Frozen Charlotte

by Alex Bell

  When I went down to breakfast the next morning, Uncle James was already working in his studio, but Piper and Cameron were at the dining room table with cereal bowls and glasses of juice.

  I pulled out a chair and sat down just as Lilias walked into the room. I was horrified to see that an ugly purple bruise had formed around her cheek on the spot where I’d accidentally hit her last night. Her eyes met mine, but she didn’t say anything as she walked over and sat down with us.

  “I’m catching the bus into town this afternoon, Lilias,” Cameron said, as he scooped up a spoonful of cornflakes. “I thought maybe you’d like to come with me and we could go to the sweet shop. What do you—?” He glanced at Lilias and stopped mid-sentence – he’d clearly noticed her bruised cheek. The spoon froze in his hand and he went rigid all over. “What happened to your face?” he asked in a voice that was suddenly hoarse.

  I opened my mouth to confess, but before I could utter a single word, Lilias said, “I just fell. That’s all.”

  What happened next took place so fast that I almost couldn’t take it in. Cameron’s chair screeched across the floor as he leaped to his feet, dragged Piper from her chair and slammed her hard up against the wall.

  “What did you do?” he asked in a voice that was horribly quiet.

  “Nothing,” she gasped. “I haven’t done anything.”

  “It was me!” I said, already out of my chair. “For God’s sake, it was me!” I clamped my hand around Cameron’s arm and tried to pull him away from Piper, but his grip was like a vice and I could feel all the muscle and sinew straining in his forearm. He turned to look at me, his eyes icy-cold.

  “Cameron, you’re hurting me,” Piper whimpered.

  Without moving his gaze from mine, Cameron finally let her go and she quickly stepped away from him, rubbing at both her arms.

  “You?” Cameron snapped. “What do you mean it was you?”

  “It was a mistake,” I said. “Last night. I went to—”

  “She went to the bathroom,” Lilias said. “And I made her jump in the corridor. She hit me with her torch. It was an accident.”

  “An accident?” Cameron had gone pale and seemed to be looking through me rather than at me.

  “Yes,” I said. “It was just an accident. I’m sorry.”

  Cameron’s eyes focused on me suddenly. He took a sharp step back. “Be more careful in future,” he snapped. “We’ve had enough accidents in this house.”

  And with that he turned and stormed off, slamming the door hard behind him.

  “He’s mad,” I said, still shaken by what I’d just seen. “What’s wrong with him?”

  “Nothing,” Piper said. Her sea-green eyes were filled with tears. “Nothing. He just gets a bit worked up sometimes, that’s all. He can’t help it.”

  “Of course he can help it!” I said. “Does your dad know he can get violent like this?”

  “It’s not a big deal,” Piper said, rubbing at her bruised arms. “Please just forget it.”

  I thought of nothing else for the rest of that morning. At lunchtime, Uncle James joined us and it felt so strange sitting around the table with Cameron and Piper acting quite normally towards each other after what had happened earlier. When Cameron asked her to pass the salt he spoke as if they’d never had any disagreement at all, as if he hadn’t attacked her just a few hours before.

  “I’m catching the bus into Dunvegan later,” Cameron announced to the table in general. “Lilias is coming with me to go to the sweet shop. I thought perhaps Sophie might like to tag along and see the town?”

  His invitation startled me, and I quickly tried to turn him down. “Oh, I don’t think that I—”

  But Uncle James cut me off. “That sounds like a great idea.”

  “I’ll come with you too,” Piper said brightly.

  “No, I need you here,” Uncle James said. “You’re sitting for me this afternoon, remember?”

  “Oh, but Dad, couldn’t I—”

  “Sorry, Piper, but I really need to finish this painting. The gallery is waiting for it.”

  “Good. So it’s all settled then,” Cameron said, glancing at me. “We’ll leave after lunch.”

