Forget Me Not (The Ceruleans: Book 2)

by Megan Tayte

  Oh boy.

  ‘Lead the way,’ I said with gusto, and he grinned and draped an arm around me to guide me inside.

  Beyond the lounge four bedrooms were lined up, each with a wall of windows looking out on the view and a door leading onto the balcony. They were spacious and designer in feel, with white walls and white bedding and white carpets and bright green accessories. I’d have happily slept in any, but Luke had caught sight of a spiral staircase leading off the main hallway and he pulled me up behind him. We emerged in the fifth bedroom, which had a level all to itself. It was cosier than the other rooms, and had no en suite, but it had a big bed and a long green sofa set at the window from which the view was unsurpassable.

  ‘This one!’ I said at once.

  ‘This one,’ he agreed. ‘Wait here – I’ll get our bags.’

  I plomped onto the sofa and stared out at the bay, hungrily drinking in every atom of blue laid out before me.

  ‘There!’ announced Luke behind me, and I heard the clatter of bags dropping to the floor. He strode over, leaped over the back of the sofa and settled beside me.

  ‘We’re here,’ he grinned.

  ‘We’re here.’

  He brushed a hand down my cheek. ‘You okay? You totally conked out in the minibus. Even slept through Andy’s Beach Boys karaoke session.’

  ‘I’m fine. Just didn’t sleep much last night.’

  ‘Something worrying you?’

  ‘No,’ I said firmly.

  Somewhere below, a song began playing, and then the volume was hoicked up and I recognised the opening verse of one of my favourite songs for playing loud in the cottage and shouting along tunelessly.

  ‘I love this song!’

  ‘Me too! Come on, dance with me!’ He grabbed my hand and pulled me up.

  ‘Er, it’s not really a slow dance kind of –’

  ‘So dance like a loony then. Shake it out!’

  And he proceeded to jump about like a deranged rabbit. For a long moment I stared at him – wow, this was a new and surprising side to Luke – and then I was up and with him, and we were jiggling and wiggling and singing and jostling our way around the room to ‘Town Called Malice’.

  Finally, The Black Eyed Peas replaced The Jam on the stereo and Luke and I collapsed, panting and laughing, onto the bed.

  ‘You got some moves, Cavendish.’

  ‘Learned them all from my dad. Dad dancing rocks.’

  I rolled onto my back and laughed.

  ‘I love your laugh.’

  ‘I love you.’

  ‘It’s going to be a great weekend.’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  He sang a line of ‘I Gotta Feeling’, loudly.

  I winced and covered my ears. ‘It’s gonna be a long night, if you keep that up.’

  The smile dropped from his face.

  ‘Uh-oh.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You’ve got that look.’

  ‘What look?’

  ‘The serious one you get when you’re chopping onions, or bossing Cara, or telling me off for getting totalled on tequila…’

  He smiled then. ‘You don’t plan to do that this weekend, do you?’

  ‘Depends.’

  ‘On what?’

  ‘Whether you plan to recreate your vodka-kipper-traffic-cone-tutu adventure.’

  He gave me a shove.

  ‘Hey. I bet your legs look great in a tutu.’

  ‘Scarlett…’

  ‘Okay, okay. No, I’m not going to get smashed. I know my limit. And this weekend is about having fun, not passing out drunk.’

  He kissed my nose. ‘Speaking of fun…’ He poked the bed.

  ‘It’s a bed.’

  ‘Your powers of observation are dazzling. Yes. It’s a bed. A nice, comfy bed. And we’re going to be sharing it.’

  ‘How come? I thought I was in with Cara, so she and Kyle were –’

  ‘Separate?’ He grimaced. ‘Yes, well, let’s just say my sister can be very persuasive when she wants to be.’

  ‘What did she do?’

  ‘Well, she started out reminding me that she’s only a few months off her eighteenth birthday. Then she gave me a loud, extensive, energetic, blow-by-blow recap of her sex education classes to prove to me that she was informed and responsible enough to make her own, sensible decisions. It was horrendous. She had a book. With illustrations.’

  I smothered a laugh.

  ‘And a banana.’

  A snort escaped.

  ‘And she sang that song out of Grease 2 – that one about stamens and pollen.’

