A Sea of Stars (6 page)

M
um, Dad and I have our last dinner together. Mum lays the table in the garden and picks pink roses from Alfie's shrub number three. She makes crème brûlée for pudding because it's one of my favourites and barbecued fish because it's Dad's top most favourite dinner. While we're waiting for the food, Dad's cleaning up the patio. He sweeps the dust and stacks the pots, then starts mowing the lawn, strimming the edges, and pulling up the weeds.

“There,” he says, when he's finished, wiping a muddy hand across his brow and glugging down
a huge glass of juice without breathing. “That's better.”

I don't think Cat will care what the garden looks like. I wouldn't even notice things like weeds and pots if I was about to be adopted and leave my little brother behind. But Dad feels it's right somehow to make the place nice for her. Mum says it's like when you're expecting a new baby and you start nesting and getting everything clean and ready. Then we imagine Cat like an enormous baby all wrapped up in a big pink blanket and us carrying her home in our arms. We start giggling at the idea of it and our giggles get so out of control we can't stop the tears streaming down our faces.

“Stop it!” says Mum, wiping her cheeks. “It's not funny!”

And for a moment a bit of the Mum I remember peeps through as her cheeks go all pink, her eyes shine bright.

I decide to start nesting too, like a big birdy sister. I run up to my room, pick up my dirty clothes and put them in the wash. I tidy my desk, make my bed
and even get the vacuum cleaner out to clean up the floor. Then I creep into Cat's room. It's still there, untouched. It's a peaceful holy place, like a church, waiting for Cat, like Cat's been waiting for us to be her new family. I rest my face on her pillow; it's smooth and cool on my cheek, her fluffy rug warm and soft under my toes. I sit on Cat's window seat and think about her ‘Life Story Book'. I really, really want to see inside it. She knows everything about us from the ‘Our Family' book we made, so it's not fair that I don't know as much about her. Mum and Dad have this huge folder all full of stuff about Cat, but I'm not allowed to look at that either because they say it wouldn't be helpful for my relationship with Cat. I wish they wouldn't treat me like a baby. I can know stuff, even bad stuff. I can cope. I am twelve! I look down at the bay and hope that soon Cat'll send me the golden twinkle again, that she'll show me her book, that she'll learn to like living with us. I hope one day I'll be able to touch her without asking, touch her hair without making her run.

Dinner is quiet. My cutlery feels heavy in my hands; it keeps clinking on my plate. The barbecue fish is tasty, but it's really dry and hard to swallow. I wish I wasn't so tame. I wish I were wilder, like Cat, more daring and dangerous. I take a sip of juice and start imagining what my life would be like if I could do exactly what I wanted with no one telling me.

Number one is I'd stop going to school straight away, except I might go and chat to Mr Firmstone sometimes. He's my favourite teacher because he tells us interesting stuff about life. When I told him we were going to adopt Cat, he told me that he was adopted too. He was found on some church steps when he was one day old, tucked up in a cardboard box. Number two is I'd move into a beach hut of my own, right down on the bay, so I could surf when I wanted without anyone saying ‘no'. Number three is I'd eat coffee-and-walnut cake for breakfast with hot chocolate, marshmallows and cream.

“What happened to Cat?” I ask, when I stop thinking about my list. “Why did she get taken
away from her mum?”

Mum sighs.

“Sometimes, Maya,” she says, “life just doesn't work out how we'd planned. When Cat's mum had her, she had wonderful intentions to be a good mum and do her best. But, sadly, her mum has the kind of problems that mean she can't care for her children properly. It's not safe for them to be with her.”

“What kind of problems?” I ask. “Why wouldn't they be safe?”

“All sorts,” says Mum, getting up and clearing the plates. “When we met her mum it was clear how sad and confused she is about losing her children. As much as she wants to look after them, she just can't. She's tried her best, but can't seem to get herself around committing to them and caring for them in the ways they need caring for.”

“Deep down, Cat's mum loves her children very much,” says Dad, “and we must always remind Cat of that. But sometimes it's hard for her to show them that love. It comes out all wrong and mixed
up and that can be scary for children. Children need stability, Maya. They need to feel safe and loved.”

