The Pearl Sister (The Seven Sisters Book 4), page 54
‘Well, that’s a positive attitude,’ I said, beginning to understand where he was coming from and admiring him big time for it.
‘And by the way, I know you didn’t sell me out, CeCe. I checked up and that photo of us is copyrighted to a “Jay”. You were right, and I apologise for thinking it was you. I have a lot of happy memories of us on Phra Nang Beach and I want to keep them like that.’
‘Me too,’ I gulped. ‘Listen, I’m moving to Australia, like, tomorrow. When you get out of prison, please come and visit me. Maybe that’s where you could start your new life. It’s the land of opportunity, remember?’
‘Who knows? We’ll keep in touch for sure. By the way, did you find out more about Kitty Mercer?’
‘Better.’ I grinned. ‘I found my family.’
‘Then I’m happy for you, CeCe.’ For the first time, his face lit up in a full-blown smile. ‘You deserve it.’
‘Listen, I have to leave now, but I’ll send you my new address once I’m settled there.’
‘Promise?’ He grasped my hand as I stood up.
‘Promise. Oh, and by the way,’ I whispered, ‘don’t worry about your dad. I’ve got a feeling he’s going to get everything he deserves.’
* * *
I spent the afternoon packing the rest of my stuff into bin bags, which Star had said she would store at High Weald. Then I went out to buy all the bits I knew I couldn’t get in Alice Springs, like Heinz baked beans and a gigantic bar of Cadbury’s Fruit and Nut chocolate. Star, her mum and Mouse were due to come to the apartment at six o’clock for my leaving drinks, before heading off to the East End. I splashed out on three bottles of champagne and some beer to send them – and me – on our respective ways.
When I arrived home, loaded down with all my shopping bags, I saw that Ma had taken Star’s place and was wearing her white apron, neatly tied around her waist. She greeted me at the door with a look of despair.
‘Mon dieu! Is there a local patisserie nearby? The canapes I tried to make have gone wrong. See?’
She pointed to some weird – and actually quite arty – green pastry things that looked like someone had stamped on them.
‘It’s okay, Ma. I’ve got some tortilla chips and dip from the shop.’
‘Oh CeCe, I’m so embarrassed! You have found me out.’ She sat down at the kitchen table and buried her face in her hands.
‘Have I?’
‘Mais oui! I am French, yet anything I cook is a disaster! The truth is that I have hidden behind Claudia for all these years. If it had been left to me to feed you girls, you would have been starved – or poisoned – to death!’
‘Honestly, Ma, it doesn’t matter. We love you anyway, even if you are a rubbish cook.’ I stifled a laugh at her distraught expression. ‘We all have strengths and weaknesses, remember? That’s what you’ve always told us, anyway,’ I added as I dumped the tortilla chips into a bowl and put the champagne and beers into the fridge.
‘It is, chérie, and you are right, I must accept my own.’
‘Yeah.’ I saw she needed a hug, so I went over to offer one.
‘Oh CeCe, I think that just now, out of all of my girls, I am proudest of you,’ she said as she stroked my hair.
‘Why?’
‘Because you know how to be yourself. Now, I will go upstairs and get ready for the party.’
* * *
They all arrived just after six and I saw that Star’s mum, Sylvia, was literally an older version of Star in more expensive clothes. She was really sweet, and told me she’d heard lots of good things about me, before giving me a hug.
‘Thank you for looking after her when I couldn’t,’ she whispered in my ear.
I immediately warmed to her, and was glad that Star had someone else who loved her as fiercely as I did.
Mouse was his usual gruff self, and I decided that if I was casting Mr Darcy in that Jane Austen novel Star went on about all the time, I’d definitely pick him. I had to admit he was handsome, if you were into that sort of thing, but a bit stand-offish, like most English aristocrats I’d met. Then I remembered that technically I was descended from a Scottish aristocrat too, and felt a bit more on the same level.
I watched as Sylvia approached Ma, and wondered how Ma felt about it. Then I closed my eyes and visualised a human heart beating. I watched it expand as it encompassed all the new people that I loved. And I understood that the heart had an infinite capacity to extend itself. And the fuller it was, the more healthily and happily it beat inside you. Best of all, my fingers itched, and I knew immediately what the inspiration for my next painting would be.
