by Grace Lowrie
When I emerged Mum was standing in the front room looking at me, and my stomach tightened.
‘Marion from down the road just rang,’ she said matter-of-factly.
‘Yeah?’ I said. Marion from down the road was always ringing with some piece of juicy gossip or other, most of it not very juicy at all.
‘There’s been an accident in Corsica.’ The blood pulsed loudly in my ears. ‘Celeste’s parents are dead.’
‘What?’ Mum wiped invisible crumbs from the surface of the sideboard but didn’t repeat herself. She wasn’t good with displays of emotion. As my legs weakened I sank slowly to the floor in the doorway with my mouth open.
‘Don’t slouch¸ Tasha,’ Mum said automatically.
‘What happened?’ I gasped.
‘They drowned. I don’t know the details but Celeste’s fine.’
‘And Sebastian?’ I choked out.
‘Well, I assume he’s fine too,’ she shrugged, irritated. Heavy tears filled my eyes as I pictured Lucille and Philip, always so kind to me, so loving and affectionate with each other, with the twins … I tried to imagine how the twins must feel and my heart twisted in my chest. As Mum briskly plumped up the cushions on the settee, I couldn’t help wishing Dad was home. I dragged myself to my feet, ran to my room and threw myself face down on my bed, sobbing like a child.
The first time I heard Madonna’s ‘I’ll Remember’ I was sharing a Walkman with Vicky, a girl in my class. It was spring term, I was sitting in the form room at lunchtime and rain was hammering against the windows. My classmates were talking and laughing but I tuned them out because the song made me think of Celeste. I wondered where she was right then, and if she liked the song too. I’d still had no contact. The rumour was that Sebastian and Celeste had moved to France to live with their uncle. They certainly never came home – I knew, because I’d loitered outside their house for weeks, listening to REM’s Automatic For The People on repeat.
At Dad’s suggestion I’d written Celeste a letter. I wrote how sorry I was, how much I missed her, how much I wanted to help, how she could write or call or visit any time. I cringe now at the cheesy words I’d used. I had given it to the estate agent who was selling their house and he’d promised to forward it, but I didn’t know if he had. Either way, Celeste had never been in touch. Dad had said to give it time. But the more time that passed, the surer I was that I would never see her again.
Continuing with high school felt all wrong without Celeste. Luckily most of the friends we’d shared were still friendly, despite Celeste’s notable absence. But I wasn’t much of a friend. I felt numb, muted somehow, as if I wasn’t entirely me anymore. I tried to offer enough enthusiasm to sustain my other friendships, but it felt a bit forced – as if I was pretending to be me. Sometimes, when I was unsure how to react in a given situation, I just imagined what Celeste would say or do and acted accordingly. It was a technique that seemed to work and was becoming a habit. Sometimes when I thought of her, I just felt devastated, as though I’d lost a part of me, my best friend, my sister … so most of the time I tried not to think of her at all.
I tried not to think about Sebastian either. The nights we’d stayed up talking no longer seemed real. In the first few weeks of high school I kept seeing him out of the corner of my eye, watching me with his intense eyes, in that quiet way of his. But he wasn’t really there.
They were still in my dreams though, Sebastian and Celeste; sometimes together and sometimes apart. Our time together, though painfully brief, now seemed idyllic.
Chapter Six
By Saturday, the day of the twins’ London housewarming party, I was lightheaded through lack of sleep and restless with anticipation. I rose early and hit the gym. I’d never been one for sports or exercise and I hadn’t used any of the weights or machines since my induction; I lacked the necessary motivation, but the discovery of Saturday morning studio classes had been a revelation and I now regularly attended both aerobics and yoga, just to keep myself healthy. Now my body followed physical instructions on autopilot while I recalled happier memories; the weekend in 1999 when the twins had suddenly dropped back into my life.
My head was spinning with alcohol, perspiration pooled inside my boob tube, and my feet ached in my knee-high boots, but I felt like I could dance forever. It was Saturday morning, nearly 2 a.m. and the dance floor was crammed with sweaty bodies. I smiled at my trio of housemates as we moved to the beat of Fatboy Slim’s ‘Praise You’ and they grinned enthusiastically back at me.