“How does it come out?” I say. “In what kind of way is it all mixed up? Did she get left on her own in the middle of nowhere or not fed? You know, like, did social services rush in with the police in the middle of the night and drag her away from her mum, screaming and scared, like they did on that ‘Street Kid' programme I saw? Or was she at school, all quiet in the corner, with a teacher noticing that something terrible was wrong?”

“Cat will tell us in her own time,” says Mum. “And there may be bits she'll never share with us or anyone else because it's just too painful. We need to give her time to feel safe.”

“We need to help her feel safe and loved,” says Dad. “That's the main thing.”

 

It's late now – really late – and I should be sleeping. But it's hard to get to sleep knowing that tomorrow night Cat will actually be sleeping in the room next to mine. Making our house her home. Being my
sister at last. I look down at the bay beneath the cliffs, black and shimmering water under the moon. Peaches Paradise stretches and licks her paws. I tickle her tummy and she wriggles and purrs. I really want to know what happened to Cat and Jordan. I want to know exactly how life can get so mixed up that children get taken away. I mean, how can that actually happen? My life feels so boring and safe compared to Cat's that a part of me would like something exciting and dramatic to happen. I might feel different then. I might feel braver.

My imagination starts getting really carried away and I see Cat and me being those girls in the NSPCC adverts on telly. Like the ones where they're hiding, all scared and trembling in dark shadows, waiting for bad stuff to happen. And where boys in hoodies huddle together, hungry and dirty on the stairs. I imagine myself phoning up ChildLine to get help with some big problem that I can't solve on my own. I imagine the kind voice at the end of the phone making me cry. And I'm about to drift off to sleep with my imagination bubbling away
when Cat's words echo loud in my head. I do what I want. No one tells me.

That's when I send the text.

My phone trembles in my hands, my clammy fingers slip on the keys.

Really
? texts Anna.

Really
! I text back.

I creep downstairs. Mum and Dad are sleeping. I like being up so late, alone. It's like I'm in one of Dad's murder mystery films, with the house quiet and just the velvet silence of night-time ticking around me. I'm going to make an adventure of my own. All I need are firelighters, matches and a packet of marshmallows. I stuff everything into a bag, open the door and slide outside.

I really feel like I'm in a film now. I can't believe I'm actually doing this. The damselflies are whirring more than ever. Maya White doesn't do this kind of thing! The breeze ruffles through my hair. I shiver with excitement, loving the feel of adventure in my feet. I take a big deep breath, look up at the bright white moon and peel the layers of cotton
wool off me. I pop Mum's silver bubble with a pin and shoo the angel bodyguards away. I stand up tall and brave and alone, and a million twinkling stars rain down on me, tumbling through the night. The wind flaps sand in my eyes, my heart thumps loud in my chest and a voice yells loud in my head, Don't do this, Maya! Mum will go crazy if she finds out! But I don't listen. I don't care. I have to have an adventure of my own. Cat can't be the only one.

I start up the path and that's OK because the house is behind me, still warm on my back. I can still see my bedroom light and Peaches Paradise, stretching out on the window seat, watching me. Then I'm out on the track and a sliver of fear cuts through me, the damselflies whir in my head. A cloud travels over the moon and everything goes black. An owl screeches. A hedgehog scuttles past my feet. I should turn back, a part of me wants to. I almost call Anna to say, “Go back home this is a stupid idea!” But Cat wouldn't do that. Cat would do what she wanted, without anyone telling her what to do.

I open up the gate and it creaks like deathly white bones. I imagine skeleton hands reaching up from deep below the earth and dragging me down. I bury my hands in my pockets and turn my back to the wind. I keep walking further and further away from the house, my heart beating louder than a drum. I can do this. I can. I climb down the steep cliff steps; it's tricky in the dark and the stones are loose. I keep stumbling and tripping. I tear my jeans on a rock and graze my knee. It stings like mad. But I'm not going back now.

Down on the bay, the oily black water swishes and sways and shimmers. It looks kind of threatening and beautiful at the same time – a dark, shiny monster, stretching across the sand; a private, midnight lagoon inviting me to play. And the diamond stars studding the universe, and the twinkling lights from the houses, and the strings of little fairy lights along the bay twinkle in the water – a beautiful sea of stars.

And then I see Anna, already waiting.

“You're mad!” she whispers.

“Maybe,” I say, “but I'm tired of being so good all the time. My life is so boring. I always do what I'm told. I need an adventure, and this is it. I've always wondered what it would be like down here at night, when everyone else is sleeping. Cat does what she wants and I'm two years older than her. I don't see why I can't too.”

