Chapter 11 Mabel #4
‘That doesn’t sound like a question. Which makes me think you know who it was.’ His lips narrowed, but I waved a hand. ‘I can work it out for myself. What I don’t understand is why. What are you all so afraid of?’
He lowered his hand, which was clenched around the feather. ‘Us?’
For a moment I hesitated, then I cast all doubt to the winds.
My mother taught me early on in life that the clarity of the answer you receive depends entirely on the question.
You have to know what you want. Direct question, direct answer.
‘I know you’re part of it. The society that calls itself the League of Starlings. ’
Blake’s expression was once again so shuttered that I wondered how much practice he’d had putting on a mask. There was no crack, no gap, however small, through which I could catch a glimpe of his thoughts or feelings.
‘When did it happen?’ was all he asked.
‘Three days ago.’
‘And it didn’t scare you off?’
‘Far from it. If they’re going on the attack like that, it means they’ve got something to defend.’ I cocked my head. ‘You’re not denying it. It’s true, then.’
‘You’re going to believe whatever you want either way, aren’t you?’
I snorted. ‘You think this is what I want? My best friend has fallen into the clutches of some cult that’s doing God knows what to her. I’m getting more worried about her by the day. I’m not you, Blake. I’m fucking terrified.’
He eyed me doubtfully. ‘You’re scared for Zoe, but not for yourself, even though you’re the one with the bag full of bloody feathers?’
‘That’s called love. Ever heard of it?’
‘Of course I have. Believe it or not, there are people I … love.’
‘Who, Ashton? I thought he wasn’t a good person either.’
Blake opened his hand, examining the feather in his palm.
‘He doesn’t have to be a good person to be my person.
For all his faults, he’s still my best friend.
’ Slowly, he raised his eyes. ‘Look, keep this stuff to yourself, all right? If rumours start to get out, not everybody is going to take it as calmly as I am.’
‘So you’re not planning on telling them. Because you don’t want to alarm them or because you’re trying to protect me?’ My voice had grown quieter, my heart louder. I was drifting off topic, asking questions about what I wanted to know rather than what I needed to.
His eyes smiled, but his mouth remained a straight line. ‘Which answer would frighten you more?’
‘I’m not frightened of you. I told you that before.’
The smile deepened, nestling into the dimples at the corners of his mouth. ‘Which is precisely why you’re so dangerous, Mabel.’
‘No more dangerous than you, Blake.’
A strange look crossed his face. Drawing back, he looked at the water. ‘Don’t call me that, okay?’
‘You prefer Cliff?’
‘Yes.’ He smiled sadly, almost hauntedly. ‘And no.’
‘You’re a mystery to me,’ I said flatly.
He laughed, only briefly, but the sound slipped deep into the crannies of my memory – it was so warm, so soft, so at odds with how serious he always seemed.
‘Good. Because you’re a mystery to me too.’
We fell silent for a moment, while I tried to organise my thoughts.
Blake hadn’t confirmed the existence of the League, but nor had he denied it.
That might mean it was real – or simply that he wanted me to stop digging before I got to the actual truth.
Or, of course, that he didn’t care either way.
I was still none the wiser, and it was frustrating.
Talking to Blake was like reading an old book, a classic I didn’t fully comprehend.
I understood the words, but I couldn’t see through all the layers of interpretation to reach the meaning at its core.
‘Maybe I should just start calling you Heathcliff,’ I muttered, vaguely annoyed.
‘From Wuthering Heights? Hardly the most likeable character.’
‘He’s the archetype of the tortured hero, often a loner born into wealth. Usually hiding a dark secret. Ruthless, too.’
Blake raised his eyebrows sceptically. ‘Are you trying to tell me something?’
‘June Owens,’ I replied, making a sudden decision. I had come to him for answers: I wasn’t going to leave empty-handed. ‘I know she was at your parties, I saw her. With Victor.’
Blake’s face tensed. ‘What are you insinuating? That he pushed her off the roof?’
