Wild Blue Yonder (The Ceruleans: Book 3) (8 page)

Jude was waiting for me in the lounge. I’d known he was
there – had spotted his pale face peeking around the door several times during
my breakfast with Evangeline. As I stepped out, closing the door behind me, he
flung himself out of the armchair in which he was slumped and looked at me in
anticipation.

I thought about walking straight past him, up the stairs,
into my room and locking the doors. I knew what that meant: a sobathon. Like
Pavlov’s dog conditioned to slabber hungrily whenever a bell was rung, the
bedroom was becoming synonymous in my mind with emotional meltdown. Already,
terrible thoughts were pressing in at the edges of my mind, clamouring to be
heard:

Is it true? If I could escape here, if I could go back to
Luke, would a future together be impossible? Would the Cerulean in me pull us
apart, forcing distance and separation? Would he even be willing to try, given
what I am now?

‘No!’
I said aloud, causing Jude to take an
involuntary step back.

‘No…?’ he asked carefully.

I wouldn’t think about it all, not now. There’d be time
enough for thinking in the weeks – months? – to come. All the time ahead I
would be stuck here. Right now, what mattered was laying the foundation for my
escape route off this island. For amid the tumultuous thoughts in my head there
was one certainty: I would do anything,
anything
, to get away from here
and find my sister. And then? Well, I would work that out when the time came.

Jude was still standing uncertainly in front of me, his
hands twitching at his sides like he was fighting an urge to reach out to me.

‘The pine?’ I said to him.

Relief softened the lines on his face – relief that,
apparently, we were going to talk.

We put on boots and coats and slipped quietly out into the
icy morning. Outside, the sky was clear and blue. The snow underfoot was
slushy, but the odd patch of ice remained – the first we encountered on the
path leading away from the hotel would have felled me had it not been for
Jude’s quick hand on my arm, steadying me. He held me a little longer than was
necessary, and I looked up at him and smiled a thank you. His eyes widened a
little and he let go and said gruffly, ‘Be careful, hey?’

Along the cliff path to the pine tree, we retraced our own
footsteps from the day before in the snow, his large and well-spaced, mine
smaller and somewhat weaving. I wondered what Jude had been thinking last night
as he strode back along here in my wake, having dropped the bombshell that, in
Cerulean terms, he was mine and I was his. I looked at him covertly from beneath
my lashes. Dark shadows under his eyes spoke of a sleepless night and a nerve
in his jaw was working furiously.

Finally, we reached the cliff. Without speaking, we sank
down beneath the tree, resuming our positions of yesterday. For a moment,
neither of us moved, and then Jude picked up a twig and began scrubbing out the
‘Me’ that was still etched into the snow.

‘Jude,’ I said softly, and slowly he turned. The look in his
eyes reminded me of a magpie I had once healed – as it had lay in my lap,
dying, the sadness in its eyes had been palpable.

‘Jude,’ I began, ‘I have to ask… All this time. Every kind
thing you’ve done for me. Every time you’ve been a good friend. What was that,
Jude? Calculated design, to convince me to come here, to be with you here, or
genuine affection?’

‘I care,’ he said quickly. ‘How could I not care, Scarlett?
You’re impossible not to care about. I know that you think I’ve been deceptive
– lying to you, withholding the truth. But I would never lie about the stuff
that matters. I would never pretend to care when I felt the opposite.’

I studied him, this boy who cared. Because of course he
cared – I’d known that, deep down. It was evident in his every look, his every
word, his every touch. It had been from the first day, from the graveyard at St
Mary’s when he’d said ‘I know you’ in that velvety voice. Until now, though, it
had been too easy to dismiss any feelings he may have had – I was Luke’s, and
Luke was all that mattered – Luke and Scarlett, Scarlett and Luke.

But I saw it now: these past months I’d been blinkered. So
wrapped up in my own experience of dying and awakening in Cerulea, I hadn’t
once thought of events from Jude’s perspective. The times he’d saved my fragile
human body. The times I’d railed against him. The times I’d shut him out. The
times he’d held me as I cried. And then, this week. He’d sat beside me for long
hours as I refused to wake. He’d explained to me the facts of Cerulea, though
he knew each word drove a wedge between us. He’d gone to Luke for me, despite…

Was it true? Did he love me? Did he want the union that was
planned for us?

