A Heat of the Moment Thing

by Maggie Le Page

“I don’t,” I flared. “Not one bit. I’m better off without him and his god-damn baggage.”

  One of her eyebrows tweaked upwards. “Except you don’t think that.”

  For long moments neither of us spoke.

  “We all have baggage, Becs.”

  I inspected my coffee mug. “I met someone who knows him. Said Matt brought up his little brother when their mum took off.”

  “Yeah? That’s pretty amazing.”

  I met her gaze. “Why couldn’t he tell me that? It’s important.”

  “Is it?” She shrugged. “Maybe he didn’t want you pigeonholing him.”

  “I didn’t. But that’s exactly what he did to me.”

  “And if you talk to him you’ll be able to sort that out. Ring him.”

  She made it sound so easy. I felt nauseous.

  “No.” I leapt to my feet. “I’ve been the fool too many times, Liz. I’m not going to do it again. If he’d wanted to sort anything out with me, he’d have done it long ago.” My voice broke on the last word.

  “Okay.” Liz got out of her chair and gave me a hug. “You have to do it your way. But I think you’re nuts.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  I made my way to the end of the pool, dead woman walking.

  Hands to my neck in a self-protective gesture, I stood and stared down at the water. My throat felt dry. I sipped at my water bottle but it made no difference.

  Come on. I needed to stop overthinking this. It was all in my head. This was just water. This was just a swim. Everything would be okay. I needed to face my demon head-on if I was going to conquer the fear.

  Today. Now. This minute.

  All I had to do was get in.

  A corset of fear constricted my chest. I tried to breathe deep and slow. Failed. Fear churned in my belly.

  I should’ve let Liz come with me.

  I approached the ladder and took a hold of the rails. My teeth chattered. My breathing came in tight little pants. I inched my way down, clinging to the ladder, and eventually stood waist-deep in the tepid water.

  There. That wasn’t so bad, was it?

  I backed myself against the end of the pool and looked down the lane. Oh God. What if I’d forgotten how to swim? What if I collided with—

  No. Stop it. I knew how to swim and I wouldn’t collide with anything. There was only one other swimmer in my lane, and they weren’t doing butterfly.

  I waited until my lane-mate touched the far end of the pool. Then, with a deep breath and quick prayer, I pushed off. My body protested but soon remembered what it was supposed to do. Rhythmic arms, rhythmic legs, easy did it. And before I knew it I’d reached the familiar halfway mark. No panic attack, no collision, not even a misjudged inhalation.

  But where was that other swimmer? I lifted my head briefly, couldn’t see them, glanced behind me and saw they’d already passed by. Excellent. I had the rest of the lane to myself. I relaxed, and my in-breaths immediately became less forced.

  I reached the other end and hugged the wall. Thank God. After several gasping breaths I turned and scanned the leisure centre. Nobody was watching, nobody stared. I was just another goggled swimmer doing a routine swim. I grinned to myself. I’d done it!

  I couldn’t wait to share my news with Liz. If only I’d let her swim with me, we could be sharing my victory. But—no. It had been important for me to do this on my own.

  As with a few other demons I needed to face.

  I forced myself through ten laps then leapt out, full of euphoric energy. Sauntered back to the changing rooms, then jumped up and down like a maniac.

  “Yes!” I punched the air. “Yes, yes, yes!” I laughed as it echoed around the deserted room.

  An elderly woman tottered out of a toilet cubicle and eyed me with interest. “Was it a Lottery win, dear?”

  “It feels like it,” I said with a sheepish smile. Then dressed in double-quick time and fast-walked out to the café, looking for Liz.

  There she was, over by the window. She turned and waited, a pensive expression on her face. I gave her a thumbs-up and the biggest grin. She stood, threw her arms in the air, and whooped as if her football team had just won the decider.

  Still grinning, I dodged chairs and kids and coffees to reach her. “I DID IT!”

  “Becs, I’m so proud of you.”

  She hugged me, and I squeezed her tight. “I’m proud of me, too. It was hell-scary, though.”

  “I bet. But you know what? It’ll never be that scary again.”

