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  Mr Vallence was not at the shop today and so his daughter, Marie, hurried out to greet them. She wore a slightly guilty expression, and Raegan understood why when she spotted the crumpled copy of Heat magazine tucked under her arm. Marie’s exchange with Con, as he asked after her father, was slightly breathless; Raegan couldn’t tell whether this was because she was embarrassed to be caught skiving or just thrown by the arrival of this barrel-chested man who appeared to be too big for the small shop. Her grandfather seemed uncomfortable, but then trinkets probably weren’t his thing: in fact, the thought of a medallion-wearing Con, dripping with bling, was so crazy that Raegan almost laughed out loud. Fortunately she did not, for Con was now pressing money into her hand and muttering instructions.

  Raegan watched the door clang shut behind him, wondering how she was supposed to know what to buy for a complete stranger. The unfamiliarity of the situation, the strangeness of it, seemed suddenly overwhelming; and longing for her mother bit into her so sharply it made her wince. Life without her was all hurdles. Tying shoelaces, wrestling with her mad hair, picking birthday presents… even the smallest things were a gargantuan effort.

  The only bright spot was that she was getting a bit better at it. With a breath, she mustered a smile up from the bottom of her boots and turned to Marie, who was unlocking the glass on one of the cabinets.

  ‘Dad won’t be happy, but I think it’s easier this way. You can pick stuff up, if you like. Get a feel for it.’ Marie eyed Raegan curiously. Her gum made the occasional loud, smacking sound as she chewed. ‘I didn’t know Mr O’Roarke had any grandkids. You been here long?’

  Raegan studied the pretty woven bangles glinting against the red velvet. After a moment, she answered, ‘Just a couple of months. This is my first trip to St Jude’s in ages, though.’

  ‘You didn’t miss much, trust me.’ Marie sighed. ‘Nothing ever happens here. You’re from London, yeah? Mint.’

  Raegan smiled shyly. At first she’d thought Marie was going to be hard to talk to – with her hot-pink lipstick, straightened hair and tanned skin, she was from another world - but she seemed friendly enough. ‘Yeah, it was cool.’

  ‘Clubs in London are easy to get into, like without ID, aren’t they? Have you ever been to Whisky Mist? Or Chinawhite?’

  ‘Not for a while,’ Raegan said vaguely, not wanting to come across like a freak by admitting that she had always been too scared of getting knocked back to go to any clubs. ‘Have you?’

  ‘I wish!’ Marie’s voice took on a dreamy quality. ‘Just think, you could have bumped into Robert Pattinson! He’s been papped there loads.’

  Raegan realised that Marie was looking at her expectantly. ‘Maybe… London’s pretty good for celeb-spotting.’ Not that she’d ever seen anyone (well, unless you counted Dave Wellman from Room for Improvement – her mother had been a huge fan of the show and had nearly exploded with excitement when they’d spotted Dave at the supermarket - which Marie probably didn’t.).

  Tuning back in, she caught the end of Marie’s ode to Robert Pattinson, ‘He’s bloody lush. I’ve got all the Twilight films on DVD. So, did you? See him? When you went to Whisky Mist?’

  ‘Erm… I don’t think so.’ Raegan coughed, eager to change the subject. ‘But, you know, actors always rock up at those premieres in Leicester Square – sometimes you can get tickets…’

  ‘You’ve been to premieres?!’

  ‘Oh, I didn’t mean-‘

  Marie shook her head enviously. ‘Wow. You must think it’s well boring round here.’

  ‘No! I mean, I haven’t done much here yet, but it seems alright.’

  ‘Alright!’ Marie scoffed. ‘You must be joking. Even the ‘rents get sick of it. My dad is always moaning about the pub – you been in there? Trust me, you don’t want to. It’s minging. The place hasn’t been redecorated since, like, the 1800s! They haven’t even got Sky, so Dad gets mad when the footie is on. Tell yours to steer clear, if he’s into all that. Or actually-‘ she added, laughing, ‘even if he’s not!’