I didn’t know what to think or feel. But I knew that I was
done with lies.

I took a deep breath and said, ‘You say you’d never pretend
to care when you felt the opposite. Well, neither would I. I can’t lie to you,
Jude. I can’t put on an act and try to fool you that I love you. I don’t love
you. I love Luke.’

He closed his eyes.

‘I mean, I do care about you, Jude – don’t get me wrong.
You’re like… I don’t know, a good friend. A best friend even. But the way I
feel about you, it’s not…’

‘I know,’ he said bleakly.

I leaned back onto the tree and huffed a sigh of
frustration. ‘God, to have an end to all this angst! Honestly, I feel like I’m
trapped in an episode of
Dawson’s Creek
.’

Jude looked at me quizzically.

‘Late nineties’ teen drama? Love triangle? Chockfull of
deep-and-meaningfuls?’

Jude shook his head.

‘Joshua Jackson? Katie Holmes?’

‘Who?’

‘That actress Tom Cruise went nuts about – jumping off
Oprah’s sofa?’

Jude shrugged. ‘I’m not really into celebrity culture. Or
teen drama shows.’

‘Right,’ I said. ‘Well, I guess you’re not missing much.’

‘I watch sitcoms, though,’ offered Jude. ‘Funny ones. Does
that count?’

I stared at him. ‘Sitcoms?’

‘Boxsets, you know. That’s what we watch here. Anything dark
or supernatural is out. Which leaves sitcoms.
Big Bang Theory
.
How I
Met Your Mother
.
New Girl
.
Modern Family
.’

‘Oh,’ I said. This powerful, handsome, tattooed bloke
watched
The Big Bang Theory
? That was… surprising. ‘Do you realise,’ I
said thoughtfully, ‘that I know nothing about you really, beyond the fact that
you’re a Cerulean?’

‘Getting to know each other hasn’t really been top of the
agenda.’

There was a brief silence during which I picked at a loose
thread on my coat and tried to work out how to guide the conversation onwards.

‘It’s nice to talk to you,’ said Jude. ‘I mean, like this.
Just about… stuff. No big drama.’

‘Yeah. It has been a bit full on lately.’

‘Maybe we could do more of this?’

‘Yes,’ I agreed carefully. ‘But first… Jude, that day in the
garden at the cottage, on my birthday, that day you opened up this whole world
to me – you said I could save her, Sienna. She’s at the heart of everything.
She’s what matters most now. We have to get to her.’

‘Did you ask Evangeline?’

I nodded. ‘She’ll let us go, she said. As long as she is,
and I quote, “convinced of my loyalty and commitment”.’

‘I’m sure if you can convince her of that, she’ll let us go.
She… she wanted Sienna to be here too. She’ll be delighted if we can bring her
home.’

‘Just how far would I have to go to convince, Evangeline, do
you think?’

He looked at me, long and hard. ‘How far are you prepared to
go?’

My stomach twisted and I grabbed Jude’s hand and said,
‘Please, let’s just go. Now! We don’t need her to “let” us go. We don’t need
her permission.’

‘I’m sorry, Scarlett,’ said Jude, laying his free hand over
mine and squeezing tight. ‘I’m sorry. But I won’t go against Evangeline. It’s
how we’re brought up here – to respect our elders, and the Mother most of all.
And if I were to disobey her, the repercussions…’

‘What? A telling-off? Her disappointment?’ I shook off his
hand.

‘No, Scarlett. Banishment.’

‘She would banish you?’

‘Honestly? I don’t know. Only once in our history have Ceruleans
struck out alone, going against the wishes of the Mother, and they were cast
out.’

‘I don’t understand…’

‘The Fallen, Scarlett. They were once with us, and then they
broke away, and now they’re outcast and doomed. And if I went against
Evangeline –’

‘You’re frightened she would cut you off. But Jude, even if
she did, that doesn’t mean you’d be like them, the Fallen. Bad. It’s hard to
think of, I know, but you could go it alone. With me! We could split away
together.’

Excitement was mounting in me at the thought of our own
little independent Cerulean faction, based, of course, in Twycombe. But Jude
was shaking his head adamantly.

‘No, Scarlett, I won’t do that to Evangeline.’

