‘Callum, I’m so, so sorry.’ Her throat aches, hot. She can’t bear to look at him, to see the handprint on his skin and his trepidation. ‘I didn’t mean it. I don’t know what happened.’ She swallows. It hurts. The furnace is heating up, and her resistance is frail. ‘You were right.’ She looks up desperately. ‘This place is screwing with our brains. We should go. I feel like I’m going insa—’
Closing the gap between them, Callum cups her face, draws her close, and kisses her. ‘It’s okay.’ Kissing her again, as soft as whispers, his tears start to fall. ‘I love you, Kira. I know you didn’t mean it. I know you don’t want to hurt me.’
‘Hey!’ His touch could be electric. Kira jerks away. ‘What the hell? What are you doing? What are you saying? Christ.’ Slapping his tears from her cheeks, she stumbles back toward the edge. ‘I met you this morning.’
Callum takes a step toward her. His glazed eyes well up again, close to angst, to pain. ‘What’s wrong?’ he asks. His voice is thick.
She continues to retreat. The road to home is in her sights. Her slap still stains his skin. If she has to run, she just needs to dart into the trees, skirt round him, and then—
Kira stops. A slap. A kiss. Callum, touching two fingers to his lips, his face closing in like someone who expected more than this. Callum, slowly lifting his gaze.
Callum, meeting hers. ‘Oh, God.’ Abruptly, his expression clears to a focused, reddening horror. His eyes grow slow-mo-movie wide. ‘Oh, my—oh, God.’ Ducking his head, he swipes his cheeks. ‘I—don’t know. I actually have no clue.’
‘You do,’ Kira says quietly. A slap. A kiss. The fog. This place. ‘We both do.’
Callum runs a rough hand across his scalp. His face is a wild disorder. ‘It’s a leech.’ He sweeps a look around, at the trees, the ocean, the sky, the snow. ‘A parasite.’
Kira shivers. ‘Let’s go.’
He nods, and together they run.
Away, away, away from the drop, pelting toward the parting roads. The fork is still a fork, and they skid to the left, past the deceitful wooden window. At least the original road hasn’t changed. As unsettling as it was when they found it, right now, its lonesome consistency is the warmest thing in the world.
Although.
Digging in her heels, Kira trips to a halt, flinging out her arms for balance. No sooner has she thought it than she knows she was wrong; not everything is the same. There’s something, a sound. A flutter in the air. As Callum blunders to a stop beside her, the racket of their running drops away, and it comes to fluting life.
Birdsong. Chucking. Tweeting. A crow caws, high above, in a flurry of beating wings. A raucous jay flaps from one side of the road to the other. Kira slumps in relief, a whoosh of a sigh. The songs and life jar after what felt like years of stillness, but it’s even more warming, more welcome, than the road. She cranes her neck back. Even the sky is alive, returning to a pale blue-grey.
And as if they were there all along, Kira’s ears are full of voices.
Children—laughter—a sputtering engine, igniting and driving away. The creak and sway of the chairlift, a dog’s lopsided bark. They’re back.
The wind has left their sails. Kira’s strained limbs shake. Without a word, she and Callum traipse toward the commotion.
Except it isn’t commotion; it’s normal. In seconds, the road’s end blurs into sight. Kira’s face breaks into a smile, caught between confusion, an urge to cry, and a freedom that floats like a thermal. What to think, what to say, what to do? The car park swims into view, blocked by a frozen metal gate; beside it rests the bank they climbed so very long ago. Flashes of cars, the hut selling pancakes; she can even see people—people—clustered by a cross-country ski instructor. As quickly as things went wrong, they’re right.
Nobody notices Callum push through the gate or Kira grind her aching legs into a jog to keep pace. He speeds up with every moment that reality remains, looking left to right as if to tell himself he’s safe. She can’t help but do the same.
Out of breath, lips parted, scrutinising everything. Throngs of families stand by cars, winter gear littering the deep, shining ice. Groups on peeling benches, with food and cans of beer. A line of motorbikes roaring past, the couples coat-and-helmet-less despite the pointed cold. Even Hugo, the hotel cat, pouting, scowling, and grooming kids for attention. Everything that says without a doubt that they’re back.
At the bottom of the sledge-infested hill, Kira’s pocket rings. She starts. Her childhood Pearl Jam favourite: fitting. Eddie Vedder sings that he’s still alive. Bizarrely, so are they.
