and brave. There was the time in bed, our first night together –
Scarlett
,
reverent almost. There were the times, too many times, I was in trouble, lying
in a lane, caught in a rip current, slumped by a crazed tiger ––
Scarlett
,
tortured, frantic. And then there was this
Scarlett
, and it was all of
them, each
Scarlett
combined. All of Luke, all he’d felt for me, in one
word.

‘Scarlett... Scarlett...’

I opened my eyes. Still I heard him.

I struggled upright, hands scrabbling for purchase in the
wet mud. Pushed the engulfing hood from my eyes. And saw:

Luke.

I watched him come, this boy in trainers and jeans and a
battered black jacket, struggling up the hill, hair sodden and matted to his
head, cheeks flaming with effort, eyes locked on me.

The most beautiful sight in the world.
So
much better
than the tiger.

Halfway up the hill he slipped and went down on his knees,
and I smiled at the sight of him scrambling back up, his trainers finding no
traction on the boggy ground. Finally, he was upright again, and climbing up,
and lurching to a halt just a little downhill so that our eyes were level.

I drank him in, every detail of his face, from the angle of
his jaw to the curve of his lashes to the silver scar across the bridge of his
nose. He was perfect, a masterpiece. Perhaps dying wasn’t so bad after all, if
these were the kinds of hallucinations I could expect now.

‘Luke,’ I said. ‘I missed you.’

‘I missed you.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘
I’m
sorry.’

‘I love you.’

‘God, I love you.’

And then he was throwing himself across the gap between us,
and his hands were clutching my coat, and his lips were on mine. They were
warm, impossibly warm.

I pushed him back and stared at him. ‘You’re real! You’re
here!’

‘Of course I’m real. You thought… oh, Scarlett.’ His voice
cracked on my name, and he wrapped his arms around me and hugged me to him
fiercely.

My mind wouldn’t work; I didn’t understand.

His hold loosened and he started to move back, away.

‘No!’ I said, clinging to his jacket. ‘Please...’

‘I’m here,’ he said. ‘I’m here. I’m going nowhere. But we
need to get out of this rain.’

I’d have quite happily sat there forever more, but
apparently that wasn’t an option – Luke was on his feet and, with an arm around
me, was coaxing me up.

‘Can you walk?’

‘Of course!’

‘Down the hill then – careful now...’

He kept his arm clamped around me as we took our first
steps. But the sheeting rain had made the hill a slide, and my feet went out
from under me just a fraction of a second before his. He tried to hold on to
me, but it was impossible, and we crashed onto the mud and slithered down the
slope. It was a quick ride to the bottom, and a graceless one.

When we petered out on the level ground Luke scrambled to my
side. ‘Are you okay?’ he demanded.

There was mud on his cheek, a thick smear of it, and it
didn’t tally with his worried expression. A giggle escaped me, and fast grew to
a laugh. His lips curved, and I saw the beginnings of a grin emerge. Then,
abruptly, it was gone, and he was pulling me up again.

‘Come on. You can’t be out here, soaking wet.’

He started out across the field, heading for the gate, but
as we walked I tugged his hand to guide him to the side.

‘What –’

‘Trust me,’ I said.

Something softened in his eyes and he nodded.

Running perpendicular to the gated fence was a copse of trees.
There, the ground was firmer and the branches filtered out at least some of the
rain. I led him to the heart of the little woodland, to a very old, very big
oak tree. Nestled in its lowest branches was a treehouse. In its day, it had
been magnificent – a large and sturdy hideaway crafted to be reminiscent of a
fairytale castle. Now, it was a little neglected, a little ramshackle. But it
would do, I hoped. At least here we would be alone.

We climbed up the creaking steps and Luke shouldered open
the door. Inside, I was surprised to find the space not neglected after all. It
was neatly swept out. It was patched up to stay dry. It was even kitted out
with camping gear: sleeping bags, a storm lantern, bottled water. Someone,
clearly, had been using the space. Kids from a neighbouring property, perhaps.

Luke wasted no time: he slammed the door shut, switched on
the lantern, stripped off my coat and his own, sat me on the floor and wrapped
me in a blanket.

‘You’re shivering,’ he said. ‘What were you thinking, being
out in this?’

I grabbed his hand, which was reaching for another blanket,
and held it to my cheek.

‘Stop,’ I said. ‘Just stop.’

He stilled. ‘Scarlett,’ he whispered. Then he collapsed to
his knees and looked at me with such yearning I couldn’t think straight.

‘How is this possible?’ I breathed, stroking my fingers down
his cheek that was so hot, so red. ‘How are you here?’

‘Your mother told me you’d be up here. She pointed me in the
direction.’

‘That’s not what I mean. How can you come to me – look at me
like that – after…’

He crushed me to him and kissed me, deeply, desperately.
When he broke away, he touched a hand to my hair, as if he had only just
noticed the length had gone.

‘Luke,’ I said. ‘What’s happened?’

Taking my hands in his, he began:

‘I called you. Over and over. And I went to the cottage
twice. You were gone.’

‘Did you think I would stay? You said we were done.’

‘Not forever! I was angry. I had reason to be, I thought.
But I was never going to let that be it. I wanted to know what happened. You
were trying to tell me it wasn’t what I thought. I wanted an answer. I figured
you’d be here. I didn’t know where else you would go.’

‘So you came here to get an answer.’

