Death Wish (The Ceruleans: Book 1) (7 page)

The eye twitched. I was sure it twitched.

I leaned forward and watched.

Twitch.

And then the bird was twisting in a quick, fluid movement,
and it was up on its feet, and it was hopping away from me, and then stopping
and turning and looking at me, head cocked. It stood tall and proud, and I
searched for the wound on its chest, but I saw nothing – no gash, no blood. The
bird ran a few steps and took off, soaring up and then swooping down, up and
then down, and then away, out of sight beyond the village.

I sat back on my heels for a minute, processing the event.
Dying bird. Dead bird. Flying bird. Shock, I decided. It must have been in
shock – not helped by me, a human, handling it. And as for the wound; well, it
must have been lower down on the bird’s chest than I’d thought, and so out of
sight once it stood.

Still, as I stared at the empty sky, a shiver ran through
me. The magpie had been granted a reprieve today, but it was only a matter of
time before it plummeted from the heavens to the earth or the sea. As had my
sister. As would I, someday.

A scattering of breadcrumbs on a frosty lawn.

A siege of birds squabbling and squawking.

Two little girls looking on from a stone bench.

‘Loads of magpies today! Gotta be enough for the whole
rhyme, I reckon.’

‘Okay, Enna. You start.’

Little voices chanting, mittened hands pointing.

‘One for sorrow.’

‘Two for joy.’

‘Three for a girl.’

‘Four for a boy.’

‘Five for silver.’

‘Six for gold.’

‘Seven for a secret never to be told.’

‘Eight for a wish.’

‘Nine for a kiss.’

‘Ten: a surprise you should be careful not to miss.’

‘Eleven for health.’

‘Twelve for wealth. There, that’s it! We got them all.’

‘Silly, Scarlett. You missed the last one. Thirteen:
beware, it's the devil himself. See there, up in the sky? Another magpie
flying. That’s means he’s coming.’

‘Who’s coming?’

‘The devil.’

Sunday passed quietly and slowly, especially after I
discovered that the
Tudors
box set actually contained only one of the
thirteen discs. After a long lie-in ruined by unsettling dreams, I pottered
about aimlessly, tidying the house, putting a wash on, hunting for the key to
the attic. I had the unsettling sense that I was wasting time, but really, what
else was there to do on a Sunday in Twycombe? And a quiet day would at least
not add to the residual tiredness.

Dealing with Mother’s package killed all of ten minutes. The
contents, it turned out, were decidedly random. Inside were seven boxes of
soup-in-a-cup, a huge bar of fine chocolate, a bottle of expensive
lemon-scented shampoo, a pair of ludicrously high red strappy sandals, a stack
of cheesy old romance videos and an enormous lump of colourful rock. Her
attached note was just as bizarre:

My Scarlett,        

A little provisions pack for you.

I know how you young girls love your slimmer soups, and
of course you’ll be watching your weight, but I’ve slipped in a little treat
for a ‘naughty’ moment. The shampoo smells just like that sorbet you’re so keen
on – or was it Sienna who liked that? Forgive me; you were so alike.

The shoes will suit you. It’s about time you stopped
shying away from scarlet! I saw them in Vogue the other month on a model with
just your colouring. And you know I always say you need heels, to make up for
your height. Don’t you just love them?

The films are to see you through all those quiet nights
in. Lots of them. You aren’t gallivanting, are you?!

As for the lurid rock thing; it’s chalcanthite, Hugo says
– whatever that is. I found it in Sienna’s room at the cottage when we came
down to clear it. We had it sent for valuation, but it’s practically worthless;
a hundred pounds at most. I thought, perhaps, you may like to have it.

Hoping to hear from you soon – and missing you, darling,
and thinking of you –

Mother

PS. Father sends his love.

I sighed. The chocolate was decent. But slimmer soup?
Really? And yes, it was Sienna, not me, who liked the sorbet. And no, I didn’t
love the shoes, which I was quite sure I would never manage to walk in. And
nineties’ chick flicks? No, thanks. And as for Father sending his love; well, I
doubted very much that had come from him.

Strange, emotional, half-thoughtful and half-thoughtless –
it was typical Mother. The eclectic mix of objects found their way into the
back of cupboards, except for the rock. I examined it closely. It was jagged,
sharp mass of prismatic crystals in the most striking shade of blue – like a
bolt of lightning during an electrical storm. The colour was so vivid it looked
unnatural, but when I typed ‘chalcanthite’ into Google Images I quickly
realised this was the real deal – a mineral whose name translated to ‘copper
flower’. What Sienna was doing with it, I had no idea, but I could see why
she’d have kept it as an object of beauty. I put it on the nightstand beside my
bed.

