Devil and the Deep (The Ceruleans: Book 4) (12 page)

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.

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.’