Читать книгу The Lost Sister: A gripping emotional page turner with a breathtaking twist - Tracy Buchanan, Tracy Buchanan - Страница 14

Selma

Kent, UK

27 July 1991

Idris led me to the cave, his hand still wrapped around mine. A campfire flickered outside it, and the sound of guitar music, laughter, even a child giggling was carried along with the breeze. As we drew closer, I could see seven people sitting around the fire on colourful chalk boulders, listening to a young tanned man dressed in just shorts playing a soft tune on his guitar. The girl I’d met a few days before was sitting beside him with her arms wrapped around him, her fingers hungry in his hair. A tall black man sat beside her, dressed smartly in chinos and a white shirt, his fingers tapping gently on his knee, his eyes closed. A brown and white Jack Russell lay with its furry chin on the man’s foot.

Behind the group sat a woman in her fifties wearing an oversized kaftan dress, paper flowers in different colours scattered around her. She was doing something I couldn’t see, her arms moving erratically, her back bent over. Swaying to the music nearby was a slim, attractive woman with short, blonde hair, the flames of the fire dancing on her tanned skin. I recognised her as being a local yoga teacher, and thought it no surprise that someone like her had been drawn there. But what was a surprise was seeing timid Donna among the group, with her son Tom. She must have come directly from the pub just after I left. What on earth was she doing there?

Then there, beyond them all, was the cave and the old hotel looming dark and abandoned above it. The cave was too dark to properly see inside but I caught glimpses of colour on the walls. Idris’s paintings?

When we approached the group, everyone seemed to sense him, growing quiet as they peered up. The young man even stopped strumming his guitar and Tom stopped giggling.

Weird.

‘Please, continue Caden,’ Idris instructed him. The young man smiled and continued playing his guitar as he glanced over me.

The girl I’d spoken to before jumped up, rushing over. ‘You came!’ she said, enveloping me in a hug. She smelt musty, as if she hadn’t showered for a few days. It wasn’t unpleasant though. ‘I’m Oceane by the way.’ She pronounced it Osh-ee-anne.

‘Is that the author?’ Caden asked over his music.

‘Yes, the author!’ Oceane exclaimed.

‘That’s so cool,’ Caden said. He started singing. ‘Sifting over the sands of my mind, trying to find treasures that never existed.’

I looked at him in surprise. ‘That’s a line from my book!’

‘Of course,’ Idris said. ‘We’ve all been reading it. Can’t ignore our local author, can we?’

‘I hope you’re working on something new,’ the yoga teacher said, eyes sparkling as she continued to sway. ‘Reading it really touched my soul.’

I opened my mouth then closed it. I didn’t know what to say. Part of me was delighted. The book had barely sold so I hadn’t had any feedback from readers beyond my editors and friends. But the other part thought it was bloody bizarre, all these people fawning over me.

‘Come, sit with us,’ Idris said, gently putting his hand on the small of my back and leading me towards the fire. I looked over my shoulder towards the town. Maybe this was a bad idea, but something propelled me forward anyway and I sat down on a straw mat, looking at the flickering orange and yellow of the flames, feeling their warmth on my skin.

I suddenly felt exhausted. I closed my eyes, breathing in the battle between the fire’s ash and salt of the sea, my actions at the pub and the subsequent conversation with Idris still playing on my mind.

Something cold nudged against my bare knees and I looked down to see the Jack Russell peering up at me, its tail wagging.

Was the dog going to tell me it loved my book too?

It went to lick my hand and I leaned away from it.

Idris laughed. ‘Not a dog person?’

‘No, not really. Sorry,’ I said. ‘One of my stepdads had one. Let’s just say, we didn’t get on.’

‘Stepdads?’ the yoga teacher asked with a raised eyebrow.

‘My mum got remarried a couple of times,’ I replied.

‘Come, Mojo,’ the man in the white shirt said, patting his thigh. The dog bounded over to him, and I assumed he must be the owner.

I turned to Donna. ‘Did you come from the pub?’

Donna nodded. ‘I was getting fed up with the conversation. Apart from your bit anyway,’ she added with a raised eyebrow.

‘I think I might have gone too far.’

‘It brought you here,’ Idris said. ‘That can only be a good thing.’

‘Wine? Beer?’ Donna asked, a shy look on her face.

‘I don’t suppose you have any gin?’ I asked her.

Donna frowned. ‘No, I’m afraid not.’

Caden laughed. ‘There will be soon though, now you’ve mentioned it. Donna can’t let anyone go without. She’s our angel.’

‘She sure is,’ Idris said, walking over and putting his hand on Donna’s shoulder.

