Scarlett - Cathy Cassidy [24]
‘Whoever you were trying to shock, I hope it worked,’ Kian says.
‘Fat chance,’ I reply.
There’s a silence, and I flop back on the grass, watching the ink-black sky through the branches of the wishing tree. Kian is beside me, a whisper away through the rustle of long grass.
‘It’ll be OK,’ he says into the dark, so softly he could almost be talking to himself. ‘Everything’ll be OK.’
I close my eyes, shutting out velvet skies and silver stars and wizened hazel branches silhouetted against the moon like gnarled fingers. The ground is cool, the grass soft, and I can hear Midnight chewing grass and Kian breathing and the sound of the lough sighing gently against the shore. It feels like home.
When I wake, the sky is lighter, streaked with apricot and peach. Kian is shifting too, stretching and yawning, and Midnight stands a little way off along the loughside, drinking, swishing his tail, making little huffing noises through his nostrils.
‘It’s daylight!’ I panic. ‘I have to get back. If they think I’ve run off again, they’ll just about kill me.’
‘OK. No problem.’
Kian whistles softly and Midnight lifts his head, shakes his mane and strolls lazily towards us, round belly swaying.
The woods are waking up, birds singing in the trees, red squirrels darting through the branches. The light is cool and dappled green, and there’s a sharp, fresh smell of morning. We ride through the woods and come out into the lane, just a little way from the cottage.
‘It’s early’ Kian says as I slip down from Midnight’s back. ‘Well before six. They won’t be awake.’
‘Did we really stay out all night?’ I ask, amazed.
‘Not all night. I didn’t call for you till after twelve.’
‘You’re a bad influence,’ I tell him. ‘Dad wouldn’t approve.’
‘How about you? Do you approve?’ He reaches down from Midnight’s back and drops a kiss right on the tip of my nose, so light, so quick, it’s no more than a little breath of air.
‘Did I dream you?’ I ask him as he wheels Midnight round in the lane. ‘Seriously. Are you sure you’re real?’
Kian laughs. ‘I’m not sure of anything,’ he says, turning down the lane, back straight, shoulders level, tanned fingers knotted into Midnight’s tangled mane. He looks back over his shoulder, grinning. ‘So long, Scarlett. Dream on.’
I creep under the covers at dawn, feeling warm and shivery and full of hope. I can’t stop smiling because I’ve never known a boy like Kian before, a boy who makes me feel safe and special, a boy who wants me to stick around.
I don’t know much about him. I don’t know his surname, his age, his address or phone number. I don’t know the name of his favourite band, his hopes, his dreams, his likes, dislikes. I don’t know if any of this matters.
I’m falling for him anyway.
I know Kian is a bad-news boy – anybody who calls for you at midnight with a handful of gravel is unlikely to be a boy scout. Mum and Dad and Clare would not approve, but then, I don’t approve of them either, so what does it matter?
I close my eyes, and my head fills with pictures of a black-haired boy with sunbrown skin, a boy who laughs easily, talks softly. I can see the sunrise painting the water silver, see a big, black horse wading out into the water to drink. It happened, and it was magic, it was mine.
I can hear people moving about downstairs, laughing, talking. Sunshine peers through the crack in my curtains, warming my face and arms, and there’s a gorgeous cooked-breakfast smell in the air.
I rub my eyes.
‘Scarlett, breakfast’s ready!’ Dad shouts up. ‘Don’t let it go cold!’
I roll over, burrowing down beneath the quilt. I don’t do family breakfasts, especially not with this patched-up excuse for a family. But isn’t it kind of a waste of sunshine