Читать книгу A Sea of Stars - Kate Maryon, Kate Maryon - Страница 10

We drive in silence for ages until Dad puts on the radio to fill up the car with sound.

“I’m sorry for scaring you,” I whisper to Cat. “I didn’t mean to; it’s just Dad and me always play that game on the cliffs. We’ve played it forever.”

Cat stares right through me like I’m not even there, nibbling and nibbling on a nail, twisting her hair round and round her finger and blinking her eyelids in the sun. I can’t even tell if she’s heard me.

“I am sorry,” I whisper again.

I feel really bad now. This is a terrible day for me, but it must be a million times worse for Cat.

Dad pulls over and parks the car outside a thatched cottage with a swinging teapot sign above the front door. When Cat gets out of the car I notice her jeans are a bit too short for her and the laces on her trainers are bedraggled and frayed. If I were brave enough I’d take hold of her hand or touch her hair.

“They have gingerbread people living upstairs,” says Mum, smiling and guiding Cat through the door, “and some of Father Christmas’s elves are up there too, making all the cakes and goodies.”

I know this is a lie, but, because Cat’s ten and not twelve, her eyes start twinkling.

“Really?” she says.

Mum smiles and then Cat gets that she’s being teased and slams her face shut like a book. She starts twisting her hair so fast and so tight that the end of her finger turns poppy red with blood.

“I didn’t believe you anyway,” she snaps, pulling away from Mum. “I’m not a baby, am I?”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Cat, darling,” Mum says. “I wasn’t thinking. Maya believed that story for years. Every time we used to come here, she’d sit wide-eyed, hoping to spot a gingerbread man or an elf. It was just a bit of fun. But I’m sorry, I won’t do it again.”

Cat’s eyes burn black. She scrunches her face up in a frown. She looks from me to Mum and back again.

“Your family have a weird idea of what’s fun,” she scowls. “And stop saying ‘sorry’, both of you; it’s boring, boring, boring. Nobody ever means it when they say ‘sorry’, anyway; they still go on doing horrid things.”

Then she glares at Mum with fire in her eyes and snatches hold of Dad’s hand.

The teashop is full to the brim with customers and crying babies. Ladies dressed up as Victorian maids in black pinafores, white aprons and mop caps bustle about with trays of steaming tea, happy smiles dancing on their lips. But we’re not so happy. I feel lumpier and bumpier than before – worse than in the pizza place. I feel all quiet, all muffled, as if my mouth is full of cotton wool. And a guilty feeling gnaws away at my bones as I glance at Cat’s frayed cuffs. I wish I could take her shopping for some new clothes. I wish I could buy her some cool stuff. But the cliff walk and the sound of Cat, Cat, Cat’s scream has turned our family into a delicate egg that might break into a million tiny little pieces, making me too scared to say anything.

Cat drums her fingers on the table. She tap-tap-taps her feet on the floor.

Dad sighs; he rubs his eyes and draws a smile across his face.

“How’re you feeling now, Cat?” he soothes, putting more special word cream on Cat’s sore life.

Cat twiddles with the sugar cubes. She pops one in her mouth and sucks. She keeps her eyes down low. “OK,” she says.

“Because we’d understand if you didn’t feel OK,” says Mum. “What’s happening in your life right now is huge and we want you to know that we’re here for you, Cat. You’re likely to feel really wobbly over the next few weeks, we all will, because of so much change. But what we do in our family when we feel wobbly or worried about anything is talk. Share the problem and help each other through.”

“We hope, in time,” Dad says, “you’ll feel safe enough to trust us with your worries, Cat.”

She looks up. She tap-tap-taps her feet on the floor.