Death Wish (The Ceruleans: Book 1) (13 page)

I looked him in the eye and smiled gently. ‘No. But…’

‘You’re hoping for it.’ Geoff grinned. ‘No worries. You
can’t blame a bloke for asking. Luke’s a lucky guy. But I saw you with Jude
last night too – on the beach here. What’s his deal?’

‘What do you mean? I don’t know him, really. I’ve just
bumped into him once or twice.’

‘I see.’ Geoff quietened for a moment, and by the furrow in
his brow I got the sense there was something he wanted to say.

‘Do you know Jude well?’ I asked.

He shook his head. ‘He turns up every so often and joins the
surf. Comes to parties too, occasionally.’

Interesting, I thought. I’d had the impression that Jude was
the centre of the surfing fraternity – perhaps because his was such a
compelling presence in a group of people. So he was on the periphery. And yet
Sienna had known Jude; he’d admitted as much. I wondered, was
he
the
guy? I was searching for some way to ask when Geoff blew that idea out of the
water.

‘Kind of quiet, really. Answers questions but doesn’t ask
them, you know?’

Not remotely Sienna’s type.

‘Well, unless there’s a crisis, I guess,’ he added. ‘You
know, with the Elaine business last night.’

‘Elaine?’

‘You didn’t hear?’

Geoff launched into an account of a little drama that had
taken place towards the end of the party. Apparently, some girl called Elaine
had flown off the bucking bronco in the front garden and crashed into a giant
stone statue. She wasn’t exactly sober, and got pretty hysterical about having
broken a rib. There was talk of getting an ambulance, but then Jude appeared on
the scene – presumably he was on his way out after we talked – and ‘had a quiet
word’, as Geoff described it.

‘And that was it,’ he finished. ‘Elaine was up and
laughing.’

‘So she wasn’t hurt?’

‘Na. She got right back on the bull. She’s bloody fearless,
that girl. They all are. And desperate to prove it. You know?’

I nodded, but I didn’t. Did ‘they’ include Sienna? What
risks had she taken with these surfers? That night she went into the sea – it
was so wild, so dark, it was assumed that she’d meant to die. But what if that
wasn’t the motivation? What if she’d been trying to impress? To be the
most
fearless? What if she was just really,
really
stupid, not suicidal at
all?

My heart lurched at the idea. I wanted it to be true. But
how could I know? There were so many gaps in my understanding. I needed to ask
these surfers questions, and plenty of them. I could hardly start grilling them
while we surfed, though. I needed a decent stretch of time with them in which
they would be relaxed and happy to chat.

It was like Geoff had a hotline to my thoughts:

‘Speaking of parties,’ he said, ‘there’s one coming up you
don’t want to miss – two weeks today. Si knows the guy who owns Drake’s Island.
You know, the island in the Plymouth Sound? Anyway, we’re all heading out there
for a campout. You should come. It’s gonna be epic.’

Result! ‘Thanks,’ I said quickly. ‘Sounds good.’

‘Great! Until then, come out with us again on the water.
There are usually at least a few of us out here most mornings, and evenings –
as you know.’

I thought of Luke; he would disapprove, I knew, if I told him
I wanted to join the others. Reckless, he’d called them. Cocky. I’d accepted he
didn’t like their surfing style; had accepted he was aloof. But then, last
night at the party, he’d seemed a familiar face – and a popular one. Which made
me wonder why he was keeping me away from the other surfers. How far did the
protective streak in him stretch? What exactly was he shielding me from? There
was only one way to find out.

I gave Geoff my sunniest smile. ‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘I’ll see
you around then.’

Hey, you. You’ve been awful quiet. Come for lunch chez
Cavendish today? Will give me a chance to introduce you to my brother – been
meaning to do that for a while. Joke! Delicious humble pie on the menu courtesy
of Chef Luke. We’ll make it up to you for all the AWKWARD. Plus need your body
(!) for dress fitting. x

Thank heaven for straight-to-the-issue, no-messing Cara and
her ability to tame the elephant in the room. I’d been back from the beach for
no more than an hour when her text arrived, and while my body cried, ‘No!
Collapse on the sofa,’ my heart sang, ‘Yes!’ There was no way I was going to
pass up a chance to see Luke again. Well, and Cara. I texted back quickly and
accepted the invitation, and then headed upstairs to shower and change.