  We ordered our usual—trim decaf for Liz and full-fat caffeine-maxed for me—then sat and watched people coming and going. My sense of satisfaction lingered.

  I met Liz’s eye and grinned again. “It’s funny. Swimming’s been such a bogey for me and suddenly it’s a big nothing. Already I feel like ‘why did I avoid swimming so long?’”

  “I guess you had to do it in your own time.” She paused. Sipped at her coffee. Made a show of placing the cup on its saucer with just-so precision. “Anything else you might be rethinking?”

  “Like?”

  She shrugged, made a moue, gazed off around the café.

  I narrowed my eyes at her. “You mean Matt.”

  “Don’t you think it’s time?”

  “No I d—” I stopped. If I could face my fear of death, for crying out loud, surely I could face Matt as well.

  Couldn’t I?

  I inhaled. Thought about it. Exhaled.

  “Go on,” said Liz. “Ring him. You know you want to.”

  No. I couldn’t do something that big over the phone. What if he simply hung up, didn’t let me get past ‘hello’?

  “I think I’d have to speak to him face to face.”

  “So come down and visit. Speak to him face-to-face. Then you’ll know.”

  My pulse fluttered in my throat. Was I ready to know?

  But even if I wasn’t, I’d wasted too many tears over Matt. Liz was right. This nagging feeling of unfinished business wasn’t helping me get on with my life. I needed it finished.

  A lifetime with Matt at my side would have been heavenly, but I could cope without him. I’d shown myself that. And now I’d beaten the swimming pool. I wouldn’t let fear cripple me again.

  No more running away. It was time to face up to Matt. And while I was at it, I may as well face up to my sister, too.

  * * *

  “It’s been terrific seeing you again.” I gave Liz one last hug. “Say hi to Sal for me.”

  “Will do. Take care. And get a new phone, for goodness sake. You have my numbers?”

  I patted my pocket. “Yes, Mum.”

  She grinned. “Ring Matt.”

  I rolled my eyes at her. “Uh-nuh.”

  She got on the bus. “Or find another man,” she called.

  Yeah, and look where that had got me. I was still dealing with Charlie fall-out.

  “Find one yourself,” I said. Like that would happen. She was so into her work she’d never find time for a man.

  Liz settled in her seat.

  “Book a holiday,” I yelled through the window at her.

  We blew kisses at each other, the bus blew a black cloud of fumes at me, and then it was just me and a couple of homeless guys hunkering down for the night.

  I walked on to my own bus-stop, feeling very lonely. Which was crazy; she’d only been here four days.

  The N26 pulled up as I approached the bus-stop. With a wave and yell, I ran the last few metres and onto the bus. “Thanks.”

  The driver grunted, hefted the steering wheel, and we pulled away from the kerb.

  I paid and staggered into a seat, staring out into darkness. The rocking motion of the bus soon lulled me into a half-doze and I closed my eyes, leaning against the window. I couldn’t wait to be tucked up in bed with Jules warming my feet.

  My head jarred against the glass as we pulled into another stop. I opened my eyes, watching a couple disembark. Not long until my stop.

  We merged back into the tr
affic and brakes shrieked close behind us. I idly wondered who had been at fault. At the next stop the bus braked with such force I had to brace my arm against the seat in front. Behind me a guy swore. The bus sped up then abruptly decelerated. I pitched forward again. Idiot driver. What was he playing at?

  We flew along Roseburn Terrace, faster and faster, our headlights slashing left and right. A pedestrian dived out of the way.

  Unbelievable. I’d so be making a complaint.

  We took the bend and the bus swerved wildly left and right. Upstairs, people screamed. Left, right, left, and we went into a sideways skid. My heart pounded. The brakes hollered like constipated geese. The wheels thumped against a kerb. My body tensed. Up and down the bus people bounced like pins in a bowling alley. I clung to the seat railing with a white-knuckled grip.

  For a moment all was still. Then, like a great tree felled, the bus began to topple.

  Everything slowed. I lost my footing . . . screamed . . . scrabbled for purchase . . . landed heavily on my side. Pain in my arm. Blood in my mouth. Twenty degrees, thirty. More screams.