  That was it; I lost it. Poor Luke.

  ‘So you caved?’

  ‘Actually, that wasn’t what did it. Eventually, she gave it to me straight. She has no intention of sleeping with him – well, only literally.’ He paused and then continued sadly, ‘She doesn’t want him to see her legs.’

  That sobered me up. Poor Cara.

  ‘But listen, about the bed sharing. I don’t want you to feel any pressure.’

  ‘I don’t feel pressured, Luke.’

  ‘We can just spoon.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘We don’t have to –’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘But will we –’

  I reached over and put a finger to his lips. ‘Luke, I love you. I want to be with you. Stop thinking. Stop worrying.’

  He looked in my eyes, searching for the answer to the question I wouldn’t let him ask. Somewhere in the green, he must have found it, because he said softly, ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure. Life is for living, Luke.’

  And then his lips were on mine, and the duvet was tangling around us, and the dance track booming out downstairs was no match for the beating of our hearts.

  It was him who broke away in the end, stumbling back off the bed and steadying himself on the chest of drawers.

  I pushed up onto my elbows and watched him. ‘You okay?’

  ‘Yes!’ he said. But the way he ran his hand through his hair suggested otherwise. ‘I want… I don’t want… the others are all about… we’re meant to hit the beach soon… it’s not…’

  ‘… the right time. I know, Luke!’ I got up and went over to him. ‘You’ve got to chill out. This trip is meant to be fun – no pressure, no frowning.’ I reached up and smoothed away the lines on his forehead.

  He caught my hand and kissed it. ‘Love you.’

  ‘Love you too.’

  *

  I knocked tentatively on the door to Cara’s room. I didn’t want to interrupt.

  ‘Come in!’ she called, and I opened the door a crack and peeked in. She was sitting on a bed – twins in this room, I noted – surrounded by clothes.

  ‘Scarlett! Just the person. Get your butt in here.’

  I stepped inside and closed the door behind me.

  ‘Hey. Where’s Kyle?’

  ‘Outside with the others.’

  She pointed through the window, and I walked over to look. Along where balcony broadened to terrace, I saw the gang sitting about on rattan furniture, beers in hand.

  ‘We’re heading to the beach in a bit – you coming?’

  ‘Sure.’ I came to sit with her on the bed. ‘What’s all this?’

  ‘Outfit selection process. Given that I’ll be the one standing out like a sore thumb for not being head-to-toe in neoprene, I figure I’d better look smokin’.’

  I smiled at her. ‘You always do, Cara. Listen, while we’re alone – I have something for you.’

  ‘Yeah, what?’ she said, surveying a long green skirt.

  I held up the white pot in my hand.

  The skirt fell to the floor. ‘The miracle scar cream? Already? You have it already?’

  I nodded. ‘Can I – will you let me put it on you?’

  ‘No. Just leave it. I’ll do it.’

  ‘I don’t think so, Cara. You only use the tiniest bit, and you have to apply it really, really carefully. I have steady hand
s.’

  ‘I can manage.’

  She reached for the cream, and frowned when I held it back. I couldn’t give it to her; it was crucial that she let me handle the old moisturiser pot filled with basic emollient. But how to convince her to let me see her legs? I tried to think of a lie that she would buy, but in the end I resorted to the simple truth.

  ‘Please, Cara. I want to do this for you.’

  She stared at me for a really long time. Then, finally, she said, ‘Okay, if you think you’ll do a better job than me…’

  Smiling this widely felt –

  ‘Great!’

  ‘You’re pretty odd, sometimes, Scarlett Blake,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, I am,’ I said. ‘Now lie back on the bed. It won’t take long. One treatment today, then we’ll go from there.’

  She shoved some clothes to one side and lay down. I sat down on the edge of the bed, beside her legs, and gently took hold of the hem of her skirt and began to lift, but she shot up and stilled my hand.

  ‘Will it hurt? When you used it on your arm, what did it feel like?’

  ‘Don’t worry, it’s a nice feeling. Kind of warm and tingly.’

  She lay back down.

  ‘Treat it like a pamper session,’ I said. ‘Close your eyes and drift.’