Come midday I was pulling into the drive of quite possibly
the most striking house I had ever seen. It wasn’t huge; it wasn’t grand – but
the design was stunning, like some kind of modern art museum. Flat-roofed, it
was a conjunction of square shapes of differing sizes; all pale-pink walls and
grey metal framing. But what drew the attention most was the windows – vast and
spanning whole walls in places, so that the frontage of the house was like an
ever-changing canvas reflecting the heavens above the bay. The use of glass and
the symmetry of the architecture reminded me of Si’s house; these must be the
signature elements of a Cavendish design.

I sat for a moment, taking in the sight, then climbed out of
the car. Wide stone steps led the way to the front door, but I’d barely cleared
the first one when the door flew open and a beaming Cara appeared on the
threshold. ‘You came!’ she declared in delight.

I gave her an odd look. ‘Well, yes, I said I would. And
you’ve just been on the hands-free giving me directions…’

‘And you found us!’

‘Yes, clearly.’

But nothing was going to dent Cara’s euphoria. As I reached
the doorway she pulled me into a tight hug and whispered in my ear, ‘Thanks for
last night.’

I hugged her back, surprised, then whispered back, ‘No need
to thank me. I didn’t do anything.’

She let me go, looked furtively over her shoulder and then
grabbed my hand to pull me inside. I barely had time to register a vast hallway
filled with the mouth-watering aroma of roasting meat before I was thrust into
a room. It was large and light, with a bookcase crammed with novels, a futon on
the back wall and a treadmill lined up to face out of the floor-to-ceiling
window which gave a sweeping view of the cove.

Cara closed the door behind her and led me to perch on the
futon. Her grin was infectious, and I found the corners of my mouth twitching,
though I had no clue what we were meant to be so happy about.

‘You clever, clever thing, you,’ she said. ‘Luke! You’ve
bewitched him, I think. I woke up this morning furious with him, of course, and
all ready for round two. But
nada! Niet! Rien!
He’s had a think, he
says, and decided he can’t wrap me up in cotton wool forever. So long as I
promise to do a heap of boring stuff like let him know where I’m going when I’m
out and be back before midnight and all that blah, blah, blah, he says he won’t
give me grief. I can see Kyle!’

Now I was really smiling – for Cara, of course, but also
because this apparent melting of Luke’s prickly protectiveness gave me hope
that he may be prepared to see me as an equal rather than some kid.

‘So I called Kyle first thing – and get this: we’re going
out tonight. Proper date! Pictures at five – we’re seeing that new vampire
film; he loves vamps – and then tea out in town.’

‘Cara, that’s great.’

‘Isn’t it? Now come on! I’ll give you the tour of
downstairs.’

Apparently, our confidential chat was over, for with that
she pulled me to the door, flung it open, towed me out into the hallway and
proceeded to lead me around the ground floor.

‘That was the guest-room-stroke-gym. This is the living
room. Dining room here…’

In each room wooden floors and white-washed walls were
offset by bold artworks and sturdy oak furniture that created a powerful and
dynamic statement; but diluting the effect was the smattering of magazines,
books, clothing and ceramic mugs scattered all around. The overall look was an
appealing blend of modern design and homely Cavendish clutter.

‘… and finally, the kitchen.’

There was only one feature of this room that drew my eyes:
Luke, standing at the stove and stirring a pan. He paused as we entered and his
face broke into a hesitant smile.

‘Morning,’ he said.

‘Hi,’ I said.

The question in his eyes was evident:
Are we okay?
I
widened my smile, and his shoulders relaxed.

‘Sit!’ commanded Cara, gesturing to a large wooden table in
the middle of the room.

I did as I was told, sliding onto the bench on the side
facing Luke, and Cara took a seat opposite me. Luke turned back to his
simmering pan, and I took a moment to check out my surroundings. The design
here was perfectly aligned with that in other areas of the house, with striking
glossy-red wall units and jet-black counters and appliances. Most of the back
wall comprised bi-folding doors which had been flung open, and the effect was a
blending of indoor and outdoor so that the landscaped garden felt part of the
room.