I came to as Ma pressed a glass of champagne into my hand. I noticed that everyone had quietened and was standing around me, watching me expectantly.
‘Erm . . .’ I said stupidly, still dazed.
Ma came to my rescue. ‘I would just like to say,’ she began, ‘that I am so proud of you, CeCe, for how far you have come on your journey. Chérie, you are talented and brave, and your heart is true. I hope that Australia will give you everything you have been searching for in your life. We will all miss you, but we understand that our little dove must fly. Bon voyage!’
‘Bon voyage!’ everyone chorused and clinked glasses. I stood back and watched them, this eclectic collection of people who had been knitted together by love. And I would always be a part of this patchwork quilt of humanity, even if I was flying off to the other side of the world tomorrow.
‘Are you okay?’ Star nudged me.
‘Yeah, I’m fine,’ I swallowed. ‘Your family’s great, by the way.’
Mouse appeared at her elbow. ‘We need to leave now or we’ll be late. Sorry, CeCe.’
‘Okay.’ Star looked at me miserably. ‘Cee, are you sure you don’t want to come to the party with us?’
‘Really, don’t worry about me. I need to do some final clearing up and packing. It’s just bad timing.’
‘I should stay here with you tonight.’ Star bit her lip as Mouse handed her her coat. ‘Oh Cee, I have no idea when we’ll see each other again.’
Sylvia came to say goodbye to me and wish me luck, then it was Ma’s turn.
‘Goodbye, chérie, promise me you will take good care of yourself, and keep in touch?’ Ma hugged me, and I saw Star shrug on her coat, then begin to walk back towards me.
‘Darling, we’re going to be late.’ Mouse took her arm and led her firmly towards the door. ‘Bye, CeCe.’
I love you, Star signed to me from the doorway.
Love you too, I signed back.
The door swung shut with a bang behind her, and I did my best not to howl my eyes out. I hated Mouse for not even allowing us a proper goodbye.
I put the glasses and plates into the dishwasher, glad of the distraction, then I went to my studio and dismantled my installation, taking it down piece by piece to the communal rubbish container outside the building.
‘You’re binned,’ I said to Mr Guy Fawkes as I stuffed him inside and slammed down the lid. Upstairs in the apartment, I watered Star’s plants for the last time. She’d handed me her key earlier, entreating me to make sure the new tenants took care of her ‘babies’, as she called them.
‘Wow, this is seriously the end of an era,’ I muttered as I paced the apartment, the silence reminding me of why I’d gone to Australia in the first place. Putting on my hoody, I braved the cold night air out on the terrace. I thought of Linda, and the life she’d never had; how she’d spent hers loving someone who would never love her. I felt a bit better then because, unlike her, I had a future to go to with people who did love me. What it might contain, I still wasn’t sure, but it was there for me to write it. Or, more accurately, paint it.
I looked up and found the tiny milky cluster and I thought how much brighter the Seven Sisters shone over the Alice.
My new home.
* * *
When the taxi arrived at five the next morning, the sky was still depressingly dark. In the end, I hadn’t bothered to go to bed, hoping it would help me sleep on the plane later. As we drove away from my apartment, a text pinged onto my phone.
CeCe, this is Linda Potter. I’ve given it a lot of thought, and I’ve decided to visit Anand. You were right, he needs my help and I will do what I can. God bless you, and safe journey to Australia.
Relief and pride rose up inside me, because I had changed Linda’s mind. Me, with my clumsy words . . . I’d actually managed to make a difference.
I checked in my three holdalls at Heathrow and walked to the security entrance, wondering if I’d remember this moment for the rest of my life, because it was so seminal. Then I thought how it was never the big moments I remembered; it was always the little things – picked out at random by some weird alchemy – that stuck in the photo album of my brain.
I dug in the front of my rucksack for my boarding pass, and my hand brushed against the sugary brown envelope which had once contained the clues to my past.
‘Christ,’ I breathed as I handed my boarding pass to the woman. I felt like it was almost a rerun of two months ago.