  I watched her eyelashes flutter shut. Then, slowly, I eased up her skirt. Somehow, I managed to silence the gasp that came at once to my throat. I had prepared myself for an unpleasant sight – but this, this was horrific. From the mid-calf to the top of each thigh, Cara’s legs were laced with deep, angry lacerations and gouges, as if a psychopathic slasher had taken a meat cleaver to her legs. I felt a surge of rage. Why hadn’t Jude healed her the night of the accident? To leave her like this; it was heartless. He’d told Sienna he wasn’t meant to heal Cara. Well, I was meant to, I decided. Never mind the warnings about healing before Becoming. Never mind those words in Sienna’s diary: use the light, die sooner. I was damned well going to help my friend.

  ‘Pretty gory, huh?’ said Cara.

  I looked away from her legs, up to her face. The contrast was staggering – smooth, pink skin that would be the envy of any cosmetics model.

  ‘It’s okay to be repulsed,’ she told me. ‘I can’t stand the sight of them, and they’re attached to me.’

  ‘I’m not repulsed,’ I said. ‘I’m just sad you’ve been through so much pain. I want to make it better for you.’

  ‘Well, off you go then,’ she said, closing her eyes again.

  I checked for a moment that she was keeping them closed, and then I opened the pot and put a tiny amount of cream on my fingertips. I reached over and gently, lightly, began stroking it onto the scar nearest to me. As I did I willed it to heal – just a little, not entirely, just enough to make a small difference. My hands blurred and I saw the slightest hint of blue at the fingertips.

  ‘Oh!’ said Cara.

  Her eyes flew open and I snatched my hands away.

  ‘Don’t stop,’ she said. ‘That felt lovely. Better than a Kyle shoulder massage…’

  She closed her eyes once more, and I went back to my task. Carefully, over the next five minutes I worked my way through her scars. There was a pull in me to let the blue flood out, to heal and heal and heal, but I fought against it, allowing only the merest trickle through. Finally, when I’d touched the last scar, I tugged her skirt back into place and sat back, breathing slowly against the heaviness that had settled on me.

  ‘Done,’ I said.

  She opened her eyes dreamily. ‘Wow.’

  ‘Same time tomorrow?’

  ‘Hell yeah!’

  She sat up and reached for her skirt hem, but I stopped her.

  ‘Just leave the cream to settle in, right? It’ll take a little time.’

  ‘Right,’ she said.

  As I screwed the lid back onto the pot, her quietness struck me.

  ‘Are you all right?’ I asked, suddenly alarmed. Was she in pain? Or had I given myself away?

  She fretted with a spangly sequin in her skirt.

  ‘Cara?’

  ‘Will it work, do you think?’ she whispered. ‘I mean, I know it can’t give me the full function back, or take away the pain – but even if the scars were just a little lighter…’

  I reached over and squeezed her hand. ‘It’ll work,’ I said.

  22: NICE KNOWING YOU

  ‘I’m going to die.’

  ‘You’re not going to die.’

  ‘I am, Luke. I’m going to die. Right here. Today.’

  ‘No way. Just have a little faith in yourself, Scarlett.’

  ‘There’s faith, and then there’s blind stupidity.’

  ‘You can do it.’

  ‘I can’t do it.’

  ‘You can do it.’

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘You can. Nearly there now…’

  ‘Oh, crap!’

  ‘Wait for it…’

  ‘It was nice knowing you, Luke.’

  ‘Go, go, GO!’

  So I did. I turned my back on the gargantuan wave coming fast at me and paddled furiously, belly to board, even as a voice in my head screamed at me: What are you doing! This wave is insanely huge! Beside me, I was vaguely aware of Luke following my lead, and then the wave was surging behind us and I surrendered: I let go of all the ‘can’t do it’ and just bloody did it. And we were on our feet and flying – whooping and laughing and weaving along the wave, chasing it down until it broke, and then dropping down, into the surf.

  ‘Now that,’ said Luke, wading over to me, ‘is what I call a wave.’ He was glorious – panting and red-cheeked and sparkly-eyed and mind-bogglingly attractive in his black wetsuit, and I reached across the boards and pulled him in for a long kiss.

  ‘See,’ he said, grinning, when he broke away. ‘Told you you could do it.’