‘This place is amazing,’ I said.

‘Thanks,’ said Cara. ‘Dad designed it. Mum did the interior
and the garden. The rows they had over the tiny details – you remember, Luke?’

He turned and smiled in agreement; a sad smile.

Cara launched into a long explanation of the largely
compatible but sometimes contradictory design schools to which her parents had
subscribed. I tried to focus, but the sight of Luke moving about across the room,
stirring a pan here, reaching for a plate there, was mesmerising.

His ‘Grub’s up!’ announcement snapped me back to the moment.
Across the table, Cara was grinning at me again, an eyebrow raised.

The plate Luke put down in front of me was loaded with herb-crusted
roast chicken, miniature potatoes stuffed with some kind of gooey cheese, and a
medley of colourful vegetables fanned out in perfect symmetry. It looked more
like art than food and it smelled divine.

‘Wow!’

‘Wow indeed,’ said Cara, mouth already full. ‘Luke’s cooking’s
legendary.’

Sitting down beside me with his plate, he looked shy,
almost, as he said, ‘Just eat what you like. I always make too much.’

I took a mouthful. My taste buds fainted. ‘This,’ I said,
‘is the best food I’ve eaten in
weeks
.’

‘What do you cook for yourself?’ Luke asked.

‘Cook?’

‘You know, that thing you do in a kitchen that turns raw
ingredients into a meal?’

‘Er, I don’t know that
cook
quite describes what I do
in a kitchen. But I’m great at cheese sandwiches.’

Cara snorted. ‘So when you say this is the best food you’ve
had in weeks, it’s not exactly high praise of Luke’s culinary skill!’

‘Hey,’ I said, ‘I’ll have you know my cheese sarnies are
pretty hard to beat. But this roast does. Just about.’

‘If your sandwiches are that good, I’d like to try one
sometime,’ said Luke. His tone was joking, but his eyes were serious – was he
testing the water about us spending time together away from the beach?

‘For you, I may even break out the stinky cheese,’ I said
coyly.

He grinned.

I grinned.

‘Great.’

‘Great.’

We made short work of the meal, and as we ate we chatted
easily together – all tension from the night before forgotten. Cara filled us
in on her latest eBay project: a line of customised t-shirts featuring vintage
lace. Luke related his latest man-and-van adventure transporting a flirty
parrot, and made me laugh so hard I nearly choked on a carrot. I commented on
the vast art print on the kitchen wall, yellow with a puff of blue and strong
black lines and dots; I was sure I recognised it from somewhere. It was a Miró,
Luke explained; ‘The Gold of the Azure’. I remembered it now – I’d seen it
during a city break to Barcelona with Mother and Father and Sienna a couple of
years ago, at the Joan Miró Foundation. I asked whether they had seen the
original there, but Luke shook his head and Cara added, ‘For the past few years
we haven’t been further than Cornwall.’

After lunch, Cara pressed me to head upstairs to her room. I
told her I’d meet her up there after helping Luke to wash up. Cara melted away
and, ignoring Luke’s protests, I grabbed a cloth and got stuck into the dishes.
It took to the very last saucepan for Luke to ask the question I was hoping to
hear:

‘So…’ He looked up from the plate he was wiping with a
dishtowel and met my expectant gaze. ‘I was wondering… would you like to go out
sometime? I mean, on a… er… Well, just me and you.’

‘I’d like that,’ I said softly.

He grinned.

I grinned.

‘Great.’

‘Great.’

‘Shall we sort the plan in the week?’

‘Sure. I’ll see you tomorrow for a lesson?’

Luke’s brows pulled together. ‘I was thinking maybe we’re
beyond lessons now. It doesn’t feel right, somehow – you can hold your own out
there. But I still want to surf with you.’

I thought for a moment. ‘Great.’

‘Great.’

He grinned.

I grinned.

Realising that someone needed to put a stop to the
grinning/great loop we were in, I changed the subject:

‘Can you give me a hand? I’ve got some stuff for Cara in the
boot of my car.’

