Wild Blue Yonder (The Ceruleans: Book 3) (21 page)

For the third time in little more than a day, I found the
scene coming into focus around me post-Travel a familiar one: first Si’s place;
then the cottage; and now…

‘The penthouse?’

I turned to the guy beside me.

‘
This
is where we’re staying?’

But Jude said nothing – he was too busy looking around.

‘Jude, I know this place. This is where I stayed when I came
to Newquay last year, with Luke and Cara and Si and the rest. It’s
massive
.
Five bedrooms. Way more than we need.’

‘It’s certainly palatial,’ said Jude, still taking in his
surroundings. The living room. Enormous. Floor-to-ceiling sliding doors with
views over Fistral Bay. Corner sofa to seat five thousand. The largest,
deepest-pile rug I’d ever seen. ‘I like it,’ he declared.

I rolled my eyes. ‘Who wouldn’t? But my point is, this is
far too extravagant. It must cost a bomb. We can’t expect Si to –’

‘He knows the owners. He just made a call, checked it wasn’t
in use this week, and here we are.’

‘Oh. But five bedrooms…’

‘So? We don’t have to use every room, you know.’

I opened my mouth. Closed it again. Couldn’t find another
good reason why we shouldn’t be here, in
this
apartment. This apartment
where I’d had one of the best weekends of my life. This apartment where Luke
and I had first…

‘Anyway,’ said Jude, ‘a penthouse works best for us. Fewer
people all around to wear us down. We’ll just have to hope the people in the
apartment below aren’t hermits.’

Suddenly, I was tired. Really, really tired. Michael’s visit
– Evangeline’s threat – Jude’s hell-bent rush to get back to the island with me
– Travelling – Luke – Cara – Sienna out there somewhere – the Fallen out there
somewhere…

‘You okay?’

‘Fine,’ I muttered.

I walked over to the sofa and slumped down. Leaning back, I
closed my eyes.

‘No time for naps,’ said Jude. ‘We’ve got to be ready for
the club later.’

I opened one eye. ‘We’re going tonight?’

‘Of course. Clock’s ticking.’

‘Fine. But Infinity won’t open until, what – nine at the
earliest? Plenty of time for a rest.’ I closed my eye.

‘Not quite. We’ve got a busy afternoon ahead.’

I groaned. ‘Give me a break, will you.’

I had a blissful five-second rest and then he nudged me with
a trainer toe so that I tumbled off the sofa.

‘Hey!’ I protested from the depths of the rug.

‘Come
on
, Scarlett.’

‘What’s so important?’ I grumbled, blinking blearily up at
him.

‘Scarlett Blake,’ said Jude soberly, ‘this afternoon I’m
going to induct you into a whole new world.’

*

I admit it, I was intrigued. And, despite my heavy heart and
drooping eyes, a little excited. I assumed this was training stage two, some
initiation into healing deemed essential by Jude to prepare me for all
eventualities if –
when
– we found the Fallen. By ‘whole new world’ I
expected an inspirational setting and a significant activity. But the
inspirational setting turned out to be Newquay’s main shopping drag, and the
significant activity turned out to be clothes shopping.

‘Si gave me some cash,’ Jude explained on the walk over
(yes, walk, because Travelling, now I’d cracked it, was for use in urgent
situations only, I was told, and was certainly not viable for public places).
‘We can’t go out tonight in jeans and tees, and, well, I figured you probably didn’t
want to wear the same outfit all week.’

I wasn’t overly impressed that
shopping
– an activity
I usually had to be dragged to engage with by Cara or my mother – was being
prioritised over sleeping. But as usual Jude had a point, and the thought of fresh
underwear was a powerful motivator.

The streets leading to the centre of town were quiet, with
cars trundling up and down but few pedestrians, and I paid little attention to
my surroundings, lost in thoughts of what – who – I’d left behind in Twycombe.
So it wasn’t until we turned a corner and stepped onto a street mobbed with
people that I understood why Jude had brought me here, beyond the need for new
pants.

