Free Forget Me Not (The Ceruleans: Book 2) by Megan Tayte Page A

have, but that comes every night. Scarlett’s standing over my grave,
watching them lower in my coffin. She’s not crying, but she has that look on
her face – the one she had the day the paramedics carted Mother off to pump the
gin and tablets from her stomach. Thirteen years ago, but I’ve never forgotten.
I pushed my sister behind me then; I tried to stand between Scarlett and the
Bad Thing.
    I don’t know how to do that this time.

14: NEVER SAY NEVER
     
    I was curled up in an armchair by the fire, Sienna’s diary
on one arm and a box of tissues on the other, when my mobile rang. The
ringtone, American Authors’ ‘Best Day of my Life’, sounded all wrong in the
shadowy room. Loud, hopeful – an anthem from just a few weeks past but a
lifetime ago. I silenced it quickly, and then checked the caller display.
    Mother .
    It had been a while since she’d called. It used to be every
day, sometimes several times. She was often drunk, then, or drugged to the
gills on tranqs, failing miserably to cope with her daughter’s death. But I
hadn’t spoken to her in weeks now. Not since the day I’d discovered she’d been
lying to me about Sienna – that she’d hidden from me the truth that my sister’s
body had never been found. There had been emails since, and texts, begging me
to understand. I hadn’t replied to any.
    It was late to take a call. I should have gone to bed.
Closed eyes that were gritty from crying; drifted into dreamland.
    Scarlett’s standing over my grave… she has that look on
her face.
    My finger hovered over the keypad: green for go , red
for go away . My armour should have been cold, unfeeling, impenetrable
steel. But it wasn’t; right now it was a burning, molten mess. I pressed the
call-answer button.
    ‘Scarlett!’
    ‘Hi.’
    ‘Darling, how are you?’
    ‘Okay. And you?’
    ‘I’m good! I’m well. I went to the retreat, the one you
found for me.’
    Retreat: a euphemism for posh rehab.
    ‘And?’
    ‘And I feel better. Much better. Myself again.’
    ‘Good.’
    ‘You don’t have to pretend. I know you don’t believe me.
After all this time of the drinking and the tablets and the emotional
episodes…’
    ‘There’s been a lot of that.’
    ‘I know. And I’m sorry. So very, very sorry.’
    I fingered the notebook beside me. ‘You lied to me, Mother.’
    ‘I did. I can’t blame Hugo – I went along with the lie. I’m
sorry, Scarlett, really I am. It was wrong, I realise that now. But I never
meant to hurt you. I thought if you knew the truth… well, sometimes we lie to
the people we love to protect them, you know.’
    I did know. All too well. But I wasn’t about to tell her
that.
    ‘Have you spoken to Hugo about it?’ she said.
    ‘To Father?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘No. I haven’t talked to him at all, and I don’t want to.
Not since he Dear Johned me.’
    ‘He did what?’
    ‘Dear Johned me. Sent me an email saying, “I’m done as your
father. All the best.” Oh, and then he put a load of money in my account this
week – a nice, juicy pay-off.’
    There was a long silence, and I braced myself for Mother’s
meltdown. But all she said was, ‘I’m so sorry, Scarlett. I’m sorry he did that.
It must have been very painful for you.’
    I blinked. This was a first. Where was the ‘Evil bastard!
How dare he! Oh poor me, for marrying such a heartless monster’ ?
    ‘It stung a little,’ I said. ‘But I figure I’m – we’re –
better off without him.’
    ‘Yes, we most certainly are. And we have each other. I’m so
proud of you, darling. You’ve grown into such a strong young woman.’
    ‘Um, thanks.’
    ‘Did you get my birthday gift?’
    I looked at the silver photo frame on the mantelpiece. In
the centre, pride of place, between one of my grandparents and one of Luke and
Cara and me at a party.
    ‘I did. Thank you. I… it means a lot.’
    I expected her to leave it at that, but she didn’t.
    ‘I’ve always liked that picture,’ she said.