‘Dad?’ Kira listens for a moment. ‘All right.’ She nods. The word is calmly controlled. ‘Yes. No, I’ll see you soon. Bye.’
She stows the phone away before winter sends it to an early grave. ‘Sorry.’ She shrugs. Callum’s patience seems to be dwindling. ‘I have to get back.’
Nodding at her pocket, he doesn’t seem to hear. ‘Wasn’t that dead?’
‘What?’ Kira skips from the path of a reversing car. ‘Um.’ She shakes her head. Mathew’s words linger like sweat on her skin. ‘Sorry. Dad’s coming up to take me to the hospital. Romy wants to see me, apparently. To apologise, or something. Which is good, I guess, but it means I have to go. I wasn’t meant to leave the hotel.’
Her attempted smile fades when Callum says nothing, eyeing her with something close to suspicion. ‘What?’ she repeats, uncertain.
He regards her a moment longer. ‘Nothing.’ He looks away to the sun. ‘Probably nothing. Did you see the time? On your phone?’ He hunches his shoulders. ‘Regardless, I’ll either have to go back to work or explain to Miguel where I’ve been. I’ll come see you before you go home.’
Hopping up onto the snow of the hill, he stomps away toward the chairlift. He brushed her off as quickly as a leaf on his arm.
Kira stares. Incredulity doesn’t cover it; is that it? After everything that’s happened, that’s all he has to say? A robust figure in the afternoon sun, he shows no signs of coming back. He didn’t even acknowledge, now they’re safe again, that what they just saw was extraordinary. None of it could have taken place. It could have been all in her head.
She sighs, a long, frustrated grumble. Despite the day, he is a virtual stranger. What else would there be to say?
That was strange, creepy, and embarrassing for us both. Or, perhaps, let’s dissect it, piece by piece, and analyse how we’ve gone mad. Kira nudges a ball of ice with her foot. A kiss and a slap, anger and love. It’d take a hell of a lot to explain it, whatever it was. Wherever it was. Was it even real? The nudge becomes a kick, and the innocent ice skids away across the road. Is that why Callum stormed off? Did she make everything up, ranting and raving and riddled with delusions, so he couldn’t wait to get away?
Kira snorts. If he had, he’d have a point; the more she thinks, the less she knows, and the less she knows, the more her mind wants to judder and stall. No, thank you, human, try again tomorrow. She had enough of that when she was learning to drive.
I’m trying very hard not to think about it, or this. Pushing her numb, twinging, blocky feet up the road, Kira sets off for the hotel. Because none of it should be happening.
It shouldn’t. It’s im—
The winter closes round her, and she shuts off her mind.
The restaurant is deserted. Kira couldn’t be more glad. Apparently, her mind doesn’t like being dampened, and cradling her frozen limbs, riddled with newfound shock, she scoots upstairs and crawls into bed.
Straight away, she crawls back out with a groan to shake the giants. These clothes will give her frostbite, or flu, or something, but damn, she just wants to lie down. Also, if Mathew arrives, and she’s asleep, maybe he won’t wake her up. Maybe she won’t have to face the hospital.
And I’m the son of a serpent.
Wrangling her numb limbs into a baggy T-shirt, Kira stops. That’s a Romy thing. She made it up when she was twelve, and was so very pleased that she spouted it fo
r three years straight.
Okay. Slowly, goose bumping, Kira drags a cardigan with her onto the bed. Okay. Okay. Okay. She huddles back in her blanket swarm, foetal position, massaging her toes. She has to face the hospital. She has to wake up. There are so many Romy things, and so much Romy. Romy, her sister, who—
Nope. Clamping a fat pillow over her head, Kira blocks out the room and her mind. Hell, no.
One hour. Three days. Six weeks. Forever. One hour of singing Nickelback in silence, three days of mumbling Nickelback out loud, six weeks of reciting Edgar Allen Poe, and forever of firm denial. Huddled in her blanket swarm, she’s warming through and dozing when her phone buzzes under her thigh.
‘Mmm.’ With another groan to wake the sleepiest of giants, Kira clumsily tugs it out. The white screen blinds her in her stuffy cocoon.
I’m outside, with little green cakes.