With the laptop booted up for the web search, it made sense
to check my emails. I braced myself as they downloaded. Mother had recently got
to grips with email as a form of communication, and given the numerous missed
calls and voicemails and texts of the last week, I could just imagine how many
‘Darling, how are you?’ emails awaited me. Seventeen, as it turned out. Some
bright and cheery and two lines long; some long and anguished. Sighing, I
pulled them into the ‘Mother’ folder and scanned the rest of the contents of
the inbox:

From: [email protected]; Subject: Enlarge your
Penis 2day with Vi@gra

From: [email protected]; Subject: Oops, just
realised I’ve got your Tudors DVDs still…

From: [email protected]; Subject: Hello. Needin
money for militry takeover. This is nott a scam.

From: [email protected]; Subject: Please leave feedback
for item 537543291: Child’s Surfboard, Floral

From: [email protected]; Subject: Sienna…

Katie had been Sienna’s best friend at their school,
Willake. I could never stand the girl – she’d come home with Sienna on the odd
weekend and I’d found her whiny and needy – but she and Sienna had been thick
as thieves. Katie had been adamant that she’d known nothing about Sienna’s
plans to run away, and hadn’t heard from her afterwards. I’d never been
convinced. I opened her email at once.

Hi Scarlett.

How R U? Good, I hope.

Got ur message bout meetin up. Am around start of Aug.
When’s gd 4 U?

Let me know.

Katie x

Good to see Ma and Pa Trent’s money hadn’t been wasted on
their daughter’s education, I thought; what a way with words Katie had. Then I
caught myself. Be nice. Sienna had obviously seen something in Katie to be
friends with her, and the girl had made the effort not only to respond to my
email asking that we chat but also to agree to the meeting.

I dashed off a quick email setting a date for a coffee. I
didn’t reply to Mother’s messages; I couldn’t face it. But I did break out the
vast bar of chocolate she’d sent, curled up on the sofa that evening, watching
The
Tudors
. I allowed myself one square of chocolate every time Henry VIII got
amorous. By bedtime, the DVD was finished. So was the chocolate.

*

The next day Chester was ecstatic to see me, and he conveyed
his delight with a flying tackle leading into a pouncing and wriggling frenzy.
I figured the easiest way forward was to remain in place, lying on the floor of
Bert’s sitting room, and let the dog have his moment, but when the face licking
started I decided enough was enough.

‘Chester, off!’ I commanded.

He whined but sat back on his haunches.

‘Look at that!’ exclaimed Bert from the armchair by the
fire. ‘He knows who’s boss. Good dog!’

It was more a case of good Scarlett for showing up with
chocolate buttons and making sure Chester saw them in my pocket, but I said
nothing, only pulled myself up to sit on the sofa. Chester came over at once
and laid his chin on my lap.

‘The fun you’ll have today, eh?’ said the old man. He was
looking tired, I noticed, and his breathing seemed more laboured than last
week.

‘How are you, Bert?’ I asked.

‘Oh fine, fine,’ he said. ‘Life in the old dog yet. Though
you try telling that to the docs at that hospital there. Fine lot of
doom-and-gloomers they are. It’s all about attitude, you know. Heart could give
out any time – and it will someday, I know. But in the meantime, life’s for
living, eh? Only wish I could still get out with Chester like I used to…’

I liked Bert. I admired his spirit and I hoped I’d be that
brave, when the time came.

‘Well, I’ll have Chester back to you for three-ish.’

‘What’s the plan today?’

‘I thought we’d try the coastal path for a stretch. A long
walk ought to wear him out.’
And me,
I added silently.

‘So long as it’s a walk, love, not a sprint. You’re a wee
slip of a thing…’

I stared at him. I hadn’t told him about the Chester chase
incident. How did he know?

He winked. ‘That Cara pops in once a week, you know, on a
Sunday. Brings me the papers and a plate of roast. I heard the whole story.’

Thanks, Cara,
I thought.

‘Oh, don’t worry, love. My fault. It was bad of me not to
tell you about the buttons. Anyway, you’re set for today?’

‘Yep.’ I patted my pocket. Chester gave a loud, joyous bark.

‘Good. Well, off you go and have fun. Oh, and maybe you’ll
stay for cake again? That Battenberg that Mrs Hobbs from number twelve brought
round has got your name all over it…’

I agreed; of course I agreed. It was the least I could do.
Looking in Bert’s eyes was not unlike looking in the eyes of the magpie – there
was a realisation that death was stalking close by. I couldn’t soothe Bert as I
had the bird, but I could give him time and companionship, and if eating lurid
pink-and-yellow marzipan was the way to do it, so be it.

*

By the time I got to the beach that evening, clouds were
rolling in and the wind was picking up. I was running really late. I’d stayed with
Bert for longer than I’d intended because we’d got engrossed in an episode of
his favourite show,
Quincy ME –
I’d never seen it before, but had to
admit it had a kind of cheesy, kitsch charm. Then, when I’d got home, I’d
intended on a quick change, but had fallen asleep for an hour, the result of my
long walk with Chester along the coast that afternoon. Still, at least I was a
little less exhausted for my surfing lesson – well, what was left of it.

