Devil and the Deep (The Ceruleans: Book 4) (15 page)

‘Stop!’
I held up a hand. ‘I get it. Please, no more
baby talk.’

Cara pouted, but when she saw my expression she said, ‘Okay.
But you did ask for our opinions. So at least think about what we’ve said. And
don’t make a huge issue for you and Luke unless you really have to.’

‘But it
is
a huge issue. When I tell Luke, he’s going
to flip out. What are his options? Be with me and likely have kids soon, even
though we’re not ready for that, and we’ve only been together for a year. And
know our kids will wind up like me, unable to have a normal life, which he
hates – he absolutely hates. Or be with me but never
be
with me – never
sleep beside me and never sleep
with
me. Or... just... end it.’

Across the table, Cara snorted. ‘Really, Scarlett, Estelle
has a point about your worrying. Luke
adores
you! Nothing short of
murder would put him off you…’ Her face fell. ‘Oops. Sorry.’ She pointed a
cocktail stirrer at her foot and then her mouth.

‘I’m lost,’ said Estelle. ‘How’s Cara put her foot in it?’

I sighed. ‘Because my sister’s a murderer and that’s what
finally led to the guy who adores
her
giving up.’

Estelle shot upright. ‘What? Who? I mean, I knew Sienna was,
well…. but who gave up on her?’

‘Jude.’

‘Oh. Oh! I didn’t realise. He never told me
that
part
of the story.’

‘It’s not very romantic, is it?’ mused Cara. ‘In a proper
love story, the hero doesn’t give up on the heroine. Ever.’

‘Then the hero’s a plank,’ scoffed Estelle.

‘And murder isn’t very romantic, Cara,’ I added.

‘Yes, but plenty of romantic heroes and heroines take lives.’
She pointed earnestly at the cutouts standing guard over us. ‘Jacob and Edward
do in the
Twilight
series. And Bella still loves them both. Well, Edward
more, but –’

‘Baddies, Cara,’ said Estelle. ‘They take out baddies.
That’s very, very different.’

Her words stirred up the memory of Sienna in the alleyway in
Newquay, her hands on the man’s chest, draining him of life. He was just an old
man, frail, vulnerable. Not a baddie.

Estelle caught my shudder. ‘Anyway,’ she said brightly, ‘this
has been great, huh?’

‘A blast,’ said Cara. ‘We should do it again soon! Scarlett?’

‘Um, yes, sure. The next time Estelle can creep off the
island.’

‘Oh, I didn’t creep off,’ she said. ‘Evangeline knows I’m
here today. Seemed pretty okay with me spending some time with you, Scarlett,
actually.’

Cara clapped loudly. ‘Hooray! So you
can
come again
soon.’

The two of them began hatching plans for our next meetup,
but I sat back, looking on quietly. Evangeline
wanted
Estelle to spend
time with me? That went against the grain. Wasn’t I a troublemaker? Didn’t
Evangeline blame me for Estelle’s recent disobedience? She must. And yet, she
was prepared to grit her teeth and allow Estelle and me to be friends. There
had to be a reason.

All I could think was that Evangeline still hoped I would
change my mind and return to Cerulea, and she thought spending time with
Estelle would bring me closer to that decision. After all, Estelle remained a
true Cerulean – still living on the island. Just how keen was Evangeline to
entice me back to her side? Keen enough to tolerate a little progress for
women? Perhaps Estelle’s approved visit was a message to me:
come home and
we’ll compromise
. Or perhaps Evangeline had assumed Estelle would talk me
out of a future with Luke.

Whatever the plan, it had gone a little awry, I thought.
Because right now Estelle – mother of two Cerulean heirs, wife of a loyal
Cerulean healer and until now an apparently sane and sensible girl – was
waltzing around my garden with Edward Cullen, having a
Braveheart
moment
with a twirling Cara/Jacob couple:

‘Freedom!’

With the pregnancy scare having thrust the future in between
Luke and me, it would have been nice, when we next spent decent time together,
to keep it light and fun. Cara had assured me that our plan for the following
Sunday would be just that, and I’d agreed that a little trip away from
Twycombe, just me and Luke and Cara and Si, would do us all good. But beyond
considering the broad context of where we were going, I’d failed entirely to
consider the detail.

It was the enormous pastel-pink bows on the gates to
Hollythwaite that gave me the first dose of reality. Then the delicate ribbons
trailing from the trees lining the drive. Then the bloke chainsawing a unicorn
out of a massive chunk of ice. Then the field full of fancy vehicles ranging
from vintage motors to stretch limos to Cinderella carriages. Then, finally, my
mother striding out of the front door to greet us wearing jeans, a shirt and a
voluminous white wedding veil.