Donna peered up at him, a child-like look of awe on her face.

I looked between them both, trying my best not to raise an eyebrow.

‘How long have you been here?’ I asked Donna.

‘Just a few days,’ she replied.

‘Long enough to make a difference,’ Idris said.

Oceane smiled. ‘Mum’s a supercook.’

I looked between Donna and Oceane in surprise. ‘Oceane’s your daughter?’

Donna nodded and my eyes widened in surprise. I had no idea Donna had an older daughter … and they seemed so different. Or were they? Donna had come to live here, hadn’t she? And she’d called her daughter Oceane.

I was suddenly seeing her in a very different light.

‘Will wine do?’ she asked me.

I shrugged. ‘Sure.’

Donna stood and pulled a half-empty bottle of white wine from a cooler box, sloshing some of it into a small ceramic bowl. I took the bowl, feeling its weight and coolness.

‘Interesting drinking device,’ I said.

‘Maggie made it,’ Donna replied, gesturing to the woman by the cave with her back to us.

‘What’s she doing?’ I asked.

Idris looked towards Maggie. ‘She’s in the current at the moment. Got into it quicker than most.’

‘What is this current?’ I asked. ‘Oceane mentioned it to me.’

‘You’ll see,’ Idris said mysteriously.

‘I’m Anita,’ the yoga teacher said, touching her hand to her chest. ‘I think you might know that already? I saw you in one of my classes once.’

‘Yep,’ I said, taking a sip of wine. ‘I learnt a valuable lesson, that lesson being I’m very unbendy.’

Everyone laughed.

‘Easily remedied,’ Anita said, waving her hand about. ‘We’ll sort it during the sunrise salute tomorrow morning.’

‘Oh, I won’t be here in the morning,’ I said. ‘Just a fleeting visit.’

Everyone exchanged knowing looks. Some sizzling chicken from the fire was passed my way. I took it without question, suddenly ravenous.

‘As you know, I’m Caden,’ the boy with the guitar said. ‘Guitarist, song scribe, lover,’ he added, wiggling his eyebrows at Oceane who laughed in response.

‘I believe you know Donna,’ Idris said, gesturing to her. ‘And her son Tom.’

‘Yes,’ I said, smiling at Donna. She returned my smile, turning another chicken wing in the fire.

‘And Julien,’ Idris said, gesturing to the man sitting quietly on the rock with the dog. Julien examined my face then he nodded at me. I nodded back. Already I could tell there was something about him, a calmness that was slightly uncomfortable. ‘That’s everyone. So far, anyway,’ Idris said with a contented smile.

‘Tell us about your next novel,’ Anita asked.

‘Never ask an author that!’ Oceane said.

I smiled at her. ‘Oceane’s right. It strikes the fear of God into us.’

‘You’re kidding,’ Anita said. ‘I thought you’d want to talk about writing?’

‘I adore talking about writing,’ I said. ‘But I feel talking about a new idea might jinx it.’

‘I get it actually,’ Julien said in a cut-glass accent. ‘When I start a new piece of furniture, I’d rather wait until it’s finished before telling someone about it. Just in case it flops spectacularly.’

‘It’s fear,’ Idris said.

Everyone turned to him, going very quiet. It was as if, when he spoke, everything else was wiped away.

‘Fear that people won’t like what you’ve created,’ he continued, sitting down cross-legged on the sand across from me. He was looking right into my eyes. I held his gaze. ‘That fear plagues artists like all of us. It’s the main reason we can’t get into the current,’ he continued. ‘We’re constantly thinking of this person and that person and a dozen people, a hundred, a thousand people who might hate what we’re working on. Numbers, when we should be looking beyond numbers.’

‘What’s so dreadful about numbers?’ I asked.

‘They cloud the judgement,’ Donna said.

I looked at her. ‘But they’re essential to everyday living. We use them to tell the time, to take measurements, count money …’

Donna smiled. ‘I don’t use them to take measurements when I’m cooking. I use my instincts.’

‘And we have no money kept here, no clocks either. In fact, watches aren’t allowed,’ Julien said, peering at my watch. I looked down at the watch that had once belonged to my mother.

‘We wake with the sun and sleep when we’re tired,’ Anita added.

‘Or don’t sleep if we’re in the current,’ Caden said.

They all nodded. It was as though they were seamlessly weaving a story together … and yet they’d only lived with each other for a few days. Maybe it was this ‘current’ they all talked of. The same current they refused to tell me about.

‘So how do you pay for all this if numbers aren’t your thing?’ I asked, gesturing to the wine and food.