‘Mmmdad.’ He knows her. He knows how to get her to move. Kira’s stomach growls with a wheedling whine, and scooping her outerwear off the floor, she creaks down the stairs. Toying with table placements, Hazal doesn’t look up. That’s fine. Kira slips past her, unobtrusive. She’d really rather not talk.
Which only worsens the problem of her parents. Kira pulls down the corners of her mouth. She can’t tell them what happened, and she certainly can’t tell Romy. Her family doesn’t need another escapade of insanity. Not today. Not ever.
The rental car loiters in front of the gate. Kira’s heart sinks through her stomach. Why is she the sibling that can’t lie? Romy would have prepared three days’ worth of stories before even considering leaving the hotel.
Except for last night.
Kira scolds her wayward thoughts and drags a smile onto her face. ‘How’s Romy?’ she asks as a two-pack of cakes is placed neatly on her lap. Mathew squeezes her leg, kisses her cheek, but says nothing. The 4x4 is stifling. ‘Dad?’
He remains silent long enough for her dragged smile to droop. ‘Her hand’s been put in a cast,’ he says. He looks tired: his under-eye pouches, his bristling hair, as if he’s been scraping through it with his square, ridged nails. ‘She’s under observation for hypothermia. Not that I could catch that, but Annie mostly told them the truth. Apart from what Callum said, about how long she’d probably been out.’ His brow creases. ‘And her hand. What she…’ He sucks in his cheeks. They stay taut long after he lets out his breath. ‘I’m not sure what she said about that. Kira, I don’t know.’
He slaps the steering wheel. The car swerves right. Starting, Kira swirls, uneasy. She’s rarely seen him angry at anything other than Romy.
Threads of worry stir. This is Romy. It’s Romy, and so much more.
‘I should never have suggested this place.’ Mathew changes gear with a lurch. ‘I’ve never felt so useless. I can’t speak to these people—oh, get over it.’ He glares at the Mini, blaring its horn and making a show of veering out of their way. ‘Twats.’
His fists strain on the steering wheel. His skeleton is tense enough to split through its skin. Kira sits rigid, the cake box awkward on her legs. Which kids’ film is it, with a panicked line about confrontation? Toy Story?
‘Dad,’ she says, pulling at the plastic. ‘Do you want to go somewhere? A café, or—’
‘I don’t know, Kira.’ Mathew’s voice is terse but calmer. He hardly seems to know she’s there. Kira fiddles with the paper label. Suddenly, she’s not hungry. ‘From what we’ve been told, Romy’s going to be fine. Mum wants to put what happened aside, though, so it’d be wise not to mention it.’
Pausing mid-fiddle, Kira doesn’t return it. ‘What?’
Mathew shoots her a look, between pleading and we’re-in-this-together. ‘She wants to move on.’ He sets his jaw. ‘She thinks that what Romy did was just a…a’—he waves a hand, wincing—‘a blip on the radar. An anomaly. Whatever. It sounds like outright denial to me, but I promised her we’d leave it until we get home. Whenever that ends up being.’
She can feel his hope vying for her attention. See his head angling, trying to catch her eye. Kira stares through the green, gooey, chocolate bomb cakes. Carac, 2.90. Produit de—
‘It’ll make everything easier, okay?’ Mathew adds. Now he does sound pleading. Anger lifts its serpentine head. And so he damn well should. ‘I don’t know what else to do. There’s no…guidebook for this, and Mum…’ He flexes his fingers on the wheel. ‘Please, Kira.’ His cheeks move, in and out. ‘I’m not saying we will forget it, just that we should go along with this for now. And “for now” is only until we get home…’
His words peter out. The serpentine head hisses. And so they damn well should.
‘Are you serious?’ He’s a vocal Medusa, turning her to stone. Kira forces herself to look at him. ‘You’re going to act like nothing happened? You’re going to ignore what she did to me? What she did to herself?’ She holds up her fingers, mimes them breaking. ‘How can you ever get her help if you “put aside” everything she does? Especially this. This is worse than anything she’s ever done before.’
She thumps her head back against the seat. Her mouth twists. He’s as mad as she is. ‘It’s five times worse. Ten times worse. How can you forget it happened, even for a few days? Won’t that just make her think it’s not that big of a deal? So Mum doesn’t like it.’ Her fingers clutch at the air, grasping for his logic. ‘I don’t mean to sound uncaring, but whatever. Romy needs help as soon as we can get it. Surely even Mum can see that. She needs to see a doctor, a psychiatrist, whatever, and we can’t do that if we’re playing happy family. I know you’ve never wanted to force her, but at this point’—she lifts her shoulders—‘you pretty much have to.’