  I cowered in the foetal position, crammed between a seat and a window. Fuck. This was it. I was going to die. No closure with Matt. No forgiveness from Dani. I’d made such a mess of my life, and now it was too late.

  Forty degrees, fifty, sixty. I braced against the seat. This would hurt. Please let me be brave. Here it came . . . any second now . . .

  A hard, sharp jolt as we hit the ground. My head walloped against the window. On its side, the bus slewed across the icy road. My senses went into overdrive. The chilling graunch of metal against asphalt. The god-awful stench of burning rubber. The crack and tinkle of breaking glass. Shrieking brakes, blaring horns. Bile in my throat.

  Every bump in the road jarred against my spine until, finally, we shuddered to a stop.

  Silence.

  Interior lights flickered.

  My heart beat like a jackhammer in my chest. What next? I waited, but—nothing.

  Someone moaned. Glass tinkled.

  Everything hurt: my side, my arm, my neck, my back.

  A baby wailed.

  I moved my head a fraction, looked around. God, what a mess. I lay in a maze of crumpled metal. Above me, the window had crazed into a giant cobweb, refracting the light from the streetlamp in, gosh, quite a beautiful way.

  But what if all that glass shattered on top of me? And that seat, just hanging there, directly above my head—what if that fell?

  I didn’t want to die. Not like this.

  As people began to move, other noises filtered through. Grunts, groans, the odd shout. I eased myself to my knees. Gasped. Lifted one knee and brushed away a fragment of glass.

  Good grief, so much glass. Glass at my feet. Glass on my clothes. Glass on the seats. I touched a hand to my hair. Even in my hair. Glass bloody everywhere.

  What was that smell? Diesel. Oh fuck. I had to get out of here. Now. Before the bus exploded. I moved into a crouching position, my breath coming in short gasps. Something brushed against my face and I ducked back, horrified. Reached out a tentative hand and realised it was dangling wires. Whipped my hand back, heart racing. Were they live?

  Did it matter? I might survive an electric shock, but if I didn’t get out of here I’d spend next Christmas in a burns unit. Or a box.

  Breathe. I needed to breathe. But my chest felt tight, too tight. So deathly tight it was the lift all over again.

  “Relax,” said my brain. “Breathe in-two-three, out-two-three.”

  “SCREW relaxed!” shrieked my body. “You’re trapped in a mushed-up bus!”

  The urge to take triple in-breaths was too strong. I gave in, then immediately regretted it as I began to hyperventilate.

  Stop it! Stop. It.

  Further down the bus a woman wailed in a high-pitched monotone. “No . . . no . . . no . . . no . . .”

  Shite, what was she no-ing at? What could she see, hear, feel? I gasped for air, increasingly dizzy.

  I had to fight it. I had to stay conscious, or I’d never make it out of here. What would Matt tell me to do?

  Okay, breathe slowly in, breathe slowly out, very slowly in, very slowly out . . .

  “No . . . no . . .”

  Inhale, exhale . . . I found myself breathing in time to her cries and that flimsy thread of human connection helped me regain control. Gradually my breathing became more measured.

  Up and down the bus, people were making an ever-increasing racket as they lumbered around. Groaning, crying, shouting. Behind me a woman swore at top volume. A few rows up, a man sobbed for his mum. Outside, in the street, more yelling. Every sound reverberated in my ears. I couldn’t think. Would everyone just shut up?

  Out. I needed out. Which way? I cast my eyes left and right, disoriented. Tried to quell the panic as it rose. Where were the doors?

  Oh. Above me. I looked up at the nearest one. Closed. But some of the windows had lost their glass; their frames would be plenty big enough for me to get through.

  But—too high. I’d never reach them up there.

  “Where’s the emergency exit?” someone yelled.

  “Here,” came the reply. “Top deck.”

  “The stairs!” a guy shouted. “Quick!”

  People pushed and shoved, stampeding towards the stairwell. I joined the flow, until someone jostled me and I lost my footing, landing on my backside in a heap of broken glass. Uncaring, they trampled over my legs. I crab-shuffled out of the way, slicing my hands in glass.

  Blood oozed. I looked down at it, then quickly away. I would not faint. I would not get hysterical—or even upset. It wasn’t bad. Little nicks, that’s all. Nothing serious.

