Darkly, Deeply, Beautifully

by Megan Tayte

  Perhaps I’d have looked up then and thanked the heavens for people like Frank and Jessie. But my own Frank was walking towards me now. And though the look in his eyes was everything a girl could wish for – admiration, love, longing – a single glance at him was enough to turn poignancy, for me, into something far less romantic.

  ‘Scarlett,’ he said, stopping right in front of me. ‘You look… wow. You’re gorgeous.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I managed.

  He raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Sorry,’ I said, fighting the imminent grin. ‘You… what…?’

  ‘I’m Poseidon,’ he said, ‘god of the sea.’ He put one hand on his hip and raised, in the other, his trident. It wobbled floppily, and a bit of tinfoil caught the breeze and floated away.

  A hiccup wracked through me, and I clamped a hand to my mouth.

  ‘Hey,’ said Luke. ‘Given the fact that Cara expected me to stroll about in nothing more than a toga thing, I think I did pretty well improvising.’

  I took in again his white t-shirt, on which he’d drawn a wonky six-pack; and his denim cut-offs, poking out from a scrummed-up bedsheet around his hips; and his shoes, from which brown ribbons crisscrossed up his calves in what I assumed was an attempt at ancient Greek sandal re-creation, but looked a lot more like flip-flop-meets-ballerina-slipper.

  It was too much. The laughter surged up and erupted. And it wasn’t kind. And it wasn’t ladylike, or even mermaid-like. But it was powerful. Because then Luke’s lips were trembling too and his eyes were softening, and for the first time since the day of all the death, he really smiled at me.

  And I knew that in that deepest place inside him, just for now, he wasn’t curled up in a ball, blocking out hot flames all around. He was surfing with me.

  *

  If the definition of a good party is plenty of food, plenty of drink, plenty of tunes, plenty of chat, plenty of laughter and everyone in the world you most want to see there with you, then it was a good party. The best party.

  The ‘Come Together Party’ (so read the fliers Si and Cara had distributed all over) was also, Si told me confidently, the biggest in Twycombe history. Added to everyone Si and Cara knew – all of the surfing crowd, plus Si’s vast collection of friends from all over – were all the cafe staff and a good turnout of villagers, including Dan of Dan’s Dive Shop and Mr Fry from the chippie and even Mrs Hobbs and Mrs Bennet, neighbours of my old friend Bert.

  In addition, scattered through the cafe and spilling out onto the beach was a sizeable contingent of Vindicos, quite obviously in the habit of partying hard and willing to make a fool of themselves in costumes, and a smaller group of Ceruleans, quite obviously daunted and not entirely on board with the fancy dress, but there all the same. Out of curiosity, I thought, on both sides, more than a genuine desire to get to know each other at this point. They didn’t mingle, so far as I could see – other than Estelle talking to Sienna and Jude. But that would come. Perhaps.

  And finally, scattered among the throngs of people eating and talking and dancing and eying each other up: family.

  Jude and Sienna and Jack came early on, when Si was careful to keep the music down. Jack – a rotund and rosy pumpkin – crawled delightedly about the beach with Chester, and then settled on my lap with a plateful of sausage rolls. Sienna – a fairy – hugged me often, and was the height of charming to everyone who spoke to her, but she stuck close to Jude. Who was… polite; that was the best that could be said for him. He was withdrawn and haunted and so clearly not coping that soon Sienna whispered a goodbye in my ear and took Jude’s hand and led him away.

  Gabe came too. He was sad, still, sadder than I was – because he hadn’t seen Michael as I had, I think. But to everyone else he was the man I’d met in London: open, friendly and demonstrating a decent sense of humour with his costume choice: Batman. He tried to corner me at one point, to talk about tomorrow – the Big Day. But he and I had talked enough recently. So I extracted myself by exclaiming ‘Oh, this is my song!’ and pulling Cara onto the makeshift floor by Si’s decks, where she gamely joined me in some uptown funking.

  I danced a lot that night. With Cara. With Si. With Estelle and Adam, who brought along little Alex. With surfer friends. And with Luke of course, most often with Luke – who, during the opening chords of Example’s ‘Watch the Sun Come Up’, had abandoned his post at the buffet table, where Mrs Hobbs and Mrs Bennet were admiring his felt-tip pecs, to live it up with the rest of us.