  I grinned back. I’d done it. I’d surfed a Fistral wave. Not much of one, by a pro surfer’s standards – it was a pretty calm day for Newquay, so I’d been told, and Luke had chosen a smaller wave than those many of the others were riding. But still, it had to have been three times the size of the biggest I’d ridden at Twycombe.

  ‘Again!’ I demanded, and began wading out.

  Again became again and then again and then a whole other host of agains, until finally flying turned to wiping out as my wobbly legs refused to hold me up. I left Luke and the others to it and headed back to shore. Cara was waiting on a picnic blanket surrounded by a cooler, a stereo tuned to a local station, and a mountain of towels and clothes and trainers. She handed me an energy drink as I sat down.

  ‘Here’s your tipple,’ she said. ‘Though how you can drink it is beyond me. Tastes like cough medicine.’

  Privately, I agreed – but I’d discovered at lunchtime, after my session with Cara’s scars, that a few slugs of one of these drinks worked wonders for the exhaustion.

  ‘Delicious,’ I declared and necked it. I moved to collapse onto the rug beside her, but she shoved me off.

  ‘Hey – wetsuit. I’m not a fan of a soggy bottom.’

  ‘Sorry,’ I said and rooted about until I located my stuff. I wrapped a towel around myself and executed the covert strip-dry-change manoeuvre I’d perfected over the previous months. ‘Better?’

  ‘You may sit,’ she declared imperiously.

  I sank down beside her. ‘Is there another drink?’

  She rooted around in the cooler and then handed me one. I gulped it down.

  ‘Hey. You okay?’

  ‘Sure. Just thirsty.’

  ‘Hmm.’

  ‘And tired. Surfing takes it out of me.’

  ‘How was it out there?’

  ‘Terrifying. Exhilarating.’

  ‘I was watching. You held your own.’

  ‘I’m nowhere near the standard of most of the people here, though.’

  ‘Still…’

  We sat in companionable silence for a while, watching wave after wave, surfer after surfer, and listening to the
radio.

  ‘Wow, Axel F,’ I commented. ‘What a station.’

  ‘Quality tunes. You missed Rick Astley, Whitesnake, Fine Young Cannibals and Tears for Fears while you were surfing. Oh, and Europe.’

  Cara broke into a pitchy rendition of ‘The Final Countdown’. An old bloke sitting on the beach just down from us turned to stare. I gave him a look and joined Cara for the climax. We held the last note until our lungs were screaming and the old man was gaping wide enough to attract a fly, and then took deep breaths that were fast released as laughter.

  When we’d finally got past the hilarity of public singing, Cara startled me by sobering up and announcing out of nowhere, ‘I looked at my legs, Scarlett.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘They look different, I think. It’s hard to tell, but the scars – I think they look a bit lighter.’

  ‘That’s great!’

  ‘It is!’ She grinned. ‘But will you do me a favour? Don’t tell anyone else about this. I mean, I know Luke knows about the cream, but I don’t want anyone else to know – and for now, no one but you and me can see the results.’

  I nodded. That suited me just fine.

  ‘But what about Kyle – won’t he see?’

  ‘No way.’ She stared out at the surfers for a moment and then said to me, ‘To be honest, Scarlett, it’s over with him.’

  ‘No! Lovely Kyle?’

  ‘He is lovely,’ she conceded. ‘But there’s not much… passion there, you know?’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘We’re just mates really. We don’t even kiss these days. We were going to call it off this week, but we didn’t want the weekend to be awkward, so we held off.’

  ‘Wow. That’s amicable.’

  She shrugged. ‘No reason not to be. He is lovely, after all. But not quite as lovely as… ’

  ‘As who? Oo, is there someone else?’

  She blushed but said nothing.

  ‘Okay, I won’t dig. So what’s the plan now?’

  ‘Night in at the apartment, I think. Tomorrow we’re back on the beach in the morning, and then probably bumming about drinking – make use of the fancy pad. But in the evening we’re hitting the clubs; I can’t wait for that. Sunday is lunch at Aunt Maud’s. Did Luke tell you about that?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘Maud is Grannie’s sister. She’s really nice. Kind of intense, but nice. She cares, you know? We used to come and stay with her down here in the summer holidays when we were kids. She invited you to lunch as well. But if you prefer, you can go coasteering with Si and the others.’