Devil and the Deep (The Ceruleans: Book 4)

by Tayte, Megan

  ‘It’s a shock, I know.’

  ‘But if you’re not going to go looking for your father then nothing really changes, does it?’

  I heard the hope in his voice, and I echoed, ‘No, nothing really changes.’

  ‘And if Hugo’s right, he’s not someone you’d want in your life anyway. I mean, there must be a good reason your mum made a new life and never told you about him.’

  ‘That’s true.’

  ‘And to challenge your mum on it means risking hurting her, and she’s so happy now, and you two are getting on so well.’

  ‘I know,’ I said. He was voicing my own thoughts.

  ‘Sometimes the right choice – the brave choice – is to do nothing at all.’

  I exhaled and relaxed. He was right, and I was so relieved to hear him sounding like himself again.

  We were quiet for a while, letting the rhythm of the ocean and the freshness of the breeze soothe away the drama of the past couple of hours. It was the calmest I’d felt in days, since before Hollythwaite, since before Cerulea, since our date, when we’d kissed in the folly and then come home and –

  Luke. Me. In bed. Together.

  My mellow mood disintegrated and I felt my pulse pounding in my temples. In my retelling of the weekend’s events I’d omitted the part where I discovered the potential consequence of intimacy for Luke and me. I’d told myself in Luke’s living room that it was private, not something to blurt out in front of his sister and our friend. But now that we were alone, there was no reason not to ’fess up to Luke.

  No reason? But there was! There was fear, huge, swamping fear. That this would be the final straw for Luke. That he’d be repelled by the thought of a child like me someday.

  The Bible verse – my mantra yesterday – crept back into my head: ‘The truth will set you free.’ But as far as I could see, the only freedom that would follow this truth was from each other, an end to our relationship. The thought of that made a beast inside me twist and claw and roar. Freedom from Luke, for me, would mean imprisonment in sadness.

  Like my mother.

  It wasn’t the first time since I’d returned from Hollythwaite that I’d made the connection. Around my age, Mum had fallen in love with a Cerulean. She’d loved him, but the love hadn’t been enough. She’d told Hugo that Rafe had hurt her terribly, and he’d taken that to mean my father was a bad man. But perhaps the explanation was as simple as a Cerulean struggling to be with a human. Perhaps Rafe’s constant absences were what hurt my mother. Perhaps the intimate moments that had led to the conception of two children were lapses, not the norm. Perhaps my mother was trapped in a relationship with a distant man harbouring secrets, and she decided that she and her children deserved better. Perhaps my father hadn’t abandoned us at all, but had stepped back respectfully to let us have normal lives.

  Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. Luke was right: there was so much guesswork going on. And yet was I really prepared to take the consequences of pushing for the truth?

  As if sensing my inner turmoil, Luke hugged me harder and I took a ragged breath.

  Cara had said tonight that lying is always wrong. And not broaching the intimacy subject with Luke was lying by omission. But then Luke was no advocate of quests for the truth. He wanted nothing to change.

  ‘So you’re decided?’ he pressed. ‘You’ll leave it be?’

  It being the truth about my father. But could it not just as easily mean the truth about us – our future?

  I looked up at Luke. So much hope in his eyes.

  ‘Yes,’ I told him. ‘I’m going to just let it all be.’

  And then I kissed away all his fears, until we were right back where we belonged.

  PART 2: THE BLOOD-DIMMED TIDE

  17: ENTRANCES AND EXITS

  The first indication that there was something wrong was not pain, but a cloying metallic smell that had become all too familiar to me in recent months.

  The second was a spurt of crimson where crimson ought not to be: across a head of lettuce on a chopping board.

  The third was an unpleasant tilting sensation and the muffling of voices around.

  The fourth:

  ‘Scarlett! Quick, apply pressure. Lift your arm up – lift your arm up! Cara, get the first-aid kit! Si, go find Jude or Michael – now! Scarlett, it’s okay, just sit here and keep that arm up.’

  I stared at Luke. His expression, already fraught that day, had snapped up a gear into wild. He turned to bark orders at Cara, who was unclipping a large green box she’d pulled off the wall.