This
was a whole new world.

‘It’s okay,’ murmured Jude in my ear. ‘It’s okay. Just
breathe.’ He pushed me down onto a bench and sat beside me. ‘The first time is
a shock. Just sit for a while.’

I did as I was told, looking all around at the people –
people everywhere – as I tried to make sense of the awareness washing through
me.

There was pain. There was pain all around. Some slight. Some
agonising. I couldn’t feel the pain, I wasn’t experiencing it myself, but I
could sense it. No, it was more than a sense, it was concrete knowledge. I knew
the pain was there,
knew
in a way that was so easy and so unequivocal it
shook me to the core. I could even pinpoint the exact position of the pain, its
intensity, its type.

A mother pushing a buggy. She was hurting. In her lower
abdomen. Manageable pain, but uncomfortable.

An old man with a cane. His leg hurt. It really, really
hurt.

A middle-aged man striding quickly along. Headache. Low
level.

A little old lady rummaging in her handbag. Aching all over,
in every joint. Arthritis?

A young teenage couple walking out of a music shop. Neither
in pain, but there was something wrong, some terrible darkness in the lad.

‘Jude!’ I said quickly. ‘Look!’

‘Cancer,’ he said.

‘You can tell that?’

‘You come to recognise the feel of certain conditions.’

‘We have to help him!’

‘Look again, Scarlett. Are we meant to help? To heal?’

I wanted to say yes. The boy couldn’t have been more than
fourteen, his whole life ahead, and he was so relaxed and happy with his
girlfriend – apparently oblivious to his illness. I wanted to say yes, to
reply:
Yes, we’re meant to help. Let’s go heal him, right now.
But that
would have been a lie. Because just as I knew something was horribly wrong with
that boy, I also knew that I was absolutely, definitely, without a shadow of a
doubt
not
meant to heal him.

‘Oh no,’ I breathed. I couldn’t take my eyes off the couple.
‘Jude, why,
why
?’

‘I don’t know,’ he said gravely. ‘Perhaps because there are
so many of them and so few of us in proportion. We have only so much energy. We
can heal only so many. I don’t think we’re here to eradicate all suffering.
Just some people’s. Some chosen ones’.’

‘Chosen? By who?’

‘I guess that depends on what you believe in.’

‘But can’t we just ignore how we feel and go heal him
anyway? We could, right? We have the power.’

Jude frowned deeply. ‘Ceruleans don’t cross that line.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because once you stop doing what you
know
is right,
you’re into the territory of doing what’s wrong.’

The look of contempt on his face made it clear what he was
thinking of: the Fallen.

I was silent for a while, stunned, just staring at the
couple who’d stopped in a doorway between two stores and were holding hands and
talking and kissing.

‘So, you can sense what needs healing,’ said Jude. ‘And you
can feel the pull?’

He didn’t need to explain: I knew exactly what he meant – a
persistent tugging, strong enough to be almost physical in nature, like people
all around were screaming,
Help me! Help me!
It was bewildering and
upsetting and intensely tiring.

‘That’s what you meant by them draining us?’ I said. ‘It’s
like this all the time around them?’

Them.
Them and us. I didn’t like the differentiation,
but the difference between humans and Ceruleans was so evident now.

‘Yes,’ said Jude. ‘The sick ones, the ones in pain, they
drain you faster. But even the healthy ones do too, little by little. The more
people you’re around, the worse it is. So a busy place like this… I’ve thrown
you in the deep end here. But the club tonight will be worse, Scarlett – so
crammed full of people. I had to prepare you.’

I turned to Jude. He smiled at me, but it didn’t reach his
eyes.

‘This is what it’s like for you. All the time. Back in
Twycombe. Si’s parties. Surfing with the others.’

He shrugged. ‘Surfing’s all right. Plenty of distance. And
if you recall, I keep the partying short – fashionably late.’

‘But still, all that time you spent with me when I was ill.’

‘Yeah, that was hard. But I couldn’t heal you. I knew that.’

