Read Online Death Wish (The Ceruleans: Book 1) by Megan Tayte - Free Book Online
Authors: Megan Tayte
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me.
‘Go on. A bit of Custom Cara and it’ll look great on you!’
I’d tried to resist, but Cara was determined, and I figured
there was little harm in buying a dress I’d never wear when the price tag read
seven pounds fifty. Delighted, Cara swiped the bag and added it to her
collection.
Shopping done, we settled in at Cafe Luna with tall coffees
and a muffin each. Over the next hour I learned lots about Cara. Her passion,
it was clear, was for fashion. Through her bargain rummages she had amassed a
collection of clothing so big she was struggling to contain it in her house,
and she had quite a business going customising clothes and selling them on
eBay. Now that she was seventeen, with just a year left at school, she was
struggling to know what to do next: stay in Twycombe and focus on Custom Cara,
or leave and take a course in fashion.
In return, I shared a little of myself. Cara listened
attentively as I told her about the history degree at University College London
that I was due to start at the end of September. Cara was surprised I was
heading to uni – she’d thought, because I was seventeen and Sienna eighteen, I
had another year yet at school. I explained that my sister and I were in the
same school year because with an August thirty-first birthday I just scraped
in.
‘We were only ten months apart,’ I explained.
‘Blimey,’ was Cara’s response, ‘your parents were frisky!’
I shuddered at the mental image that sprang to mind.
‘Why history?’ she asked. ‘Isn’t that kind of dull? Tweedy
blokes. Frowny women. Books – dusty books. And all that looking backwards, not
forwards. Where’s that degree taking you? What’s the future hold for Scarlett
Blake?’
I bristled, but then struggled to find a defence. The truth
was, I’d picked history because I didn’t know what else to do, and because it
felt safe, easy, containable, tangible. Unlike the future yawning ahead, which
felt… well, a little terrifying. How was I meant to know at seventeen what to
do, what to be?
‘Er… Henry Cavill,’ I said finally. ‘And Jonathan Rhys
Meyers.’
‘Superman and the dad in City of Bones ?’
‘But also Charles Brandon and Henry the Eighth in The
Tudors .’
‘You picked a history degree so you could ogle hot men on TV
shows?’
‘Well…’
‘That. Is. A. BRILLIANT. Plan.’
*
It was teatime by the time Cara navigated her silver Peugeot
through the lanes leading to Twycombe. As she took the final turn into the lane
that ran right to the cottage, her legs, flexing and stretching, caught my
attention. Cara’s car was specially adapted to allow her to drive with her
hands only. It had been surreal, at first, to find the car braking and
accelerating with no movement from Cara’s legs, but I’d soon got used to it.
Now, though, her shifting legs made me wonder whether she was in pain.
‘Are you okay?’ I asked.
‘’Course. Just dandy.’
‘Your legs… do they ache from the walking?’
‘They should. But actually, they feel pretty good.’ She
broke into a smile. ‘It’s like I always say – bargains heal all: body, mind and
soul.’
We rounded a bend in the road and the cottage swept into
view.
As Cara pulled to a halt outside the door she frowned. ‘Will
you be okay? I don’t like to think of you alone up here. You could come to
ours. You know, have dinner.’
I reached over and gave her a light hug. ‘I’m fine, thanks.’
‘But what about tomorrow? A whole day to yourself…’
‘Really, Cara, I’ll be fine. I have plenty to do in the
house, and I’ve never minded my own company.’ It was true; Sienna was always
the sociable sort, not me. But I didn’t want to offend Cara. ‘Coffee next
week?’ I offered.
‘Definitely. Text me.’
I got out and watched her execute a perfect three-point turn
and then head back down the lane, somehow managing to simultaneously steer and
clap happily along to Pharrell Williams on the radio.
As I walked up to the
‘Go on. A bit of Custom Cara and it’ll look great on you!’
I’d tried to resist, but Cara was determined, and I figured
there was little harm in buying a dress I’d never wear when the price tag read
seven pounds fifty. Delighted, Cara swiped the bag and added it to her
collection.
Shopping done, we settled in at Cafe Luna with tall coffees
and a muffin each. Over the next hour I learned lots about Cara. Her passion,
it was clear, was for fashion. Through her bargain rummages she had amassed a
collection of clothing so big she was struggling to contain it in her house,
and she had quite a business going customising clothes and selling them on
eBay. Now that she was seventeen, with just a year left at school, she was
struggling to know what to do next: stay in Twycombe and focus on Custom Cara,
or leave and take a course in fashion.
In return, I shared a little of myself. Cara listened
attentively as I told her about the history degree at University College London
that I was due to start at the end of September. Cara was surprised I was
heading to uni – she’d thought, because I was seventeen and Sienna eighteen, I
had another year yet at school. I explained that my sister and I were in the
same school year because with an August thirty-first birthday I just scraped
in.
‘We were only ten months apart,’ I explained.
‘Blimey,’ was Cara’s response, ‘your parents were frisky!’
I shuddered at the mental image that sprang to mind.
‘Why history?’ she asked. ‘Isn’t that kind of dull? Tweedy
blokes. Frowny women. Books – dusty books. And all that looking backwards, not
forwards. Where’s that degree taking you? What’s the future hold for Scarlett
Blake?’
I bristled, but then struggled to find a defence. The truth
was, I’d picked history because I didn’t know what else to do, and because it
felt safe, easy, containable, tangible. Unlike the future yawning ahead, which
felt… well, a little terrifying. How was I meant to know at seventeen what to
do, what to be?
‘Er… Henry Cavill,’ I said finally. ‘And Jonathan Rhys
Meyers.’
‘Superman and the dad in City of Bones ?’
‘But also Charles Brandon and Henry the Eighth in The
Tudors .’
‘You picked a history degree so you could ogle hot men on TV
shows?’
‘Well…’
‘That. Is. A. BRILLIANT. Plan.’
*
It was teatime by the time Cara navigated her silver Peugeot
through the lanes leading to Twycombe. As she took the final turn into the lane
that ran right to the cottage, her legs, flexing and stretching, caught my
attention. Cara’s car was specially adapted to allow her to drive with her
hands only. It had been surreal, at first, to find the car braking and
accelerating with no movement from Cara’s legs, but I’d soon got used to it.
Now, though, her shifting legs made me wonder whether she was in pain.
‘Are you okay?’ I asked.
‘’Course. Just dandy.’
‘Your legs… do they ache from the walking?’
‘They should. But actually, they feel pretty good.’ She
broke into a smile. ‘It’s like I always say – bargains heal all: body, mind and
soul.’
We rounded a bend in the road and the cottage swept into
view.
As Cara pulled to a halt outside the door she frowned. ‘Will
you be okay? I don’t like to think of you alone up here. You could come to
ours. You know, have dinner.’
I reached over and gave her a light hug. ‘I’m fine, thanks.’
‘But what about tomorrow? A whole day to yourself…’
‘Really, Cara, I’ll be fine. I have plenty to do in the
house, and I’ve never minded my own company.’ It was true; Sienna was always
the sociable sort, not me. But I didn’t want to offend Cara. ‘Coffee next
week?’ I offered.
‘Definitely. Text me.’
I got out and watched her execute a perfect three-point turn
and then head back down the lane, somehow managing to simultaneously steer and
clap happily along to Pharrell Williams on the radio.
As I walked up to the
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