Another wave of pain hits me, and another, as Dad keeps telling me I’m not to blame. They’re only words: they don’t change anything, and they can’t bring her back. But I realize, as another wave of tears well up, that they’re all I’ve been waiting to hear since last November.
THIRTY
‘It was never about the money.’
It’s a few hours later – after my tears have dried, and his shock has subsided – and Dad and I are sitting on the bench under the Japanese maple, the one Mum and I planted the summer we moved into this house. Allie is still upstairs, sleeping or waiting for Calum’s taxi to arrive from the train station. Rani and Perry are chasing Teacake around the lawn in a semi-airborne game of tag, taking care to stay hidden below the trees. But, for now, it’s just me and Dad.
I can’t remember the last time we sat like this, the two of us. It’s nice, but also slightly awkward. He keeps slipping into long, thoughtful silences; I can’t stop staring into my apple juice, swirling the ice cubes as if I might find something to fill the gaps in conversation in the glass.
‘It had nothing to do with the rewards,’ he says finally. ‘I can see why you thought that, though. I was obsessed: the stats, the research, the sales. I wanted to learn as much as I could. It was a distraction. But that was never why I wanted to find one. I just thought it was a sign, a message from the universe. Or from Mum.’
A lump rises to my throat. I take another long sip of apple juice, trying to soothe it. In all the times he talked at me about his Wingding research, Dad never brought Mum into it. Not once. I knew that her death was tied to the Falls in his mind, just like it was in mine – but he’d never said that was the main reason for his wanting to find a Being.
‘I know it sounds daft, thinking the Falls were a personal message just for me,’ he says. ‘Selfish, even. But they started so soon after she died. One fell a few metres from the spot where I proposed to her, just outside St Giles’ Cathedral. Can you blame me for reading into it?’
Across the garden, Rani is leaping over the flower bed. She tries to grab Teacake’s foot, but Teacake flits out of reach, giggling. As I grapple for something to say, I realize I’ve hardly thought about what the past year has been like for Dad: losing his wife, leaving his job, being plunged into single fatherhood. I’ve been so busy hating his fixation on the Beings that I never really stopped to consider its cause.
The small space separating us suddenly feels like miles. The person I was before all this never would have believed he was capable of giving Teacake up to be tortured or experimented on. But the person that Dad was before never would have led me to believe such a thing.
‘I don’t know if you could find out, even if you asked her,’ I say. ‘We’ve tried. Teacake has an amazing memory – she can practically recite the entire news word for word – but she doesn’t seem to understand much of what she’s saying. Maybe she will in a few weeks.’
Dad gives a sad smile. ‘That’s too long, though, isn’t it? There must be people up there who love her; people she misses. If she can leave now, she should. It’d be unfair to ask her to stay just for us.’
Another surprise: I’d never heard him express any interest in what the Falls might mean for the Beings. I didn’t think he’d even considered it. There’s a lot I don’t know about Dad, just like there’s a lot I don’t know about Mum. But he’s still here to help me fill in the blanks. And so are Ammamma and Dinesh, and all her friends and family in London and Sri Lanka. It’s not enough, and it’ll never be the same. But it’s something.
We talk for a while longer, slipping back into everyday topics for the first time in months – lunch, the garden, the exam results I’m due to get in a couple of days – until a taxi comes crawling up the drive. Teacake stiffens. I don’t know if she’s guessed what’s coming, or if the car reminds her of being kidnapped by the Standing Fallen. I hurry across the lawn towards her.
‘It’s OK, Tea. It’s just Calum,’ I say, glancing towards the car. ‘He’s not going to hurt you.’
The taxi stops at the bottom of the drive, far enough away that the driver won’t be able to see Teacake behind the trees. Calum steps out and slowly walks towards the house, his eyes nervously flitting from me to Teacake and back. Teacake crosses her arms, a habit she’s picked up from Allie. Calum stops at the edge of the lawn, his hands deep in his pockets.
‘Hey.’ He looks at the ground, bumping the toe of his trainer against the grass as the taxi drives off. ‘I . . . I don’t know where to start.’
‘Just speak to her,’ I tell him. ‘She’s listening.’
I don’t even know if Teacake knows what Calum did or if she’s just picked up on the tension between Allie, Calum and myself, but it doesn’t matter: either way, she deserves an apology. Calum’s cheeks flush, but he looks at Teacake. Her wings bend then straighten quickly, like a whip cracking. Calum slings his backpack off his shoulder and unzips it. It’s filled with packets of Tunnock’s Teacakes.
‘I got you these,’ he says sheepishly. ‘I know it can’t make up for what happened. I just thought you might like them.’
Teacake takes a box. ‘Our best ever sofa sale is now on,’ she says flatly, the usual musical lilt in her voice gone. After a moment, though, she rips open the cardboard. A small grin tugs at Calum’s mouth, but he quickly suppresses it. None of us are going to let him off that easily.
‘I’ve expected too much from you. You’re not a sign of the afterlife or anything like that.’ His head dips towards the ground, but he forces himself to look Teacake in the eye. ‘You’re just a person. I don’t know how I forgot that. I’m sorry.’
Teacake eats the biscuit in three bites, leaving smears of chocolate and marshmallow around her mouth. She reaches into the box for a second, then pauses. Instead of unwrapping it, she hands it to Calum.
‘Malin: South-west four or five. Slight or moderate,’ she says. ‘Mainly fair. Good.’
Calum grins. It’s just more of the Shipping Forecast, but there’s a hint of optimism in her words. He starts to unpeel the foil, then pauses.
‘Whatever I did, it wasn’t out of greed.’ His eyes dart to me, just for a second. ‘I was doing what I thought was best for my family. You get that, right?’
My dad thought he was doing the same. It’s funny: Calum prioritized Allie before Teacake, but I picked Teacake over my dad. Maybe things would have been easier if I’d tried to see things from his point of view, or if I’d just trusted him. But I don’t think I need to feel guilty about it any more. I was doing what I felt was best too.
‘I do,’ I tell Calum. ‘I get it.’
We smile at each other. It’s still kind of awkward, but the bad vibe between us is starting to fade. And as we head inside to see Allie an idea comes to me – a way that Calum really could get some of the money he was promised.
‘Ready, Teacake? Action!’
Calum claps one hand against his leg and presses a button on his camera with the other. The sun has just set, and the sky is slowly melting from pink and orange into navy – Calum’s favourite time of day for filming or taking photos, and dark enough for Teacake to rise above the trees without attracting unwanted attention.
She soars into the air, somersaults over our heads, then spins in dainty pirouettes towards the clouds. Calum’s explanation of how the camera works confused her at first, but now she’s showing off for it: darting and dipping, rising in sweeping loops towards the stars, then zipping sparrow-quick towards the ground.
We’ve agreed we won’t share the footage until Teacake has left and we’re sure she’s got away safely. If it comes to that, this video is going to make the internet explode.
‘Awesome, Tea.’ Calum gives her a thumbs-up and tilts the camera towards her. ‘This looks amazing.’