  I looked at my hand, which Luke was holding up in the air as if posing me as the Statue of Liberty. I recognised the tea towel wrapped around it. I’d given it to Luke just this morning. It had once been white but it was rapidly turning red. Well, I thought, at least the staining would match the lettering printed on it…

  ‘Keep Calm and Carry On,’ I told Luke.

  ‘What?’ he barked. ‘Oh, the towel. Don’t worry about that now – we’ll buy another. No, Cara! This is way beyond a sticking plaster! Gauze pads – all of them!’

  I reached out with my good hand to stroke his face. Then realised I was still holding a very large – and, apparently, very sharp – knife in it.

  ‘Er…’

  Luke snapped around and swore. ‘Give me that before you stab yourself with it!’

  I smiled as I handed it to him. ‘Calm down, Luke. I’m fine.’

  ‘You’re not fine! There’s blood everywhere! You’re as white as a sheet! I knew I shouldn’t let you in the kitchen!’

  I shushed him. ‘You’re just stressed because of the big opening. It’s okay. We’ve got hours to go yet. Just breathe.’

  ‘I AM NOT STRESSED ABOUT THE CAFE, SCARLETT BLAKE, I AM STRESSED BECAUSE YOU’VE HACKED OFF THE TOP OF YOUR FINGER RIGHT INTO MY OAK LEAF LETTUCE!’

  Despite the pain throbbing in my finger, a giggle escaped me.

  ‘It’s not funny!’

  ‘It is a little,’ said Cara, grinning as she handed over a stack of compress pads. ‘Honestly, you sound like you’re more bothered about the lettuce damage than the Scarlett damage.’

  Luke’s jaw dropped. ‘Scarlett… I didn’t mean… you know I’m not… I just can’t stand to see you hurt!’

  ‘Well then,’ said a voice from the door, ‘let’s sort that right away.’

  Jude sloped over and took my uninjured hand and Luke shifted over at once to make room for him.

  ‘It’s her index finger! Spurting!’

  ‘Relax. It’s easily fixed.’

  ‘So much blood! Took the top off!’

  ‘Luke,’ said Cara. ‘Shut up and look.’

  We all watched the blue blur leaking out between Jude’s hand and mine.

  ‘Done,’ he said.

  ‘Thanks mucho,’ I said cheerily. Then: ‘Luke, you can let go of my hand now.’

  ‘Right. Sorry.’

  I shook off the tea towel and inspected my finger. Gunky but perfect.

  ‘And that, folks,’ said Cara, ‘brings an end to today’s Emergency Rescue: Lettuce Special.’

  Si, leaning in the doorway, laughed and Cara sashayed over to him. ‘C’mon, we’ve at least a hundred more balloons to blow up.’

  Jude followed them – he’d been tasked with front-of-house prep as well today.

  ‘Thank you, Jude,’ called Luke.

  ‘No worries,’ he said easily.

  Luke turned back to me as soon as we were alone. ‘You sure you’re okay? You still look pale.’

  ‘I’m fine, honest. Sorry for all the excitement. Who knew knives were so sharp, eh?’

  ‘Who knew that before even opening the cafe I’d do my first firing.’

  ‘You can’t be serious.’

  ‘I’m deathly serious. You are hereby banned from all kitchen duties. Your job is to float about out front and be charming, or stay out of my way back here and be equally charming. Got it?’

  ‘Got it. Now will you please just breathe.’ />
  He did – deeply. Then touched his forehead to mine. ‘I do appreciate you being here, you know. Everyone being here. Especially those with healing powers, as it turns out.’

  ‘We’re all happy to help, Luke. It’s going to be amazing.’

  ‘Honestly?’

  ‘Honestly. Now keep calm and carry on.’

  ‘Okay.’

  I stood up. ‘I’ll get out of your hair and go help the others out front.’

  Luke gave me a pointed head-to-toe look, and I glanced down and took in my blood-splattered jeans and t-shirt and red-streaked hand and arm.

  ‘Yes, well. I meant I’ll help the others after cleaning up.’

  He stepped a little closer and slid a hand around my back, under my t-shirt, and said huskily, ‘I could help you off with those clothes, if you like?’

  ‘Oh, you’re far too busy for that,’ I said brightly. ‘I left my change of clothes in the ladies’ room, so I’ll clean up in there.’

  I planted a quick kiss on his lips, and then turned and hurried out of the kitchen before I could see the disappointment in his eyes.