  Piper looked unhappy, and I probably looked much the same, but there didn’t seem to be any way out of it and, a short while later, I was walking to the bus stop with Cameron and Lilias. It was a twenty-minute bus journey and, throughout that time, I didn’t speak to Cameron and he didn’t say one word to me, he just slouched with his hands in his pockets, staring out of the window in silence. I couldn’t understand why he’d suggested that I come in the first place.

  When we arrived at the town, Lilias headed straight for the sweet shop – it was an old-fashioned kind of place, with shelves lined with big glass jars filled with sweets of all different shapes and colours. Cameron handed Lilias a striped paper bag and I lingered awkwardly while she ran around filling it up.

  Cameron took another bag and then, to my surprise, turned to me and said, “What would you like? My treat.”

  “Oh, I don’t want anything,” I said, flustered. “I’ll just wait outside.”

  I couldn’t understand why Cameron was being nice. It was like he’d suddenly turned into a different person.

  I was even more confused when he came out of the shop a few minutes later and pressed a paper bag into my hand. “Here,” he said. “Since you wouldn’t say what you wanted, I had to guess. You strike me as a sugar mice kind of girl.”

  I stared at the bag in my hand, filled with pink and white sugar mice. They were, in fact, my favourite and it irritated me that Cameron had been able to guess. Almost as if those piercing blue eyes of his really could see inside my head.

  “I hate sugar mice,” I lied, stuffing the bag in my pocket.

  The corner of Cameron’s mouth twisted up in a half smile and I was sure he knew I was lying. Lilias came out of the shop then and we started to walk back down the path.

  “What’s your deal anyway?” I asked. “It’s like you’ve got split-personality disorder or something.”

  I reasoned he could hardly attack me while we were out in public but, to my surprise, he laughed instead, a loud, breathless sort of laugh that almost burst out of him and made some nearby people turn to stare.

  “What’s so funny?” I asked.

  Cameron shook his head, and a few dark strands of hair fell into his eyes. “Not funny,” he said. “Just ironic.”

  He didn’t elaborate and we carried on walking in silence for a few minutes before he said, “I thought perhaps you’d like to see the art gallery while we’re here. They buy most of Dad’s paintings. Some of them will be on display.”

  “Sure,” I said. I had the weird feeling that all of this was leading up to something, but I didn’t know what.

  When we arrived at the gallery, Lilias complained that the paintings were boring so we left her sitting on a bench in the foyer, eating her sweets. Cameron led the way to the section where his dad’s paintings were on display. Most of them were sea themed and the green and blue paint of the ocean really made you think you could smell the salt and hear the surf and feel the sand between your toes. I recognized one of the paintings of the lighthouse at Neist Point, and another of the beach outside the house, with its steep cliffs and black sand.

  “What do you think of this one?” Cameron asked in a casual voice, pointing at one of the paintings.

  It was Piper in a beach scene, only Uncle James hadn’t painted her as a girl but as a mermaid instead. With hundreds of tiny brushstrokes, he’d captured her perfect features and green eyes, waves of glossy, strawberry-blonde hair falling loose down her back as she sat on one of the shiny black rocks rising up out of the water at the base of the lighthouse, gazing out to sea with her mermaid’s fin curled beneath her. I could see the shine on each scale, see the breeze softly moving her hair and the salt spray sparkling on her skin. I was reminded of when I’d first seen Piper when I arrived at the house and had thought t
here was something almost mermaid-like about her beauty.

  “It’s amazing,” I said.

  “Mmm. Dad first painted Piper as a mermaid about a year ago. It was his most popular painting and it sold in a day for twice what the others had. Since then there’s been a steady demand for more. You could say the mermaid paintings are our bread and butter now.”

  “It suits her,” I said.

  “Yes, I think so,” Cameron replied. “Piper was delighted, of course, when Dad first painted her like that. It appealed to her sense of vanity. But I’ve always thought it was a curious choice – to paint your own daughter as a monster.”

  “Monster?”

  “Of course. Mermaids are sea predators. Scavengers. Killers. They sing to lure ships to their doom on the rocks. They’re said to drag sailors down under the water, drowning them and feeding off their souls.”

