Page 54 of Out of the Blue
I brushed my teeth, got dressed and pulled my hair back into a ponytail. I went downstairs, put my shoes on and walked out to the car. I can’t work out at which point things went off course. Maybe if I hadn’t paused to put my hair up, she’d still be here. Maybe if I’d forgotten something and run back to my room, she’d still be here. Iknowthat if I’d said no, or if I’d gone to school in the first place, she would be.
But I didn’t. I got in the car, and we drove to the glen, and the unlikely became the inevitable.
Nowadays it’s just another bullet point on my long, long list of places to avoid, but back in November the glen was just one of the many spots Mum and I loved to go walking: a little green haven of birch and yew and elm trees, with a beautiful waterfall looking out towards the hills.
It was quiet that day, as always, and strangely sunny for November. We walked up the path, talking about school, Emma’s latest boy drama, my uncle Dinesh’s new girlfriend. I could feel my bad mood start to lift a little, until she brought Leah up.
‘Leah hasn’t been over for a while,’ she said, as we pushed open the gate leading into the glen. Or maybe it was, ‘What Highers is Leah doing again?’ Like so many things, I can’t quite remember. Whatever it was, she was skating around the topic, clearing a path for me to talk about her.
I didn’t take it. It felt good, being outside, with the fresh air clearing my thoughts. I’d even left my phone at home so I couldn’t check if Leah had sent any more messages.
So I changed the subject. Another time, I decided, as I followed Mum up the path towards the top of the waterfall. I would talk to her about it another time.
We left the path, then headed towards the clearing on the east side of the waterfall. It was the best viewpoint in the whole glen: you could see way out to the mountains topped with a dusting of snow. You had to cross the burn at the top of the waterfall to get there; the water was usually shallow, and there were stepping stones from one side to the other, past the sharp drop of the water’s edge and the rocky pool some ten metres below.
I’d crossed that stream dozens of times; Mum even more. The current wasn’t faster that day; the rocks weren’t slippery or frosty. There was nothing to suggest that trip would be different to any other.
If she was closer to the edge than normal, I didn’t notice. If the rock gave way, I didn’t see. But for some reason, she lost her balance. Her right leg kicked out; her arms spun around. She grabbed a branch overhead, and for a second she was still – but then came a crack, and the branch broke off in her hands.
‘Oh,’ she said.
And then she disappeared.
There was a crash: a snap of bones, a splash of water. Noises I’ve heard echoed dozens of times, each time another Being falls. A sound that loops over and over in my thoughts, in my nightmares.
After that, all I have are spots of colour. Her scarf, bright yellow, ensnared on a branch by the foot of the pool. Splashes of red across the rocks, spilling into the water. A dozen different greens, scratching at my arms and tangling around my feet. Then black.
Allie once told me her life had always been a conditional clause. Since that day, mine has too. If we hadn’t gone for that walk. If I hadn’t skived off school. If I’d never kissed Leah on my birthday. If Mum hadn’t got pregnant with me in the first place.
There are countless cases that could have kept Mum here. For most of them, I’m the only common factor. No matter how you work it out, the answer is the same: it was my fault, it was my fault, it was my fault.
TWENTY-NINE
The sound of tyres crunching on gravel wakes me up. I sit up, squinting in the morning sun, and for a moment I can’t work out where I am. Flashes of last night’s events come back to me: McEwan Hall, empty – Leah on the rooftop – untying Teacake – the long drive north –
Phoning Dad. Telling him to come home, now, and not telling him why.
Key in the lock. The front door opens.
‘Oh, shit.’
I scramble out of the sleeping bag, trip on the hood and fall down again. Allie jerks awake, her hair sticking up in all directions. I run downstairs. Dad’s shoes are lying by the door; Rani’s backpack at the foot of the stairs. The living-room door is ajar. Maybe he hasn’t seen yet. Maybe I still have time to explain, in person, like I wanted to –
Too late.
For a split second, I see it through Dad’s eyes. There is a Being in our house. In our living room. Sitting on the back of our sofa, her wings sharp strokes of pink against our antique-cream walls. A Being eating our KitKats, grinning a chocolatey smile at our dog.
Perry bounds forward, barking in delight; Teacake lifts her up, giggling as she licks at her face. Rani leans against the wall, scratching one leg with the back of her foot, and lifts her hand in a small wave.
‘Dad,’ I say. ‘Dad, I was going to –’
He looks around. My lower lip is trembling, and my palms are clammy. He’s going to kill me. He’s going to hate me. I don’t know which is worse.
‘Jaya, what’s going on?’ He steps towards me, then turns to Teacake, then back to me again. ‘I don’t understand. What is this?’
‘This is . . .’ I swallow. ‘This is Teacake.’
Before he has a chance to ask, I tell him the whole story: Teacake’s story, or the part I know of it, at least. For a long moment, afterwards, none of us speak. In the silence, it feels as if the echoes of my sentences swell, becoming more absurd with each passing second.
