Lucas (22 page)

The point is, although I don't believe in these things, that doesn't mean they don't believe in me. I'm not quite sure what that means, if anything, but I know what it feels like. Because, as I walked down the lane that afternoon after Dominic and Jamie had gone, I knew without a shadow of doubt that Lucas would be waiting for me at the creek. I
knew
it. It was there, in my mind. It was already
a part of me. I didn't just picture him, he was there – like a memory of the future.

It didn't make sense.

How did he know I was looking for him?

How did he know I was coming?

How did I know he was there?

I didn't know.

I still don't know.

But I wasn't wrong.

He was sitting quietly on the bank, leaning back on one elbow and chewing on a blade of grass. The creek was almost still. The sun's reflection rippled on the surface and a pair of swans floated motionlessly at the water's edge, their necks upright and their eyes fixed on Lucas. I paused for a moment to take it all in. The hazy air, the mottled colours, the dappled light … it was like a scene from an Impressionist painting.

The afternoon breeze ruffled my hair as I moved on down the lane.

Despite everything, I felt surprisingly calm. It was an odd sense of calmness, kind of dull and emotionless, and normally that would have worried me. I would have wanted to know
why
I wasn't feeling anything. Why
wasn't
I nervous, happy, sad, frightened, angry, excited … what was the matter with me? Was I sick? Didn't I care? Was I fooling myself? It would have bothered me, and that would have made me feel even worse. But that afternoon I didn't give it a moment's thought. It just didn't seem to matter. It was almost as if I'd been here before, and whatever lay ahead had somehow already happened, so there was no
point
in being emotional about it. It was beyond emotion.

Lucas looked up as I approached. A depth of solitude showed briefly in his eyes – a lifetime of isolation – and
then, as he recognised me, he removed the blade of grass from his mouth and his face broke into a warm smile.

‘You look nice,' he said.

My legs went weak and I nearly fell over. I didn't know what to say. I just stood there looking at him. His hair was damp, and rings of sweat darkened the armpits of his T-shirt. He put the grass stem back in his mouth and turned his gaze back to the swans.

I sat down next to him.

We didn't speak for a while.

The creek was dark but clear, like liquid bronze. Sunlight filtered down through the water revealing flat stones and lumps of blackened bog-wood resting on the sand bed, and in the shallows small fish were darting around looking for flies on the surface. Quiet popping sounds punctuated the silence.

Lucas made himself a cigarette. When it was finished he sat there looking at it for a while, rolling it around his fingers, studying its shape, and then he reached up and stuck it behind his ear. He scratched idly at the scar on his wrist.

‘I didn't mean to be creepy,' he said.

‘Sorry?'

‘What I said.'

‘When?'

‘Just now – when I said you looked nice. I didn't mean anything … I just meant you look nice.'

‘I know – it's all right. Thank you.'

He smiled. ‘You're welcome.' He plucked the cigarette from behind his ear and lit it.

I don't really like smoking. I don't like the smell of it and I don't usually like the way it makes people look. It makes them look stupid. And the fact that they think it
makes them look cool only makes them look even
more
stupid. But with Lucas it was different. I'm not sure why. It seemed more natural with him, as if he was doing it purely for his own pleasure. It wasn't an addiction. It wasn't an act or an affectation. It was just something he enjoyed now and then. I don't know why that should have made a difference, but it did. I didn't even mind the smell too much, either.

‘No Deefer, today?' he asked.

‘No.'

‘Just walking?'

I looked at him. ‘Actually, I was looking for you.'

His head nodded slightly but he didn't say anything. He carried on gazing at the swans in the creek. They hadn't moved since I'd first seen them. They were still at the water's edge, still motionless, and they were still staring at Lucas.

‘They're beautiful, aren't they,' I said.

Lucas frowned. ‘Do you think so?'

‘They're so graceful.'

‘I've never really liked them that much.'

‘Why not? What's wrong with them?'