  Raegan smiled, remembering the red and white scarf hanging in her parents’ closet. ‘Well, Dad was a proper Man U fan, so he probably wouldn’t have been impressed! But, well, he died when I was little. So…’

  ‘Oh, no, I’m so sorry.’ Marie’s hand flew to her lips. ‘I didn’t know that. God, me and my mouth!’

  ‘It was a long time ago.’

  ‘But-‘ the words came faster and faster, as if she was trying to puncture frantic holes in the sudden thickness of the air. ‘But you and your mum, you must miss him. Must be so lonely, you know… just the two of you…’

  Just the two of you.

  Don’t cry don’t cry please please don’t cry. The plea rushed through her and Raegan felt guilty for it, for caring what Marie thought. But she couldn’t deal with that look, the look she had seen so many times already and that was bound to cross Marie’s face at the sight of her tears.

  ‘Just me, actually. Mum died. This year.’ Breathing was painful, suddenly.

  Marie was aghast. ‘How?’

  ‘Car accident.’

  There was a pause, and then the scuffling sound of feet as Marie stepped out from behind the counter. She hovered for a moment as if not quite sure what to do.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ she whispered, not meeting Raegan’s eyes. ‘I mean, how do you even deal with that?’

  Raegan didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Her throat was suddenly made of sawdust.

  The silence was thick, heavy. Marie had shuffled closer by now, close enough to stretch out a sympathetic hand and touch Raegan’s arm; but she seemed to think better of it, and played with the edge of the glass instead.

  And then she was speaking again, shrill explanations pouring from her lips like a rush of air.

  ‘Just… I want you to know that I get it. Kind of. I mean, I’m not saying I’ve been through the same thing as you. Like, I still have my dad! Though he was messed up for a while. After – it – happened.’ Her voice caught. ‘We lost my mam. I was only ten.’

  Despite her efforts not to cry, the lump in Raegan’s throat was so huge that she couldn’t speak. Marie seemed to sense this. Silently, she fell into position beside Raegan, so that both girls were leaning against the counter, side by side, not looking at each other. Though they were not touching there was a closeness that had not been there a few minutes ago. It was a feeling Raegan had missed.

  ‘People treat you different,’ Marie said after a moment.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘They just don’t get it.’

  ‘It’s just… it sucks.’

  ‘Totally.’ Their eyes met and Raegan began to smile. She didn’t know why. Embarrassment, maybe. Marie grinned back.

  Then, at exactly the same time, something shifted. The absurdity of the situation seemed to dawn on both girls. And all at once the fact that they found themselves standing there, as two almost complete strangers, in a dusty, dark shop, in painful discussion about the most terrible thing that had ever happened to either of them, but the best word they could come up with to describe what they felt was ‘sucks’, well… suddenly it didn’t seem so awful.

  In fact it was kind of funny.

  They stood there smiling at each other, the comfortable silence interrupted only by the faint pealing of bells from St Jude’s cathedral. She could see Con’s silhouette against the door, and the thin spiral of curling smoke from his cigar.

  ‘So, I should probably try and sell you something now.’ Marie resumed position on the other side of the glass case with a rueful shrug of the shoulders. This time the gap between them seemed a lot smaller. ‘See anything you like?’

  In answer, Raegan reached for a delicately beaded bracelet that had caught her eye. The topaz stones were almost fiery as she held the piece up to the afternoon light. ‘This is lush.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Marie concurred, somewhat grudgingly. ‘Shame about the maker.’

  Raegan looked at her quizzically. ‘You know him –s
lash-her?’

  ‘Him. My ex,’ Marie sniffed, taking the bracelet from her and placing it on the counter. It was only then that Raegan noticed the turquoise necklace glinting at her throat. ‘And trust me, his head is big enough as it is.’

  ‘That bad, huh? Does that mean you’re gonna hold it against me if I buy this?’

  She rolled her eyes good-naturedly. ‘Nah. Just try not to wear it in front of me too much.’

  ‘Oh, it’s not for me, so no worries.’ Raegan grinned. ‘Can’t make any promises for the birthday girl, though.’

  ‘Well, you could always tell her it’s too fancypants to actually wear! She needs to like, keep it in a safe, locked away, or something?’ Marie said playfully as she put the necklace in a box.

  ‘Hey, I don’t even know the girl. This is a favour for Con and Bridey. So who knows – she might hate it!’