‘Why? Seriously, Jude, what is this hold she has over you? The
way you tiptoe around her it’s like you’re a frightened kid with a dominating
par–’

I trailed off as realisation struck home.

‘That’s it, isn’t it? She’s your
mother
!’

‘I don’t know,’ he said heavily. ‘Maybe.’

We said nothing for a little while as I digested this new
information. Jude’s reticence to leave made a lot more sense now – he loved
Evangeline, as I loved my own mother, and a family bond trumped saving some
girl he’d only known fleetingly.

‘Okay,’ I said eventually. ‘We’ll do it your way. I’ll
convince Evangeline. But to do it, I’ll need your help. I’ll follow her rules.
I’ll show an interest in this place. I’ll come round to the idea of motherhood
Cerulea-style. And together, we’ll persuade her that we’re happy to be…
partners.’

His breath caught in his throat, but I didn’t give him a
chance to speak.

‘She was very clear about when we could go: after our
commitment
ceremony
.’

‘Scarlett…’

‘It’s a wedding, right? In Cerulean terms?’

He nodded slowly.

‘But it’s not legally binding or anything – it’s just some
ceremony?’

‘Yes.’

‘Right, well then – it’s meaningless,’ I said, hoping I
sounded convincing. ‘So that’s what we’ll do. We’ll play the game here, Jude,
until Evangeline is happy for us to leave, and then we’ll go. And we’ll find my
sister. And you’ll come back to Cerulea, where you belong.’

‘And you? And Sienna?’

I knew what he meant:
Where will you go, Scarlett? To
Cerulea, with me? To be my partner, my wife, the mother of my children, for the
rest of your life? Or will you run from me, from your own kind – run to Luke, a
guy you can never have a normal relationship with? And what about Sienna? Where
will she go? What will she do?

I stared at Jude for a very long time, deliberating what to
answer, and in the end I simply said, ‘I don’t know. I don’t know what we’ll
do. Just get me off this island. Please, Jude.
Please
. Sienna – all this
time since she died. I can’t bear it any more. I need an end to it. I need to
be with her. She’s my
sister
, she’s family, and she needs me.’

Jude reached out and thumbed a tear from my cheek. ‘I’ll
help you, Scarlett,’ he said. ‘And Sienna. Of course I will.’

The breath I’d been holding released in a rush and then the
tears came thick and fast. Jude scooted closer and put his arm around me.

‘I promise you,’ he murmured in my ear, ‘we’ll convince
Evangeline, and we’ll go and find Sienna, you and me. I promise.’

We sat for a long time gazing out to the sea and beyond – to
the mainland, invisible but tangible. Then, when my breathing was quiet and my
head clear, Jude slipped from my side and came to kneel in front of me.

‘What are you…?’

‘Shush,’ he said.

He was feeling in the back pocket of his jeans, and as I
watched he pulled out a ring – a simple silver band with a blue stone, the same
vibrant shade as the chalcanthite that had stood on my bedside at Twycombe, the
rock had been my sister’s, given to her by… Jude.

My heart was pounding as I looked at him.
Please don’t,
please don’t,
I recited inwardly, although I knew he must.

‘Scarlett,’ he said. He stopped and swallowed. Took a deep
breath. ‘Scarlett Blake, will you commit to me?’

No,
my heart cried.
Not Jude: Luke, Luke, Luke.

‘A faux-engagement?’ I said.

His eyes tightened a little but he smiled. ‘Yes, Scarlett,
as you wish – a faux-engagement, a faux-ceremony, a faux-partnership.’

I stared at him. The look in his eyes: he was so evidently
hurt. This was cruel to him, if he loved me. So why do it? Just to meet
Evangeline’s terms? I didn’t buy it. Perhaps he expected that in time I would
come to care for him that way too.

I thought of Luke.

I thought of Jude.

‘Yes,’ I whispered.

Jude slipped the ring onto my finger – third on the left –
and he leaned in and touched his forehead to mine.

And as easily as that, I was engaged to marry not the one I
loved but the one I was meant to love.

That year, spring was blessedly punctual. The winter had
been long and cold and bleak, and since my awakening I’d watched with soaring
hope each small sign of the new season to come – buds on the skeletal branches
of trees, the first green shoots of daffodils and crocuses, ewes carrying
lamb-filled bellies low, the sun rising just a little earlier each day.

