Scattering Like Light (4 page)

Despite the warm Spanish night, her question made me shudder and I felt a cold clammy feeling creeping down my back.

“Alex is still thinking about that, aren’t you, sis?” said Josh kindly. “Her work experience at the vet’s wasn’t exactly a barrel of laughs.”

“No, you could say that,” I said, sighing. “It was a complete nightmare, in fact, and now my plans for university are shot to pieces. Ever since I was small, all I’ve want to be is a vet, but the grim reality is that it’s actually a mostly dull job with the occasional killing spree to liven things up.”

The others laughed awkwardly, not sure how serious I was being. I carried on:

“One day, they brought in a little dog. It was a stray that had been hit by a car.” The memory was fresh and clear in my mind; I
could almost feel the matted white fur, smell the sharp antiseptic, see the trust in the dog’s eyes. “He was horribly injured and was facing a life of abject misery. So I got the job of holding him, to keep him calm and talk to him while Mr Henderson gave him a fatal injection.”

I tried not to think about the details, holding the little dog as the anaesthetic did its work, watching as his tail, wagging throughout despite the horrific injuries, finally slowed, and as his eyes turned from soft and warm and welcoming to cold and glassy as the spark in them faded.

Not daring to raise my head I carried on. “It was hideous. And it’s made me realise I’m just not cut out to be a vet. The trouble is it’s left me with no idea what I’m going to do now.”

I glanced up and saw that Max was watching me intently, a look of understanding and compassion in his eyes. His hand reached across the table and gave mine a gentle squeeze, holding on to my fingers for just that fraction of a second longer than he should. I suddenly found that I couldn’t hold his gaze and looked down quickly at the tabletop again. He let go and the conversation moved on around me, and I smiled and laughed in all the right places, but something wasn’t right. I couldn’t work out if it was the memory of the death of the little dog that was unsettling me, or the memory of Max’s touch. My fingers felt as if they were burning where his had held mine.

Although it seemed to be asking for trouble, I started watching Max and the others kite-surf every day. Max was getting seriously good and was looking more and more as if he was one of the locals. Every afternoon we went to the beach bar and most nights the four of us ended up in the town. Both sets of parents had insisted that we got back to the hotel at a reasonable hour, but we still had time to dance and talk and laugh, and every night I tried to ignore the growing interest in Max’s glances. And each day I tried to pretend that I wasn’t intrigued by him, and flattered by his interest.

On the Saturday night we negotiated that we could stay out a bit later and managed to get into a party on the beach. It was held at one of the bars along from the hotel. There was no moon, and away from the road the only lights were from the fantastic array of stars and the twinkling lights on the horizon. I couldn’t quite believe that I was looking at Africa: the lights were in Morocco, just a few miles away over the Strait of Gibraltar. The wind had dropped and as we approached the party the music thudded out into the dark. It seemed really bright after the darkness of the beach, and I could feel myself blinking as we looked around. All the cool and beautiful people were there, lounging about or dancing in the small area where the tables had been pushed aside.

Max’s kite-surfing instructor was with some friends and we were immediately invited to join his group. The friends were all
fantastically fit and I could tell that Josh felt slightly intimidated. Max, though, was looking perfectly at home, flirting with the girls. I spent hours dancing with Sabrina and the others from her surf class, but I couldn’t help stealing the odd glance in his direction. After a while he disappeared from view, and it wasn’t until I went to the loo a bit later that I saw him, deep in conversation with a gorgeous brunette. She was obviously a kite-surfer, tanned and athletic, with a sleek short crop that showed her long and elegant neck to full effect. I couldn’t hear what they were saying but she was using her hands to describe something to him. He was smiling and nodding, and as I watched he leaned towards her and…

“Alex, are you OK?” Josh had appeared and was standing right in the way.

“Yes, I’m fine. It’s a great party, isn’t it?” I moved to one side so that I could see behind him. Max and the girl had gone. I quickly scanned around, and finally saw him. Max was leaving the party, following her away from the lights and into the gloom beyond. For some reason that really annoyed me and I couldn’t work out why. What Max did was really none of my business, and there was no reason why he shouldn’t pick up a girl at a party. I just didn’t want him to, I realised. I wanted him to be there so that I could talk with him and laugh about the music and the terrible dancing of the guy in the fluorescent shirt.

Josh had followed my gaze. “He fancies you, you know.”

“Really? I’d not noticed. Anyway, it looks as if he’s got over it.” I tried to cover up the slightly regretful tone in my voice.

“Come on, it’s your turn to get me a drink.” Josh slung his arm around my shoulders as he manoeuvred me to the bar, giving me a quick squeeze as we walked. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Alex. I mean, who’s to know?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Oh, nothing. Just enjoy yourself, that’s all I’m saying. You’re on holiday, after all.”

I carried on dancing with Sabrina but I wasn’t as enthusiastic about it as before. I couldn’t get the picture of Max smiling at that girl out of my head. Eventually I forced it away by wondering what Callum was doing, and the more I thought about him, the less I wanted to be at the party.

After a while I noticed that Max had reappeared, joking and laughing with Josh. He was looking slightly dishevelled and was clearly in a very good mood. There was no sign of the brunette. I tried to ignore him but at one point I couldn’t resist looking over to where they were standing. Max was staring straight at me, a half-smile on his lips, and when he saw me looking back he quickly turned away.

Moments later he was at my shoulder. “Fancy a dance?” He was holding out his hand, waiting to lead me across to the tiny dance floor. The candles and fairy lights made his dark hair shine, his eyes unreadable. Callum would understand that there was no harm in a dance, wouldn’t he? I was about to take Max’s hand when I remembered the brunette: not an hour before he had left the party with her, and a desire not to be his second conquest of the night washed over me.