Mathew’s fingers flex. ‘I know.’ He stares through the windscreen. The curving road, the mountains on the other side of Lake Geneva, Vevey’s approaching lights. Kira watches him watch. If he gets any tenser, his skeleton might not have a choice. It’ll break through and scream for freedom from his mind. ‘And I’m trying. You have to understand, though, that this is a compromise.’ Voice measured. The calm before the storm. A storm that, if she had any sense, she’d be trying to dispel. ‘It has to be. I agree with you, but I also know what Annie’s—oh, come on.’
The traffic lights blare red. Braking, Mathew stalls the car. ‘Christ. Bloody hell.’ He wrangles the gearstick. ‘Kira, it’s a horrible thing for us all to deal with, but it is what it is.’ The car jerks. He growls it back into motion. ‘We’ll be home before long, so we can talk about it then. Romy’s safe in the hospital, and even if she wasn’t, I’m sure this was just a one-off—’
‘Yeah.’ Kira returns her attention to the cake packet. Paper label shredding, control almost dead. ‘So you said. It’s a blip on the radar, an anomaly. You’re not even convincing yourself, Dad.’
The steering wheel rubber starts to squash. ‘That’s not going to help,’ Mathew says curtly. ‘I know this is hard, but you’re eighteen, and this attitude—’
‘Don’t tell me I need to grow up.’ Kira twists in her seat to face him. ‘If I do, then you and Mum sure as hell do, too. Romy broke her own bones. On purpose. Is that not worth remembering? Not worth doing something about? Do you not care that she hurt both of us? Shit, Dad.’
Kira slams back against the seat. Her temper is hotter than it’s been for years. Anna wished that away, too. ‘You’ll forget everything just because Mum doesn’t want to deal with it? Because she doesn’t want to understand that what’s better for her isn’t necessarily better for Romy?’ She glowers at the cakes. Sliding off her knee, they lie skewed by her feet. ‘This is bullshit.’
‘Kira, enough.’ Mathew yanks on the gearstick, his anger drowning in the engine’s roar. The car smells of rubber. ‘Do you really want to dwell on what she did to you both? Do you not think I’m considering that? All I see when I blink is her screaming. She attacked you, broke her hand, and didn’t give a damn. I never said we wouldn’t get her help. Christ.’
He sweeps around a bend, ice be damned. The car
jolts and skids. ‘I’ll carry her to the doctor’s if I have to. We’ve been irresponsible. Call it cowardly if you like. But as I’ve been trying to tell you, we can’t do anything until we’re home, and in the meantime’—another growling bend, too close to the mountain’s edge—‘Romy needs to feel that we support her. How can we do that if we’re stuck on her violence?’
‘If we’re stuck on her—’ Kira mouths for a moment. This isn’t real. ‘And there it is!’ Peering around corners at things under shuttered lids. I don’t like confrontations. She rests her head on the window with a clunk. They’re all spineless cartoon dinosaurs. ‘Peace of mind doesn’t mean you write something off. Jesus, you—are we ostriches?’ She waves her hands, widens her eyes. ‘Dad, this is awful. If nothing else, think about the effect upon Romy of us ignoring what she did. Could we be any more upper-class British?’
‘We’re not.’
‘That’s not the point, Dad!’ Gritting her teeth, Kira breathes through her nose. Calm. ‘How was she when you left her?’ she asks stiffly. One beat, two beats, then, ‘Attacked anyone else?’
Not calm.
Mathew doesn’t rise. ‘She was fine,’ he mutters. The car is becoming a theme park ride, complete with popping ears as the altitude drops. ‘Compared to earlier, at least. She was the same as she was at first, when you and Callum brought her back. Now please’—he exhales briefly—‘just leave it.’
Kira had been fully intending to leave it. Her last snap opened the floodgates to guilt, but this is something else.
As quick as it came, her resolve dissolves.
‘The same as when we brought her back?’ she exclaims. Images flash through her head: Romy grey, weak, ruined. ‘You mean she looks inhuman? Half-dead? Actually, no—she didn’t look half-dead. She was half-dead. She should have been dead. How does that make her fine? Although I suppose we shouldn’t think about that, either, right?’
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