The tide was out, and the walk across the beach to the waterline,
where I could make out Luke’s form, was a long one. I arrived panting and ready
to apologise for my tardiness, but Luke was grinning.

‘Evening!’ he said. ‘Perfect weather for it.’

I looked out at the sea. It was grey and tossing. The last
time I’d seen waves this big was the day of my near-drowning. I gripped my
board tightly and gulped.

He put a hand on my arm. ‘Hey, don’t worry. This is great
surfing weather. See?’ He gestured to a handful of shadowy figures bobbing on
the waves. ‘And I won’t let anything happen to you, okay?’

‘Well…’

Before I could think of a decent excuse, he was kneeling
down and attaching my board’s leash to my ankle. ‘We’ve done the theory, now
you’ve got to put it into practice.’ Arm around my shoulders, he guided me to
the water. ‘C’mon, you’ll be…’

*

‘… absolutely shocking at surfing!’ I spluttered an hour
later.

I was terrible, truly terrible. I’d wiped out so many times
I’d lost count – so many times the sea had begun to blur into sky and I kept
losing track of whether I was under and meant to hold my breath, or up and
gasping. The result was a throat burning from saltwater coughs.

‘You’re doing great!’ said Luke. He sat comfortably on his
surfboard beside me as I trod water and clung grimly to my board.

‘Chester the dog could surf better than me!’ I snapped,
glaring up at him.

‘Come on,’ he said cheerily. ‘Back on the board.’

‘I’ll just fall straight off.’

‘Seriously, you’ll get it soon. It’s like riding a bike –
all in the balance. It’ll suddenly click.’

‘It won’t click. It’s like bloomin’ skiing all over again.
And horse-riding. And tennis. All sports, in fact. I have no coordination. Do
you know I managed to knock myself out doing a handstand when I was six?’

He laughed. ‘Scarlett –’

‘No, Luke!’ I was very far from laughing, and so tired and
sore and utterly miserable I didn’t even care any more about being polite.
‘This was a bad idea. My sister may have become some surfing goddess in just a
few weeks, but that’s not me.’

The word ‘sister’ wiped the smile straight off Luke’s face,
and I cursed myself for the outburst. I did not want to talk about Sienna.
Especially not here, out in the ocean, where she’d… Oh God, what if it was
right
here
that she’d died? I looked around frantically, as if I would
see her here, floating – had she floated? Face up or face –

‘Scarlett?’

‘Huh?’

Luke dropped onto his belly on his board, so our faces were
level. I wanted to pull away, but something in his eyes held me there. It was
like he knew what I was feeling; like he knew the pain.

‘You can do this,’ he said. ‘I know you can. I’m not letting
you off until you’ve caught one wave, or getting back out here will be all the
harder.’ I opened my mouth to protest, but he added, ‘It’ll be worth it,
Scarlett. Trust me.’

And I found that I wanted to. I wanted to trust him.

‘Okay,’ I said, and I pulled myself onto the board to await
the next wave. As Luke scanned the upcoming waves for a decent one, I let my
gaze drift eastwards to where the other surfers were smoothly riding the ocean.
No sign of the boy from the churchyard today. At least that was one less person
witnessing my humiliation.

I did not surf the next wave. Or the next. Or the next. Or
the next. But then…

‘This one. Start paddling. C’mon now, Scarlett. Keep
paddling, keep going… Now! Up, up!’

It was a quick move, but each stage seemed slow: hands on
board, knees sliding, feet in contact, spread apart and then up, arms out,
balance, balance. I took in a deep breath of air, preparing for the plummet
into the deep, but there was only wind in my face and a heart-hammering
sensation of flying, fast, along the cusp of the wave. There was no time for
jubilation, only shock – and the most delicious shiver of mastery running
through every cell in my body.

It can’t have lasted long, a few seconds at most, before I
lost my balance and the board flew away from me. But this time as I tumbled
down it was without the frown. I surfaced to the sound of cheering – Luke, up
and surfing in a way that no doubt made my amateur attempt look ungainly,
hooting and whooping as he followed my path. A few feet from me he dropped
gracefully into the water and came to stand beside me.

‘Scarlett Blake, I KNEW you had it in you. How do you feel?’

Buzzing, euphoric, queen of the damn ocean,
I
thought, but I stuck with the more reserved, ‘Amazing.’

He grinned at me. ‘Not too shabby. We’ll make a surfer of
you yet.’

His enthusiasm was infectious, and I found myself grinning
back. I’d bloody done it, and what’s more, I’d bloody loved it. Finally, I
realised, I understood the attraction for my sister – wild, pleasure-seeking,
larger-than-life Sienna.

I had a feeling that this surfing business may be pretty
addictive.