Velocity: The Gravity Series #2 Read online

  I snorted and grabbed my water. I felt myself heating up. This was uncomfortable for me. I liked to fly under the radar at all times. At that moment it felt like the whole canteen was staring at me. “I’ve gotta go.” I skidded my chair back, catching it, as it threatened to crash over.

  “Was it something I said?” he asked. “I didn’t eat any of it, I promise I won’t breathe cheap meat on you.”

  My lips quirked again but I kept them clamped shut. “It’s okay, I’ve got to go.”

  “But you haven’t eaten.” I’d walked away but he called me back. The whole dinner hall was watching. It was mortifying on all levels.

  “It's okay, I'm not hungry, thanks.”

  I walked away, again. “I’m Connor,” he called, louder still.

  “I’m walking away.” I didn’t even bother to turn.

  “That’s a terrible name. What is it really?”

  I sighed and paused, turning to face him. “I’m Tara.” I said.

  His face split into a wide smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Tara.”

  “I’m home,” I called down the hallway. It hadn’t taken me long to walk home. Lands End was in fact the end of the earth. It comprised a tea room, a restaurant where I didn’t think they could guarantee fine dining, and a fossil shop. No wonder dad had agreed to me walking to school—there was nothing that could happen here.

  I slid off my damp blazer and hung it on the cloak stand. The house was ready furnished when we took out the let. Although I wondered how dad had picked out somewhere with just his taste of furnishings. It was sparse but warm. Aged oak mixed with slate tiles.

  “Hey, Honey.” Dad poked his head around from the kitchen and gestured me through.

  “What are you doing?” I asked. He was wearing an apron. Shaking my head, I followed him into the large kitchen. It was undoubtedly the best room of the house, with sage green cabinets, and walnut surfaces. A huge island stood under a vast skylight in the ceiling. I could sit at that island all day and be happy. Preferably with a book in my hand. I glanced around the kitchen. Okay, it was once the best room in the house. Now it was a baking war zone. “Wow, that’s a mess, Dad.” I stared around. Flour and splatters of what looked like cake mixture were drying along the surfaces and floor. They looked almost artistic. I wasn't sure if that was what dad was aiming for.

  He flung an arm around my shoulder and pulled me in for a tight squeeze. “Just enjoying spending time with my girl.”

  He planted a flour dusted kiss on my cheek and I squirmed away. “Dad, really?”

  He rolled his eyes, “I remember when you used to love hugs from your old man.” He undid the tie of the apron and lifted it over his head.

  “I remember lots of things, especially things we don’t talk about.” The words just slipped from my mouth. I cursed myself. Dad and I were in a good place, we hadn't rowed in weeks, excluding my house moving strop, I didn't want to ruin the status quo we’d achieved. “Sorry.” I held my hands up. “It’s a force of habit—I am a stroppy teenager remember?”

  Dad laughed and if my words hurt he didn’t let it show. “I’m here now and that’s all that matters.” He leant towards me and pecked a kiss on my hair.

  I gave him a squeeze, wrapping my arms around him tight. “I know.”

  Pulling away he moved to the sink and washed his hands. “Fancy a cuppa?”

  “You hate tea?”

  He laughed. “Hate is a very strong word. Anyway, tell me about school.” He wobbled his bottom lip. “Was it as terrible as you thought it would be?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Worse. People spoke to me. It was downright traumatic.”

  He gasped and held a hand to his mouth. “They did not! How rude . . . Tell me who it was and I will sort them out.”

  I giggled and swatted at him with my hand. “Hilarious. You know how my standard first days go though.” I shrugged as I ran through the apparent niceness I'd been offered. Dad knew I hated every first day.

  “So who talked to you, tell me all, was he hot?”

  I gagged into the white mug as I pulled it out of the cupboard. “I’m not talking boys with you dad.” Shooting him a stern look I waved the mug at him. “Not now, not ever.”

  “Ahh! So it was a boy then.”

  Flushing, I tucked a dark curl behind my ear. “I’m going to my room.” I sighed more dramatically than I needed to.