Luke was only too happy to help – a good job too, because
I’d struggled enough pulling the two large trunks down the stairs and into my
car at the cottage; getting them upstairs was a feat too far.

‘What’s in them?’ Luke asked as he hefted the second trunk
into the hallway.

‘Clothes for Cara. I found them in the attic at the cottage.
I meant to tell her about them yesterday…’

The attic had been the last part of the house to explore for
some vestige of Sienna’s stay, but I couldn’t find the key anywhere, so earlier
this week I’d had no choice but to call Mother – unwittingly precipitating a
total meltdown for my out-of-the-blue call. Once I’d assured her a good dozen
times that I was fine, she finally calmed down enough to tell me the location
of the key. Subsequently, I’d spent an afternoon rummaging about among the
accumulated clutter from my grandparents’ long occupancy of the cottage.
Eventually, I’d had to concede defeat – if Sienna had left anything up there,
she’d buried it deep. I did, however, find two large trunks full of old clothes
that looked well passed their fashion deadline; Nanna’s from her courting days,
I assumed. Some of the fabrics were unusual, and it crossed my mind that Cara
may like to look through and salvage anything that was usable for her business.

‘If these are full of clothes, Cara’ll be a pig in mud going
through them,’ said Luke as he led the way up the stairs and into Cara’s room.

This was clearly a creative’s domain – each surface was
strewn with fabrics of every colour and texture imaginable. A feather boa was
wrapped around the curtain rail. A stretch of shimmery green gauze was draped
across the wardrobe door. Strings of beads were looped around the bedstead.
Mismatching hooks had been screwed haphazardly into three walls and from these
hung garments of varying styles; some complete, some half-finished. Only the
back wall, above the bed, was fashion-free. There, framed black-and-white
prints were arranged artfully.

‘Pig in mud’ turned out to be an apt metaphor given the
squeals emanating from Cara the moment she opened the first trunk.

‘Velvet! Silk!
Brocade! Challis! Charmeuse! Liquid lamé!’

Luke rolled his eyes. ‘Right, I’ll leave you girls to it.
I’ll take a plate down to Bert. See you later.’ He gave me a lingering smile
and then left the room, closing the door behind him.

Once Cara had come down from her vintage clothes high she
ordered me out of my jeans and t-shirt and into The Dress. As it slipped gently
over my head it felt silky against my skin, and I tried to get a glimpse of
myself in the full-length mirror across the room, but Cara tsked and turned the
mirror away, saying I would ‘ruin the big reveal’. She knelt at my feet and
started fiddling with the hemline.

‘So,’ she said through a mouthful of pins. ‘You and Luke.’

I looked down at her worriedly. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know
Luke was your brother. And, well…’

‘You
like
him.’

‘I do.’

She smiled up at me. ‘Then I’m happy for you. And Luke. It’s
about time he had some fun – he’s way too serious, working all hours to keep us
in this place.’ She gestured at the room around.

I felt a stab of shame. Of course, with their parents gone
Luke must be responsible for the house, and for Cara. That was a lot of weight
on his shoulders.

My eyes strayed toward the photos on the wall. Each featured
the same four people – Cara and Luke at various ages, and a man with Luke’s
eyes and a woman with Cara’s smile.

‘How long has it been just the two of you?’ I asked.

‘Since last summer. After the accident – after Mum and Dad –
Gramps and Grannie came to live here with us. But Gramps died last May – he had
a heart attack at his bowling club – and then Grannie went downhill fast. We
tried to keep her home with us, but she kept going off. It was terrifying – we
found her wandering around in the lanes once, and up on the cliff path another
time. So she went into the home, and since then it’s been just us.’

‘So Luke’s in charge?’

Cara snorted. ‘He likes to think so.’ Then she sighed and
added, ‘No, to be fair, he is. With our grandparents gone, social services got
involved. I could’ve ended up in a foster home or something. But Luke was
eighteen by then, and he did the paperwork to become my legal guardian. And to
keep us in this house he’s been juggling man-and-vanning and pub cooking.’