  It was Grannie Cavendish who hauled me off the dance floor in the end. Quite literally – she used her tresses as a lasso. Over the course of the evening Luke and Cara and Gabe had tried to coax her into going home, but each had earned a plait round the chops for their efforts. Finally, when Gabe said, ‘But you need your sleep…’ and she replied, ‘I’ll sleep when I’m dead, thank you very much’, they gave up. Hence a hyped-up octogenarian cowboy-Rapunzel snagging me and pulling me in for a little chat.

  ‘Are you having fun, Grannie?’ I asked as I sat down on the chair beside her.

  ‘Oh yes,’ she said. ‘And you, little mermaid?’

  ‘Yes.’ I laughed. ‘Yes!’

  ‘I always liked her, you know.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Ariel. The mermaid.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘She’s best friends with a fish!’

  ‘Who wouldn’t want that?’

  ‘Ariel, silly. Who wants a fish tail instead of legs?’

  ‘Well…’

  ‘Gives it all up, she does. Just to be normal. And be with that Eric chap.’

  Grannie’s eyes were sparkling. I knew her too well by now to dismiss this little exchange as a random rambling.

  ‘Grannie,’ I said, ‘have you been talking to Gabriel?’

  ‘Oh yes. Did you know he’s a vampire?’

  ‘Er, no.’

  ‘Definitely. It’s the cape that gives it away.’

  ‘Batman’s cape, Grannie.’

  ‘Whose?’

  ‘Batman. He’s a superhero.’

  ‘Well, he’ll be needing his cape back then, I should think.’

  ‘What I mean, Grannie, is have you and Gabriel been talking about me?’

  ‘No, dear. We’ve been talking about happy-ever-afters. You know, like in Sleeping Beauty and Cinderella and The Little Mermaid? But not in Monsters Inc. I didn’t like that one who looked like a pea.’

  ‘And what were you saying about ever-afters?’ I probed gently.

  ‘Oh, just what that man needed to hear – he’s always needed a little guidance. Gabriel thought it meant forever, but I put him straight. It means for however long you have. Because Mike and me, we were happy-ever-after, you see.’

  ‘I see,’ I said. I reached across and hugged her. ‘Thank you,’ I whispered in her ear.

  She patted me on the back. ‘That’s what Rapunzels are for, dear.’

  *

  Later, much later, when the sky was thick and black, and the beach was silent, and Luke and I were alone in the cafe, I told him what Grannie Cavendish had said. But he didn’t say anything in reply; he just turned away and wiped an already spotless table.

  ‘Luke,’ I said. ‘Please. There are better ways to spend this night than cleaning.’

  The cloth stilled. His shoulders tensed.

  ‘How about a walk on the beach?’ I suggested. ‘Blow away the cobwebs?’

  Slowly, he nodded and dropped the cloth.

  I sat on a chair to take off my sandals. Luke sat too and set to work on his footwear. My feet were free in moments and I laid them down flat, savouring the coolness of the floor tiles on my aching soles. Beside me, Luke let out a frustrated grunt.

  ‘Stupid… bloomin’… scissors, where are the –’

  I shushed him and dropped to my knees and took his foot onto my lap. Gently, I worked my way through knots in ribbons until flip-flops flopped to the floor.

  I looked up, smiling.

  Luke was not smiling. Luke was cryi
ng.

  I knelt up tall then and pulled him to me and whispered anything, everything, to calm him, from hush to not tonight to it’s okay to please.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said when he could speak again.

  ‘Don’t be,’ I told him.

  I took his hand and we stood and we left the cafe and we walked and we walked until we were shivering. And then we climbed the cliff path to the cottage, for our last night. Only this time, we didn’t light candles. We made a fire between us to hold back the darkness.

  I left Luke the next morning soon after the sun rose. I left him asleep, as I’d told him I would. He hadn’t wanted it that way; he’d fought to stay awake all night. But finally, his eyes had closed and his breathing had deepened and his grip on me had eased enough for me to slip away. It was easier that way. It saved him struggling to let me go.

