Scarlett - Cathy Cassidy [23]
‘He likes you,’ Kian says.
‘He likes apples,’ I correct him. ‘But hey, I’m not proud!’
Kian vaults up on to Midnight’s back, pulling me up beside him. I’m so close I can smell the mint on his breath. Down at the end of the garden, Midnight picks his way carefully over a bit of tumbledown wall, half-hidden behind Clare’s workshop. We ride out across the field, down towards the woods and the lough.
‘So,’ says Kian into my ear. ‘Everything OK, the other night? No hassle from the Gardaí?’
I shake my head. ‘They didn’t quiz me about strange boys on horseback, if that’s what you’re asking.’
‘Good,’ Kian says as we enter the woods, dark silhouettes of trees closing round us. ‘I don’t get mixed up with them unless I can help it. How about the ankle?’
‘It’s not broken, just badly twisted,’ I say. ‘The doctor kept going on about wedge-heel sandals, but I blame the tree roots.’
‘Obviously.’
‘All the same, next time I run away, I’ll plan my footwear better.’
‘Running away’s overrated,’ Kian says. ‘You just drag your troubles right along with you.’
‘Yeah, well, I’ve got plenty of them,’ I grumble.
‘You could always stick around,’ Kian says softly. ‘It’s not so bad. This is my favourite place in the world – kind of timeless, magical.’
I grew up in London, with grey pavements and neon skies and litter. The only magic I ever saw there was when someone decorated the bus shelter outside our house one night, with spray-can graffiti in a dozen different colours. ‘That’s not magic,’ Mum had sniffed. ‘It’s vandalism.’
Midnight moves slowly along the dark woodland path, hooves crunching over leaves and twigs. Suddenly, an owl swoops past us, ghostly pale, the breeze from its wings cool against my cheeks. I’m grinning in the dark, I realize, eyes wide.
‘See what I mean?’ Kian whispers.
We come out of the woods right by the hazel tree at the tip of the lough. Kian dismounts and I slither down beside him in the moonlight. Midnight drifts off, cropping grass, and I sit down beneath the hazel tree. Kian flops beside me, just a breath away. A crescent moon hangs silently above us, painting the world with silver.
‘I can see why you like it,’ I admit. ‘I guess I’m just not a country girl. Maybe I’ll get to like it too!’
Right here, right now, I feel safer, calmer than I have in a while. I’m not sure it has anything to do with the woods and the lough, though. Maybe more to do with a skinny boy with dark eyes, raggedy black hair and slanting cheekbones.
‘Stick around, Scarlett,’ he says again.
‘Don’t know where else I can go,’ I admit. ‘I was aiming for London, the other night, but Mum doesn’t want me there. Nobody wants me here either, not really. Maybe Holly, but then she’s nuts to start with.’
‘Who’s Holly?’ Kian asks.
‘My stepsister,’ I explain, trying out the feel of the word in my mouth. It’s weird, alien, like the piercing when I first got it. Like the piercing, I guess I’ll get used to it.
‘So – happy families, right?’ he says. ‘Think you’ll settle in?’
‘They don’t need me,’ I tell him. ‘Dad’s moved on, got his new wife, new daughter, new baby on the way. What do they want me for?’
‘No idea,’ Kian grins. ‘Can’t see the attraction, myself. Bad-tempered, skinny kid with ketchup hair and poor taste in footwear…’
‘Hey!’ I protest. ‘I have great taste in footwear!’
He raises one eyebrow, his gaze flickering over the scary Velcro walking sandals. ‘Sure you do,’ he laughs.
I know he’s teasing me, but I want to be cool, I want to be wild. I want to be a million miles away from a nice family girl in sensible shoes. I want Kian to know that.
I let the gold stud click against my teeth, so that he sees it. He doesn’t look disgusted, like Mum when she first saw it, or horrified, like Miss Phipps. He isn’t shocked or impressed, like Holly, Ros and Matty. He just looks curious, maybe a little sad.
I wish I’d kept my mouth closed.
‘OK,’ he says. ‘Why d’you do that?’
‘Don’t know’ I shrug. ‘It seemed like a good idea at the time.’
Like about a million other good ideas I’ve lived to regret. What are you meant