‘I’m so glad you came out tonight!’ Becky, the shortest of the three, yelled up at me. ‘You should do it more often!’
‘Yeah, you’re probably right!’ I yelled back.
‘Of course she’s right!’ Karen chimed in. ‘Just look at you – you’re a natural on the dance floor – you shouldn’t hide your light under your bush all the time –’
Sam’s loud snort and Becky’s chuckle drowned out the rest of Karen’s sentence.
‘Bushel,’ I amended with a smile.
‘What?’ Karen shouted, oblivious.
‘Bushel,’ I repeated. ‘It’s hide your light … never mind.’ I could tell Karen wasn’t really following.
‘I’m just saying, Tash, you should let your hair down more often – live a little!’
‘Hey, don’t beat about her bush, Karen!’ Sam interjected much to Becky’s amusement.
Karen rolled her eyes in despair while I tried and failed to keep from laughing.
‘Thank you, Karen, I know what you mean and I appreciate your honesty,’ I said. And I meant it; I was lucky to have such lovely friends – smart, lively women who accepted me the way I was. I wasn’t an exciting friend to have – I could be frustratingly quiet and self-contained, content to sit alone in my room, my head in a book most of the time. But occasionally, like tonight, it did feel good to have a girls’ night out, get drunk, and embrace student life in all its messy glory.
As the song morphed into Armand Van Helden, Sam, the mother hen of our group, drunkenly threw her arms around Becky and me, while Karen, with a feline stretch, gestured to the bar. We nodded in agreement and pushed our way off the dance floor, swaying as we went. I was grateful my boyfriend Pete was absent tonight. He wasn’t much of a dancer, just sort of shuffled from foot to foot awkwardly. I’d conceded I might to go round to his place to see him once we left the club, but I knew I wouldn’t. I’d rather go to bed alone than let him dampen my good mood with sex. Of course he was a lovely guy, and I knew I was lucky to be with him, but I could only take him in small doses. Was it normal to feel so ambivalent about one’s own boyfriend? I’d felt more or less the same way about my previous boyfriends too. Was there something wrong with me? Was I incapable of love?
It was only when we reached the bar that I realised I didn’t want another drink. I was still buzzing from the last three pitchers of Woo Woo, could still taste the sticky cocktail on my teeth. And I was pretty sure I’d already reached the limit on my overdraft, again. I carefully avoided eye contact with the throng of guys at the bar while I waited for my friends to get served.
Now that I thought about it, it wasn’t just love; sex seemed wildly overrated too – my first time had been awkward, painful, and with hindsight, downright unhygienic. At eighteen I got tired of waiting for someone special to come along and gave my virginity away to a boy I barely knew. He was walking me home through a park, late one chilly night, and lay me down on the grass by the pond. I knew what he was after and we’d both been drinking, but mainly I’d just wanted to get it over and done with. I was relieved when it was over quickly, it was too dark to see but we were probably lying in duck poo. It was the same park I’d been to with Celeste, years before.
Sex these days wasn’t as unpleasant as it had been the first time, but I still found it problematic – monotonous at best and uncomfortable at worst. Was it just me? I had always been a bit gawky.
The familiar opening bass beats of a favourite tune, ‘Sweet Like Choco
late’, resonated in my chest and I felt the urge to dance again. I told Becky I’d see them on the dance floor and shimmied back through the throbbing crowd with my arms above my head as I sang along to the lyrics. The dry ice pulsed with life in the flashing lights, but I ignored the male bodies gathering around me as I danced, careful not to lead them on. I was moving to the beat with my eyes shut when I heard my name shouted above the music. When I opened them I stopped, frozen in shock. Standing right in front of me, less than a foot away, was Celeste Walker.
I hadn’t laid eyes on her for six years. She looked different, older and even prettier, if that was humanly possible, but still the same and so … real.
‘Celeste,’ I said. The sound was swallowed up by the music, but she read my lips and a cautious smile played on her features. I felt an overwhelming surge of joy, a childish grin spread across my face, and as she grinned back at me we threw our arms around each other, oblivious to those around us.