  As usual, the mention of drowning made me shiver. Please, I wanted to say. Please, please don’t say that word to me. I didn’t want to hear about it, or think about it, not ever again.

  “I’m sure your dad didn’t mean the painting that way,” I managed.

  Cameron looked at me. “I saw another painting of his once. One that he didn’t sell to the gallery. I don’t think he meant for me to see it – we’ve never spoken of it – and I know that Piper’s certainly never seen it. He drew her as a mermaid again but, instead of sitting on the rocks, this time she was dragging a man down into the sea. She was drowning him and the expression on her face was … hungry, happy – she looked like a monster.”

  I didn’t say anything, not at all sure I believed that there even was such a painting.

  “He won’t hear it from me,” Cameron went on, almost to himself, “but when I saw that painting I thought that he must … he must at least suspect. At least on some level…” He glanced at me then and said, “I can’t believe I was so stupid this morning. I played right into her hands by blaming her for what happened to Lilias. It’s what she’s wanted since you arrived – to show me in a bad light, to make me seem like the dangerous one.”

  “Why should she want to do that?” I asked.

  Cameron looked back at the painting. “Piper has two faces. She’s only shown you one so far but she’ll show you the other soon enough. She likes people to see it eventually because it shocks them and she enjoys shocking people. You must be careful.”

  “What are you talking about?” I said, starting to feel impatient. “Piper has been nothing but nice to me since the moment I arrived. She’s tried so hard to make me feel at home here.”

  “Piper is … not what you think,” Cameron said in a careful tone. “You shouldn’t take her at face value.” He paused, then said slowly, “I know it looked bad this morning, the way I reacted at breakfast. But you have to understand that the relationship between Piper and me is … it’s complicated.”

  “That’s no excuse for attacking her,” I said. “There’s never any excuse for physically attacking someone like that.”

  Cameron looked at me sharply. “Oh, but there is,” he said. “Sometimes you have to do it. Sometimes it’s necessary.”

  I just shook my head. I couldn’t help thinking of Jay. In all the years I’d known him, I’d never once seen him lash out at another person, never seen him behave violently towards anybody, never felt at all afraid or unsure around him. He was better than that, better than Cameron.

  “Can we head back now?” I said. “I really don’t want to talk about Piper any more.”

  I thought he might argue but instead he just sighed and said, “Yes, Sophie, we can go back now. Whatever you want.”

  We went back out to the foyer, collected Lilias and returned to the house.

  Chapter Eight

  “My silken cloak is quite enough,

  You know ’tis lined throughout

  Besides, I have my silken scarf,

  To twine my neck about.”

  When we got back, Cameron and Lilias headed upstairs and I was about to follow them when Cameron turned around halfway up and said, “If you still don’t believe me about the mermaid painting, why don’t you go and say hello to my father? See for yourself what he’s been working on the last couple of days.”

  Before I could reply, he turned and carried on up the stairs. I stood there for a moment before deciding to take him up on his suggestion. I’d hardly seen Uncle James since I arrived and the only time we’d really spoken had been when he picked me up from the ferry. I went straight to his studio and knocked on the door.

  When he called for me to come in, I stepped into a bright, airy room that smelled of paint and turpentine. Uncle James sat behind an easel in the corner with his sleeves rolled up, and looked surprised to see me, almost as if he’d forgotten I was staying with them.

  “Oh, Sophie,” he said. “Hello. Are you back already?”

  “We just arrived. Cameron showed me some of your paintings in the art gallery. I thought they were wonderful.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Is that the painting of Piper? Can I see it?”

  I started to walk forward, but he instantly sprang up from his seat and moved to put himself between me and the easel. Then, almost as an afterthought, he laughed, but it sounded strained.

  “Sorry,” he said. “It’s an artist thing. I don’t like anyone to see my unfinished paintings. I’m sure you understand. So how was town? Cameron’s been making himself pleasant, I hope?”

  “Everyone’s been really nice.”

