Free Wild Blue Yonder (The Ceruleans: Book 3) by Megan Tayte Page B

writer myself, in fact…’
    I paused in dunking the teabag and looked over at her. She
had stood now with a small stack of books and she met my gaze. I wondered
whether she read the question in my eyes: What of that dream now?
    I held the mug out to her. ‘Tea’s ready.’
    She placed her books down on the sofa and took the mug from
me, inhaling deeply. ‘Looks vile but smells divine. Can’t get enough of it at
the moment,’ she said, sitting down on the sofa.
    I resumed my seat in the armchair and picked up my
fast-cooling orange green tea. Looked vile. Smelt okay. Tasted… well, it was no
Starbucks mocha full-caff with extra cream and chocolate sprinkles, that was
for sure.
    ‘How long have you been here?’ I asked her.
    ‘Almost two years,’ she said. ‘It was the very end of
January when I came.’
    ‘Two years. So you’ve…?’
    ‘Had a baby, yes. I’m expecting my next in the spring.’
    My eyes flew to her stomach. Beneath the baggy black jumper
she wore, a swell was visible.
    ‘My partner’s Adam,’ she went on. ‘He Claimed me. I was in
love with him long before he told me about Cerulea, about all this. So it was
easy for us.’ Lips edged with black liner curved up in a kind smile. ‘You must
have so many questions, Scarlett. If I can help at all…’
    ‘You seem happy,’ I said. ‘Content.’
    She tilted her head to one side and thought before answering
seriously, ‘I’m pregnant. Pregnancy makes me content. And the island is
beautiful – hard to tell now, with rain and snow, but come the summer it’s that
place in the sun where most people dream of living. And it’s quiet here – few
people. Safe. Calm. And the others here are kind. And Adam is… everything. And
I know I’m doing something important, something worthwhile. And I’ve started
writing here – my first novel!’
    That was a lot of reasons to be happy with the Cerulean
life. So why did I feel like there was an unspoken ‘but’ hanging in the air?
    ‘Do you miss home?’ I probed.
    She shook her head. ‘No one to miss. I was a foster kid; my
last family probably still hasn’t noticed I’ve gone.’
    ‘Well, if not people, don’t you miss the places – the
freedom?’
    She shrugged. ‘It’s peaceful here. And it’s safe.’
    That word again. Safe . I couldn’t help wondering why
that was so important to Estelle, why she’d had cause to fear feeling not
safe .
    I was quiet for a while, swilling the last of my drink
around in the mug, while Estelle combed fingers through her long hair, humming
quietly under her breath.
    ‘How can you bear it?’ I said eventually. ‘Giving them up –
the babies?’
    ‘I don’t see it that way. Every mother must learn to let go;
it’s part of being a mother. Here, we do it a little earlier.’
    I wondered whether she believed her own words. It was hard
to read her; she wore so much makeup that her face was a mask.
    ‘Jude said he doesn’t know his mother. Does that work both
ways? Do the mothers recognise their own children after they leave here?’
    ‘I’m not sure,’ she said. ‘My first is still here, and so
little still, I’d know him anywhere. But then I’ve only the one to remember.
The others, those who’ve been having babies for longer – I don’t know. I would
guess so. If there’s some defining characteristic…’
    ‘Oh!’ I said.
    ‘Oh?’
    ‘Sorry, I just realised – my welcome party, that room full
of people, it’s been bothering me how alike everyone looked.’
    ‘Ah,’ she said. ‘That. Not exactly a model of
multiculturalism here, that’s true.’
    ‘Everyone’s white. Everyone.’
    ‘So that it’s harder to tell whose child is whose, I
assume.’
    ‘You assume.’
    ‘Well, Evangeline mentioned something…’
    ‘Evangeline. Will you tell me: what do you think of her?’
    Estelle paused again before answering. I was beginning to
think she needed time to frame not a natural response but a proper one.
    ‘Evangeline is kind to