‘Couldn’t?’

‘You know when a person’s beyond healing. You know when
death’s coming. Like Bert. I couldn’t save him. It was his time.’

I nodded. I understood. I understood so much now.

‘Barnabas did this with me when I was sixteen,’ said Jude.
‘Exeter city centre on a Saturday morning. Of course, I’d had a whole load of
preparation at Kikorangi, the theory explained so carefully in class. But the reality
– I’ll never forget it. Like drowning, I thought, in suffering. And I felt so
small and overwhelmed, like a tiny fish in a massive ocean. Like whatever I
did, it would never be enough.’

‘How did you get past that? How do you cope with it all?’

‘I didn’t at first. Not very well. I threw myself into the
work and totally overdid it. Ended up restricted to the island for a month to
recuperate. That gave me time to think. We can only do what we can do. It’s an
amazing gift we have, but it’s not us controlling it at the highest level –
we’re shown what person to heal, when, how much. I guess I reached a point
where I just threw up my hands and surrendered to serving the light, to
Serviam
.
Now, I figure, wherever I am, whatever I do, as long as I’m honest with what I
know on that instinctive level is right, I’m where I’m meant to be.’

I stared at him. What this guy had seen and done, the
decisions he’d been faced with and the soul-searching he’d been forced to
undertake – there were depths to Jude I’d never realised existed.

He squirmed a little under my scrutiny. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I
guess all that’s kind of heavy.’

‘No,’ I said. ‘Heavy is the opposite of what that is. It’s
light, pure light. It’s amazing. What you do – what you all do. To cope with
all the pain, and to keep going and going.’ I shook my head, my eyes filling
with tears.

‘It’s okay, Scarlett,’ said Jude. ‘You don’t have to –’

But I held up a hand to silence him, because I was sure I
knew what he was about to say, and I didn’t want to hear it.
You don’t have
to worry about all this.
Because I was just a visitor in this world, not an
inhabitant. Soon enough, I could be (would be?) back on Cerulea, cosseted and
peaceful, away from all this terrible pain and the agonising demands. I didn’t
have to find a way to be around humans as a Cerulean. I didn’t have to make
peace with my gift. I wasn’t here to help. I was a spectator, not a healer.

‘We could help them all,’ I said, looking around the street.
‘Well, those we’re meant to. Surely we must. Now. And tomorrow. And – Jude, how
do you stop? All this time you’ve spent with
me
you could’ve been out
helping people…’

He reached out and squeezed my hand. ‘Because we have to
draw a line somewhere. Because while we’re not quite human in a sense, we
really are only human – and we get tired, and we need a break, and sometimes we
prioritise other stuff, like the people we love.’

He dropped my hand. Looked out at the street.

‘Besides,’ he said in a more robust tone. ‘There’s a
Cerulean who covers Newquay, remember? Reuben. Seriously into surfing, so he
loves it here.’

‘Still,’ I said. ‘I feel like… Jude, all the people I could
help. I don’t think I can walk away and just do
nothing
when I could
have helped.’

‘I know, Scarlett.’ He sighed. ‘Perhaps it’s a little
clearer now why Evangeline was so determined that you should stay on the
island. To protect you from all this. If she knew I was doing this with you –’

‘I’m glad you did, Jude,’ I said quickly. ‘I mean, I’d
rather know. Even if…’

I left the sentence hanging. Finishing it was too painful.
Because I’d been about to say:
Even if I never get to use my gift.

‘Moira! Check out the bolero – perfect for hiding yer bingo
wings, luv!’

‘Seriously, Mum, this is what all the girls at school are
wearing – it’s
fashion
.’

‘Don’t even dream of it, Rhonda. I’m telling you, paisley
print ain’t making no comeback.’

‘Oi, Janine, look, will yer – I lay down in the changing
rooms and managed to do up the jeans.
Told
you I was a ten.’

