Scarlett Part 7

'We do do need to talk, Scarlett,' he appeals. need to talk, Scarlett,' he appeals.

'Sure,' I say carelessly. 'We'll talk later. Have a strawberry, OK?' I feed him one of the red berries from my dish, to shut him up and sweeten him up, and pretty soon everyone is feeding everyone else ripe strawberries and laughing.

As a diversionary tactic, it lasts a whole thirty seconds.

'Come on, Scarlett, open up!' Dad grins, and like a fool I open my mouth and wait for the soft, ripe strawberry to land on my tongue. It doesn't. Dad just stares, and Holly gulps and when Clare finally looks up to see what's going on she drops her spoon, spattering cream across the tablecloth. I close my mouth pretty sharpish, but by then it's too late.

'Oh, Scarlett,' Clare breathes.

Dad just puts his head in his hands, distraught. You'd think I just bit the heads off a couple of his pet chickens.

'It's just a piercing, Dad,' I say, but my voice sounds kind of thin and wavery. 'It's no big deal.'

'No big deal?' Dad repeats, quietly. 'No big deal? Scarlett, what the h.e.l.l h.e.l.l was your mother thinking of?' was your mother thinking of?'

'She didn't know about it until later,' I tell him. 'It wasn't her fault.'

'No?' Dad is struggling to keep his voice steady, and his eyes glitter with pain. 'You are twelve years old, Scarlett, and you're acting like you're on a self-destruct mission! Your hair, your clothes, the way you act now this! What's happened to you, Scarlett?'

'My life's a mess,' I tell him. 'Haven't you noticed?'

'I've noticed,' Dad says. 'And I think maybe your mum is right we need to find a counsellor, someone who knows how to help troubled teenagers. We need help. You You need help, Scarlett.' need help, Scarlett.'

I stand up, a little unsteadily, and walk slowly out of the kitchen and up the stairs to the sky-blue room with the nursery border. I feel sick. My tongue is heavy and my mouth is filled with a sour, metallic taste. I'd take the gold stud out of my tongue, but that would leave a hole, a wound that might never heal. Besides, I'm kind of used to the sour taste, these days.

I think of Kian, I think of Dad and Clare and Holly, and I pull the gold stud loose and chuck it across the room. It rolls across the rug and disappears down a crack in the floorboards, and I'm glad. I don't care if I never see it again.

There's a creak on the landing and someone knocks. I ignore it, but Clare's face peers round the door.

'Get lost,' I snap, but she doesn't seem to notice. She comes right on in and sits down on the end of my bed.

Stepmothers are not meant to be soft and smiley and pregnant, they are meant to be hook-nosed and spiteful, stirring up trouble and making you sleep in the cinders. Clare can't fool me. I don't want her pity, I don't want her kindness. I don't want her.

Trouble is, what I want isn't top of anybody's wish list right now.

'Scarlett, please,' Clare says, biting her lip. 'We're worried about you we just want to help.'

I can't answer her. I want to scream, but I'm terrified that all I have left in me is a whimper.

'Count to ten, Scarlett,' Clare says quietly. 'And breathe, OK? Calm down!'

I take a couple of breaths in, but I don't feel calm. I may never feel calm again.

'I'm not crazy!' I say.

'I know that, Scarlett.'

'Do you?'

'Yes, I do.'

'So stop threatening me with counsellors and give me a chance,' I say with a shaky voice. 'Listen to me. Believe in me!'

We sit in silence on the edge of the bed. Whole minutes tick by, and then, finally, Clare speaks.

'I will,' she says. 'I do.'

On Monday afternoon, Dad arrives back from a trip to Westport laden with books, folders and stationery. He dumps them down on to the nearest armchair, while Clare rinses salad leaves and cuts granary bread and cheese for lunch.

'What's this?' I ask.

'Work,' says Dad. 'If you won't go to school, we'll home-school you for now, at least. I've been looking into it on the Internet.'

I blink. If school is a prison sentence, home-education must be solitary confinement.