‘No, Scarlett. I came for
you
.’

‘But that’s... why would you want me? I hurt you horribly.’

‘
Jude
hurt me. Us. Not you. He told me, Scarlett. He
told me everything.’

My heart stuttered in my chest and all I could get out was a
strangled,
‘What?’

‘He turned up at the house last night. First I knew of it
was some commotion at the door. When I got there Cara was whacking him with an
umbrella from the coat stand. He said he had to talk to us. Said you needed our
help. He looked terrible – like he’d been through hell. We let him in. Sat in
the living room. And he spilled it. The truth.’

What truth?
I wanted to shout.
All of it? Some of
it? Or none of it – more lies?

Carefully, I said, ‘What did he tell you?’

‘That it was a setup. That bastard set you up. You didn’t
get into bed with him. You didn’t even know he was there until I woke you up,
did you?’

Stunned, I shook my head.

‘I knew it. I should’ve bloody known it at once. I’ve never
liked Jude, never trusted him. I should’ve taken one look at him and...’ His
face twisted like he was in physical pain. ‘No – no. I should have taken one look
at
you
, Scarlett, and known you’d never do that. I
know
you. I
should have trusted you. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’

He
was apologising to
me
? This was madness.

‘Jude said he did it to break us up. He said it’s what you
wanted, but you were too frightened to do it yourself. Cara lost it with him
then. She didn’t buy that. I didn’t either. I knew something was off – I’d
known it all week. That’s why I was looking for you.’

I was so confused. ‘Why did he tell you all this?’

‘So I would bring you back.’

‘Why does he want me to go back?’ That made no sense at all.
Why would Jude want me to return to Twycombe? And why not just come and find me
here himself? I’d been half-expecting him to turn up here all week.

‘So you’re home. So you’re where you belong when… when…’

He collapsed into me, wrapping his arms around me fiercely
and burying his face in my hair. His shoulders shook with sobs he tried to
silence.

Instinctively, I rocked him while I tried to find order in
my jumbled thoughts. He knew. He knew I was dying. What else did he know?

He sat back abruptly, rubbing his eyes with the sleeve of
his jumper. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I promised myself I’d be strong.’

‘It’s okay,’ I told him.

‘No, it’s really not.’

I had to know what exactly was causing his pain. ‘What did
Jude tell you, Luke?’

He took a deep breath, and intoned into the outward huff:
‘Brain tumour. Terminal.’

If the eyes are the windows to the soul then the look in his
told me his soul was in torment. Anger rose up in me suddenly, violently. What
the hell was Jude doing, playing God with my life? Look at the pain he had
wrought.

‘Damn it!’ I said. ‘He had
no
right.’

I felt sick, hot with fury, and I moved to shake off the
blanket around me, but Luke caught it and held it tight around me.

‘He was right to tell me, Scarlett. I am your boyfriend –
no, more than that, I am the person who loves you more than anyone else in the
entire world. I love you. I
love
you. I should know. Why didn’t you
trust me with this?’

‘It wasn’t about trust. It was about protection. I didn’t
want you to hurt. I didn’t want you to lose me like that.’

‘So you kept it from me. For how long? The zoo – that was
when you found out?’

I hesitated and his eyes widened.

‘Before then? You’ve been walking around with this on your
shoulders and you’ve said
nothing
to me? How long?
How long?
’

‘My birthday,’ I whispered.

‘Weeks. Weeks! Every minute we’ve been together, all that
time, you knew it was finite?’

‘I’m sorry.’

Comprehension dawned on his face. ‘All the things you wanted
to do – all that energy. You were bucket-listing.’

I nodded.

‘I don’t know whether to shake you or hug you! How could you
keep it from me? How could you go through all that alone? But no, wait, you
weren’t alone. Jude knew. He told us – Sienna had it; he guessed you had it too.
You were honest with
him
, but not me.’

‘Only because I could talk to him without hurting him.
Because he doesn’t care about me like you do.’

He seemed to struggle with that, but then he shook it off
and returned to the matter at hand: ‘So when then? When were you going to tell
me?’

‘I wasn’t. I was going to go away.’

He let go of me and rocked back. ‘You were running out on
me. That’s how much faith you have in me?’

‘No!’ I caught his hand. ‘No, Luke, please – I wanted to
protect you.’

‘By taking away my choices? How is that any better than what
Jude tried to do?’

Miserably, I hung my head, but a thumb under my chin lifted
it up.

‘You listen to me now,’ said Luke intently. ‘I am staying
with you. I will be with you through it all. You don’t get to push me away, you
don’t get to protect me. I want to be with you.
I love you
.’

He kissed a tear from my cheek. And another. And another.

‘I love you,’ he said. ‘And love isn’t just a feeling, it’s
an action. So let me do it. Let me love you. No more running. No more lying.
Let me love you for every minute we have left. Give me all of you – everything
you have left.’

I couldn’t speak; all I could do was nod while my heart beat
Luke, Luke, Luke
.

This time, it was he who cast off the blanket. And our
coats. And our shirts. When he saw the teardrop pendant lying still below my
throat, he touched it and said, ‘Never take this off.’

‘I won’t,’ I said. ‘I promise.’

He sealed my promise with a kiss.

The wind pushed at the treehouse. The rain hammered on the
roof. Outside, the storm raged on. But inside our little fairytale castle, we
lived happy ever now.