Beneath the Distant Star Read online

  Jasmine turned to her uncle. “Something else?”

  “Yep, the bike’s outside, fancy a ride?”

  Jasmine wasn’t sure her grin could get any wider. “You’re kidding?” She stole a look at her mother, then Aunty Jen. Dad released her. “Go on, enjoy it, it’s your day!” he said.

  “It is!” She laughed, stomping across the floor to Uncle Pete. “I’ll get my jacket!”

  Moments later she was zipped up in her leather jacket, her hands enclosed in Jen’s bike gloves and wearing Jen’s helmet. The motorbike growled beneath them and Uncle Pete twisted the throttle. Jasmine didn’t even look back as Pete moved out onto the road. Her mother’s last words echoed, “Please make sure you hold on tight to Uncle Pete,” and Jasmine let go of her uncle to hold onto the bar behind her instead. Her body rocked back as they swung out onto the main road and she tightened her thighs.

  The bike swerved around the roundabout and she leaned with her uncle, and then they were off, threading through the traffic until they reached the back roads. Jasmine sighed and stared out across the countryside enjoying the sensation as they moved as one with the motorcycle.

  Trees and fields and hedgerows full of daffodils whizzed by and Jasmine emptied her mind, letting the speed and movement thrill her. Her thoughts soon returned to her birthday, and for a moment she dwelt on the earrings. Little stars, little distant stars. The photograph on the mantle pierced her reflections. The picture of her sister caught within a moment of magic, bright green eyes, pixie smile, and hint of lilac fairy wings. Jasmine blinked and concentrated on the ride. Freya had never had this, never had the thrill of moving along the roads like this, fast, and furious…and she wriggled her toes in her brand new boots, and she’d never had those either!

  It was dark, the field beyond the house lay in night’s shadow and the moon had yet to reach her window. Jasmine stared out across the landscape, and her head tilted as her eyes moved to gaze at the stars. They glinted at her from far above and her thoughts raced.

  Jasmine swung her legs side to side and the cold night air raised goose bumps across her flesh. Her fingers gripped the window frame and she shifted her rear, the sill wasn’t the most comfortable place to sit, or balance.

  She stared up into the depths of Orion, scanning his belt and fixing her gaze on a cluster of stars. She strained to see further, wondering what lived up there, high up within the constellations and galaxies. Wondering if she stared hard enough, would she discover heaven, would she discover anything?

  The chill got the better of her and she grabbed the frame tight as she scrambled back inside. She shivered as she closed the window. She pressed her forehead to the window pane, her breath steamed up the glass until the stars were obscured and the field lay in fog.

  Jasmine slumped down onto her bed. She crossed her feet, and a smile spread across her face as she stared at her new boots. She flexed her ankles and admired her feet, decked in burgundy leather, buckles and laces. They felt heavy on the bed, but she didn’t want to take them off. Instead she flicked on her lamp, grabbed her notebook and pen and began to write.

  Words flowed, spewing wildly across the page as they slipped out of her mind. She was compelled to write. It didn’t matter what she wrote, she just put pen to paper and released her words. Sometimes they made sense, sometimes they didn’t, sometimes, like today, her emotions flooded the page, and her journal filled with anger, and joy, and pain, and delight, and fear, and…sometimes, confusion.

  She wrote of the joy of new boots, a motorcycle ride that thrilled her and her father’s workmates wrapping up the shoebox. She smiled as her pen scratched the page. The earrings preoccupied her and anger flushed through her words. She couldn’t understand why her mother would buy something so suited to Freya rather than the daughter who lived and breathed. Her writing became hurried and sarcasm flowed across the paper as she vented her resentment. It ended in a full stop that threatened to stab a hole in the book. She read back the last paragraph and her mouth moved with the words. “If only she could see me…” she whispered, and then shook her head. “I’m not Freya…”

  She glanced at the little black jewellery box Dad had insisted she take upstairs, and frowned. She chewed violently on the end of her biro and gazed at the box.