  *

  I took my time in the ladies’ room. I’d played it cool with Luke, but I was revolted by all the blood and I wanted it off me, every last bit. I locked the door, stripped to my underwear, shoved the soiled clothes into a carrier bag, filled the sink, added lots of hand soap and scrubbed my skin mercilessly with paper towels. Then I pulled on my outfit for the opening – a Cara customisation.

  Luke had fixed a full-length mirror to the back of the ladies’ room door (he’d been mystified by women wanting to preen while out for a panini, but Cara had been adamant that the mirror was essential). I stepped over to it now and took a long, hard look.

  The girl in the mirror looked a little like the old me, the Scarlett who’d come to the cove more than a year ago. She was petite and curvy and her hair was more blond than auburn. But her dress was more daring than she’d have worn then: off-the-shoulder and a look-at-me shade of green. And her eyes were shadowed by more than mascara-clad lashes, and I thought I could see the lies in them.

  Lie 1: I’m happy with my quiet life of limited healing and limited time with those I love. I’m not lonely; I’m fulfilled.

  Lie 2: I’ve completely let go of wondering who my father is and why my mother has hidden him from me. The past is meaningless to me.

  Lie 3: I really love kissing Luke and holding him. And I don’t need to go any further.

  They may be unspoken, lived rather than blurted out, but they were lies all the same, and they haunted me.

  The girl in the mirror had hunched shoulders and a turned-down mouth and the look of a meek little victim. All at once I wanted to slap her.

  ‘Stop it,’ I hissed. ‘This is Luke’s day.’

  As I watched, the girl raised her chin and straightened her shoulders.

  ‘Good,’ I told her.

  If lies were the price I paid for being with Luke, so be it. He was happy. We were happy. Love, for us, was enough.

  *

  Come three o’clock that afternoon the cafe was heaving with excited, smiling, chatting people, among them just about everyone Luke and Cara knew, and a few who were connected to me: Mum, Jude, Michael and – after a ‘TA DA!’ entrance that bemused most people present but left Jude, Michael and me reeling in shock – Adam and Estelle.

  I did my best, while handing out glasses of champagne and orange juice, to catch up with everyone I knew. Jude was the first, and the simplest by far to chat to:

  Jude: Hey. You doing okay?

  Me: Good. You?

  Jude: Good. Did you sort it with Luke?

  Me: Yes.

  Jude: Good.

  Me: Well, thanks for coming and helping…

  Michael was next; I only just caught him in time after seeing him slip away from the crowd onto the beach.

  Me: Michael, wait a minute. Are you going?

  Michael: Yes. Too many people.

  Me: Well, thank you for coming. And for the artworks! Everyone’s commenting on them.

  Michael: And the family tree I emailed you, did it help?

  Me: It did, thanks, but I’m done with genealogy for now. Right, I’d better get back...

  There was no need to track Estelle down – once she’d managed to foist Adam off onto Jude she cornered me.

  Estelle: Ta da!

  Me: You said that already. What the heck are you doing here?

  Estelle: Nice. Where’s the big welcome?

  Me: Welcome. Now what the heck are you doing here? How did you get here?

  Estelle: We Travelled.

  Me: Does Evangeline know?

  Estelle: Nope.

  Me: So you’ve got Adam creeping about – how does he feel about it?

  Estelle: He took some convincing. But he loves me and wants me to be happy.

  Me: Evangeline’s going to find out and flip out.

  Estelle: Yep and yep. We’re telling her when he get back.

  Me: What!

  Estelle: The fact I’m going back to the island says it all – I can be trusted to Travel.

  Me: Blimey. Good luck telling Evangeline that.

  Estelle: Isn’t it brilliant? Now we can do coffee sometimes! And swap books! Oh, I’ve been reading the Divergent series. Have you read it? I’m LOVING those books.

  Me: I haven’t, but I know someone who has, and I have a feeling you’ll hit it off. Cara! Over here. There’s someone I want you to meet…

  I took my time going over to my mother. Since we’d greeted each other briefly, I’d busied myself elsewhere. I felt like she’d take one look at me and know that I knew her secret. Finally, I saw her sitting at a table on the outside decking with Grannie Cavendish, who was on fine form today, having been brought out for a rare outing. I weaved my way over and was about to join them when I heard my name, and I stopped, concealed behind a lattice screen, and listened.