'I don't want to be home-educated!' I protest. 'It's bad enough being stuck here in the middle of nowhere, without being holed up in the cottage all day with just you two for company!'

'We have to educate you, it's the law,' Dad says. 'And I'm afraid Miss Madden isn't too keen to have you back after last week.'

'Good, because I'm not going back!' I huff. 'You can forget the home-education thing too. I don't want '

'What do you want, Scarlett?' Clare asks.

I frown, because what I want is something I can't have. It's long gone. A happy family, a proper home, a bunch of friends, a way of waking up in the morning without feeling like there's a cold, hard stone lodged in my chest in the place where my heart should be.

'Listen,' Dad says. 'Your mum is upset about all this, as you know. She's been looking at boarding schools on the Net, and found a good one, all girls, not too far from here. Is that what you want?'

'No!' I choke out. 'Why are you all trying to get rid of me?'

'We're not, Scarlett,' Clare says softly. 'Your mum is just worried. She wants what's best for you, and Kilimoor National School clearly wasn't it. Won't you give the home-education idea a try?'

Clare looks at me steadily. She's on my side.

'Suppose,' I sigh.

Dad lets out a long breath, and Clare breaks into a smile so wide her whole face s.h.i.+nes. 'Good girl, Scarlett,' she says. 'Good girl.'

That's something I haven't heard in a while.

'You need to do maths and English,' Dad says, loading up his plate with bread, cheese and salad. 'They're basic. I've bought books that seem about right for your age, so you can do a page from each every day Otherwise, study whatever interests you. You'll be working because you want to.'

'What makes you think I want to?'

'You're a clever girl,' Clare says. 'You'll like this way of learning.'

'Think of a project,' Dad suggests. 'Something that covers several subject areas. You can use books and the Net to find your information, and Clare and I can help, of course.'

I munch my bread and cheese. 'I could study anything I wanted to?' I ask. 'The lough? The woods? The hills?'

'Yup,' Dad grins. 'That would be geography, with a bit of science thrown in if you made a study of the trees, plants and animals. There's history too and all kinds of local legends, of course, like the one about the hazel at the lough...'

I think of the wis.h.i.+ng tree with its red rags fluttering, and a boy who rode out of the sunset on a horse called Midnight.

'I wouldn't have to be stuck in the cottage the whole time, would I? I could go out?'

'Sure,' Clare says. 'You could draw, write, map, measure, record temperature and rainfall, compare place names in English and Irish...'

I chew my lip. No teachers, no cla.s.srooms, no uniforms, no rules it's appealing. I'd still be stuck in the middle of nowhere, but maybe even nowhere can be cool if you know the right people. People like Kian.

'Start with what you are interested in, Scarlett,' Clare says lightly 'It's up to you.'

I can give the idea a try, or I can mess it up. I can choose to stay p.r.i.c.kly, or I can let the anger go. Suddenly, letting it go actually seems like an option, like it's a skin I can step out of, walk away from.

I try for a smile, and Clare grins back. Even Dad is looking hopeful.

'I know,' I say slowly. 'I know what to start with. Home economics. I'll make fairy cakes for when Holly gets back from school!'

'Flour and sugar are in the cupboard, b.u.t.ter's in the fridge, eggs you'll have to hunt around the garden for,' Clare says. 'Make plenty!'

'I will!'

An hour later, I arrange slivers of golden sponge like b.u.t.terfly wings in the yellow b.u.t.tercream on top of each little cake. They look cute, and they smell wonderful. Holly's going to love them.

'Learning at home's not so bad, is it?' Dad says.

'It's OK. And term still ends in a fortnight, right?' I ask hopefully.

Dad grins. 'In the school of life, there are no holidays,' he says.

Next morning, I load my fluffy rucksack with apples, fairy cakes, pencils and sketchbook, along with a striped picnic blanket.

'I'm going down to the lough to start my project,' I tell Dad and Clare. 'OK? I'll walk Holly to the bus.'

Dad looks like he is about to argue, but Clare chips in. 'Give her some s.p.a.ce,' she says. 'It's what she needs.'