  She threw down her pen and cast her notebook aside as she slid off the bed, grabbing the gift box with renewed annoyance. She flipped open the lid and plucked out an earring. They were pretty, beautiful even, and she actually liked them, which only served to aggravate her more. She held it up to the light and watched the diamond sparkle as light danced on each facet. They weren’t cheap. The jeweller’s Mum worked at was classy and exclusive, not chain store rubbish. They were white gold, delicate and… “Just not me,” she whispered, “and I’ll show you why…”

  She replaced the stud and clicked the lid shut. Her feet thumped, and she reminded herself of the time. She knew it was close to midnight and her parents had gone to bed just half an hour earlier. She slipped off her boots and opened her door. Smothered voices still came from her parents’ room, and she padded down to the bathroom. She clicked on the light and shut the door whilst she still stood outside then doubled back to the spare bedroom.

  To Jasmine it was the spare bedroom, and it served as such. Her grandparents had stayed there and the old single bed had been replaced by a double bed. Everything else, though, spoke of one person. Freya’s lilac curtains still hung against the window, now very pale and faded. Her sister’s cuddly toys still sat, cradled in baskets, on the floor and much of Freya’s childhood still resided in the room. Photographs of her sister dominated the wall, as did nursery school paintings and projects. Framed, above the bed, was the oddest picture, in Jasmine’s opinion. It was a finger painting of two girls, both with bright green eyes, one with blond hair and the other with brown.

  Jasmine stepped into the room and closed the door with well-practised silence. The moon had finally made it and peeped in through the window. Jasmine stared at the painting for a moment instinctively touching her hair. Freya had brown hair and hers had been blond when she was a little girl. It had darkened over the years to match Freya’s brown. When she was thirteen, Jasmine had bought a packet of hair dye. She’d cut her hair with the kitchen scissors, chopped it into a rough bob and dyed it black, jet black. Her mother had cried and Jasmine had kept it black ever since. Now, as she gazed around the room, it hung in ebony curtains about her face, dip-dyed red at the ends.

  There was only one thing she still shared with Freya—green eyes.

  Jasmine moved to the dressing table and picked up a jewellery box covered in glittering fairy wings and rainbows. She sat on the edge of the bed and gently released the clip on the front of the box. She held the key at the back still as she opened it to prevent its music from breaking the silence, and scanned the contents. The box held small memorabilia. A baby tooth, plastic necklaces, a silver bracelet, fairy hair grips and slides, and there, right where she remembered, a silver locket.

  Most of the jewellery was rainbow themed, but stars held court too. Jasmine had never seen these necklaces and pendants outside of the jewellery box. Her mother would take them out to show her, and she could try on a bracelet for ten minutes, but that was it. There were stories attached to most pieces. “Bought the shell necklace on holiday,” “Grandma gave her that one for Christmas,” “We got her that star necklace for her seventh birthday,” “Look at this rainbow hair slide, it was her favourite! She wore it everywhere!” Jasmine knew all of the stories.

  Jasmine moved the plastic beads aside and placed the new black earring box inside. The shooting star studs almost perfectly matched the little silver star necklace, and that was where they belonged, in the fairy wing jewellery box, waiting for Freya.

  She began to close the lid, but paused. The locket, the silver locket inscribed with a little star stared at her. She tried to close the box but the locket called to her.

  “It’s not mine…” she murmured, “The s
tars aren’t mine. The stars will never be mine.”

  But she couldn’t close the lid without lifting out the locket first. She placed it in her lap and shut the box. She stared at the locket. She knew its story as well as she knew all the tales behind each trinket, but she couldn’t bring herself to pick it up.

  “It’s not mine, but it is.”

  The silver locket did belong to Jasmine, a gift from Uncle Pete and Aunty Jen at their wedding. Jasmine was their only flower girl, and the locket was inscribed with a silver star and held a photo of Freya inside. Again, it wasn’t a cheap trinket. It was a real antique, bought especially so that Freya could be at the wedding with Jasmine.

  Jasmine had seen the wedding pictures and she knew her three-year-old self had worn the locket. One of her mother’s favourite photographs of the day was a close up of Jasmine tugging at it and grinning in delight with confetti in her hair. That photograph of Jasmine sat on the mantel piece downstairs beside Freya’s hint of fairy wing picture.

