Page 43 of Out of the Blue
‘You idiot,’ he says. ‘You bloody useless idiot. What the hell did you think you were doing? Waste of time –’
He tears the world map off the wall. He rips his notes in half. He pulls the pages from library books, crumples Post-its in his palms. Rani and I try to stop him, but he shrugs us off and keeps storming the room, destroying days and nights of research, weeks and months of planning. And even though I’ve resented every minute of it, it’s painful to watch it come apart.
‘Bloody . . . delusional . . . moron . . .’
He slumps on to the sofa, his head in his hands, surrounded by a snowfall of paper scraps. Rani goes to make him tea and toast, though we both know he won’t eat. I tiptoe around him and sweep up the paper into a bin bag. Even when he falls asleep, the sadness wafts off him, potent as the whisky.
As I carry a handful of ripped-up equations into the kitchen, Rani catches my wrist. She’s crying. ‘We have to tell him.Please, Jaya.’
Though I shake my head, a small part of me is actually tempted to do it. He’d be angry, yeah, but the shock and the joy would cancel that out. The relief too – and the vindication.
I could give him all that. But I’m still choosing not to. Right now, Teacake still comes first.
Rani sniffs and wipes her tears on the hem of her T-shirt. ‘Look how upset he is. You’re being so selfish!’
‘Rani, come on. You promised you wouldn’t say anything.’
‘That was before—’
I cut her off with a sharp look. ‘I’m serious, Rani. If you tell him, I’ll just deny the whole thing.’
‘Fine.’ She sniffs and takes off her glasses to wipe the tears from her eyes. ‘But don’t blame me when he finds out and hates you for it.’
By the time I finish cleaning up, it’s past five: I should have been at McEwan Hall over three hours ago. It takes me ten minutes just to cross the road – there are a thousand Spanish kids running riot, plus a squad of breakdancers gyrating on the cobbles – but the chaos is a welcome relief from the atmosphere in the flat.
When I reach Bristo Square, I see something that makes my heart skip: Allie crossing the road towards McEwan Hall. She looks pale, tired and tiny in her oversized cardigan and skinny jeans, but her face lights up when she sees me.
God, she’s pretty.
‘Guess what? Prison Warden Scott went out to Aldi,’ she says, grinning. ‘God bless their unbeatable deals.’
She reaches up to give me a hug. The heavy feeling that’s been sitting in my stomach all afternoon starts to lift instantly. I let my arms linger around her just a little bit longer than friendly.
‘How are you feeling?’ I ask. ‘Are you sure you’re up to being out?’
‘Aye, I’m much better,’ she says, but she’s interrupted by another bout of coughing. She gives me a wry smile. ‘OK, notthatmuch better. I probably shouldn’t stay more than half an hour. I just figured it was worth it.’
We smile at each other, then both break eye contact at the same moment. I fill her in on the day’s events as I rummage in my bag for my keys. Part of me thinks I should tell her about Leah too, but I’m not sure how to bring it up. I mean, how do you tell the girl you like that your sort-of ex is in town and that you might still have feelings for her and that, oh yeah, she’s also part of a huge international cult? Where would you even begin?
‘I’m glad you’re here,’ I say instead. I double-check nobody is watching, then turn the key in the lock. ‘My dad had a bit of a meltdown after the Fall – well, the lack of the Fall. I could do with something to take my mind . . .’
The words dissolve in my mouth as we step into the hall. Rays of evening sun seep through the skylight, leaving a circle of pink-tinged light on the wooden floor. Calum’s black backpack lies open by the organ,A Dance with Dragonspoking out behind the zipper.
But Teacake’s not there.
Teacake is gone.
TWENTY-FOUR
There’s no sign of a struggle. Other than Calum’s backpack and a crumpled Twix wrapper in one corner, there are no clues that anyone has been here at all. Allie’s fingers dig into my arm.
‘Where is he? Calum? Calum!’
There’s no answer. I scan the murals and the ceiling, stupidly hoping that Teacake might be hidden somewhere among the scholars and angels – that this is all just a horrible joke. But then I look down and see three feathers by my feet: one blackbird, one sparrow, and one a glittering pink.
‘No, no, no . . .’
My head swirls with unwanted images: blurred figures storming the hall, grabbing Teacake’s wings, pulling Calum’s hair. She’s gone. She’s actually gone. Allie sees the feathers and freezes.