Dad takes a deep breath in. 'Fine,' he says. 'Don't go too far, now, Scarlett. And don't be late.'

I open the door on to freedom.

'Wish I could be home-schooled too,' Holly sighs as we walk along the lane. 'Fairy cakes and drawing all day long. You're so lucky!'

'Nah, it's still school, isn't it?' I argue. 'Boring!'

Unless Kian puts in an appearance, of course. Then things could get a whole lot more interesting.

'I'm bad news,' I tell Holly. 'Wild, weird, unteachable! That's what Miss Madden thinks.'

'No,' Holly corrects me. 'You're cool. I want to be just like you.'

'Yeah, well, you're nuts,' I laugh.

The red-and-white school bus looms up amongst the fuchsia hedges. 'Don't say bad stuff about yourself,' Holly tells me seriously. 'I think you're great.'

'You're not so bad yourself,' I say as she climbs up on to the bus. 'Just don't tell anyone I said so.'

The bus trundles off with Holly waving and pulling tongues from the back seat, and I walk on down the lane, duck into the quiet, green world of the woods and find the path to the lough. I want to stay a while, wrapped in silence, the way the trees and rocks and the ground beneath my feet are wrapped in moss and ivy and soft, green lichen.

I leave the woods and settle down beneath the hazel tree, spreading the striped picnic blanket across the gra.s.s. I open my sketchbook and draw a tall foxglove with furry leaves and purple, bell-shaped flowers up and down the stem. When you look inside, the petals are pale and speckled. I need paints or crayons to show it properly, but I make my pencil sketch as accurate as I can.

The sun is warm, and I close my eyes for a moment to soak up the heat. When I open them again, the lough seems dusted with silver. There's a crunch of twigs just behind me, and rough, warm hands slide over my eyes, blotting out the light.

'Guess who?'

My heart does some kind of double backflip. Kian.

'Been watching you for a while,' he says, lifting his hands away and flopping down beside me. I can't help stealing a sneaky glance at him, and end up getting snagged by the blue-black eyes, the raggedy hair.

I let a few strands of ketchup-coloured hair fall across my face, hiding my smile. Midnight is drifting across the gra.s.s to my left, flicking his tail about in the suns.h.i.+ne.

'So, you're drawing plants?' Kian asks. 'What for?'

'It's a project I'm doing,' I explain. 'About Lough Choill the woods and the lough and the hillside and the hazel tree. Not just drawings, but research, history, maps, everything.'

'Nightmare,' Kian says. 'How can you put a place like Lough Choill on paper?'

'I'm going to try' I tell him. 'Dad and Clare are trying this home-schooling thing. It's got to be better than hanging out with a bunch of little kids, anyhow!'

'Sure, but school is school,' Kian argues, grabbing my hand and dragging me to my feet. 'C'mon, let's cut cla.s.s! Live dangerously!'

I stuff my sketchbook into my backpack and abandon the striped blanket to scramble up beside Kian on Midnight's back. The big black horse snorts and shakes his head, and then we're off, galloping down the loughside, our hair streaming out behind us, hands woven tightly into Midnight's mane.

It feels like I've never moved so fast, felt so happy. My face is stretched into a grin a mile wide as the air whooshes past, Kian's arms are round me and all the time Midnight pounds along, his mane flying, his hooves thumping the gra.s.s, his black coat s.h.i.+ning like silk.

By the time we come to a halt a while later, back beside the wis.h.i.+ng tree, I feel so strong, so alive, I might as well have just flown to the moon and back.

'That was amazing! amazing!' I say to Kian. 'Seriously, that was the best, the scariest '

Kian puts a finger to my lips. 'Knew you'd like it.' He grins. 'But right now, we have to find some shelter. See those clouds on the hills beyond the lough? There's rain coming, and soon!'

'It's sunny!' I argue. 'There's no way...'

But when I squint at the distant hills, I see clouds I never even noticed before, trailing a soft grey mist. It rolls down the hillside towards us, blurring the purple-green heather.

'What'll we do?' I panic. 'We're going to get soaked!'