  ‘Fingers crossed.’

  Present wrapped and paid for, the two girls smiled at each other from their opposite sides of the counter. Raegan hesitated. She knew this was her cue to leave but she didn’t want to go. Marie was the only person she’d talked to in months who actually seemed to get it. It reminded Raegan how much she missed her friends – how she missed the way it used to be, before everything changed.

  Raegan’s boring at the mo. All she does is cry.

  Oh, don’t invite Raegan. She’ll just ruin the mood.

  Better not say anything or you’ll set her off again.

  Raegan didn’t want to remember the bad times, but after what had happened with her London friends she had given up on making new ones. ‘Thanks,’ she mumbled, picking up the small silver bag and turning to leave.

  ‘No probs.’ Marie paused, and then called after her, ‘If you ever need a break from the island, you’re welcome to hang out here sometime. Or we could go out. There’s this new diner on Main Street, meant to be fun.’

  Raegan wasn’t used to smiling like this; her face was starting to ache. It was a welcome pain. ‘Sounds wicked.’

  The bell tinkled. A range of expressions flitted across Con’s face as he entered to find Raegan reciting her number for Marie, who was tapping away furiously at her phone; surprise, amusement, and even something that looked strangely like pride. But a second later he was nodding at Marie impatiently, face a grizzled mask once more. ‘About time. Home, Raegan.’

  That was that. Now they were back on the boat, speeding toward the tiny island which Raegan could not think of as home, not yet, and it was as if the events of the last few hours had never taken place.

  Almost worse was the realisation that she was back to square one with Con. In St Jude’s he had transformed into an almost kindly, almost friendly grandfather. But for some reason this fairy-tale like mutation had ended the moment they stepped onto the boat, and he hadn’t addressed a word to her since. He hadn’t even looked at her. Now, glancing sideways at his profile, so still it could have been carved out of rock, Raegan couldn’t fight the feeling that during this return journey something had been lost; something which, though it had only surfaced in a mere glimmer for a few moments, had been inestimably precious.

  Chapter Two: Reflections

  Over a week had passed since her visit to the mainland and Raegan had barely a moment to herself, though the weirdness of Tristan Fettes and his remarks followed her around like a shadow. Night after night of haunted sleep didn’t help. But there was no time to think things over. Bridey always had something which needed doing, and if she didn’t, Jenna, who ran the island café during tourist season, did; and both would whisk away as soon as she was settled with her task, barely pausing to say goodbye. In her more uncharitable moments, when her shoulders ached from polishing silverware or her eyes stung from the fumes of the onions she was chopping, by the kilo, for the lunch-time rush, Raegan wondered why Jenna’s daughter, the lucky recipient of the lovely bracelet she had chosen, wasn’t there to help. The thought always brought her up short; she could hardly blame the girl for having a mother and not attending to her more. She would have done the same. She had done the same.

  The icing on the cake was just how well her appearance matched her mood. Raegan had always thought of herself as pretty boring to look at, but even ‘boring’ had been hard to achieve when she was stressed or tired. The one thing she could count on was that an all-nighter would shortly be followed by a delightfully vibrant outbreak of acne. It didn’t matter if she’d been skipping sleep to cram for the dreaded French exam or for a night out – the next day her face would punish her by doing a brilliant impression of a pepperoni pizza. Today her skin was glowing with so many unhealthy red dots that no concealer on earth would cut it. Shame, really, that it was completely the wrong time of year for trick or treating. If she and Marie were going out for Halloween, there would be no need for a costume.

  She smiled. Bearing in mind how excited Marie had been about her outfit, she was going to have to find something a bit more Dolce and Gabbana, a bit less Dracula.

  Marie had called yesterday, as bright and breezy as if they’d been friends for years. ‘Hey-ya,’ she exclaimed. ‘Sorry I didn’t get a chance to call before, it’s been mad. You must have been like, has she fallen off the face of the Earth?!’

  Raegan was too embarrassed to admit that she had chickened out of calling Marie herself. The phone number was contemplated but never dialled.