‘Oh my God!’ she squealed in my ear.
My whole body vibrated with excitement. She took my hand in hers and dragged me through the crowd to an empty seat tucked in a quiet corner. We sat close, facing each other and Celeste put her fingers up to the side of my face.
‘I can’t believe it’s you,’ she said wonderingly.
I stared back into her eyes, temporarily lost for words. I’d wanted to say so much for so long but now that she was here, I couldn’t begin. My eyes welled up with tears and I looked away embarrassed.
‘Oh, Tasha, darling.’ Celeste squeezed my hands in my lap.
‘Sorry, I’m just drunk,’ I admitted, laughing.
‘Me too,’ she said smiling and touching her forehead to mine.
I told her I was living here in Brighton and studying History of Art at the university. She explained that she was still living in Paris with her brother and uncle and that she was just in Brighton for the weekend – taking a short break from her studies.
‘But the summer holidays start next week – isn’t it the same in France?’
‘Yes, it is, but I can’t take any time off from my internship and Seb has a job at an architectural firm over the summer.’ I raised my eyebrows in surprise. Celeste smiled at my expression. ‘We don’t need the money but it’s great experience, y’know – it will give us an edge when we graduate.’
‘Oh,’ I said, disappointed. I had a boring waitressing job lined up in a Brighton pizzeria, but I was too embarrassed to mention it.
We laughed at how small the world seemed. I wasn’t brave enough to ask her why she’d never contacted me, instead I asked her what Paris was like. As she enthused about the beauty and romance of the city; the people, places, arts and fashions, I drank in all the differences in front of me – the prominence of Celeste’s cheekbones, the smoky eye-makeup, the sexy low cut of her slinky black dress, the alcohol on her breath, and the hint of a French accent to her words. I was sure she was subtly scrutinising me too.
She asked after my parents and I hesitated briefly before telling her they were fine. I thought she could tell I was lying but she let it go for now. I asked after Sebastian.
‘He’s fine! He’s great, y’know – still Sebastian,’ she added with a smile. ‘We should go and find him – he’ll be amazed to see you.’
‘W-what?’ I stuttered, ‘he’s here?’
‘Yes, of course,’ Celeste said simply, pulling me to my feet.
We wove our way around the outside of the dance floor, Celeste tottering slightly on six-inch heels, until we came to another bar area. The Chemical Brothers’ ‘Hey Boy, Hey Girl’ was playing, adding to my sense of anticipation as I desperately tried to prepare myself for the prospect of seeing Sebastian, when suddenly my eyes locked with his.
He was stood some distance away, near the bar with his back to the wall. I recognised him immediately, still tall and dark with broad shoulders, but his lean frame looked less wiry and more solid, no doubt pure muscle. His straggly dark hair had been cut short, revealing a strong jaw line and high cheekbones. There was a swarm of people around him, a few guys and several scantily clad girls eyeing him speculatively, but Sebastian was staring straight at me through the crowd; startled. My cheeks heated with the thrill that he’d recognised me. Celeste hadn’t found her brother yet so I had time to avert my eyes and compose myself before she led me over to him.
‘Sebastian, you’ll never guess who I’ve found!’ Celeste stumbled into Sebastian, interrupting the guy who was speaking to him, mid-sentence.
Sebastian steadied Celeste with one hand and gazed down into my face – he was much taller than me now, well over six foot. His intense look from just a moment ago had been replaced with a more relaxed one.
‘Natasha.’ His smile took my breath away and I felt light-headed. I couldn’t remember him ever saying my name before and his voice was so much deeper than it used to be. ‘How are you?’
‘I’m good, thanks, you?’ I uttered reflexively.
‘Good. Can I get you a drink?’ he asked, without introducing me to those around him. I couldn’t help feeling slightly dazzled by the sight of him in such close proximity; he had haunted my dreams, my fantasies, for so long and yet the reality was so much better.
‘Thank you, a glass of water would be good actually.’
‘No, let’s celebrate! Let’s have champagne!’ Celeste interjected, grinning first at me and then her brother.