  She opened the locket. It belonged to her, but Mum had insisted on keeping it in Freya’s jewellery box. Jasmine shook her head, “I’m only taking what’s already mine.” She wanted to remove the photo of her sister, but for some reason she couldn’t. She shut the locket and closed her fingers around it. She couldn’t understand why she suddenly felt like crying, but the warm metal throbbed inside her hand and tears tingled behind her eyes.

  She jumped to her feet, gently opened the door and moved back to the bathroom. Her parents’ voices had risen. She hurriedly switched off the bathroom light and paused by her parents’ door.

  Her mother’s voice was tearful and high. “…but she hates me!” Jasmine froze, unable to move even if she’d wanted to. “She hates me.”

  “She doesn’t hate you.” Her father’s voice filtered through.

  “She does, did you see the way she looked at me, or rather didn’t look at me!”

  “There was so much happening and she was excited by my present, our present…”

  “There you go! That says it all, your present, the boots were from you!”

  “You chose them, you ordered them!” his voice rose a pitch. “They were from both of us.”

  “But she thinks they were just from you…” her voice trailed off and Jasmine heard small sniffs. “She thinks all I got were the earrings, cheap.”

  “I thought the earrings were cute.”

  “They are, but she hates them too!”

  Her dad sighed. “She doesn’t hate you.”

  “Then why does she get into so much trouble? I don’t think I can bear another phone call from school!”

  “She’s a teenager…”

  Their voices lowered and Jasmine strained to hear beyond murmurs.

  “…she doesn’t love me like she loves you…or Pete! I hate it when she goes out on that bike!”

  “I know you do, but Pete’s safe.”

  “I know that.” She gave a wry laugh, “I mean, remember Old Thomas! But she’s only a child.”

  “You have to let her be…”

  “I can’t, when Freya died…”

  “That was so long ago—fourteen years…”

  “I’ll never forget!”

  “I don’t expect you to. I won’t either, but…”

  “She’s not Freya…”

  Jasmine heard no more of the conversation. She slipped into her room and allowed her own stinging tears their freedom.

  She was not Freya.

  Jasmine glowered all the way to school. Nobody sat next to her on the school bus, primarily because no one wanted their eyes gouged out, second only to the fact that Jasmine sat sideways with her new Dr Martens taking up the whole seat next to her.

  ◆◆◆◆◆

  “QUIET!” yelled Miss Anderson, “Quiet girls! I can’t compete with this sort of noise!” The group fell quiet and stood shuffling on the spot outside the sports shed. “Right, shut up and wait quietly while I find these damn shirts.”

  Jasmine slouched at the back of the group whilst the girls sniggered and whispered. Miss Anderson disappeared into the far confines of the old shed and could be heard rooting about. “Tayla! Get in here and help, move those baskets, find the netball tabards!” Tayla jumped and ran inside. “And Michaela, you can help, they could be over there, near that pile of footballs…”

  Michaela screwed up her face and complained loudly as she entered the shed. “It stinks, and, Miss, I can’t touch those balls they’re disgusting!” The girls outside erupted into a mess of giggles. “If I touch them, they’re going to go everywhere!”

  “Just look!” grumbled the teacher.

  There was much grunting and heaving and finally Tayla cried out. “Got them, Miss!”

  Miss Anderson came out with several P.E. sashes and Tayla appeared, weighed down with her arms full of netball tabards. Michaela picked up the ones her friend dropped and Tayla dumped the lot on the playground at the teacher’s feet.

  “Right, QUIET!” yelled Miss Anderson. “Two courts, two games. How many of you are there?”

  “Twenty nine,” one of the girls yelled back.

  “Good, that’s enough for two games.” The teacher split the girls down the centre. “Right, that’s seven-a-side for captains, Georgia and Karen. Mickey and Tayla, since you’re up front, you get seven-a-side plus one extra.” The mass of shivering girls suddenly became animated as Georgia and Karen moved their group away and began picking. “And shut up while you’re doing it! If you ask to be picked, I’ll put you at the back and you’ll be chosen last, you’ll be the ‘one extra’!”

  Jasmine grinned, last, that would be a first, since she was always last!