We gather up some driftwood, make a little fire and Anna clucks on about how crazy my mum will be if she ever finds out what we're doing. Then we giggle at our madness and squash marshmallows on to spindly bits of driftwood and toast them and let the sticky soft goo melt to warm sweet cream in our mouths.

“I'll race you!” I squeal, pulling off my jeans.

“Maya, we can't go in the sea!” hisses Anna. “It's too dark; no one's around. It's too dangerous!”

I glare at Anna. Her eyes cloud over with fear.

“I do what I want,” I say. “No one tells me.”

And Cat's words are gold and silver angels on my tongue. I turn away from Anna and race to the edge of the oily black water that stretches out in
front of me like a huge empty page. I don't care if she doesn't join me. That's her problem, not mine. I'm tired of people telling me what to do. I whisper so quietly that no one but the mermaids and the seashells and the fishes can hear, “I do what I want. No one tells me.” And then I say it a little louder and, if I weren't so afraid of waking everyone up, I'd scream it at the top of my lungs.

Then Anna's right by me wearing nothing but her knickers and a wild tiger smile.

“Come on then, bumcake!” she whispers.

We charge into the sea, muffling our shrieks as the cold water freezes us and sparkles, all glittery on our skin. And we sing, “Bumcake! Bumcake! Bumcake!” like crazy and remember the day I sat on a bit of birthday cake at Anna's and no one noticed it for hours, until the squidgy blue icing had seeped right through my knickers to my bum. We lie on our backs, thread our hands together and float like driftwood on the waves. Everything's so black, if I close my eyes I'm not sure where I end and Anna begins, where she ends and I begin. We've been best
friends for so long and done so much together it's like we've actually melted into one person, with one brain and one warm heart, beating us into life. I hope it will be like this with Cat.

“Can I tell you a secret, bumcake?” says Anna.

“Go on then.”

“Well…” she says, “you know Luca?”

“Errr… of course.”

“Well…” she says, “I kind of like him!”

I start splashing her like mad.

“Luca?” I shriek so loud I have to shove my fist in my mouth so no one will hear. “Gus's nephew from California? Well, he is kind of cute, but you like him?”

And then I start giggling so much I think I might die.

Back on the beach, the shivers grab hold of us and chatter our teeth like hammers and nails. Our lips are like metal, like we've coloured them in with blue felt-tip pens or Halloween lipstick. I forgot to bring towels, so we prance about in front of our fire and pretend we're ballet dancers in
Romeo and Juliet
and I can't stop laughing about Anna and Luca.

“Luca, Luca, wherefore art thou, Luca?” I giggle.

“Stop it!” laughs Anna. “I can't help it, can I? The other day he was just Gus's nephew splashing us and then the next time I saw him he made my insides go so mushy I couldn't even speak to him.”

We hold our clothes near the flames to warm them and it reminds me of how my mum used to do this when I was small. Then we talk for hours and hours about boys and school and Alfie and Cat and new clothes and Luca and Anna. And we giggle and eat marshmallows until we're stuffed to the brim and our cheeks are aching.

When we're so tired our eyes feel hollow and the first pink wash of sunrise paints patterns in the sky, we let our fire die down. And when it's nothing more than crackling golden embers on the sand and thin blue smoke spiralling up to the sky, we say goodbye. We walk further and further away from each other, into the tie-dye silk dawn, and Anna gets smaller and smaller until she's just a tiny little zabaloosh speck in the distance and I'm just a tiny
bumcake.

“Zabaloosh!” she calls. “I love you the mooosh!”

Back at home, I feel scared. I stink of wood smoke and sea salt and lies. Guilt wriggles through me like a worm. If my mum has it her way, I'm going to be stuck to her and her fears until I'm at least a hundred. I pour myself some juice, find a biscuit for me, some fishy snibbles for Peaches Paradise and creep upstairs to my room. Even though I feel guilty, my body is tingling with excitement. I want to sing at the top of my voice or swing from the tallest tree and tell the world all about my adventure with Anna. I do what I want. No one tells me. But I can't risk Mum noticing the wood smoke smell, so I jump into the shower, dry myself off with a big warm towel and snuggle down deep in the warm patch Peaches Paradise made in my bed.