‘OK, champagne it is.’ Sebastian kissed Celeste on the forehead before moving smoothly over to the bar and I surreptitiously took deep breaths in an effort to calm down and slow my pulse. It was impossible not to admire Sebastian’s athletic form as he stood at the bar in dark jeans and a light shirt, open at the neck; more like a model in a commercial than a student. He returned quickly with three full flutes and an extra bottle of mineral water for me. The three of us stood close, effectively excluding everyone else as we raised our glasses.
‘To old friends, reunited,’ Celeste declared. Sebastian watched me beneath his dark eyebrows as we echoed the toast and drank.
As closing time neared Celeste began to look distinctly woozy.
‘Where are you staying?’ I asked.
‘Oooh, at The Grand,’ she said cheerfully. ‘It’s fabulous. You will come back with us, won’t you? You don’t have anywhere to be?’ Even if I could refuse Celeste anything, I couldn’t bear the thought of being parted so soon.
‘OK, I’ll just let my friends know and then I’ll meet you at the cloakroom …’
‘Oh! C’est magnifique!’ Celeste gasped as we stepped out of the club and onto the sea front, my ears still ringing slightly. Sebastian helped her into a glamorous fake fur coat while I envied its luxuriousness; my thin denim jacket didn’t compare. I noticed Sebastian didn’t have a coat, but slung a small bag over one shoulder. It was a clear night in early July and the sky was speckled with stars. The Palace Pier glowed with multi-coloured light across the water and, just over the bank of cobbles in front of us, waves could be heard breaking on the shore.
‘I hope we’re not stealing you away from your friends, Natasha,’ Sebastian said quietly, his deep voice like velvet in the hush of the night.
‘No, no … I live with them; I can see them anytime, I’d rather spend time with you guys while you’re here,’ I added.
Sebastian just nodded, satisfied.
‘Let’s go down to the water before we go,’ Celeste whispered, taking my hand. As she smiled at me, her eyes shining in the starlight, the night felt strangely surreal, magical. She kicked off her heels and bounced impatiently on her tiptoes while I peeled off my boots. Together we ran up, over, and down the steep bank of pebbles, hand in hand, screaming and laughing as we slid in mini avalanches towards the water. We were rewarded with gentle waves of cool water to soothe our bare feet and I was reminded of when we went paddling in the stream that last summer.
Celeste slowly danced, twirling in the water and moving to music only she could hear. She’d bunched the skirt of her dre
ss in one hand to keep it dry and held a lit French cigarette in the other with understated charm. I turned to look for Sebastian and saw him crouched at the top of the bank, peering at the Palace Pier through the camera in his hands.
Celeste tutted. ‘He doesn’t go anywhere without his camera.’
‘Oh?’
‘He’s really good though, really talented.’ Celeste offered me her cigarette and I shook my head.
‘I’ve given up.’
‘Ugh, good for you. In Paris everyone smokes, it’s de rigueur – everyone except Sebastian, that is. He wants me to give up, so I’m trying, but it’s not easy. Maybe once we move back to London …’
I nodded and smiled and Celeste took another drag. ‘Is that what Sebastian’s doing at Uni? Photography?’
‘No, Architecture. The photography is just a hobby and he only takes pictures of places, never people, just beautiful places. I’ll show you sometime.’
‘OK,’ I said. ‘How about you? What are you studying?’
Celeste posed with a hand on her hip. ‘Fashion of course, what else, darling?’
‘Of course!’ I smiled and she giggled.
‘But I’m not at Uni – I’m doing a stage de mode – an internship with a fashion house – learning on the job, as it were.’
‘Wow,’ I said, impressed and a little overawed.
We sat close together in a row to watch the sunrise, Celeste in the middle, her arms looped through ours. We talked about how music had changed in the intervening years and I was delighted to discover that the twins were Indie fans too, that they had gone through the same grunge phase that I had. The three of us bonded over Nirvana, The Red Hot Chili Peppers, Green Day, and Radiohead. I was too shy to mention Depeche Mode but I couldn’t help wondering if Sebastian still liked them.
Early risers started to appear – joggers, cyclists, dog walkers, all out for the fresh sea air.
‘I should go home and freshen up,’ I murmured, even though I didn’t want to leave.