‘There's nothing
wrong
with them, I just think they're a bit ugly, that's all. Stupid long necks, beady eyes, nasty-looking beaks …' His mouth creased into a grin. ‘When I was a kid I used to think the beaks were the dangerous bit. I'd read somewhere that swans can break your leg with a single blow of their wing, but somehow it got all muddled up in my mind and I ended up thinking they could break your leg with a single blow of their
nose
.'

I laughed.

Lucas looked at me, smiling. ‘I sometimes get things muddled up.'

‘It happens to the best of us.'

‘I suppose so.' He re-lit his cigarette and blew smoke into the air. Then he glanced at the swans again. I saw him make a gentle jerking movement with his head, a sort of sideways nod, and at the same time he mumbled something under his breath. Down at the creek the two swans turned as one and glided off downstream.

I stared after them, quietly bemused. What I'd just seen, or thought I'd seen, didn't make sense. It wasn't natural. It wasn't … it wasn't important. Strange things happen. It's a big world, there's a lot of stuff going on …

I watched the swans as they drifted away into the distance.

When I eventually turned back to Lucas he was studying the end of his cigarette, gazing at the glowing tip as if it was the most fascinating thing in the world.

‘I need to tell you something,' I said.

He looked at me, his blue eyes calm and clear.

‘You have to leave,' I said.

‘What – now?'

‘No, I mean you have to leave the island. It's not safe.'

He laughed quietly.

‘I'm serious,' I said. ‘I overheard Jamie Tait talking about you. He doesn't think you should be here.'

‘Really?'

I nodded. ‘That's why they're all saying you messed around with the little girl you saved. They're trying to give you a bad name.'

He smiled. ‘That shouldn't be too hard.'

I looked at him. Chewing on a piece of grass, idly flicking at flies – he didn't seem to have a care in the world. ‘Look, Lucas,' I said. ‘Jamie's not as stupid as he looks. If he wants to cause trouble for you, he can do it. And he'll
get away with it, too. No one's going to touch him – his dad's an MP, his future father-in-law is a policeman—'

‘I know.'

‘Jamie's got some rough friends.'

Lucas shrugged.

‘I think they might be planning to set you up.'

‘For what?'

‘I'm not sure – something to do with a girl on the beach, I think. Some kind of sex thing …'

‘Sex thing?'

I felt embarrassed. ‘You know what I mean.'

He held my gaze for a moment, then lowered his eyes and looked away without saying anything. I stared at him, trying to read his thoughts, but his face gave nothing away.

I said, ‘They're coming after you, Lucas.'

‘Who?'

‘Jamie Tait and Lee Brendell. Tomorrow evening, after you've finished work at Joe's place. They're going to be waiting for you in the lane. I think my brother might be there, too.'

He nodded thoughtfully. ‘I wondered why Joe was so insistent on giving me some work.'

‘Jamie's father owns his farm. I think they probably twisted his arm.'

‘Or slipped him some cash.'

‘Joe wouldn't have known what they wanted you for. I mean, he's not that bad … I'll give him a ring and explain why you won't be coming. He'll understand.'

‘You don't have to do that.'

‘I don't mind.'

‘I need the money, Cait.'

‘What do you mean?'

He raised one leg in the air and waggled his foot. ‘I
need new boots. Look—' He picked at a bit of loose leather. ‘These are falling apart.'

‘What? You're not still
going
, are you?'

‘I need the cash.'

‘But what about Tait and Brendell? It's not a game, Lucas. They're not just messing around. They're vicious, especially Brendell. You could end up in hospital.'

‘We'll see.'

I frowned at him. ‘What's the
matter
with you? You said you were leaving the island anyway. Why don't you just get out before it's too late?'

He looked at me. ‘I thought you wanted me to come to the festival on Saturday?'

‘Of course I do,' I said. ‘But you won't be able to come with two broken legs, will you? Look, I can give you some money if you need new boots. I'll
buy
you some bloody boots.'

‘You don't know my size.'