The woman nodded at me as she took it, looking half asleep, which was only fair because it wasn’t even seven o’clock in the morning yet. I was just about to walk through when I heard a voice behind me.
‘CeCe! Stop!’
I was so tired that I thought I was dreaming.
‘Celaeno D’Aplièse! Arrête! Stop!’
I turned round and there was Star.
‘Oh my God, Cee!’ Star panted as she arrived beside me. ‘I thought I’d missed you. Why on earth weren’t you answering your phone?’
‘I switched it off when I got out of the taxi,’ I said. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘We didn’t say goodbye properly last night. And I couldn’t let you leave without giving you a proper hug and telling you how much I’m going to miss you, and’ – Star wiped her nose on her sleeve – ‘saying thank you for everything you’ve done for me.’
She flung her arms around me and held me tighter than she ever had before, as if she couldn’t bear to let me go. We stood there for a while, then I pulled away, knowing if I didn’t, I’d stay forever.
‘I’d better go through,’ I mumbled, my voice croaky with emotion. ‘Thanks so much for coming.’
‘I’ll always be there for you, darling Cee.’
‘Me too. Bye, Sia.’
‘Bye. Keep in touch, won’t you? And promise you’ll come back to Atlantis for Pa’s first anniversary in June?’
‘Course I will.’
I blew a final kiss to Star, then I turned away and walked through security and into my future.
Tiggy
The Highlands, Scotland
January 2008
Aboriginal symbol for moon
37
‘You sure about going out again later, Tig? There’s a blizzard comin’ in,’ Cal said to me as he studied the benign blue sky through our cottage window, the midday sun sprinkling a glitter topping on the permanent layer of snow that covered the ground all winter. The view was Christmas-card perfect.
‘Yes! We just can’t take the chance, Cal, you know we can’t.’
‘I doubt even the Abominable Snowman’ll be out tanite,’ Cal muttered.
‘You promised we’d keep watch,’ I entreated him. ‘Look, I’ll take the radio with me and contact you if there’s any trouble.’
‘Tig, d’you really think I’m going tae let a wee lassie like you sit alone in a snowstorm while there’s a possible poacher with a rifle prowling the estate? Don’t be a dafty,’ Cal growled at me, his ruddy features showing irritation, then finally compliance. ‘No longer than a couple o’ hours, mind. After that, I’m dragging you home by the hair. I’ll not be responsible for you ending up with hypothermia again. Understand?’
‘Thanks Cal,’ I replied with relief. ‘I know Pegasus is in danger. I just . . . know it.’
* * *
The snow had fallen thickly around us in the dugout and the tarpaulin roof had buckled under the weight of it. I wondered if it would collapse altogether and we would be buried alive under the sheer weight of snow above us.
‘We’re leavin’ now, Tig,’ said Cal. ‘I’m numb to my innards an’ we’ll be struggling tae drive back. The blizzard’s eased for a while and we need tae get home while we can.’ Cal took a last slurp of lukewarm coffee from the flask then offered it to me. ‘Finish that. I’ll go an’ clear the snow off the windscreen and get the heat going.’
‘Okay,’ I sighed, knowing there was no point in arguing.
We’d sat in the dugout for over two hours, watching nothing but the snow hurl itself to the ground. Cal left and headed towards the Land Rover, parked beyond a stone outcrop in the valley behind us. I peered out through the tiny window of the dugout as I sipped the coffee, then turned off the hurricane lamp and crawled outside. I didn’t need my torch as the sky had cleared and now twinkled with thousands of stars, the Milky Way clearly visible above me. The moon, which was waxing and within two days of being full, shone down, illuminating the pristine white blanket that covered the ground.
The utter silence that came just after fresh snowfall was as deep as the sparkling carpet that claimed my feet and most of my calves.
Pegasus.
I called him silently, searching for him around the cluster of birch trees that marked our special place. He was a magnificent white stag, whom I’d first noticed when I’d joined Cal on his rounds of the estate counting the deer. Pegasus had been grazing amongst a cluster of red stags and at first I’d thought that perhaps he was yet to shake the snow from his body. I’d alerted Cal and pointed out the spot, but by the time he’d focused the binoculars, the herd had moved away up the hill, camouflaging the mystical and all-too-rare creature that ran somewhere in their midst.