  Michaela chose first, and her best friend jumped to her side, then Tayla took her pick and so it went, until the group reduced to only three girls.

  “Amanda, over here,” called Tayla. “And you can have Tammy.” She sent Tamara over to Michaela.

  Michaela laughed. “That’s it then. I’m done.”

  “So’m I,” said Tayla.

  “Jasmine,” said Miss Anderson, “On Tayla’s team.” She ignored Tayla’s cries of protest. “Now Tayla, give your team the red tabards, you’re centre. Michaela you’ve got the yellow ones.”

  The girls began to divide out the pile of polyester initialled tabards.

  “These are revolting, Miss, don’t any of these ever get washed!” Michaela wrinkled her nose as she handed them out. “Em, you can be goalie, alright goalkeeper, Miss! Keep that lot out!” She waved her hand at the opposing team.

  The seven main positions got passed about and Miss Anderson handed Jasmine a red sash before she gathered the whole group. “Now, play fair,” she told them. “Support your teams. Now get over to your court, no time to lose!”

  Jasmine pulled her red sash down under her arm and fixed the Velcro. She waited until all the girls had hurried across the playground before sauntering after them. As the girls arranged themselves, Jasmine wandered to the far side of the court and positioned herself well out of the way, shadowing Lori in wing defence on the far edge.

  The game got underway as Tayla took possession and Miss Anderson yelled instructions from the sidelines. Jasmine hopped from one foot to the other at the other end of the playground a few feet away from Lori. Gail, from the opposing team shadowed Lori, and Amber stood over by the netball post having a leisurely chat with the other team’s goal shooter

  Jasmine pulled her arms across her chest. She spent the first few minutes watching the ball move from one end of the court to the other and back again. Screams erupted when Tayla’s team scored, twice, and all was relaxed at Jasmine’s end, until the ball suddenly found its way past Tayla and headed towards Lori, Gail and Jasmine. Lori shouted and both Gail and Chrissie converged trying to block her. Jasmine grinned as Lori leaped up and the ball sailed across Lori’s head.

  As the ball shot past, out of Lori’s reach, Jasmine shrugged her shoulders and watched it hit the floor and bounce across the playground. A
mber rushed past Jasmine and retrieved the ball. Jasmine remained still at her end of the court. Tayla threw a glare her way and muttered, and Lori cast a look at Jasmine. Jasmine shrugged her shoulders. “You could’ve saved that!” said Lori.

  “Should I? So sorry, forgot the rules for a moment there, don’t forget I’m only the ‘plus one,’ not sure I actually count to be honest!” Jasmine smirked.

  “Just stand there and watch!” hissed Lori.

  “I was watching,” Jasmine shrugged again. “I watched it bounce right off the court…”

  Amber and Lori ignored her and Amber resumed her conversation with the goalkeeper.

  Jasmine shivered as the wind danced around the playground and she pulled the sleeves of her school sweatshirt down over her hands. The ball was on the move again. This time when the ball came hurtling towards her, Jasmine hopped out of its way and it again bounced out of play away across the tarmac.

  Tayla stormed up to her. “Where on earth were you?” she complained. “Living in some airy fairy land? You could have blocked Gail!”

  “Gail’s not my problem,” hissed back Jasmine, “Lori’s blocking her!”

  “You’re supposed to be part of this team, my team,” muttered Tayla backing away.

  “Tayla! Back up this end!” bawled Miss Anderson.

  Tayla hurried back up the court, grumbling under her breath. Jasmine stood in silence, heat now coursing through her body. Tayla yelled across the team. “Lori, don’t let her cover Gail, she’s useless.” Lori stepped backwards to stand in front of Jasmine.

  “Next time at least try to stop Gail getting the ball!” said Lori.

  “Don’t see why I should…” Jasmine mumbled to herself.

  The next time the ball sailed their way Jasmine made a feeble attempt to catch it and was rewarded with a whack on her shoulder from Gail’s elbow. Jasmine swallowed as the pain ricocheted through her arm. She turned to Gail, her eyes shining with anger. Gail held up her hands. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, didn’t mean that, I didn’t think you were playing!”