But it wasn’t until the day that the clocks jumped forward
an hour, as if desperate to outrun the frigid fingers of winter, that I felt it
– the coming of a new chapter. It was as poet Emily Dickinson wrote: ‘a light
exists in spring’. The sun shone brightly and the skies glowed warmly and I saw
the first butterfly of the season, a blue one with black-tipped wings,
fluttering frenetically as if saying, ‘Look at me, I’m flying! I’m flying! I’m
alive and I’m flying!’

For how long, though, little butterfly?
I thought
gloomily.
Days? Weeks at best?
You’d have been better staying a lowly
caterpillar.
Then I gave myself a mental shake:
Cut it out! Stick on
that smile, girl.

‘Scarlett, you’re doing that thing again.’

‘Huh?’ I dragged my eyes off the butterfly and looked at my
companion.

‘Muttering under your breath,’ said Estelle. ‘You sound a
bit like the dog off that old
Stop the Pigeon
cartoon.’

‘Muttley?’

‘That’s the one.’

I had to laugh at that. She had a gift, Estelle, for making
me laugh. That was one of the reasons that during the past few months in
Cerulea we’d become good friends. That and the fact that we were the only
females here younger than forty and, as it turned out, we were both keen on
being out and about on the island, exploring, rather than stuck in the hotel
with the others all day. Estelle was easy company: chatty and cheery and kind.
But not without a spirited edge, which was why with her next words my chuckle
died in my throat…

‘You laugh a bit like Muttley too, come to think of it.’

I glared at her and she grinned and held up her hands.
‘Joke!’

I looked for the butterfly again, but it was gone. Flown
away out into the sunshine. Free. Stifling a sigh, I went back to work.

Yes, work. No sitting on a scenic clifftop and
butterfly-watching for me right now. Instead, I was sitting in a barn on a
stool in the early evening watching a different kind of animal entirely.
Actually, not just watching, but –

‘Scarlett! Watch! In the bucket, not on my feet!’

‘What? Oh, sorry.’ I re-angled Milly-the-cow’s udder so that
the regular squirts of milk hit their target. ‘Never thought I’d see the day
I’d be milking a cow,’ I said. ‘I was always more of a
buy-a-pint-at-the-supermarket kind of girl.’

‘I know what you mean,’ said Estelle from her precarious
perch on a tiny stool beside me. She was leaning over her belly and milking
Milly’s sister, Moomin, with gusto. ‘Though “proper” milk, as Nathaniel puts
it, is pretty delicious, occasionally I still miss Yahoo.’

‘Er, Yahoo? The Internet service provider?’

‘No. The milkshake brand. You know, that longlife milk stuff
in strawberry, banana and chocolate flavours. Far cry from
lait de Moonin
here. Kind of nice, though.’

‘You mean
Yazoo
…’

‘Oh yes. That’s it.’

She started humming, and I listened obediently, playing
Estelle’s much-loved game Name That Song. Only, as usual, I was stumped.

‘“Situation”,’ she said, rolling her eyes at my blank
expression. ‘Yazoo. You’re such a musical heathen.’

I poked my tongue out at her, and we returned to our tasks.
The barn around us was cool and cavernous, and empty but for the two cows and
us girls. Though when I’d first been taught to milk Milly I’d been kind of
revolted by the whole hand-to-udder aspect, I’d grown to enjoy the task. I was
rather fond of Milly, with her doleful eyes and her thunderous moos, and I’d
developed a taste for her creamy milk. But most of all, I liked the setting of
the chore. The barn was a place of sanctuary, away from the hotel and the
prying eyes that judged my every move.

For I was on trial, and I felt it. Not just with Evangeline,
but the other women and the elder men. Even with the likes of David and Adam
and Michael, I was under scrutiny. At least, that’s how it felt. Only Estelle
didn’t watch, didn’t judge. Because she’d been in my shoes, to a degree, just a
couple of years back, and she understood the time it took to understand and
accept the Cerulean way. She didn’t expect me to click instantly with the
expectations laid down for me here. Neither did she expect me to be head over
heels for Jude, because I’d gone so far as admitting to Estelle that there was
someone else, had been someone else. She was there for me, and in this shadowy
barn I had some freedom to cast off the character I played elsewhere and relax.
Still, it was a restricted freedom, because although I liked Estelle, I couldn’t
risk telling her the full truth. And so she was operating under the assumption
that while my feelings for Jude were complicated, I was prepared to work
through them and be with him.