Cal hadn’t believed me. ‘White stags are akin tae the golden fleece, Tig. Everyone searches for them, but I’ve been on this estate for all o’ my life an’ I’ve never seen the hide o’ one.’ Chuckling at his own joke, he’d climbed back into the Land Rover and we’d moved on.
I knew, however, that I had seen the stag, so I’d returned to the copse with Cal the following day, and as often as I could after that.
My patience had finally been rewarded as I’d crouched behind a thicket of gorse and trained my binoculars on the ragged birch trees. Then I’d seen him, standing away from the others just to my left, perhaps only ten feet from me.
‘Pegasus,’ I’d whispered, the name arriving on my tongue as though it had always been there. And then, as if he knew that was his name, he’d lifted up his head and looked at me. We’d held eye contact for perhaps only five seconds before Cal had arrived beside me and sworn loudly in wonder at the fact that my ‘flight o’ fancy’ had actually been real.
That moment had been the start of a love affair; a strong, strange alchemy connecting us. I’d rise at dawn, when I knew that the herds were still taking shelter from the biting winds at the bottom of the valley, and drive to the cluster of trees that provided scant protection from the bitter cold. Within a few minutes, as if he sensed my presence, Pegasus would appear. Each time, he’d take a step closer and, following his lead, so would I. I felt he was beginning to trust me, and at night I dreamt of one day being able to touch the velvety grey-white of his neck, but . . .
At my old animal sanctuary, my natural ability to connect with the young motherless or injured deer that had been brought to us to nurse back to health had been an asset. Here at Kinnaird, the livestock were wild, living as nature had intended them to and roaming the twenty-three-thousand-acre estate with minimal interference from humans. Apart from controlling their deaths through the organised culling of both stags and hinds.
During the shooting season, wealthy businessmen arrived at the estate on corporate hospitality jaunts and paid exorbitant prices to shed their aggression through their first experience of a live kill, then returned home to hang a deer’s skull on their wall as a trophy.
‘There’s nae natural predators left, Tig.’ Cal, the estate ghillie – whose gruff manner, and Scottish accent you could cut with a knife, hid a genuine love for the natural wilderness he struggled to protect – had done his best to comfort me when I’d first walked into the estate larder to find four blooded and skinned hinds hanging by their hooves. ‘We humans have tae take their place. It’s the natural order of things. Y’know their numbers have tae be kept under control.’
Of course I knew, but that didn’t make it any easier when I was faced with mutilated life, snuffed out by a man-made bullet.
‘O’ course, Pegasus is somethin’ different, somethin’ rare an’ beautiful. He’ll not be touched on my watch, I swear tae you.’
How word had got out that a white stag had been spotted on the Kinnaird Estate and passed to the press, I didn’t know, but it was only a few days later that a journalist from the local newspaper had beaten the treacherous path to our door. I’d been beside myself, entreating Cal to deny Pegasus’s existence – to say it was a hoax – knowing that a white stag’s head was catnip for any poacher, who would sell it on to the highest bidder.
Which was why I was standing here now at two in the morning, in an eerie frozen wonderland. Cal and I had constructed a primitive dugout close to the copse of birch trees and kept watch. All land in Scotland was open to the public, and we had no idea who might be prowling around the estate in the darkness.
I walked slowly towards the trees, begging the stag to make an appearance so I’d be able to go home and sleep, knowing he was safe for one more night.
He appeared as if from nowhere, a mystical sight as he raised his head to the moon, then turned, his deep brown eyes fixed upon me. He began to walk hesitantly towards me, and I to him.
‘Darling Pegasus,’ I whispered, then immediately saw a shadow appear on the snow from the cluster of trees. The shadow raised a rifle.
‘No!’ I screamed into the silence. The figure was behind the stag, his gun aimed and ready to fire. ‘Stop! Run Pegasus!’
The stag turned round and saw the danger, but then, rather than bolting away to safety, he began to run towards me. A shot rang out, then two more, and I felt a sudden sharp pain in my side. My heart gave a strange jolt and began to pound so fast that dizziness engulfed me. My knees turned to jelly and I sank onto the snowy blanket beneath me.