  Fortunately Marie was less given to self-doubt. And, it appeared, breathing – she had not yet paused to inhale. ‘…would not believe the week I’ve had,’ Raegan heard her say. ‘I’ve had it up to here with these bloody mock exams! Do you know what I mean?’

  This time Marie did stop, waiting for an answer, but the question caught Raegan off guard. ‘Not really,’ she blurted, twisting the phone cord around her fingers. ‘I haven’t been to school since… well, before.’

  ‘Yeah.’ The response was quiet, and Raegan felt her cheeks grow hot. Now Marie would make some excuse, hang up. Just like Annie and Bex, her closest friends at school. One nice conversation in a jewellery shop didn’t count for much. No-one could put up with her for long.

  But Marie surprised her by asking another question. ‘Do you- you going back?’

  ‘Dunno. They said I should take a break and restart in September.’ She remembered that last conversation, sitting around a polished wooden table, the sea of concerned, painted faces staring across at her. Familiar people that she could only look at through unfamiliar eyes, now.

  As the words ‘mocks’ and ‘coursework’ and ‘staying on track for university’ were bandied around, she realised that there was nothing they could do for her.

  All the grades on all the pieces of paper in the world were not going to bring her back.

  Marie’s voice, deliberately cheery, broke into her thoughts.

  ‘You should come to St Jude’s with me next year!’

  That made Raegan smile. ‘Maybe, but I’d have to take the year all over again - not cool!’ she joked. ‘Are you sure you could deal with that? You’re going to be rocking the sixth form by then, don’t forget.’

  ‘You’re right. I better hang up now… jokes! Don’t be an idiot, you have to come to SJH. But first I’ve gotta get through these frigging mocks! I had six hours of science today. Six! In a row!’

  ‘Ouch. Sounds like a nightmare.’

  ‘Totally. But it’s over now and I am ready to party! So, you free tomorrow night?’

  ‘Well, my options are peeling potatoes, hanging out in my bedroom, or playing scrabble with Gran so… yeah!’

  Marie giggled. ‘Great! I’ve just had my nails done. And wait ‘til you see what I’m wearing! Ohmigod, it’s-’ but Raegan was left in suspense, for a strange noise interrupted their communication; a muffled sound, like a hand being cupped over the receiver, and what may have been an expletive. Then Marie was back, breathless, hurried, ‘My dad’s coming! I’m meant to be revising… gotta go. Meet me there at eight, yeah?’

  Click.

  And now Friday
was here. Taking care not to drip water everywhere, Raegan rooted out her poshest underwear. After all, as her mother would have said, this was a ‘lacies night, not a grundies night’. The blue chiffon bra and little shorts looked prettier than ever when compared with the baggy grey tracksuit bottoms and t-shirts she had lived in since the funeral. And yet they sat, untouched, unloved, on the bed. She was still in her dressing-gown.

  Can I do this?

  The nagging feeling tugged at her as it always did the moment she paused. There was something she needed to remember. It was as if her brain was struggling, of its own volition, to slot missing pieces into a gigantic jigsaw – but these were definitely square pegs into round holes, because Raegan didn’t know where to start. What had she forgotten? Her dreams? The nightmares which followed her mother’s death – nightmares which were so vivid she would wake up screaming, her feet already on the floor and her legs, forgetting they were tangled in the bedsheets, springing into action, causing her to land on the ground in a painful heap – yielded memories she longed to forget.

  No. Don’t think. Do. This was how she had made it through the last few months. She heaved herself over to the bed and reached for the clothing.

  And then suddenly it wasn’t blue, but pale white and tipped with yellow. A candle. Flickering candle lights, illuminating the pitch darkness, danced before her eyes. She knew, somehow, that this was a remembrance from a dream. She squeezed her eyes shut. The warmth of the candles was suddenly so tangible she could feel it licking at her skin.

  Her senses were slowly awakening. She was no longer on the outside looking in: she was there, in a high-ceilinged room, lost in the dark and cool. Hooded figures stood at the edges but kept their distance, watching. The only furniture noticeable was the high stone table, illuminated by a multitude of white, tall tapers suspended in mid-air. The unreality of this did not register; instead, she moved towards them, entranced. She knew they were for her. She began to count. Sixteen candles…