“I’m a bit bored with dancing now.” I shrugged as nonchalantly as possible, determined to make a point. His smile faded and he turned away.

I didn’t sleep well and the next morning I woke up ridiculously early. Sabrina was snoring gently in the other bed so I couldn’t turn on the light to read. Finally I gave in and got up, hoping to clear my
headache by heading for the beach. Leaving a note I eased the door open silently and escaped into the cool morning air.

I enjoyed the early morning and had done this before: walking along the huge beach pretty much on my own, watching the little birds race around on the sand between the waves, listening to the silence. I could go for miles without seeing more than a handful of people.

As I walked I tried to put Max out of my mind and focus on what was important: working out how to bring Callum over so we could be together. First, I
had
to find out what had happened to Lucas after he’d attacked Rob. I knew that he hadn’t taken all of Rob’s memories, because when Rob came round he could remember everything apart from the last five weeks, everything since I’d found the amulet, in fact. I’d fought Lucas using the power in my amulet and he’d dissolved into a puddle of sparks. Without a complete set of memories, it didn’t seem possible that he could have done the same as Catherine and come back to life. Or
was
it the same? Was Lucas sitting in a London hospital somewhere with only five weeks of Rob Underwood’s memories in his mind? Or was he dead? Drowned in the river as he rematerialised? Or had I sent him on somewhere else? Somewhere he could be properly dead as all the Dirges hoped they could be?

I had no answers. The same questions continued to circle my brain as I walked. If I
knew
that Lucas was OK, then I could risk seeing if the same thing would work with Callum. All I had to do was stand in front of him, our amulets together, and
push
hard with my mind. The only thing I was sure about was that I didn’t need Catherine. She said that she knew how to rescue them all and that she would never tell me, but she didn’t know what I had done to Lucas. I could feel the power in the bracelet, just waiting
to be used. I looked down at the silver on my wrist, glinting in the low, early morning sunshine, and wondered yet again how it did what it did.

Looking up I realised that I had walked further than usual. I was approaching the part of the beach where the kite-surfers practised later in the day, but this early it was still mostly deserted. One lone surfer was out on the water, and I stopped to watch for a moment. The bright red and yellow of the kite was easy to see against the dark turquoise of the waves.

The beach was long and curved with a headland at one end and the town and port at the other. I was much nearer the headland end, where over the years the incessant wind had blown half the beach on to the land to make huge, towering sand dunes. The kite-surfer was tacking away from the beach, towards the dunes. I loved the way the kites moved, and good surfers were incredible to watch: they could catch a wave just right and have the wind lift them in their harnesses and take them ten or more metres up into the air before they landed at high speed to chase the next one. With the boards attached to their feet they could go astonishingly fast. I sat for a moment to watch the kite’s progress, just as it caught the wind and the surfer leapt into the air.

He arced gracefully around to land at high speed on the next wave. With the wind behind him he was flying towards me. As I watched he got closer to the shallows and I heard his board hiss on the water as he drew level with where I was standing. He was so close to the shore that I thought he was about to jump off his board and run up the beach, but he was going too fast for that. He whipped past me, the bright kite almost glowing in the early morning sunshine. Smiling at such an obviously showy manoeuvre, I turned away to continue my walk but I hadn’t gone
more than a couple of paces when there was a horrible cracking noise. Spinning round I could see the kite collapsing about fifty metres further down the beach. There was no sign of the surfer. I watched for a moment, wanting to check that he was OK when he surfaced, but nothing happened. All I could see were the ropes from the kite disappearing under the water.

I quickly scanned up and down the long beach, but it was still deserted. Long seconds passed and there was still no movement from under the waves. “Oh, please, no!” I exclaimed under my breath as I realised something was badly wrong. I ran as quickly as I could through the soft sand until I was as close as possible. Dumping my shoes and my phone I splashed into the water. It was cold at that time of the morning, and I gasped as the waves soaked me. I was soon wading waist deep to reach the nearest part of the kite. The leading edge was still inflated, and the whole thing looked as if it could take off again at any moment. There was still no sign of the surfer. He had to be trapped or unconscious or something, but he would still be attached to the end of the ropes. I needed to find him quickly. Praying that the kite stayed on the water, I grabbed handfuls of it, pulling it towards me as I half waded, half swam through the surf. How long had he been under? Was it too long?

“Where are you?” I started screaming. “Help me!” I bellowed, wasting precious seconds to look up and down the beach again. There was still no one around, and the ropes seemed endless as I pulled and tried hopelessly to run through the dragging surf.

Finally I realised I was pulling against a dead weight, and as the water reached my chest I gave a last heave and dragged the surfer back into the air. The tension in the ropes loosened for a moment and I grabbed him by the shoulder. “Come on!” I shouted
at the motionless body, trying to get a grip on the slippery wetsuit. Finally I got hold of his arm and with a superhuman effort lifted him up and over so that his face was out of the water. I was just reaching over to cup him by the chin and drag him towards the shore when he suddenly started thrashing wildly, coughing a great plume of water up into the air. Gasping for breath he finally found his feet, looking around wildly and pushing his wet hair off his face so that he could see. It was Max.

“Max!” I screeched. “Max, are you OK? What on earth are—”

“Quick, get to the top of the kite!” he interrupted me, spluttering. “We have to stop it flying again.” His voice was rough and hoarse, but still recognisable.

“But how did you—”

“No time,” he shouted. “I’m hurt. Quickly, keep it in the water.” There was no doubting the urgency in his voice so I turned and thrashed my way as quickly as I could through the waves to the great folds of material that were now billowing ominously on the surface of the water. Praying that it wouldn’t lift off with me hanging on to it, I grabbed the inflatable section of the kite and held it down.