  “What about your cake, I’ve spent hours slaving over that.” He stabbed at the burnt crust with his middle finger, it didn't yield under the pressure.

  “I’m not hungry.” I scooped my bag off the floor and shouldered it. The library books I'd procured thudded against my back with a satisfying bump.

  “I promise I won’t mention boys again,” he called after me but he was chuckling so I knew he was only playing.

  I leant over the banister of the open stairs. “You? Keep a promise?”

  “Hey I can!” He held his hands up to the side.

  “Let's not move for at least three months.”

  His face flickered with the look that told me there was no way he would make that promise, let alone keep it. “How about I make half a promise?”

  I shrugged. “Whatever.”

  My room was spacious, and I knew dad had pushed the boat out on decorating it for me. The walls were violet. I’d insisted that all my bedrooms since we started our epic nomad journey around the country were the exact same shade of violet. I didn’t know why, I just loved the colour, it really spoke to me, made me feel happy. Well, as happy as a colour could make you feel. The rest of the gadgets and furnishings were all part of my dad’s guilt trip. A fifty inch television hung on one wall, rammed bookshelves on the others. The bedding was a crisp white and I knew that most girls would love to have a room like this. What I wanted was a room I could keep.

  My phone vibrated. Which was strange. No one had my number.

  Hi Newbie

  Newbie? That was what Celeste had called me. How did she get my number?

  I was at a loss with what to write back. Did I go for a casual “Hi” or a slightly aggressive, “Hi, who is this and why do you have my number?”

  I’m a wimp. So I went with Hi.

  The response came firing straight back. Fancy coming out?

  I looked out the window. The evening was perfect, a pale pink sunset was streaking across the sky, the moon rising. I was tired though, first days always took it out of me. Nah. I’ll catch you tomorrow, Celeste. I wrote back.

  It’s Connor, but you can call me Celeste if you like ;-)

  Oh god. I buried my phone under my pillow and refused to look at it again. Instead, I busied myself with a bath. The smell of violets from my bath foam filled the air as I sunk under the bubbles in my en suite. Reaching a hand for my battered paperback copy of Wuthering Heights I settled back in the water. I could make a bath last a good hour. I used my toe to spin the tap and top it up with hot water every time it cooled to an uncomfortable temperature. I flicked to my favourite part of the novel. The bit where Heathcliff is tormenting Cathy in her dreams. It wasn’t a problem I ever envisioned happening to me. We never stayed anywhere long enough for me to create any relationships. Let alone form a tangible connection with a boy. Tomorrow, I would have to tell Connor that it was sweet him finding out my number and sitting with me at lunch, but I wasn't interested. Because by the time I could summon up the nerve to be interested, I would be gone again.

  When I got out of the bath it was late so I slipped on my Pj’s and dived into the bed. It was luscious and soft and my body sunk into it gratefully.

  “Thanks for the company,” dad called up the stairs.

  I chuckled. “Shouldn’t have given me the room with the en suite,” I hollered back.

  There was a pause followed by, “Only the best for my little girl.”

  I rolled my eyes which I seemed to do rather a lot whenever dad was around. At some point he would realise I was sixteen going on seventeen and stop talking like I was seven.
I hoped that point was sooner rather than later.

  I snuggled under the covers while I worked out what I would say to Connor the following morning. As an afterthought, I also planned on finding out just how he got my number in the first place.

  A pulling sensation tugged at my body. I fought against it, but it turned me this way, and that, rolling me like a ship stranded mid-storm. My body felt hot, blinding white flames licked along my skin. As I watched the flames consume me, I realised that the flames weren't hot. It was I, who was burning from the inside out. My hands reached out, my fingers grasping, as they attempted to catch hold of a black shape that danced on the edge of my vision. It stayed just beyond the reach of my fingertips.

  “Bron?” a voice called.

  The tone registered deep within me. It made my chest resound with an empty echo. It hurt with a piercing solitary ache that crippled me to the core of my being .

  I wanted to weep, as the emotion of a tangible loss swept through my dream, carrying me away. “Who’s Bron?” I called. The black smudge shimmered in front of me.

