Scarlett - Cathy Cassidy [33]
‘Well, yeah, I’d gathered that,’ I say. ‘There must be others, though. Other boys. I thought I saw a dark-haired boy on a horse, the other day, when I was down by the lough. The horse was big and black with feathery cream feet, and the boy wasn’t much older than me…’
‘A boy on a horse?’ Holly frowns. ‘Don’t know who that could be. Matty has an older brother, Paddy – same ginger hair and freckles, but no horse. Then there’s Kevin Fahey. Very shy, smells of cough sweets. He’s hoping to be a priest one day.’
Kian has black hair, and his breath smells like the wild mint that grows around the lough. I think of how we squashed together in the rainstorm, under the wishing tree, laughing, shivering, his cool cheek against mine.
‘I think this is a different boy,’ I say.
‘Must be a tourist then.’ Holly shrugs. ‘Or a city boy staying with family for the summer. Where did you say you saw him?’
‘By the lough, the other day,’ I say vaguely.
‘He could be a traveller!’ Holly exclaims. ‘You know, an Irish gypsy – they camped up by the lough last year, a whole bunch of them. Five big trailers, top of the range, and a couple of trucks and horseboxes. They had some ponies, and a couple of skinny, scruffy dogs.’
‘No,’ I tell Holly. ‘He can’t be, he’d have said.’
Holly raises one eyebrow. ‘You’ve spoken to him?’
I flush pink, flopping back on the bed to gaze at the ceiling. ‘Maybe just once or twice,’ I admit.
‘Once or twice?’ Holly squeals. ‘Scarlett, is this why you’re always down at the lough? You’ve hooked up with some gorgeous traveller lad!’
‘You’re not going to tell anyone, are you?’ I panic.
‘Of course not!’ Holly scoffs. ‘I’m great at keeping secrets!’
‘OK,’ I say, chewing my lip. ‘It’s nothing, anyway, Holly. We’re just friends, and I don’t think he’s a gypsy. He’s really cool, but… Well, I don’t really know much about him.’
‘So ask,’ Holly says. ‘What’s the problem?’
‘No problem,’ I argue. ‘We just don’t talk about stuff like that.’
For the first time ever, this strikes me as slightly weird.
‘I know his name – Kian,’ I offer.
‘Kian? Nope, he’s not local,’ Holly says. ‘I’ll ask Ros. She’ll know – her family have been in Kilimoor forever.’
I sit up, eyes wide. ‘Holly, no,’ I whisper. ‘Don’t tell Ros. Don’t tell anyone. What if Dad and Clare found out? They’d think he was trouble. They wouldn’t understand.’
‘No?’ Holly pouts. ‘Oh well. Don’t stress, Scarlett, my lips are sealed. It’s so romantic!’
‘You think?’ I grin.
‘Definitely. I can’t wait to meet him.’
I chuck a pillow at her, laughing. ‘You are NOT meeting him!’ I exclaim. ‘No way! Seriously, no way!’
‘We’ll see,’ she laughs.
Holly has a friend from school coming over for the day, so I pack my rucksack with bread and apples, ready for a day at the lough. There’s no way I want to see any of those Kilimoor kids again – ever.
Clare looks up from the table, where she is stitching new patches into the quilt. Beside her is a heap of scrap fabric and a roll of red ribbon, partly unfurled, snaking here and there through the rags. A memory flickers across my mind, a good memory.
‘What’s the ribbon for?’ I ask Clare.
‘Not sure yet,’ she admits. ‘It was going cheap and I thought it might come in useful. Maybe I’ll use it as an edging?’
‘Right,’ I say.
Clare studies me, eyes narrowed. ‘Unless you want it?’ she says. ‘You’d be very welcome, Scarlett.’
I try for a couldn’t-care-less look, but my grin betrays me, and I scoop up the ribbon, winding it back on to the roll and stuffing it into my backpack. ‘Thanks, Clare,’ I say.
‘No worries,’ Clare replies. ‘See you later, Scarlett.’
Kian is already at the lough when I get there, like he has been just about every day lately. We never plan ahead, it just seems to work out that way. Today, Kian is standing at the water’s edge, brushing Midnight until his black coat shines like silk. I fish the ribbon out of my backpack and unravel it, looping it through my fingers as I walk towards them.