Wild Blue Yonder (The Ceruleans: Book 3) (20 page)

I fumbled behind me for a chair. Pulled it out. Sat down.
Stared about.

I was home. It was
home
. There were the blue gingham
curtains at the window. There was the wooden box with the word ‘BREAD’ carved
into the side. There was the lopsided vase on the windowsill that I’d made in
pottery class at junior school. Everything was as I remembered it – well,
almost. Gone was the odd chip on a cupboard door, the odd scuff on the wall.
The paintwork around was gleaming white.

I pushed myself up and walked slowly to the kitchen door.
Took a breath. Creaked open the door. Peeked out.

The stairs were as solid as always, but the wood of the
banister and spindles looked lighter, smoother. The hall table was a little
different – a little taller and narrower, I thought, but very similar. The
mirror above was the same. The coat hooks on the wall were the same. The
grandfather clock was gone, but in its place was a pretty vintage hat stand.

I stopped creeping about now. I raced through the cottage,
from room to room. It was the same story everywhere – things as they ever were,
but cleaner, shinier, with the occasional slightly different but very similar
swap: a suspiciously spotless carpet, a lamp-base with wrought-iron flowers
instead of leaves.

In the last room, the living room, my eyes were drawn at
once to the ceiling, where there should have been a great, ragged hole – the
hole through which I’d plunged during the fire. But there was only smooth, even
plaster painted a dazzling white. I looked about, and when I saw that even the
archaic VCR was in place all the emotion in me bubbled up into a laugh.

‘How?’ I said out loud.

Then: ‘Who?’

Then: ‘Oh, hell!’

I sank onto the sofa –
into
the sofa; that wonderful
soft, old, garish sofa – as a terrible thought occurred to me. The house had
been restored, carefully, lovingly, as close as possible to its former
condition – the condition it had remained in for years since the death of my
grandparents, suspended in time, frozen by… my mother. She must have come here,
seen the damage and commissioned a team to restore her childhood home according
to her specific instructions, for of course she knew each detail of the cottage
as it ought to be.

But I’d scheduled loads of emails to Mum that she’d have
received over the past months, designed to reassure her I was just fine, just
travelling around Europe. With me gone, there was no reason for her to come to
the cove – not yet, anyway; not until the emails ran out. Had someone told her
of the fire? She was the cottage’s owner, after all. Had the fire brigade
notified her? She’d have been devastated. I pictured her now, standing out the
front and staring up at the cottage with tear-stained cheeks, shoulders hunched
and trembling, and nobody – no husband now, and neither of her daughters – to
comfort her.

An ache deep within rose, spread, brought a rush of tears to
my eyes. Family. Those who know you best, who’ve known you forever. Those who
love you despite your flaws. Those who drive you crazy, who can let you down
the most – but for whom you’d do anything,
anything
.

I missed my mother. I missed my sister.

Instinctively, my eyes slid across the room to my
grandfather’s writing desk. It was still there – the framed picture of my
grandparents and my mum and toddler Sienna and baby me. Taken in the garden of
the cottage, presumably by my father. My mother and grandmother were relaxing
on a picnic rug with the children: I was asleep and Sienna was licking a fast-melting
ice-cream cone. Beyond them, my grandfather was standing by his shed, some
distance away, shielding his eyes against the sun and squinting towards the
camera. It was by no means an idyllic family shot: my mother was fretting with
creamy drips on Sienna’s dress and Grandad wasn’t even smiling. But it had that
feel of a perfect moment caught in time, the kind of moment you wish you could
step back into in later years.

I was standing to cross the room and examine the picture
more closely when I heard the rumble of an engine somewhere nearby. My heart
stuttered. I knew that noise! I dashed to the window and peeked out in time to
see Luke’s van pulling into the driveway. Behind the wheel was a figure, big,
shadowed. And beside him, in the passenger seat, was a shaggy silhouette.

The van stopped. I pulled back, so that as much of me as
possible was concealed from sight. The driver’s door opened. Out stepped Luke.
Out leapt Chester.

Chester ran about joyously, and then busied himself sniffing
trails. Luke opened the back doors of the van and disappeared inside it.