‘You’re right, though. I do miss Yahoo!’ said Estelle
absently beside me. ‘And Google. Great for researching my novel.’

‘And BBC News,’ I added, ‘for some idea of what’s going on
in the world.’

‘And Amazon. Ah, books.’

‘And YouTube. For clips of rollerblading cats.’

‘Essential. And even Facebook sometimes, though not the irritating
status updates – “Melissa Oldridge is at Starbucks with Bob Ballawade”;
seriously, who cares?’

‘Yeah, I was never much into that. Still…’

I left the sentence hanging, and neither of us finished it.
In the past months, we’d increasingly found ourselves drifting into the
dangerous territory of missing what was gone, which felt a step too close to
questioning our lives here. Of course, I was full of questions and concerns
about life on this island, but I wasn’t going to voice them to Estelle. And as
for her… I didn’t know how deep her feelings of loss ran.

Estelle was my friend, but in many ways she was an enigma.
Outwardly, she did a superb job of being a good, obedient, accepting Cerulean.
But something about her presence here was incongruous, and not only because she
took style tips from the Goth Bible. She seemed too intelligent, too cultured,
too modern-thinking to fit in within this strange micro-society. Whatever it
was that kept her loyal wasn’t obvious to me, but it seemed to me that the word
safe
cropped up fairly often in conversation.

She stood now and rubbed her lower back with deep, kneading
movements. Her swollen stomach jutted out all the more for her arched back, and
I reflected, not for the first time in the past couple of weeks, that surely
she couldn’t get any bigger.

She saw me looking. ‘I’m a whale, huh?’

‘No!’ I said automatically. ‘You’re pregnant. That’s a
beautiful thing.’

‘It is.’ She stroked her hands over her tummy lovingly. ‘Go
on,’ she said. ‘Ask. Isn’t it about time you asked? I know you’re curious.’

I was curious. And confused. And concerned.

‘I… well… I just wondered…’ I began eloquently, and then
gave myself a mental slap and blurted out: ‘You’re not anxious about the
birth?’

She tilted her head on one side, her thinking position.
‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m not worried. Not really. I mean, I’ll feel better when
he’s here, of course.’

‘About that. Shouldn’t you have had prenatal care?
Ultrasounds and all that? And shouldn’t there be, I don’t know – a team of
doctors on standby for when he comes?’

She laughed. ‘Honestly, Scarlett, women have been giving
birth for millennia without some doctor sticking his oar in with cameras and
tests. All ultrasounds do is establish that the baby’s growing right. That’s
academic here. There’s never been a Cerulean baby that wasn’t perfectly formed
and born in perfect health, you know. Evangeline told me. And even if something
were to be wrong, we can heal that.’

‘Right,’ I said. ‘So that’s, well, a lot less stressful.’

‘And we’ve no need for drugs – epidurals and the like.’

‘It doesn’t hurt?’

‘Well, I wouldn’t say it’s a walk in the park, but with the
other women around laying hands on you, the pain is bearable.’

‘Good,’ I said. ‘That’s… good.’

Estelle beamed at me. ‘Honestly, Scarlett, don’t worry about
it. Just like milking these cows, it’s entirely natural – and wonderful. The
day I had my first baby? Best of my life.’

‘Really?’

‘You sound surprised.’

‘It’s just… not your commitment ceremony with Adam?’

‘That was lovely, of course. I love Adam very much. But a
baby –
your
baby. The feelings that flood through you; it’s like nothing
on earth.’

I studied her. She looked so alight, so impassioned. She
loved pregnancy, she loved motherhood; that was evident. Still, I couldn’t help
it – the words flooded out:

‘But to love a baby that much, and then give him up…’

‘I don’t see it that way,’ she said at once. ‘I’m not giving
him up, I’m letting him go to make room for the next one.’ Now her eyes, edged
with black, couldn’t quite meet mine, and I wondered. I wondered.

But quickly she smiled again and said eagerly, honestly, ‘To
experience all that love all over again… I can’t wait.’

I busied myself collecting up the containers of milk.