  Mum: Scarlett. That’s right. I’m her mum.

  Grannie: Oh. So you’re Peter’s daughter. Elizabeth.

  Mum: That’s right.

  Grannie: Peter and Alice were friends with my husband and me, you know.

  Mum: I remember, yes. Your son Ryan was at school with me.

  Grannie: So he was! He’s passed on now, dear.

  Mum: I heard. I’m sorry.

  Grannie: And my Mike.

  Mum: Such a shame.

  Grannie: And your parents.

  Mum: That’s right.

  Grannie: And your other daughter.

  Mum: Yes. Yes, we lost her.

  Grannie: And that chap of yours that Peter got all het up about.

  Mum: Well, no, Mrs Cavendish, he didn’t die.

  Grannie: Got lost, though, didn’t he?

  Mum: Um…

  Grannie: That’s angels for you, dear. Flighty.

  Mum: Angels?

  Grannie: He was one of those bluey ones, wasn’t he? First one I met, in fact.

  Mum: Er…

  Grannie: Scarlett’s a good girl, isn’t she?

  Mum: Yes, she is.

  Grannie: Makes my Ryan happy.

  Mum: Luke?

  Grannie: Where?

  Mum: I mean Scarlett is with Luke, your grandson.

  Grannie: That’s what I said, dear. And they make a fine couple. Like Snow White and the prince.

  Mum: Mmm, lovely.

  Grannie: Do you know, though, it’s a lesson to us all in eating apples, isn’t it?

  Mum: Right. Because, er, one a day keeps the doctor away…

  Grannie: No, dear. Snow White bites into one and that’s it, she’s a gonner.

  Mum: Oh yes. I see.

  Grannie: But the dwarves soon got the evil queen! Bham!

  And with that Grannie Cavendish broke into a chorus of ‘Whistle While You Work’ fused quite confusingly with The Wizard of Oz’s ‘Ding-Dong the Witch Is Dead’. I took pity on Mum and came around to the table.

  ‘Scarlett!’ said my mother warmly. If
her conversation with Grannie Cavendish had bothered her, she gave no hint of it now. ‘Have you got time to join us for a little while?’

  And so I pulled up a chair and settled between the two ladies, and we talked about the cafe launch, and then the big wedding fair coming up, and then the impossible love triangle between a human girl, a boy who refused to grow up and a small fairy with an indecently short green dress and a tendency to expire if children worldwide didn’t clap often.

  *

  Later, the cafe was shadowy and cool and quiet and empty, but for Luke wiping down surfaces and me sweeping the floors.

  ‘You should go,’ he said for the umpteenth time.

  ‘I’m fine,’ I replied for the umpteenth time.

  ‘But you’ve been here since mid-morning, and there were so many people. You must be dead on your feet.’

  I ignored him and focused on combining two small piles of crumbs into one. ‘It was a good day, wasn’t it? Despite the bloody beginning.’

  ‘It was a good day. Did you see the local journalist?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘He took pictures.’

  ‘You’ll be mobbed once those go in the paper – everyone’ll want to check the place out.’

  I swung around a little too fast and the room didn’t quite keep pace with me, so I grabbed a nearby table.

  Luke, cleaning with his back to me across the room, replied easily, ‘Mobbed? I hope not. A steady trickle will do me until everything’s running like clockwork.’

  I shook my head to clear it and went back to sweeping.

  ‘But you’ve got the staff,’ I said. ‘Cara for at least a few hours each day, and Si part time, and Lucy, and Mrs Hobbs, and me when I can manage.’

  Luke stopped and turned to me. ‘Not you,’ he said firmly.

  ‘I want to help.’

  ‘And I want time with you, Scarlett. But there’ll be hardly any if you’re wearing yourself out around people all the time.’ His eyes narrowed and he peered at me. ‘Like you have today.’

  I said nothing. The truth was, I felt shocking. Really quite weird. But I’d never admit that to him.

  Gesturing with my broom to a nearby painting, I said, ‘Michael’s a good artist, isn’t he?’

  ‘Really good,’ said Luke. ‘The guy’s wasted as an art teacher – he could make a living out of painting.’