‘BERNICE! BERNIE BIRD, WHERE ARE YOU? OH, YOU’RE OVER THERE.
WHAT? CAN’T HEAR YOU, PET. LISTEN, DID YOU SEE THEY HAVE LEOPARD-PRINT THONGS?
LEOPARD-PRINT! THAT’S WHAT YOU WANT POKIN’ OUT THE TOP OF THEM VIOLET HIPSTERS
TO WIN WAYNE BACK…’

I had to feel sorry for Jude as he hovered in a corner of
the shop, holding on to a rail for support and eying the many, many females
around who were so exuberant and ruthless in their quests for The Outfit.

We’d sat on that bench for a long time, so long that I
nearly fell asleep on Jude’s shoulder. Then, at his insistence, we’d hit the
shops. For Jude, we found a men’s clothing store that had it all, from belts
and underwear to trousers, shirts and shoes. He shopped like he’d won a
supermarket sweep competition, grabbing stuff willy-nilly and piling it into my
arms.

‘Don’t you want to try stuff on?’ I’d asked.

‘No,’ he’d said shortly. ‘The sooner we get back to the
apartment, the better.’

Apparently, Jude had thought shopping for me would be just
as straightforward: in, grab, pay, out. But in the womenswear store – the
largest in town, and consequently mobbed – he was getting an induction to a
world entirely new to him: females shopping.

‘Jude,’ I whispered. ‘Over by the pay desk there’s a sofa.’

‘It’s all right,’ he said quickly. ‘I’ll stay with you.’

‘Jude.’

‘What?’

‘Look.’

I pointed to the rail he was leaning on. On it hung a row of
skimpy black knickers trimmed with pink lace and matching bustières.

He lurched away as if the rail were radioactive, and backed
straight into a…

‘Urgh!’ he gulped, trying to disentangle himself from
fluorescent feathers. ‘What…?’

‘Boas,’ I told him as I freed him from their lecherous
grasp. ‘Sofa. Over there. Leave me to it or we’ll be here all day.’

‘Right,’ he said, and he turned on his heel and marched off.

I watched him weave his way through the throngs. A
statuesque fake-tanned woman got in his way and engaged him in an awkward
side-stepping manoeuvre. I heard Jude say politely, ‘After you, please,’ and
then Lady Orange let out a shrieking laugh, grabbed Jude by the shoulders and
spun him around so they were in opposing positions. She held on tight and
crooned, ‘Hold me closer, tiny dancer…’ and then Jude stepped back and she
released him. He scuttled off to the sofa and took his place next to two other
blokes, both of whom looked equally uncomfortable in the setting.

I sighed and turned to my task. Taking a leaf from Jude’s
book, I forced myself to pick up tops and trousers without too much
deliberation, but I headed to the changing rooms with them – I knew only too
well how random store sizing was, and I didn’t want to end up in the club later
with a cleavage spill and trousers falling to my ankles.

A stroppy-looking stringbean of a shop assistant counted my
items and handed me a token, and I stepped past her into the changing rooms.
Er, make that room, singular. Big square space. Benches lining the outer
perimeter. Hooks on the wall. Girls all over in various states of undress.

I hadn’t been in a communal changing room since my school
days, when our class had changed for gym en masse. I’d always hated it: no
matter how discreet you were, you’d always catch some preening girl’s eye in
the mirror and see her appraising you, comparing, judging. This room was full
of girls like that. Take the one in the middle strutting about in nothing more
than a G-string and complaining that her butt was, like,
totally
covered
in cellulite, you know? I studied her for a moment: I could sense that the girl
was in some kind of pain. No, not pain, itchiness… in her lady bits. Nice.

I almost backed out – I preferred ill-fitting clothes to
this hell. But then I caught sight of a buggy in the far corner and, behind it,
the new mother from outside. She was sitting on the bench, as hidden by the
buggy as possible, and she was holding a pair of jeans in her hands and
sniffing.