  “Bron?” It repeated. “Where are you?”

  Tears poured down my face and I reached further, trying to catch the shape. “Where are you? Who are you?”

  “I’m lost.”

  I wanted to weep for the dark shape that was lost. I wanted to help, but I didn't know how.

  “I’m sorry.” My chest heaved. “I’m sorry. Who are you looking for?”

  “You. I’m looking for you, Bron. Wake up.”

  “What? I am awake.”

  “Wake up.”

  I sat bolt upright; crisp, white cotton tangling around my legs. “Shit,” I exclaimed, allowing my racing heart to stutter to a regular beat. “What was that?” I grumbled to myself as I yanked my legs from the sheets and breathed in and out. I’d dreamed of the white flames before. At least I thought I had, it was hard to remember.

  A pale blue light filled my room. Turning, I searched for a night light my dad must have plugged in. I needed to explain the sixteen-year-old, not seven, principle to him a little clearer. When nothing jumped out as obvious I slumped back down in my bed. The tight tension in my chest would pass. I knew it would. It always did. I think.

  I grabbed my phone and glanced at the time. It was only two hours until it would be a suitable time to get up. The sea sick wishy washy motion in my stomach had me rolling like I was on the deck of a sea tossed ship. I reached for my water and chugged it down before deciding that I needed more. Throwing back the covers I shuffled my feet into my sheepskin slippers and padded to the door. My hand on the frame, I turned and frowned back into my room. The blue light was gone. I gave a shudder, without it, the room was unnervingly dark. Dark enough you could believe the sun would forget how to rise.

  Casting off my thoughts of gloom, I worked my way down the stairs. Surprised, I stopped on the bottom step. A light was on in the kitchen; a murmur of low voices was filtering out into the hallway.

  “We won’t be able to hold back the memories for long,” a voice said. I didn’t recognise it, it sounded melodious, filled with a deep timber that hinted at strength and knowledge.

  “I know.” That voice I knew. My dad. What memories?

  “She’s safe here, for now, but when she remembers we can't predict what will happen.” I thought the warm voice held a note of reproach. "It's taking a lot of energy to maintain this glamour." There was silence in response. I wanted to know who was glamorous because it sure as hell wasn't me.

  “Let me have a few short days with her, please.” Dad sounded like he was begging. Ice filled my veins. What were they talking about? I wanted to barge in and ask, but then I also wanted to know more. My feet rooted to the spot, my pulse thudding.

  “It’s a good thing you stepped in when you did, otherwise we could have lost them both and not just the one.” Lost who? Who have they lost? I should have just walked in the room and not skulked outside but I wanted to hear more of what they were saying.

  “I would never let anyone hurt her.”

  “And what about the other one?” The warm voice asked.

  “Which one? Are you talking about the child, or about him?” Was it me or was the word him, underlined with something.

  “Both.”

  “I don’t know yet. At the moment, the scales are balanced.”

  “For how long?” There was a lengthy pause and I visualised some pretty intense evil staring taking place. “What you’ve done is wrong, you know that. You can’t cloak her forever.”

  “I did what I had to do.” My dad snapped and a bang echoed through the still house. “It will be okay. It would be more dangerous for her to be with him. The energy they would create would shine like a beacon for all to see.”

  Who was him? My head whirled as I tried to work out what they were talking about.

  “It’s dangerous for you to keep them apart. You know that. He could change everything if he was upset enough.” There was another pause. "Also you have to think of her. Not having her energy could have a serious impact." Another pause. "Serious."

  “But look. We’ve got daylight. It’s gotta be worth it.”

  Another pause filled the air. “At what price? She will remember who she is eventually. And I'm not just talking about this life.”

  "I know." My dad snapped. "This is not what I planned."

  Another lengthy pause. "I know, my friend. I wonder though, who is being punished now? You or him?"

  I decided enough was enough and coughed, clearing my throat, and walked into the kitchen pretending to stretch.

