A Sea of Stars. Kate Maryon

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      Colouring isn’t my favourite thing in the world, but it’s better than watching Dad and Cat together, and it’s better than looking at Mum’s anxious glares. I’m busy doing an OK job of colouring in a stupid girl on a pony, when Cat’s custardy hair wafts up my nose again, the beetle-black gleam of it shimmering in the light. She’s leaning right over to look.

      “I’m rubbish at colouring in,” I say, quickly covering the picture with my arm. “I’m rubbish at arty things. I like surfing best and camping and outdoorsy things – adventuring and stuff.”

      “Let me see, though,” she says.

      I slide my arm away and feel my cheeks burn.

      Cat sniggers.

      “It’s lovely, Maya,” Mum lies, picking up my poster. “It’s really beautiful!”

      We look over at Cat’s. She’s only done the pony’s face so far, but it’s amazing. I never knew anyone could make such a brilliant picture with such rubbish felt-tip pens. The pony looks almost real, like its eyes are actually glinting in the sun. And I’m so amazed by Cat’s neatness that my body stops whirring. She hasn’t gone over the black line once and the colours are so smooth and even, not scratchy and bumpy like mine.

      “That’s absolutely brilliant, Cat,” says Mum, tugging the picture round to get a better view. “How do you do it so neatly?”

      “Dunno,” says Cat. “It’s easy.”

      “An artist in the making,” smiles Dad, sending her another wink.

      “Sshhhhh,” she says holding her finger to her lips. “Stop interrupting.”

      She takes a deep lungful of air and holds her breath for ages while she colour-colour-colours. We stare transfixed at her concentration. I quietly scrunch up my page. I’m not an artist in the making. But if we were surfing I’d be better than her – or swimming, or making fires, or putting up tents.

      This is the weirdest day of my life so far. Much weirder than when we started looking at adoption websites and all those faces loomed out at us, waiting for homes. Much weirder than Alfie dying or the time I was so excited about my new bodyboard that I kept it in bed with me all night.

      When the waitress brings over our food the meat feasts look the best. They smell really yummy and the cheese is all gooey on top of big juicy chunks of salami and ham. Mum’s salad is so colourful even that looks delicious, and suddenly my margarita seems boring and normal, flat and dull. I always have a margarita. Why didn’t I have the meat feast as well? I’m really thirsty now too. The chocolate milkshake is nice but it feels cluggy in my mouth and the Coke looks so refreshing.

      Dad stands up and chinks his glass with a spoon. The forgotten rope in my tummy tugs tight.

      “I’d like to raise a toast,” he smiles. The lump starts wobbling in his throat again and Mum’s eyes well up with tears. “To Cat and Maya and Mum and me; to all of us and our new life together. Cat, welcome to our family. We’re a little bit crazy sometimes, and you’ll have to forgive us for that, but we do have lots of fun and we’re very excited to have you join us.”

      “Errr… thanks,” Cat mumbles. Her face flushes red and her eyes dart around the restaurant, checking no one’s looking. And with all the toasting and welcoming and eyes full of tears and throats full of lumps, Dad doesn’t notice, and neither does Mum, that, quietly like the shadow of a robber on a dark, dark night, Cat slips a whole portion of cheesy bread into the bottom of her bag.

      As we’re leaving the restaurant, I slide up close to her.

      I long to say to her, “Cat, I’ve waited my whole life for you to arrive. I’ve dreamt about us being together for years. And I know things feel a bit confusing right now, but they will get better – they have to. I have so many ideas for us, so many plans.”

      But the words get twisted up with my feelings and somehow come out all wrong, so what I whisper into her ear is, “I saw you.”

      

      The next day, we pick Cat up from foster care and go for a walk along the cliff path. I love walking the cliff path – it’s my favourite, especially when it’s windy and the breeze streams right through my hair. I’m charging ahead with my arms stretched out wide like a bird when Cat runs to catch up to me.

      “You didn’t say anything, did you?” she whispers. “About the garlic bread.”

      “I’m not a tell-tale, Cat,” I say. “But you could’ve just asked. The waitress would have put it in a takeaway box and no one would’ve minded. You didn’t have to sneak it.”

      She blushes and nibbles on a nail.

      “Don’t go near the edge,” she whispers, tugging my jacket. “It’s too dangerous. You might fall.”

      “It’s not dangerous!” I laugh, moving closer to the bit where the tufty grass ends and the ground slips away. “It’s fun! I love it! Every time I go near the edge I feel like the sea is calling me down, daring me to jump off. It makes me so dizzy. Same with tall buildings like the Eiffel Tower and the Empire State Building. Come and stand next to me, Cat, and I’ll show you. I’ll hold you tight, I promise. I won’t let you fall.”

      “No,” she says, tugging me more. “I don’t want to. Come back here.”

      I make my face go all ghosty. I wiggle my fingers in the air.

      “Woooooooo,” I whisper. “The mermaids are calling me down! Woooooooooo! Wooooooohoo ooooo!”

      “Maya!” shrieks Mum, catching up with us. “Come away from the edge. If the wind caught hold of you now you wouldn’t stand a chance. You’d be down on the rocks in no time.”

      Dad laughs. He grabs me and tickles me and pretends to throw me down on the rocks so the fish and the mermaids can eat me up for tea. I start giggling for England and then Dad turns into the tickle monster and plays the game from when I was small. He tries to pull Cat in too, to get her giggling, but she and Mum back away looking scared, so it’s just Dad and me shrieking with laughter and splitting our sides.

      “Over you go,” growls Dad in his tickle monster voice, holding me high in the air. “I’ll feed you to the sharks.”

      “Stop it, you two! Please!” Mum shouts. “You’re scaring me to death!”

      Dad smiles and puts me down.

      “Calm down, lovely,” he says to Mum, folding her into a hug. “We’re just playing.”

      I move even closer to the edge. We were only playing! We weren’t doing anything wrong. We’re allowed! I move closer and closer to the edge, so close that if the wind gets a teeny bit stronger I might actually fall. Then Cat, Cat, Cat puts her hands over her eyes and starts screaming. It’s a shrill, icy scream – a harsh, empty sound that rises up from a place deep inside her that’s never felt sunshine. And, if you were watching, you’d think she’d seen a ghost. Or a silver-tipped dagger heading for her heart. Or a horror film labelled ‘18’. Anyone listening might think a murderer was kidnapping СКАЧАТЬ