‘Oh wow!’ squealed Cara from the backseat.

‘Oh crap,’ I murmured under my breath.

Luke, shoehorned into the passenger seat of my Mini, was
conspicuously quiet. I didn’t dare look at him. Last weekend babies, this
weekend weddings – the poor bloke was probably desperate to shoot back to
Twycombe and bury himself in work at the cafe. Even though it was shut on a
Sunday.

‘Hello all!’ called my mum as I wound down the window. She
leaned in and kissed me on the cheek. ‘Bright and early – well done. Plenty of
time before kick-off, so go park in the stables courtyard and then you can set
up the stand. Cara, I’ve put you in prime position by the front door and
everything you couriered up is waiting for you there.’

‘Thank you!’ she said. ‘Loving the veil!’

Mum laughed. ‘This? Totally not me, right? Was just messing
about with Gail’s Veils. Now must scoot – time to change. Scarlett, I’ll see
you in my old bedroom ASAP!’ And with a mysterious wink at Cara, she turned on
her towering heel and headed back inside.

I sighed, put the car in gear and drove around the gravelled
turning circle towards the stable block.

‘I can’t believe you grew up here, Scarlett!’ chirped Cara
from the back. ‘It’s maHOOsive! Like a stately home or something!’

‘Or something,’ I said. ‘When I lived here it was gloomy and
spooky and echoey and dark and depressing.’

‘Well, it looks amazing now!’ Clearly, nothing could dent
Cara’s enthusiasm today.

At the stables I parked and we disembarked – the boys
stretching cramped limbs. As Cara began rummaging in the Mini’s tiny boot, I
stared at a shiny red Volkswagen Beetle convertible parked in Mum’s spot in the
corner of the stable yard and wondered where on earth it had come from. Last I
knew, she drove a Mercedes.

Arms sliding around me made me start.

‘Hey,’ said Luke in my ear, ‘you okay?’

I leaned into him. ‘Yes. It’s just weird being here.’

‘Because Ceruleans aren’t meant to be able to cross the
Devon border?’

Actually, I’d meant being at a wedding fair when I wasn’t
getting married, but I settled for: ‘That and the fact that my childhood home
isn’t my childhood home any more, and my mum’s prancing about in a veil.’

Luke laughed softly. ‘At least she’s happy.’

‘It’s just taking some getting used to, the new her. Or the
old her – whatever she is now.’

‘And I suppose “prancing about in a veil”, as you put it,
doesn’t really shout “rational”.’

But Cara, who’d retrieved her bags from the back of the car
and sidled closer, interjected, ‘
Actually
, brother dear, there’s nothing
remotely crazy about women dressing up in wedding wear. They do it all the
time!’

Before Luke could protest, she shoved a bag at him, forcing
him to let go of me and catch it.

‘C’mon,’ she said imperiously, ‘we’ve got loads to do setting
up the Cara Cavendish Customisations stand. Luke, you’re on unpacking duty –
I’ll tell you where to put everything. Si, you’re my stand guy – start by
sorting the signage, would you? Scarlett, you head upstairs to your mum’s room.’

‘But don’t you want me to help?’ I cut in.

‘You
are
helping,’ she said.

‘But –’

‘No time for chitchat, people. Go, go,
GO
!’

And off she marched us with all the presence of a
sergeant-major but a great deal more leg on show.

*

Every little girl dreams of the moment she stands before a
mirror in her wedding finery, ready to float off and live her happy-ever-after.
In my case, though, it seemed apparent I was destined to have the mirror moment
but never the fairytale ending.

The first time I’d done this, I’d stood alone in a room on a
little island, surveying my decidedly non-weddingesque dress and wondering what
the heck I was doing marrying the wrong bloke.

This time, I stood with my misty-eyed mother in my childhood
home, surveying my decidedly weddingesque dress and wondering what the heck I
was doing wearing it when I wasn’t about to marry any bloke – let alone the
right one, who was waiting for me downstairs and no doubt expecting me to come
down in a moment in my regulation jeans and tee.

‘Mum,’ I wailed for the umpteenth time, ‘I can
not
wear this!’

She blew her nose loudly on a tissue. ‘It’s no good, I’ll
have to redo my mascara.’

‘Mum! I look like a… like a…’

‘Like a princess,’ she breathed.