I should have backed away from the window, I know. Run.
Travelled. But I couldn’t move. I could only stare at the van, and wait.

A mobile ringtone sang out. It was cut off quickly, but
still I recognised it – Queen, ‘Don’t Stop Me Now’. I smiled, remembering the
Newquay flash mob.

‘Cara, what now?’

Luke’s voice, easily audible through the thin glass of the
window.

A shiver went down my back.

‘You’re where? Outside Si’s? I thought he had company?…
Well, yes, I know he’s usually got company, but didn’t he say he was pretty
tied up with… Emergency? Really?… Oh. Right. Well, if the accountant says…
You’re sure that’s where you left the paperwork?… Really, Cara, doing the
business accounts in front of the TV at Si’s isn’t ideal… Yes, I know he has
satellite… Yes, I know it sucks that I cancelled ours… No, I’m not reinstating
it… Because I don’t want all that paranormal crap on all day, that’s why!…
Sorry… I know… Yes, I just got here… Dunno – dinnertime, probably… All right.
Later.’

Luke stepped down, out of the van, carrying a large
cardboard box. He set it down on the ground and squatted to riffle through it.
I drank in the sight of him. His hair was a little longer and messier, and were
his jeans a little baggier, was his body leaner? I wished I could see his eyes,
the eyes that had first drawn me to him the day we met in the cove. Startlingly
blue. I had the idea that if I could just look into those eyes, every worry,
every limitation, would melt away. But to see his eyes I’d have to be closer…

A noise upstairs made me jump guiltily. Footsteps in the
room above. I looked up, tried to place the layout. Someone was in my bedroom.

Outside Luke hefted the box up into his arms and whistled
for Chester.

‘Scarlett!’ a voice I knew well whispered urgently from the
stairs.

Luke was turning towards the house now. Mere metres
separated us.

A rush of air behind me. A hand on my arm. And before I had
a chance to push it off, the living room blurred away and I found myself in my
bedroom.

I shook Jude off. ‘What are you doing?’ I hissed angrily.

‘What were
you
doing?’ he whispered back, equally
furious. ‘Luke might have seen you!’

The creak of the front door opening, and then footsteps in
the room below. We both looked down, as if we had X-ray vision and would be
able to see through the floorboards to the scene below.

Jude put his finger to his lips. I glared at him, but said
nothing.

From downstairs there came a low whine.

‘What is it, boy? Missing Scarlett, huh? I know, mate. I
know.’

A bark.

‘Chester, let’s not go there, eh?’

Another bark, and then another, each more excited than the
last.

‘Chester? Chester, no! Stay.
Stay!
Chester, will you…
just…
stop pulling on your collar, you stupid mutt!
You’ll strangle
yourself! Sit. Sit down. SIT!’

A loud curse. The sound of a ruckus. A door slamming.

Scrabbling. Mournful howling.

‘Chester. Chester! Quit it – you’ll scratch the door!’

A whine.

‘I know, mate. I’m sorry. But I told you last time, no
playing upstairs for now. The gloss work’s all tacky still. And with you moulting
all over, we’ll have hairy doors galore.’

A pause, then:

‘Who am I kidding – you don’t understand a word I’m saying.
Talking to yourself, Luke. First sign of madness. Paint fumes’ve rotted your
brain.’

I sank down onto the bed. Luke? Luke was the phantom
painter? Luke had restored the cottage these past months? Si had said he’d been
keeping busy – but this, this was the project he’d buried himself in? A secret
one, evidently, that only he and Cara knew of, or Si would never have let me
Travel here. All this restoration – of course he must have brought in help (and
he’d have had the budget to do so, I realised, with the money I’d left him).
But he’d done some of the work himself. How much? How many hours had he been
here? Why? Why do this?

Jude sat beside me. ‘I had no idea,’ he whispered. When I
said nothing, he added: ‘I came to tell you not to Travel back to Si’s – Cara’s
turned up unannounced. I didn’t know Luke was here. I didn’t know what he’d
done here.’

Still I said nothing. Was he doing the cottage up to sell? I
wondered. Had my mum hired him? Maybe not; maybe he’d been worried about my
mother finding out – was all this to save her feelings? Or was this a private
project, his way of moving on from the night of the fire, fixing what he could
fix so that he could let go of what couldn’t be fixed?