‘No. As far as I know, she was up there alone. But that doesn’t mean he wasn’t involved. That … you weren’t involved.’
My heart felt empty. The words, too, somehow. Blake’s expression hollowed them out until they fluttered thinly in the air between us. ‘If you really believe that,’ he said emotionlessly, ‘then why are you here?’
I could have dodged the question, but his gaze bored so deep that it cut partway through the layers of distance and defiance I’d built up over the last few years. ‘Because I don’t think you’re like your friends. You’re not as indifferent as they are, you … care about other people.’
‘You’re wrong. And in any case … they’re my family.’ He made to stand up, but I grabbed him. His pulse was strong, his skin still warmer than I’d have expected in this cold.
‘You can love something, you can cherish it, and it can still be bad for you. That goes for people just as much as for the life you lead.’
Blake closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. When he met my gaze again, he seemed earnest. Genuine. ‘Victor didn’t rape June, if that’s what you’re thinking. He never slept with her or pressured her into doing anything like that.’
I swallowed. ‘Can you promise me that?’
‘Yes.’ Blake hesitated, then took my hand off his arm.
‘Victor isn’t always easy, but he’s not that much of a …
monster.’ For a few seconds his eyes rested on his fingers, which had closed around mine.
Then, as if seeing something I had missed, his cheeks blanched.
He let me go and jerked his hand back, shifting slightly to the right, away from me.
Confused and embarrassed, I tucked my hand under my thigh so he wouldn’t see it trembling. ‘Okay, I believe you. But I still think there’s more you’re not willing to tell me. Or twitter at me.’ I gestured to the feather he had slid into a groove in the wood.
Blake sighed. It was astonishing how quickly he regained his composure – the colour was even coming back into his cheeks.
‘If this society you’re talking about really does exist, and if we’re members of it – and I’m saying if – then there’s nothing very special about that.
Societies exist so people can network. You build a community, put people in touch, help each other out. That’s all.’
‘There’s just one problem,’ I replied with a sardonic smile. ‘Normally, clubs like that do everything they can to make sure they stick in people’s minds. You, on the other hand, try to keep it quiet. And having met a couple of your friends, I’m pretty sure that modesty isn’t the reason why.’
Instead of replying, Blake got to his feet with a regretful nod. ‘I have to go now. You know, feed a few birds.’
I wanted to be stubborn, to keep pushing, but I couldn’t help laughing. ‘Wait, don’t tell me that was an actual joke! I think you’re getting soft.’
Blake rolled his eyes, but there it was again, the gentle smile that softened his features. He reached out and touched the brim of my cap, nudging it back so that we could see more of each other’s faces.
The smile dropped from my mouth, and Blake’s eyes leapt straight to it. My lipstick was a pastel red called Cloudy Mind. My own mind felt cloudy, too, as he stroked his thumb over my cheekbone.
‘Next time don’t wear the cap,’ he said in a low voice, barely audible. ‘I like seeing you properly.’
‘My face, you mean?’
‘No. I mean … you.’
I wanted to smile so badly that I had to bite my lip. ‘Okay, now you’re flirting with me.’
‘Maybe.’ He drew his hand back and looked at it again, as if realising how contemptible everything about the situation was.
‘But you don’t want to be,’ I realised gradually. ‘So … what am I, like an inverse pain aux raisins?’
‘What?’
‘Something you might sort of like a teeny bit but wish you didn’t?’
He smiled, a proper one this time, then turned on his heel and walked back to the path. Reaching it, he turned around again and recited a string of numbers.
I frowned, baffled. ‘What’s that?’
‘My number. Put it in your phone – then next time you have a question, you won’t have to randomly show up at my house.’
I tapped the brim of my cap. ‘And you say you’re not a nice person, Heathcliff.’
I saw the words repeated in his eyes: You’re wrong.
But he didn’t say them out loud, he only turned and walked off down the path.
And although he hadn’t told me much – most of it I’d inferred from what he hadn’t said – I sensed something had changed.
Maybe not for my research. But for me. For him and me.
For an us that wasn’t real and never could be.