‘You’ll see,’ said Estelle.

‘What?’ I mumbled, focused on pouring the milk into a
plastic canister to take to Nathaniel.

‘You’ll see what a gift we’ve been given, bearing these
children. Won’t be long now; this little one is running out of room. Trying to
kick an exit hatch through my ribcage. Just wait, Scarlett. It’ll be
beautiful…’

I nearly dropped the milk as I swung around to look at her.
‘What will be?’

‘The birth.’

‘The birth of your child? You’re thinking I’ll
be
there? Estelle…’

But she was already talking again: ‘Well, of course you
will! All the women attend births. It’s part of our role here, to assist and
soothe and heal and then celebrate. Hey, I’ll let you cut the cord!’

I had to reach out and grip the table to steady myself.
‘When are you due again?’

‘Three weeks. The week after your commitment ceremony.’

Thank goodness for that. Evangeline would okay Jude and me
leaving the island after the ceremony, and we’d be long gone by the time
Estelle and Adam’s baby made his appearance.
Hang on in there, baby April,
I
willed silently.

‘All done here,’ I told Estelle. ‘Shall we?’

She nodded, and we left the barn together, her waddling
along like a penguin after a fish feast, and me staggering under the weight of
a very full canister of milk – Milly and Moomin had been on fine form today. As
we headed along the path to the kitchen door, I scrabbled around for something
to say. But as was usual for me these days, my thoughts were sluggish – the
result, no doubt, of a head full of unexpressed thoughts and feelings and the
strain of putting on an act most of the time. So it was Estelle who spoke
first, and on the very last subject I wanted to discuss (well, after umbilical
cords).

‘Speaking of ceremonies,’ she said, ‘how are arrangements
going for your commitment ceremony?’

‘Evangeline is organising it all,’ I said quietly. ‘There’s
nothing for me to do.’

‘Well, yes, I know – she organised our day as well, Adam’s
and mine. Her gift to us. But still, you get to style yourself.’

I winced at the words – imagine the honour, a bride getting
to pick out her own dress – but said only, ‘All arranged.’

‘Really? Because I’m happy to help…’

I shook my head. ‘Thanks, but I’m fine.’

‘Dress sorted?’

‘Yes.’

‘Shoes?’

‘Yes.’

‘Hair?’

‘Yes.’

‘Makeup?’

‘Yes.’

‘Jewellery?’

‘Yes.’

‘Underwear?’

I gulped but managed to eject a ‘Yes’.

Estelle looked a little deflated. ‘Oh, well. That’s very
organised of you.’

We entered the yard outside the kitchen door, picking our
way through a brood of chickens, and I shifted the weight of the milk canister
awkwardly in my arms, cursing how puny I was – it seemed a long time since I’d
been fit and active, surfing with Luke and taking long walks on the cliffs with
Chester.

‘Can you manage?’ asked Estelle. ‘Do you want me to…’

‘No! Don’t be silly. You’re pregnant.’

The kitchen door opened and Jude stepped out, hands already
reaching up as he hurried across the yard to help.

‘I can
manage
,’ I began insistently, but the canister
was slipping from my bear-hug fast, and as I shifted to try to get a grasp on
its bottom, my trainer skidded in a patch of ripe chicken poop and I fell
backwards, hard and fast thanks to the added weight of the milk. Emitting an
unladylike
Ooof!
, I landed flat on my back and my head made indelicate
contact with the not-so-soft concrete paving.

‘Scarlett!’

Two voices in unison – Estelle’s, high and breathy, and
Jude’s, low and anxious.

For a moment I lay there, blinking up at the sky,
remembering other days like these, not so long ago, when I’d been looking
heavenward with someone shouting my name. In the lane by the cottage, when I’d
brained myself on the tarmac. At the zoo, when I’d collapsed before the tiger
enclosure. On the clifftop, after the fire. Luke’s voice. Luke.

‘Scarlett?’ Jude’s face was looming over me, his hands
smoothing away hair. ‘Scarlett, are you hurt? Your head – you hit your head?
Don’t cry, don’t cry, it’s okay. I’ll heal it.’

I was crying?

‘Oh,’ I said quickly, lifting a hand to rub away tears. ‘I’m
sorry. I didn’t mean to. I was remembering the other times, in Twycombe –’