  Passengers blundered past me like panicked sheep. I looked back down at my hands. Crap. More blood. Maybe it was serious. And what about that pain in my elbow? It seemed to be getting worse. Fear blocked my throat. I gulped it down.

  Could I move my fingers? Yes? Okay. I breathed in, then released it super-slowly through my mouth. Everything was under control. I was fine. We were fine. Everything was fine, fine, fine.

  Fucked-up, insecure, neurotic, emotional. F.I.N.E.

  In the background the bus continued to idle. Wasn’t that dangerous? Shouldn’t the driver turn off the engine, in case it caught fire?

  God, no, please don’t let me burn to death. Searing my finger against a pan was bad enough—but over every inch of my body? And prolonged, excruciatingly intense? I retched at the thought. It would be undiluted agony.

  I carefully stood and, trying to hurry without hurrying, moved towards the stairs. Ducked to avoid a low-hanging sheet of ragged metal. Why had I chosen this bus, with this driver?

  Where was he, anyway? Selfish prick. I bet he’d snuck out through some secret little driver exit and left us all to fend for ourselves.

  Just wait until I got out of here. I’d make sure he got the sack.

  If I got out of here.

  I made it to the stairwell, glanced behind me and realised I was lucky last. Joy. If we went up in fireworks it’d be my limbs they found plastered all over the lower deck.

  I was about to climb through to the top when I heard it. A sound. Something animal. Long and low, halfway between a zombie groan and a toddler gagging on their greens.

  Was it human? Or—my stomach dropped. Maybe it was rats, sniffing out the blood and coming to eat me alive.

  “Hello?” I wobbled.

  There it went again. That couldn’t be rats. It had to be human. I cocked my head, listening. “Are you okay?”

  Stupid question. They’d be talking if they were okay.

  “Grr-hkkk . . .”

  I swung round, all senses trained towards the front of the bus. Nothing, nobody. Where were they? It wasn’t my imagination. Someone was definitely there. Yet, with the driver’s cab dominating the space, I could see every nook.

  Every nook except the cab itself.

  The driver. It must be the driver.

  And if he t
hought I was going to wait around for him when he’d caused this mess . . .

  I turned towards the stairs, away from the sound. Then stopped. How would I feel if it were me trapped in there? If he died could I live with myself, knowing I walked away? I closed my eyes, wishing I was a cold-hearted bitch with no compassion and even less conscience.

  But I wasn’t, dammit. I opened my eyes, looked forward. A quick check, then. It would take seconds, and then I’d leave. I’d leave and find help.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  With the bus on its side, the only way I’d get a closer view of the cab would be to shimmy along the stairwell wall. I heaved myself up onto the wall, cursing my restricted movement in skinny jeans, then crawled along until I was looking down through the bandit screen.

  There he was. My breath hitched in my throat. He lay in a mess of broken window, his head accentuated by a halo of blood. Thin grey stubble stood out in stark relief against the blue-white pallor of his skin. Was he still breathing? I couldn’t tell.

  Grief, the blood. My head felt tight with sudden pressure. My eyes swam.

  Do not faint. Do not faint. I looked away and concentrated on breathing. Waited for my eyes to return to normal then refocused on him.

  “Hey,” I called, “are you alive?”

  His eyes opened and he stared up at me. I jumped, squeaked with fright, then felt a surge of relief. He wasn’t dead.

  “How do I get in?” I asked.

  With one arm he reached laboriously skywards, towards the screen. There must be a latch in there but I couldn’t even see it, let alone reach it. He’d have to do it for me.

  “That’s it, you can do it.”

  His outstretched fingers approached the unseen latch. I waited, heart in mouth. He winced in sudden pain and his arm dropped to his chest. I winced in sympathy, my mind racing with a myriad of possible medical conditions, none of which I knew a thing about and all of which scared the bejeezus out of me.

  After some heavy breathing he looked up at me and shook his head. “Aunt.”

  Aunt?

  Oh—can’t. So I’d have to break in. But how? The screen must be reinforced; it was taking my full weight. I shuffled onto my backside and kicked at it with my heels. No joy; my heels just bounced.