A Sea of Stars. Kate Maryon

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СКАЧАТЬ my head start fluttering around like snow in a snow-dome, whirling in the wind and I can’t sweep them up together to make any sense. They keep bundling and sticking in my throat like damp litter. I’d like to hold on to Mum’s hand, or Dad’s, but I’m frozen to the spot. I’m scared, if I move, the coffee-and-walnut cake will come back up and make big mess on Tania’s carpet.

      Meeting your new sister for the first time isn’t something you can prepare yourself for. It’s not something you can read about in a book or have a lesson on at school. I thought today would feel really special, like when people bring a new baby home from the hospital, bundled up in a blanket.

      Tania coughs. “How about some tea?” she says.

      Cat glares at her.

      “There’s no reason to wait around,” she says. “I’ve been in this dump long enough.”

      Tania sighs and wipes a smile across her face. Then the silence looms again and all we can hear are breathing noises and Mum dabbing a tissue at her stupid quiet tears of joy.

      “OK,” says Tania. “Yes, well…”

      Then Dad coughs too and I wonder if we’ve all caught some kind of cough infection.

      “Come on, girls,” he says. “Let’s go and get some lunch.”

      Back in the car we head out of the city towards the pizza place on the beach. Pizza is Cat’s favourite, but she doesn’t look excited or anything, she’s just lolling her head on the window and staring off into space. She’s clutching on to a big book that says, ‘My Life Story Book’, on the front. She keeps twisting it around in her arms as if it’s a baby she’s trying to settle down. I wish I could peep inside and find out more about Cat’s life. I twiddle her present in my hands and roll her name silently around my mouth. It chinks on my teeth like silver. Cat, Cat, Cat. My sister, Cat. My sister. Cat. I dare myself to say it out loud. I really want to.

      My sister, Cat.

      I want to touch her beetle-black hair because it’s the shiniest I’ve seen and smells vanillery, like custard, not flowery like mine. I want to know what she’s thinking about because I’m scared she’s thinking about us, about Mum and Dad and me, and if she likes us or not. If I could see her eyes properly I might be able to tell, but she’s too busy staring out the window. I wonder what it’s like for her being in the car with us. What it’s like moving to somewhere totally new, to a place where you don’t know anyone.

      What is it like being with strangers who are your new family, who are taking you to live in their house where you don’t know stuff, like where the Sellotape lives or what they have for breakfast? What is it like packing up your bag and leaving your old life behind?

      “What’s it like?” I whisper.

      I didn’t mean to say it. The words just popped out before I could stop them.

      Cat glares at me. Her dark eyes burn holes in my skin.

      “What’s what like?”

      “Nothing,” I say, biting my lip. “It doesn’t matter; I was just being stupid. It was nothing.”

      But Cat won’t let it go.

      “What’s what like?” she says through gritted teeth.

      A balloon-sized lump swells up in my throat.

      “You know,” I say, swishing my hand through the air, “all this! Meeting us and everything.”

      Cat turns her back on me; she stares out of the window and nibbles on a nail.

      “What’s it like for you?” she asks, still facing the window. “Do you even want me?”

      Mum turns and glares at me. I scuff my foot on the back of her seat. Her words of warning ring loud in my head.

      Don’t overwhelm her, keep it simple.

      My mouth goes all dry again.

      “I want you,” I say, “but it feels a bit weird. Um… it’s really hard to explain.”

      “Dunno neither then,” she says, lolling her head against the window and staring out at the trees.

      I don’t remember much about Alfie. I remember the doctor shaking his head and all Mum’s friends coming over with candles and crystals and special remedies to try and make him better. I wandered about in the middle of them wearing my sparkly stripy tights, waving my magic wand, trying to help. But I wasn’t very good at magic and he died. And I don’t even have a wand now, but sometimes I wish I did.

      I turn my back on Cat and stare out of the window thinking about the photo of me when I was a toddler, wrapped up in a sling. We were trekking in the mountains in Nepal and I was riding high on Mum’s back with a big dribbly grin on my face. Dad was writing a magazine article called ‘The A-Z Of Travelling With Toddlers’ and we all looked really happy. We didn’t need anyone except us. But that was before the worry of keeping me safe started eating huge chunks out of Mum’s heart and carving deep lines in her face. That was before she disappeared into her misty haze of fear.

      When we knew about Cat coming to live with us, Susannah told us to make this special book about our family to send to her. I’d wanted to put that trekking photo in so Cat could see that we used to have adventures. But Mum said we needed to put in photos of what we’re like now, of our house and Peaches Paradise and Nana and Pops and normal stuff like that. She thought the mountains in Nepal would confuse Cat. I thought they might give her hope.

      Mum swivels round in her seat again, her bright rabbit eyes squinting.

      “It’s so lovely to have you both together at last,” she cries. “We’ve been so excited about today, Cat. And nervous – we’re a bit nervous too. And that’s normal. It’s OK. It’s a big day for us all.”

      Cat looks up.

      “I’ve been thinking,” she says. “Do I have to call you ‘Mum’?”

      Mum coughs, like Tania, with the hint of a song.

      “I really don’t mind, sweetheart,” says Mum. “Whatever you feel comfortable with.”

      But I know that’s a lie, I know Mum does mind, because her hand flies up to her cheek as if it’s been slapped.

      “What would you like to call me?” she says.

      “Dunno,” says Cat. “Not ‘Mum’, though. I’ve got one of them already and I know you’re gonna be my new mum and everything, but…” her eyes slide over to Dad. Her hand touches his shoulder. “I wanna call you ‘Dad’, though,” she whispers. “I’ve never had one of them.”

      I see Dad smiling in the rear-view mirror and a tiny – almost-like-you’d-not-even-notice-it, it’s so teeny – dagger tugs and twists in my heart.

      “You could just call her ‘Jane’,” I say, sitting up straight, “because that’s her name. Or something like ‘Mama-bear’ or ‘Marmalade’, or ‘Marjums’, or even ‘Mama-Jane’.”

      Cat looks at me like I’m СКАЧАТЬ