‘Oh, for God's
sake
…'

The emotion in my voice surprised me, and I think it surprised Lucas, too. He looked at me for a moment, opened his mouth as if to say something, then thought better of it and looked away. Suddenly the air seemed very still. I wanted to say something … anything. But I couldn't. I could hardly breathe, let alone speak. The silence was suffocating.

‘Look at me,' Lucas said eventually.

I looked at him.

He spoke quietly. ‘They can't hurt me, Cait. It's as simple as that. They can't hurt me, so there's nothing to be afraid of.'

‘I don't understand.'

‘Just trust me. It'll be all right.'

I looked into his eyes. ‘Why? Why can't they hurt you?'

‘There's nothing to hurt.'

I couldn't think of an answer to that, so I just turned away and stared dismally at the ground. A small black beetle was scuttling around in the grass. I watched it, wondering what it was doing and where it was going. Did it have a plan? Did
it
know what it was doing? Was it thinking about anything? Was it aware of my attention? I doubted it.

‘Don't be angry,' Lucas said quietly.

I breathed in slowly, still staring at the ground. I could smell the sweat from his skin. It was a nice smell. Nice and clean and earthy. I looked up. Lucas was smiling at me. He raised his hand to wipe his face, and just for a minute I thought he was going to reach out and touch me, just a friendly pat on the arm or something – but he didn't.

‘I'd better go,' I said, getting to my feet. ‘A friend's coming round to see me. I'm probably late.'

Lucas stood up.

I looked at him again, and for the first time I saw him for what he really was: a small and fragile young boy.

I said, ‘You know what's going to happen tomorrow, don't you?'

He nodded.

‘And you don't care?'

He shrugged. ‘It's going to happen.'

‘Take care, Lucas.'

‘You too.'

We stood looking at each other for a moment, then I turned around and walked away.

W
hen I got back, I just had time for a quick shower and a change of clothes before the doorbell rang. I pulled on a clean white T-shirt, hurried downstairs and opened the door. Simon was just reaching up to press the bell again. When he saw me he jerked his hand back and nearly fell off the steps. It was one of those hazy humid evenings when the heat makes the air almost too heavy to breathe, but Simon was dressed as if it was winter. Long black coat, a battered old trilby hat, and a worn-out rucksack slung over his shoulder. Rolls of drawing paper and RSPCA posters were poking out from the top of the rucksack. In the yard behind him, thousands of flying ants were crawling on the walls and launching themselves into the sky, only to be snatched up by clouds of hungry gulls and rooks swooping and circling in the air. I watched them, wondering how the ants knew it was the right day to fly. Was it the heat? The light? The humidity? How did they
know?
And what would happen if they waited all summer and the right day never arrived?

Simon cleared his throat.

‘Sorry,' I said, looking at him. ‘I was miles away.'

I stepped back and we went inside.

‘Aren't you too hot in that?' I said, nodding at his coat.

‘Not really,' he mumbled.

I led him into the kitchen.

‘Do you want something to eat?'

‘No thanks.'

‘Do you mind if I do? I'm starving.'

I fixed myself a bowl of salad and some bread and cold chicken, sat down at the table and started scoffing it down. Simon stood there watching me.

‘Thure you don't want thome?' I said through a mouthful of bread.

‘No, thanks.'

‘Thuit yourthelf.'

I spent the rest of the evening being equally loathsome. Poor Simon, he did his best – showing me his poster designs, sketching a plan for the stall, talking to me about what we should and shouldn't sell at the festival – but my heart wasn't in it. Whenever he tried to get me involved I either said something stupid or I didn't say anything at all. I was angry, I suppose – angry, confused, and worried. Worried about Lucas, confused about Lucas, angry with Lucas … I know it wasn't fair to take it out on Simon, and I didn't really
mean
to, but I did it anyway. The way I was behaving, it would have been subtler to hang a banner round my neck saying
Go Away
.

After an hour or so, Simon eventually got the message and started packing away the festival stuff in his rucksack.

‘I'll get the rest of it sorted out later,' he said, with an embarrassed smile.