I crossed the room. Dumped my stuff on the bench beside her.
Pulled off my t-shirt and wrestled on a silver halterneck with spangly beads.
As I checked out my reflection I reached out to the mother in my mind and tried
to isolate her call amid the chatter and tugging of the other women in the
room. There it was. A deep, aching pain at the very bottom of her belly,
stabbing at her. Caesarean scar? I wondered.

I heard her sniff again, and I didn’t let myself think, I
just dived in:

‘Excuse me,’ I said boldly to her. ‘What do you think of this
top?’

She looked up at me. There were deep shadows under her eyes
and her skin was sallow.

‘Oh, um, very nice,’ she said without smiling.

‘Cheers!’

I made a big show of looking at the baby. Asleep.

‘Ah,’ I said. ‘Isn’t he darling?’

‘Thank you,’ she said quietly.

‘New jeans?’ I gestured to the clothes on her lap.

‘Oh. Well. I don’t know.’

‘I like the diamante detail,’ I said encouragingly.

She looked down at the jeans. ‘I suppose.’

‘You going to try them on?’

She glanced around the room. Ms G-String was now in a slinky
dress and moaning about how
huge
her (implanted) boobs looked in it.

I hunched down to the young mother and whispered, ‘How about
this – I’ll cover you while you whip them on.’ I grabbed a massive maxi dress
off a nearby peg and stretched it out as a screen. ‘See?’

She almost smiled. ‘Thank you, but not today. I don’t think
I feel up to it.’

‘Okay,’ I said easily, and I hung the maxi dress back up,
then pulled off the silver top and tried a black one.

‘Nice,’ said the mother. She stood and started fiddling with
the brakes on the buggy.

Now or never,
I told myself. As she turned, I put a
hand on her back and said, ‘Oh – hang on a sec, you’ve something… let me just…
a little spider, I think… come here… nearly got it… almost…’

She squirmed, trying to look in the mirror. I kept my hand
moving about, as if chasing a fast-moving bug, but always keeping in contact
with her body, willing,
willing
…

‘Got it!’ I declared and lurched back.

‘Er, thank you,’ she said.

‘Welcome!’ I sank down onto the bench and busied myself with
unbuckling my belt – my shaking hands refused to cooperate.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw her move away. I waited
until she was across the room before I looked up and I just caught her
reflection in the last mirror as she passed it. She was walking easily, her
shoulders back, not hunched, and on her lips was a little surprised smile – the
pain, I knew, was gone.

I matched her smile. Okay, it wasn’t much, but at least I’d
done something good today. But there was a cost…

When I got back out onto the shop floor, I was in something
of a state. I hadn’t felt this bad since the night I’d healed Estelle through
her labour. I adopted the Jude approach and swept shoes and underwear and socks
and pyjamas into my basket on top of the clothes I’d tried on (well, I’d tried
on the two tops at least). Then I weaved my way to the pay desk.

Jude stood up eagerly as I approached.

‘Finally!’ he said.

‘Just pay,’ I told him, pushing the basket into his arms. ‘I
have to get out of here.’

I didn’t wait for his reply; I headed towards the door. Out
on the street, I found the first road leading off it. Far fewer people.

I made it a few staggering steps before collapsing onto the
low wall outside a building with a massive red BINGO banner. Leaning my head on
a post, I closed my eyes.

‘Scarlett?’

Someone was shaking me.

I opened my eyes. Jude. I shut them again.

‘Tired,’ I said.

‘I’m sorry. I pushed you too hard. C’mon, let’s get out of
here.’

‘Taxi?’

‘Better. Travel – once the coast’s clear…’

‘Nu-uh. ’Mergencies only, you said.’

‘Well, I’d say being semi-comatose on the steps of some kind
of anti-addict organisation qualifies, Scarlett. Especially when there’s a
really, really big guy peering at you out the window and looking like he’s
ready to come out and tell you just what he thinks of you.’

‘Not bingo hall?’

A snort. ‘Not a bingo hall, Scarlett. The HQ of DINGO, it
appears: Druggies In Newquay – Get Out.’

‘Nice,’ I mumbled.

And then – nothing.