‘Scarlett,’ whispered Jude. ‘We have to go.’

I shook my head. ‘I don’t want to.’

‘I know. But we talked about this. Now’s not the time. You
can’t just walk down there now and say, “Surprise! I’m back!”’

I wanted to argue – of course I could! Luke was right here,
just downstairs! – but I knew Jude was right. It wouldn’t be fair to Luke. Not
unless I knew that I was back for good.

Pitter-patter footfalls downstairs.

‘Chester, if you’re on the move, pop the kettle on, will
you?’ A low chuckle. Then: ‘Luke, you’re losing it, man.’

A loud, joyous bark, and then scrabbling, slipping, panting
sounds below, coming rapidly closer.

‘Chester! How the hell did you get out of the kitchen!’

Heavy footsteps thundering down the hallway in pursuit.

Jude shot up. ‘The dog’s sensed you. He’s coming. The
summerhouse at Si’s. Go!’

I stood too. Took a step away from Jude, towards the door.

‘Scarlett,’ hissed Jude.

I heard Chester on the landing, barking frantically.

I heard Luke’s voice, so close: ‘CHESTER! DOWN! PAINTWORK!’

I reached out a hand to the door. Just the other side…

I saw the door knob turn.

Jude grabbed my hand.

A sliver of light opened up where door met frame, and I
thought I saw a flash of blue but it blurred so rapidly, and then…

Gone.

I’d never seen Jude so angry: red-faced and rigid with rage.
Happily, given the fact that we were hiding out in the summerhouse – sitting at
opposite ends of the bed on the mezzanine – he was forced to berate me in a
whisper. Still, the vehemence of his words was unsettling.

‘Stupid… thoughtless… hadn’t been there, you’d have… no
thought for anyone but yourself… almost plunged us into a right mess… if he’d
seen you… not fair, Scarlett…’

I listened, wide-eyed, to his rant. He was right; I knew
that. I’d come so close to letting Luke see me. But it was like something beyond
logic had taken me over, some primal need that superseded what was right.

‘… and what about Sienna?’
finished Jude.

I blinked at that. Sure, seeing Luke today wouldn’t have
been fair on him. Or on Jude, who expected me still to return to Cerulea with
him and mend the broken fence with Evangeline. But I failed to see how Sienna
was relevant.

‘What do you mean?’

He glowered at me.

‘What, you think I’d see Luke and that’d be it – I wouldn’t
care about anything but staying here with him, wouldn’t find Sienna?’

‘Well…’

‘Thanks,’ I said sarcastically. ‘Nice to know you have such
a high opinion of me. But FYI, sister captured by bloodthirsty killers trumps
reunion with former boyfriend.’

‘Oh,’ said Jude.

I glanced at him. He didn’t look angry now. He looked
relieved. Talk about a sea change. What had brought that on? Surely not my
sarcasm. I replayed my words in my mind. One stood out. So
that
was what
this was about – Jude was jealous, threatened by my having seen Luke again,
scared I’d choose Luke now, here. And then, when I’d said ‘
former
boyfriend’, his fears had melted away. What a mess.

‘Right,’ said Jude. ‘Okay then. While you were gone I spoke
to Si, and he’s sorted us a place to stay, so –’

The sound of the back doors of the house sliding open cut him
off. We both snapped round. Through the voile covering the window, which was
open a crack, I saw a rainbow shimmer out onto the decking. A rainbow with
limbs and a head and a really, really loud voice:

‘C’mon, Si. It’s sunny out! Coffee al fresco.’

Jude groaned. ‘Perfect,’ he muttered.

I stared. Cara! Cara in a show-stopping, multi-coloured
minidress, short to show off a jaw-dropping pair of patent red boots. At once,
two voices popped into my head: Patrick Macnee and Honor Blackman,
the Avengers, singing that sixties’ classic ‘Kinky Boots’. A smile spread
across my face. No wonder Si had said Cara was ‘good’ in that ‘the girl is
smokin’ hot’ tone.