  “Oh hey,” I said to dad. He was leaning against the kitchen island a glass of amber coloured liquid in his hand. There was no one else there. I glanced around, inspecting the kitchen, squinting into the dark corners.

  “Hey, honey.” He sounded tired.

  “Hey.” I glanced around again, double checking that I wasn't losing my mind. But apparently I was.

  “What you doing up?” He was doing a good job of looking nonchalant, his shoulders relaxed, although I could spot a tightening about his eyes I don't think he wanted me to see.

  “Just needed some water. I'm thirsty."

  His eyes scanned over me. "Thirsty? Have you still got that headache?"

  I frowned. "You know I don't get headaches very often." Did I though? Hadn't my head been aching all day? Didn't it feel familiar? I shook my head to dislodge the deja vu.

  He laughed but it sounded off as it bounced around the empty kitchen.

  “I'm surprised you don’t! You always have your nose buried in a book. Is it Wuthering Heights again? What is it with you, Cathy and Heathcliff's story?”

  He was trying to distract me; of that I was sure. “It’s just tragic, isn’t it?” I explained, pulling a clean glass out of the cupboard. “Two people who love each other but destiny keeps them apart.”

  Dad’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah, I guess. But Heathcliff is an imbecile in that story and doesn’t deserve Cathy’s devotion.”

  I shrugged. “Meh.” It was two in the morning, I wasn’t going to argue about a book written a hundred odd years ago.

  Dad smiled, but I noticed his eyes remained tight. “Get some sleep, Tara. It’s school again tomorrow.”

  I groaned as I took a sip of water. “Night, Dad.”

  “Night, Honey.”

  I was at the door when I turned back. “Hey, Dad?”

  “Yes?”

  “Who were you talking too?”

  His expression smoothed over. “I wasn’t talking to anyone, honey, it was just the radio.” He motioned at his phone with the app on he always listened too.

  “Oh, right.” It wasn’t right though. Something was going on. Something I wasn’t supposed to know about.

  Tiredness hung heavy around my head, like the fog outside the window, when I finally woke at the right time. Reluctance made me grouchy as I flung back the duvet and grimaced at the damp air swirling outside the window. My dreams had been dark, submergi
ng me in their murky depths. When consciousness had pulled me to the surface, I’d wanted to stay in the deep. There was something there I wanted. Needed.

  As I struggled into the straightjacket otherwise known as school blazer, I cursed my middle of the night wanderings. My dad had secrets, I knew that. I’d only met him after my mum passed away, we were building a fragile web of trust—at least I thought we were. Secret conversations held at any point of the day were enough to set my trust gauge back a good few months. Years maybe.

  I frowned in the mirror. My hair was unruly, spiralling dark curls impossible to tame. I often wondered what life would be like if I had smooth blonde hair, like that of Celeste's. I leaned closer to the mirror; my skin was pale, my dark eyes standing out in stark contrast. My frown deepened as my eyes gazed south. I could do with losing a few pounds. I scrunched my face. Was I lying to myself now? I could do with losing a good few pounds. But, as I couldn’t eat any less than I was, I didn’t see how that was possible. I was just destined to be big boned and robust.

  My phone trilled from under my pillow where I’d re-hidden it when my alarm had disturbed me.

  Want a lift to school?

  I groaned. Connor. I really didn’t need this.

  No thanks. I’ll walk.

  His answer pinged right back. In the rain? Very brave.

  I glanced out of the window, sure enough it was raining. Did it always rain here? Yesterday had been misty, strands of fog swirling in the breeze. Today it was slamming it down with that heavy rain you knew would hurt as it landed on your skin. Maybe Cornwall didn’t want me to see it’s supposed beauty.

  For a moment, my heart ached with a longing for home. My old home. Home with my mum. Where the air of the moor smelt sweet and earthy. Where the comforting mess of my room had caused daily discussions about the levels of my cleanliness. And where I'd felt like I'd belonged. I hadn’t been home in years. There was no home anymore.

  “Hey, honey.” Dad waved as I walked down the last two steps of the stairs but I wasn’t in the mood for small talk over uneaten granola.