  “I’m sure Piper has loved having you around.” Uncle James replied. I noticed he still had a paintbrush in his hand. The bristles were dipped in sea-green paint and, as I watched, a big droplet fell from the end to stain the already paint-splattered floor, but Uncle James didn’t seem to notice. “It’s nice for her to have someone her own age around. We’re so isolated up here.”

  “It must have been hard for her losing Rebecca like that,” I said.

  “Hard … yes. Yes, it was hard,” Uncle James said. All of a sudden he seemed to look through me rather than at me, just like when he’d picked me up at the ferry. “Hard for all of us.” He focused on me again and smiled. “I suppose all families have their ups and downs. We’re no different.”

  That seemed a bit of an understatement, but although I didn’t say anything, Uncle James added, “We’ve been through a lot, but we’re all right now. I know you’re an only child so we probably seem quite strange to you. Perhaps you’ve noticed that Piper and Cameron can be a bit … well, just a bit hostile to each other sometimes. But they’re good friends underneath it all. It’s just normal sibling rivalry. Your mother and I were the same when we were kids.”

  I wanted to ask him whether he’d ever lunged at my mum across the breakfast table and slammed her up against a wall the way I’d seen Cameron do to Piper this morning, but it was pretty obvious that he had no idea what was really going on between them. Suddenly, I felt like he didn’t have much idea about a lot of things.

  Before I could say anything further, the door opened and Piper stuck her head in. “Oh, there you are!” she said brightly. “I’ve made us some little lemon cakes. I thought we could play the tea-party game out in the garden. I made some lemonade too – it’s such a hot day!”

  “Splendid idea!” Uncle James said, just a little bit too eagerly. It was obvious that he was dying to get rid of me. “It’s too nice a day to be stuck indoors. You girls go and have fun.”

  I didn’t have much choice but to follow Piper outside to where she’d set out a little table, complete with a crisp white tablecloth. On it sat a jug of fresh lemonade filled with ice cubes, condensation still running down the glass, and a plate of some of the prettiest iced lemon cakes I’d ever seen.

  “I only sat briefly for Dad in the end, before the light changed or something, so I had time to make these. I hope you like lemon!”

  Actually, I hated it, but I couldn’t exactly say so when Piper had gone to all that trouble.

  “I love
it,” I said, trying to sound convincing. As I went to sit down I felt the rustle of the paper bag holding the sugar mice in my pocket and couldn’t help wishing that Piper had been as good at guessing my favourite as Cameron had. I took the bag out of my pocket to stop the sweets getting squashed and placed it on the grass beside my chair.

  I also wished Piper had picked a different spot. The burnt tree loomed above us, casting stark shadows across our white table. From where I sat I could smell the charcoal coating on the crumbling bark and, even as I watched, I saw a fine puff of ash moved by the warm breeze blow directly into the jug of lemonade.

  Piper didn’t seem to notice and poured out a glass for me, the ice cubes chinking and clinking together in the jug. Only once she poured it I realized they weren’t ice cubes at all – they were tiny Frozen Charlottes, floating on their backs like white corpses.

  “I borrowed some from Rebecca’s collection,” Piper said. “They’ve been in the freezer all morning so they’re nice and cold. Aren’t they quaint?”

  It wasn’t the word I would have used for the tiny dolls floating in our lemonade, with their little dead hands stretched out before them.

  “I squeezed the lemons fresh this afternoon!” Piper said, smiling that dazzling smile.

  And maybe it was only because of those things Cameron had said, but I found myself thinking, Who does that? Who makes their own lemonade from scratch? Aside from the burnt tree and the flecks of ash sitting on top of the drink, the whole scene suddenly seemed too idyllic, and somehow artificial, as if I had wandered on to the set of a play. It was the same strange feeling I’d had the first night we had dinner at the house. Even Piper’s smile looked not right somehow – too perfect and pretty to be real.

  Even as I had the thought, the smile faltered on her face. “Is something wrong?” she asked.

  “No, of course not,” I said, quickly reaching for a cake to give my hands something to do. “I’m just … touched that you’ve gone to so much trouble.”