  I set the alarm on his clock before I left, so he’d be awake in time for Jude coming to fetch him. To London. Where we would see each other again. Only we wouldn’t be alone then.

  I didn’t bother dressing or showering or breakfasting at the cottage. That would just wake Luke, and Chester downstairs. I took the clothes I’d laid out the day before and I Travelled to my old room on the island. There I ran a bath and scrubbed off the last of yesterday’s makeup and hairspray and glitter. I dressed in my most comfortable jeans and tee and the kind of cardie that feels like a giant hug, and I stood on the balcony, looking out over Cerulea, and brushed my hair until no tangle remained.

  Then I walked across the room to the connecting door and I knocked on it incessantly until my knuckles were raw and finally, finally, it swung open.

  ‘We need to talk,’ I told Jude, who looked like he’d had about as much sleep as me, but for very different reasons.

  ‘I’m busy,’ he said. ‘I have to get ready for the meeting.’

  ‘You’re not busy,’ I said. ‘You’re hiding. As you have been all week. And the meeting isn’t for another hour, so you have time to talk to me.’

  I pushed forward and he stumbled back and I followed him into his room. It was dark in there and it smelled musty.

  ‘Shower,’ I instructed.

  He didn’t move.

  ‘Don’t make me go get my sister,’ I warned.

  It was meant to be a joke, but even in the gloom I saw the way his fists clenched. I reached out and grabbed one. Squeezed it.

  ‘Today’s the day, Jude. You can’t get out of talking to me now.’

  He stood still for a long moment and I thought he was going to fight me. But then his shoulders slumped and he shuffled away, into the bathroom, and I heard him mutter, ‘Sometimes, I swear I miss the old, meek Scarlett.’

  By the time he emerged, ten minutes later, looking if not a little more himself then at least awake and clean, I’d thrown open the curtains, shoved most of the mess into the wardrobe and made us both a strong coffee.

  I handed him his mug, and he took it and gulped and grimaced. ‘How do you do it? That’s perfectly good coffee – what do you do to make it taste so bad?’

  ‘Ah-ha!’ I said. ‘I knew you were in there somewhere, Jude.’

  I didn’t mention that, just to test him, I’d added to his coffee a little spoonful of yoghurt I’d found in the fridge. I settled for a smile instead.

  Jude didn’t smile back. He slouched on the sofa and gazed gloomily into his mug.

  ‘Good grief,’ I said, settling at the other end of the sofa, ‘between you and Luke, today’s Misery Central.’

  Jude looked up. ‘You can hardly blame the guy, Scarlett. He’s scared. We all are.’

  ‘Well, none of you should be. It’s all going to be fine. It’s just a matter of faith. And acceptance.’

  He winced at the word.

  ‘Anyway, we’re not talking about me right now,’ I said. ‘We’ve been there, done that, got the headache this week. This is about you. Are you really going to ruin everything, ruin yourself, for something you don’t even know to be true? And for Michael?’

  My words hit the mark, as I’d hoped they would. Jude looked up and said sharply, ‘You can’t mean that. He was your brother!’

  ‘I know who he was and what he was. And I know what choice he made at the top of that tower.’

  Jude launched to his feet, slopping coffee everywhere. He cursed and slammed the mug down on the desk.

  ‘Stop it!’ he said. ‘You can’t know. You didn’t see what happened.’

  ‘But I know what happened, Jude. You struggled. Michael went over the edge. You grabbed his hands. You told him that you wouldn’t let go.’

  ‘Then I let go!’

  ‘No, he let go.’

  ‘I don’t know that! His hands were slipping. I was struggling to hold him. I hated him so much in that moment, for the betrayal, for the hurt, for Jack. I thought it – I remember, I thought it: Why bother saving him? And then he fell. He fell. I think – I don’t know – maybe I let him fall.’

  He walked away from me, to the window, and stared out. I watched him and I felt for him. But I also itched to slap some sense into him.

  Two weeks he’d been like this. Two weeks he’d been torturing himself, all day, all night. Because he was the good Cerulean. He was the one who helped people, never hurt them. He was the one who judged anyone who had the capacity to do more than heal. He’d spent so long hating the girl he loved because she’d had it in her to bring death. But now, who was he to judge her?

