The Pearl Sister (The Seven Sisters #4)
Lucinda Riley
1
I remember exactly where I was and what I was doing when I heard that my father had died, I thought to myself as I stared out of the window and saw the complete blackness of night. Intermittently below me, there were small clusters of twinkling lights indicating human habitation, each light containing a life, a family, a set of friends . . .
None of which I felt I had any longer.
It was almost like seeing the world upside down, because the lights below the plane resembled less brilliant facsimiles of the stars above me. This reminded me of the fact that one of my tutors at art college had once told me that I painted as if I couldn’t see what was in front of me. He was right. I couldn’t. The pictures appeared in my mind, not in reality. Often, they didn’t take animal, mineral or even human form, but the images were strong, and I always felt compelled to follow them through.
Like that great pile of junk I’d collected from scrapyards around London and housed in my studio at the apartment. I had spent weeks trying to work out exactly how all the pieces should be placed together. It was like working on a giant Rubik’s Cube, though the raw ingredients comprised of a smelly oil can, an old Guy Fawkes scarecrow, a tyre and a rusting metal pickaxe. I’d constantly moved the bits into place, happy right up until I added that last vital piece, which always – wherever I put it – seemed to ruin the entire installation.
I laid my hot brow against the cool Perspex of the window, which was all that separated me and everyone else on the plane from asphyxiation and certain death.
We are so vulnerable . . .
No, CeCe, I cautioned myself harshly as panic rose inside me, you can do this without her, you really can.
I forced my thoughts back to Pa Salt, because given my ingrained fear of flying, thinking about the moment I heard he’d died was – in a weird way – comforting. If the worst happened and the plane dropped from the sky, killing us all, at least he might be there on the other side, waiting for me. He’d already made the journey up there, after all. And he’d made it alone, as we all did.
I’d been pulling on my jeans when the call had come from my younger sister Tiggy, telling me that Pa Salt was dead. Looking back now, I was pretty sure that none of what she said really sank in. All I could think of was how I’d tell Star, who had adored our father. I knew she would be totally devastated.
You adored him too, CeCe . . .
And I had. Since my role in life was to protect my more vulnerable sister – she was actually three months older than me but she’d found it difficult to speak so I’d always spoken for her – I’d sealed up my heart, zipped up my jeans, then walked into the sitting room to tell her.
She’d said nothing, just wept in my arms. I’d done everything I could to keep my own tears at bay. For her, for Star. I’d had to be strong because she’d needed me . . .
That was then . . .
‘Madam, is there something you need?’
A cloud of musky perfume descended from above me. I looked up and saw the stewardess leaning over me.
‘Er, no thanks.’
‘You pressed the call bell,’ she said in an exaggerated whisper, indicating the rest of the passengers, who were all asleep. After all, it was four in the morning, London time.
‘Sorry,’ I whispered back, as I removed my offending elbow from the button that had alerted her. Typical. She gave me the kind of nod I remembered one of my teachers had given me when she’d seen me opening my eyes during morning prayer at school. Then, with a rustle of silk, the stewardess disappeared back to her lair. I did my best to make myself comfortable and close my eyes, wanting to be like the four hundred or so random souls who had managed to escape from the horror of hurtling through the air in an aluminium tube by going to sleep. As usual, I felt left out, not part of the crowd.
Of course, I could have booked into business class. I still had some money left from my legacy – but not enough that I wanted to waste it on just another few centimetres of room. Most of my money had gone on buying the swanky riverside apartment for me and Star in London. I’d thought that a proper home was what she’d wanted, that it would make her happy, but it so hadn’t . . .
Now here I was, no further on than this time last year when I’d sat next to my sister in economy class, flying across the world to Thailand. Except this time Star wasn’t with me, and I wasn’t running to something, I was running away . . .
*
‘Would you like breakfast, madam?’
I opened my eyes, feeling groggy and disorientated, and stared up at the same stewardess who had visited me in the middle of the night. I saw that all the cabin lights were on and some of the window blinds were open, revealing the pink hue of dawn.
‘No thanks, just coffee. Black, please.’
She nodded and retreated, and I wondered why – given I was paying for this entire experience – I felt guilty about asking for anything.
‘Where are you headed?’
I turned to face my neighbour, whom I’d only viewed in profile up until now. And even then, it had been a nose, a mouth and a lock of blond hair hanging out of a black hoody. Now he was full-frontal, staring at me. He was probably no more than eighteen, the traces of adolescent acne still visible on his chin and forehead. I felt like a pensioner next to him.
‘Bangkok, then on to Australia.’
‘Cool,’ he commented as he tucked into his prison-issue tray of inedible scrambled eggs, over-fried bacon and a long pink thing that was masquerading as a sausage. ‘I’ll head there eventually, but I’m gonna check out Thailand first. I’ve been told the Full Moon Parties are something else.’
‘They are.’
‘You been?’
‘A few times,’ I replied, his question immediately downloading a selection of memories in my mind.
‘Which one do you suggest? Heard Ko Pha Ngan is the best.’
‘It’s been ages since I went there last, but I hear it’s huge now – maybe a couple of thousand people. My favourite place is Railay Beach in Krabi. It’s very chilled, but I suppose it depends on what you want.’
‘Heard of Krabi,’ he said, his jaw working overtime to chew the sausage. ‘I’m meeting my mates in Bangkok. We’ve still got a couple of weeks until the full moon to decide anyway. You meeting friends out in Oz?’
‘Yeah,’ I lied.
‘Stopping over in Bangkok for a while?’
‘Just the night.’