Free Death Wish (The Ceruleans: Book 1) by Megan Tayte Page A

thought.
    ‘Oh, don’t worry, love. My fault. It was bad of me not to
tell you about the buttons. Anyway, you’re set for today?’
    ‘Yep.’ I patted my pocket. Chester gave a loud, joyous bark.
    ‘Good. Well, off you go and have fun. Oh, and maybe you’ll
stay for cake again? That Battenberg that Mrs Hobbs from number twelve brought
round has got your name all over it…’
    I agreed; of course I agreed. It was the least I could do.
Looking in Bert’s eyes was not unlike looking in the eyes of the magpie – there
was a realisation that death was stalking close by. I couldn’t soothe Bert as I
had the bird, but I could give him time and companionship, and if eating lurid
pink-and-yellow marzipan was the way to do it, so be it.
    *
    By the time I got to the beach that evening, clouds were
rolling in and the wind was picking up. I was running really late. I’d stayed with
Bert for longer than I’d intended because we’d got engrossed in an episode of
his favourite show, Quincy ME – I’d never seen it before, but had to
admit it had a kind of cheesy, kitsch charm. Then, when I’d got home, I’d
intended on a quick change, but had fallen asleep for an hour, the result of my
long walk with Chester along the coast that afternoon. Still, at least I was a
little less exhausted for my surfing lesson – well, what was left of it.
    The tide was out, and the walk across the beach to the waterline,
where I could make out Luke’s form, was a long one. I arrived panting and ready
to apologise for my tardiness, but Luke was grinning.
    ‘Evening!’ he said. ‘Perfect weather for it.’
    I looked out at the sea. It was grey and tossing. The last
time I’d seen waves this big was the day of my near-drowning. I gripped my
board tightly and gulped.
    He put a hand on my arm. ‘Hey, don’t worry. This is great
surfing weather. See?’ He gestured to a handful of shadowy figures bobbing on
the waves. ‘And I won’t let anything happen to you, okay?’
    ‘Well…’
    Before I could think of a decent excuse, he was kneeling
down and attaching my board’s leash to my ankle. ‘We’ve done the theory, now
you’ve got to put it into practice.’ Arm around my shoulders, he guided me to
the water. ‘C’mon, you’ll be…’
    *
    ‘… absolutely shocking at surfing!’ I spluttered an hour
later.
    I was terrible, truly terrible. I’d wiped out so many times
I’d lost count – so many times the sea had begun to blur into sky and I kept
losing track of whether I was under and meant to hold my breath, or up and
gasping. The result was a throat burning from saltwater coughs.
    ‘You’re doing great!’ said Luke. He sat comfortably on his
surfboard beside me as I trod water and clung grimly to my board.
    ‘Chester the dog could surf better than me!’ I snapped,
glaring up at him.
    ‘Come on,’ he said cheerily. ‘Back on the board.’
    ‘I’ll just fall straight off.’
    ‘Seriously, you’ll get it soon. It’s like riding a bike –
all in the balance. It’ll suddenly click.’
    ‘It won’t click. It’s like bloomin’ skiing all over again.
And horse-riding. And tennis. All sports, in fact. I have no coordination. Do
you know I managed to knock myself out doing a handstand when I was six?’
    He laughed. ‘Scarlett –’
    ‘No, Luke!’ I was very far from laughing, and so tired and
sore and utterly miserable I didn’t even care any more about being polite.
‘This was a bad idea. My sister may have become some surfing goddess in just a
few weeks, but that’s not me.’
    The word ‘sister’ wiped the smile straight off Luke’s face,
and I cursed myself for the outburst. I did not want to talk about Sienna.
Especially not here, out in the ocean, where she’d… Oh God, what if it was
right here that she’d died? I looked around frantically, as if I would
see her here, floating – had she floated? Face up or face –
    ‘Scarlett?’
    ‘Huh?’
    Luke dropped onto his belly on his board, so our