  Sienna, Gabe, Nathaniel, Luke – everyone had tried to reach Jude, to make him see that he hadn’t killed Michael. But the thought he’d had – Why bother saving him? – and the desire he’d felt to hurt the man who’d hurt so many others… to Jude’s mind, it was bad enough. He couldn’t reconcile what he’d thought and felt with who he’d always been.

  I didn’t know the truth of what had happened up that tower. Perhaps Michael had just slipped away. Perhaps he’d forced his hands from Jude’s. Or perhaps, in his darkest moment, Jude had loosened his grip. Once, I’d dangled off a cliff with only Jude’s hands keeping me from death, and he’d held fast. But he hadn’t done the same for Michael. I didn’t know how that had happened; I never would. And truthfully, I didn’t care. What mattered was that Michael was at peace, as he’d always longed to be.

  I’d said all of this to Jude before. Over and over. But today, on this last day, I had something else to say. Something no one had been brave enough to say to him yet.

  ‘Maybe you did let him fall, Jude.’

  He spun around. ‘What! But you said… you all said… Michael wanted to die! I’d never do that, it was just a thought not an action, it wasn’t me, I couldn’t have stopped it…’

  I stood and walked over to him so I could look him right in the eye, and I said, ‘I don’t think you crossed that line. But I think you have to face the fact that you might have. That in the right circumstances, you’re capable of crossing the line. That you’ll do something not because it’s right for other people but because it’s right for you, even if only in a moment. You’ll do something less than perfect. Something bad, even. You have to own that, Jude.’

  He was breathing heavily now, like he was unwell, but I kept pushing:

  ‘Do it, Jude. Accept an element of darkness in you, and accept it in other people too. Then maybe you can find a way to love Sienna as she is. And maybe you can be a dad to Jack and love him for who he is – even when he grows up and messes up again and again, as he will.’

  I leaned in and gave him a fierce hug, and then I turned and walked away. ‘Think about it,’ I told him when I reached the door. ‘Maybe if you can get to that place, you’ll even accept the choice I’m making today.’

  I stepped onto the landing and I closed the door behind me, leaving my friend to decide who he was: a saintly angel with a tortured, lonely life ahead, or just a regular person after all, like the rest of us – with the rest of us.

  Downstairs, the lobby of the building was as thrumming with people as it must have been in its
heyday as a hotel. Every Cerulean was due here this morning. Every Cerulean and a single Vindico: my father.

  I smiled at familiar faces as I passed them, but I didn’t stop to chat to anyone. I made my way outside, to the back lawn, where chairs were arranged in neat rows. Many of them were already occupied by men, and the odd woman, talking in hushed tones. At the front a single table was the focal point for the arrangement. To the side and set back from the table was a lone chair. That was mine.

  When my father had insisted I come here today, I’d specifically requested to be seated separately from the others. Because as far as I was concerned, I didn’t belong at this meeting. Whereas every other person was present to act, to make his or her voice heard, I was here purely in the capacity of silent witness.

  It was my first meeting, but it was not the first – that had taken place the day after Michael and Evangeline died. It was also my last meeting, and it was potentially the last, if a majority was reached today. But looking around at all the people in the crowd, I couldn’t gauge which way the vote would go. I thought I saw hope on some faces, but plenty of others were shuttered. The air fizzled with anticipation.

  The gathering, the agenda, the mood – it was all so much more than I’d expected. In fact, my expectations in the wake of Evangeline’s and Michael’s passing had been woefully low.

  Back in the graveyard, I’d been so consumed with my own feelings that I hadn’t even noticed two grieving men lock eyes over the bodies of those they loved, and then reach out and clasp hands. It was only later, when Luke and I were alone at the cottage, curled up on the sofa and holding each other tight, that the bigger picture occurred to me when Luke said:

  ‘What do you think will happen now? The Ceruleans have no leader. Nathaniel, Gabe, Jude, Sienna – they all know Evangeline’s lies. Where do they go from here?’

  My first thought was: They’ll lie. Cover it up. But then, at once, I knew that couldn’t be. Gabe couldn’t go back to his way of life and silently bury his son. Nathaniel couldn’t go back to his way of life and silently bury his wife. There could be no silence. There could be no burial of the truth. We’d come too far.