Si appeared behind Cara. He gave the summerhouse a nervous
look and said, ‘Er, babe, it’s a bit cold out…’

‘Drink your coffee then,’ said Cara, settling down on the
steps. ‘That’ll warm you up.’

Si, standing behind Cara, shot us an apologetic look before
sitting beside her. ‘Just a quick one, though, all right? I’ve got an essay to
finish for uni.’

‘Company’s gone then?’ said Cara.

‘Yes.’

‘So I could come over later.’

‘Sure.’

Si grinned at Cara, and she leant towards him. I had a
fleeting
Argh! Voyeur alert!
moment and Jude said, ‘Er, I think we
should…’ but then Si raised the china mug he was holding to his lips to act as
a barrier.

‘Good coffee,’ he said after a taste.

Cara narrowed her eyes. ‘You being stand-offish or
something?’

‘’Course not.’

‘Hmm,’ said Cara. She’d always been highly perceptive. A
real problem when you were keeping secrets from her, I remembered. Poor Si.

‘Later,’ said Si, and I caught his eyebrow crook even from
this distance.

Cara relaxed and purred, ‘Later it is then.’

‘Scarlett,’ said Jude in a low voice. ‘We should –’

‘Shush,’ I whispered at him without taking my eyes off my
friends outside. ‘In a minute.’

Cara took a sip of coffee. ‘Oh, this is good,’ she said.
‘From the coffee supplier I told you about?’

‘Yep,’ said Si.

‘Made with the fancy new toy?’

‘Yep.’

‘No wonder it tastes so good.’

As they sipped in unison I thought back to the coffee Si had
made me that morning. Had it been amazing? To be honest, coffee was just coffee
to me.

Jude shifted closer to me and whispered, ‘I think we should
be going now.’

‘Going?’ I turned to him. ‘Where?’

‘Newquay,’ he said. ‘To find
Sienna
, remember?’

‘Well, yes, I know that,’ I snapped. ‘But right now?’

‘I was just trying to tell you: Si’s set us up down there…’

Laughter pulled my attention back to the scene outside. I’d
missed Cara’s laugh – deafening and musical.

‘
And
Swarovski-crystal encrusted knobs,’ Si was
saying. ‘All in all, it has everything you need in a coffee maker.’

Cara wiped her eyes. ‘Coffee bling,’ she said. ‘Whatever
next – gold-plated toasters?’

Si grinned. ‘Bejazzled blenders?’

I felt a tug on my arm. ‘Come
on
.’

‘Just a little longer, Jude.’

‘I don’t think –’

‘Please? I haven’t seen her in so long.’

‘I know, Scarlett. But we can’t just stay here, watching
them.’

‘Why not?’

‘It’s an invasion of their privacy.’

I sighed. Why did he always have to be right?

I was about to say, ‘All right then, what’s the plan?’, when
the sound of my own name pulled my attention away from Jude again. In the
garden, the mood seemed to have changed. Cara’s voice was quieter, her smile
not wide enough to bring the dimples to her cheeks. Si was staring silently
into his mug.

‘Did you ever go to hers for coffee?’ Cara was saying.

Si shook his head.

‘It was terrible. This cheap instant stuff. Pond sludge.
Worse than vending-machine coffee. I used to complain and she’d just say,
“Cara, coffee’s just coffee to me.”’

She remembered. She thought of me.
Oh, Cara.

‘Once,’ she said, giving a little, sad laugh, ‘near the end,
right before she… before she… well, she was distracted a lot, you know. In
pain. And she made me a coffee. And she plonked it in front of me. And I
knocked back a mouthful – really that was the only way to drink her coffee,
down it like cough mixture. And you know what it was? Gravy! Daft cow had
muddled coffee granules and gravy granules. I didn’t have the heart to tell
her, so I drank it.’

Cara took another sip of her drink.

‘Still,’ she said quietly. ‘Nice as this coffee is, I think
I preferred Scarlett’s. You know?’

Si said nothing, he just pulled Cara to his side. She leaned
her head on his shoulder and they sat quietly, Si looking towards the
summerhouse, Cara looking skyward.

And I couldn’t stand to be there, but not
be there
,
for another second.

I turned to Jude and grabbed his hand. ‘Take me away,’ I
told him. ‘Now. Please.’