Saving Celeste: A Dying Girl, A Sick Planet, One Last Hope for Survival by Sarah Ardizzone & Timothée de Fombelle

Author:Sarah Ardizzone & Timothée de Fombelle [Ardizzone, Sarah; Fombelle, Timothée de]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Walker Books Ltd.
Published: 2022-03-02T00:00:00+00:00

Two hours later, I was back at Tower 330 and climbing into the tiny, rattling lift, having pulled the exact same trick on the car-park attendant.

It seemed to take longer than ever to reach the top. I protected myself from the pollution by tying my jacket over my mouth and nose like a highwayman. As I climbed out onto the terrace, I ran towards the shelter where Celeste’s family lived and opened the rusty trapdoor.

No lights. Nobody there to answer my calls. Nothing inside either: no mattress, none of the small pieces of furniture I had noticed the previous day, zilch. I slid down the wall into a crouching position.

What was going on? Celeste…? Had I dreamt everything? Was she just a figment of my imagination?

***

I set off again, this time with a pounding headache.

On Sunday evenings, the shopping centres finally close for a few hours. Fewer plastic bags patrol the city.

A man was playing the clarinet in front of a newspaper stand and I stopped to listen. It felt as if the music might break my heart. Perhaps my mum was right: I was tired; my knees were trembling. I would go home to bed. Forget all about this nightmare. When I thought about the mysterious disease, the helicopter, the doctors’ smiles, rescuing Celeste … none of it seemed real. It was all too cruel and too extraordinary.

What about Celeste? How could I even believe there might be someone like her in this world? I needed to sleep. My mind would be clearer after a good rest. I would pick up my life again where I’d left off. The morning before Celeste.

Just as I was about to walk away from the clarinet player, a photo on the newspaper stand caught my attention… My heart skipped a beat as I stared at the dark shape on the hoarding. It was like a large splotch of ink, or the outline of a heart that had been partially nibbled away. I closed my eyes, then opened them again: the dark stain was still there.

Celeste.

It was identical to the mark I’d seen on Celeste’s forehead.

I blinked. The music had stopped. I went over to the poster and read the caption below the ink splotch.

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