She came to stand beside me, so we were reflected side by
side in the vast Rococo mirror fixed to the wall. We made a strange couple –
Mum tall and willowy in a slender sheath dress with intricate beading and lace
open-toed sandals; me in a strapless mermaid-fit gown with an acre of tiered
ruffles and a pair of blinged-up pumps. Add a flamboyant fascinator for Mum and
a complicated updo for me, plus a full face of what Mum called ‘maxalicious
makeup’ for us both, and the result was two very convincing blushing brides –
though one blushed with delight and the other purely through a generous
application of rouge.

‘My little girl...’ said Mum. ‘Look at you! You’re
beautiful! Luke will just melt.’

‘That’s just it,’ I moaned. ‘I don’t want him to melt!’

‘You don’t?’ She put her hands on my shoulders and turned me
to face her. ‘Darling, I thought you were getting on better, since that day we
spoke about’ – she looked down at our outfits and smile wryly – ‘well, about
life not always being a fairytale.’

‘We are,’ I said. ‘We’re fine. It’s just… it’s a bit much
for a guy, isn’t it, all this? I don’t want to send him running for the hills.’

‘And you think he’s looking for a reason to do that?’

‘No. Yes. Maybe. I don’t know. Everything just feels a bit
fragile right now.’

Mum reached up to adjust a glittery clip in my hair. ‘But
Luke came today knowing it was a wedding fair,’ she said, ‘knowing he’d be
surrounded by this sort of thing. And it’s not like you
chose
to wear
the dress – these are Cara’s designs; we’re doing it for Cara. And it’s fun,
really, isn’t it? Like when you were tiny and you’d dress up in my clothes.’ She
finished fiddling with my hair and smiled gently at me. ‘Perhaps you’re
worrying a little too much, Scarlett.’

I grimaced and muttered, ‘That sounds familiar.’

‘Pardon?’

‘Let’s just say you’re not the first person this week to
suggest I over-worry.’

‘You always have, Scarlett. Sienna was the
leap-in-and-think-later sister; you were the more tentative.’

I winced at the mention of Sienna’s name, the affection in
Mum’s voice as she said it and the comparison. Mum was right: Sienna was the
risk-taker, but look where that had got her. Still, it wasn’t Mum’s fault she
was blissfully ignorant of the true difference between her daughters. I wanted
it that way.

Mum must have interpreted my silence as hurt, because she
was talking again now in an apologetic tone: ‘I understand why you worry,
darling, really I do. Goodness knows I spent long enough being frightened of
getting hurt. But sometimes you just have to brush away the fears and get on
with living. You know?’

I did know. Back when I’d discovered I was dying, I’d made a
conscious decision to
live
– to let go of all the negativity and make
the best of people and experiences, of moments. I hadn’t realised until now how
far I’d moved away from that philosophy, how much my new life as a Cerulean was
marred by anxiety.

‘Okay,’ I said. ‘I’ll wear the dress.’

‘Good!’ said Mum. ‘I’m proud of you.’ She leaned over and
gave me a hug that was fairly painful given the thousands of little beads she
was pressing into me.

‘And I’m proud of you too,’ I told her when she stepped
back. ‘All this – the event. It’s amazing.’

I meant it. On my way upstairs I’d been struck once more by
the transformation in Hollythwaite. It was bright and light and colourful and
soulful.

‘Thank you, Scarlett.’

I gave Mum a little nudge. ‘And you look pretty fine
yourself.’

She checked her reflection in the mirror and grinned. ‘Not
too shabby, if I do say so myself. Much better than I looked on my wedding day
to Hugo! It was a registry office affair, you know, and I didn’t think a
wedding gown was appropriate, so I wore this ghastly green smock thing…’

Her voice trailed off. I could guess why – she’d been about
to describe a maternity dress, worn to encompass her large Scarlett-baby-bump.
But of course I wasn’t meant to know she’d been pregnant with me
before
marrying Hugo. I wondered how many other little slips I’d missed over the
years.

She looked a little sad, and I thought perhaps she was
remembering something painful, so to distract her I gestured to her dress and
said brightly, ‘Well, maybe one day you’ll do it again. Do it right.’

But if anything the shadows in her eyes deepened, and she
simply replied, ‘No, Scarlett, I don’t think so. I had my chance, but that ship
sailed long ago.’ Then she gave herself a little shake and, injecting cheer
into her tone, said, ‘Right then, T minus twenty minutes. I’d best go do my job
– my
job
; how bizarre is that? I have a job! Anyway, you enjoy your day,
darling, and I’ll catch up with you later.’

‘Okay. Good luck, Mum.’

I waited until the clip-clop of her heels had died away
before taking one last look in the mirror and then reaching for a tissue to
wipe off the crimson ‘maxalicious’ lipstick that just wasn’t me.