‘Money,’ Donna said simply.

I laughed. ‘That’s numbers.’

‘But we don’t pay for it here, do we?’ Julien said. ‘We get money out when we’re in town and use it at the shops, giving any change which remains to the charity shops.’

‘Money clouds the creative juices,’ Oceane said. ‘All numbers do. It’s impossible to get into the current if we’re surrounded by them.’

‘What’s the bloody current?’ I shouted out, the loudness of my voice surprising me.

Julien frowned but Idris laughed. ‘I like your intensity.’

‘Then bloody tell me what it is,’ I said, leaning towards him and smiling to show him I wasn’t being too serious. But the fact was, I really did want to know.

He stood up, putting his hand out to me. ‘Come and see.’

I let him lead me to Maggie, very conscious of his warm hand around mine, intimate, soft. I felt drunk, not just from the gin and the wine but from his proximity too. It reminded me of being drunk as a teenager, night swimming with an old boyfriend, the heady freedom of it, like the night was infinite.

The dark cave unfolded before me like I was in a dream; slightly hazy, very warm. ‘The infamous cave,’ I whispered, suddenly feeling dizzy with the smell of salt and seaweed, ashes and barbecued chicken.

Idris came to a stop. Maggie was sitting before us, folding petals at an amazing speed, her fingers flexing and bending as she pressed the delicate flowers together. Her head was down, her brow knitted, her face in complete concentration. She seemed totally oblivious to our presence.

‘Maggie is a craftswoman,’ Idris explained in a quiet voice as we watched her. ‘She excels at a variety of crafts, from pottery to sewing to making masks. But it’s the paper flowering that she’s truly able to find the current with.’

‘So, being in the current is basically being in the zone?’ I asked.

He thought about it. ‘In a sense. But it goes deeper than that. Entering the current has a physical effect on the brain, deactivating the prefrontal cortex.’ He gently tapped the bottom of my forehead. ‘It controls elements like reason, logic, problem-solving …’

‘And numbers,’ I said, raising an eyebrow.

He smiled. ‘Yes. When we’re not dominated by those elements of our psyche, we can truly give into creativity.’

‘I get it. When I’m really into writing, everything around me disappears.’

‘It goes beyond that. It’s hard to explain until you’ve experienced it. But when you do, the work you produce will be the best you ever have.’

I thought about it. That was certainly a tempting prospect considering how utterly useless I’d been at writing lately. It amazed me sometimes, how I could get lost in my writing, hours passing without me realising. And yet Idris was saying it was possible to go even deeper than that. Maybe that was just what my writing needed?

We grew silent, watching as Maggie smoothed the petals of a pink flower, examining it for imperfections before placing it with the others.

‘So what’s this all about?’ I said after a while, gesturing to the group. ‘Why are all these people here? It can’t be just about getting into the current, as you call it,’ I said, making quotation marks with my fingers.

‘It is,’ he replied. ‘Everything we do here is about getting into the current. It’s our sole aim. Individually and as a group. Specifically to reach the point of being in the current together for as long as possible. Then great things will happen.’

‘Like what?’

He smiled, his face lighting up. ‘That’s all to discover. But for you? Maybe you’ll write your second novel.’

I had to admit it was appealing, even if it did sound a bit woo-woo. I peered at my wine. Clearly I’d drunk too much.

‘You’ve achieved a lot in less than two weeks,’ I said.

‘Anyone can, when they put their mind to it.’

‘Minus the prefrontal cortex.’

He laughed. ‘Want to see inside?’ he asked, gesturing towards the cave.

‘Why not?’

We walked towards the cave. It was long and narrow, stretching back for what I’d imagine was over a hundred metres. Paintings dotted the entrance: blue fish; white birds, wings spread wide; starfish and shells.

‘You did these?’ I asked Idris.

He nodded.

‘Is that what you did, before you came here?’

‘I’ve always painted,’ he replied, not really answering my question.

We stepped into the cave. At the front were two barbecues, three cooler boxes, plus two small white cupboards that appeared to have been ripped from a kitchen. Just beyond it was a long, narrow table made of thick driftwood with several mismatched chairs around it.

‘Julien made that table,’ Idris said.

‘Nice.’ And it really was nice, the kind of table I might have looked at with Mike, desperate to buy but way above our budget. The place was surprising me, making me feel strangely at home.

We stepped further into the cave and the atmosphere suddenly changed, my senses overwhelmed by the sound of the sea, as if I was holding a shell up to my ear. It felt intimate in there, like I was cut right off from it all, our own private little world apart from the rush of the sea outside.