“Mum, leave it for now. You’re upsetting Sara.”
“For goodness sake, Graeme, this is about your son.”
“Mum.” Adam’s dad’s voice was sharp. He realised it, started again. “I’m sorry. You’re right, we need to pay a bit more attention to Adam, but now is not the time to discuss it. Sara’s tired and upset.”
“And a little tipsy, I’d wager.”
The room disintegrated then into a wall of shouting. Adam couldn’t make out a word until his mum’s shriek rose above everything else.
“I want her out of my house now, Graeme. Right now!”
Adam closed his door, clambered into bed, and cried beneath his duvet.
When he woke the next morning there was no sign of Gran, but his mum was in a wonderful mood. She made him his favourite breakfast of pancakes with maple syrup, humming merrily the whole time.
But that night he heard the floorboard squeak, even though Daddy was home. He kept his eyes shut so hard that his whole body was clenched, but still it did not fool his mother.
She climbed under the Winnie the Pooh duvet with him and reached quickly into his pyjamas in that way that always made him feel squirmy and wrong.
He did not know the words for what was being done to him, but he could not remember a time when it did not happen. It was a part of his life: a horrible part, but there was nothing he could do anything about.
Sometimes she did things to him, and that was bad enough. Worst, somehow, was when she made him do things to her. It was harder to escape in his head then because he had to listen to all her instructions. She told him exactly what to do, but he was always a bad boy who didn’t do it right, who should want to make his mummy happy, but he hated it.
“No, Mummy, please,” he begged.
She stopped, but did not take her hand away. Instead she cosied up even closer to him so that her whole body encased his, spooning him, and her mouth was against his ear.
“Do as you’re told. Or do you want to be punished for being a bad boy?”
“I’m a good boy, Mummy. I am, I am,” he replied quickly.
“Prove it. You know what good boys do.”
So he did what he had to, just as she had instructed, because he wanted to be a good boy. Her breath started coming fast and heavy, like Dad when he was doing one of the steam trains in the Thomas the Tank Engine stories he sometimes read aloud to Adam.
But Adam was no longer there to hear. His mind had managed to flutter away after all, far away to the special place filled with magic. He thought of fairy tales, of princes rescuing damsels in distress, just like his daddy did; of bad people being punished for doing wrong; of dragons, and phoenix rising from the ashes; of true love which survives anything. It was what he clung to, because the real world was too awful for him.
***
PRESENT DAY
Soon she is going have to write down the memories of That Night. But not yet. Please not yet. Laura feels utterly exhausted as she pushes the pen and notepad away, and tries to free herself from the emotions that have controlled her for four long years. Her aunt had told her she had to try, and she had meant it when she said she would. But one step at a time.
Writing about her accident has been hard enough; she cannot face putting down into black and white the details of the night her family was wiped out. But there is a restless urge to do something else. Something she promises herself will be the last time – or that she will at least try to make the last time.
She is going to have one last wallow, in order to face down her demons. And it’s going to hurt like hell.
Laura hurries into her bedroom and opens her wardrobe. Reaches up onto her tiptoes, and pulls down a big cardboard box stuffed with photographs. Then, despite the fatigue weighing her down, despite it being past midnight, she sits cross-legged on the rug and starts leafing through. Her mum, her dad, her brother, holidays and days out, school plays…. So many memories come flooding back.
This is what she does most nights. Embraces the hurt and pain in order to keep their memories alive. But she realises now that her aunt is right: she has been using the pain as a memorial to her family, when she should have been thinking of the fun times they had together. She should have been remembering the way they lived, not the way they died.
Laura has been grieving all wrong, she realises.
But she needs to do this once more before she can move on. One more time in order to say goodbye to the pain, bitterness, and gnawing guilt.
Leaning against the wall, she holds the last photograph she has of all four of them together, their four faces crammed into the frame, cheeks pressed against each other, grinning. A selfie she had taken and posted on Facebook with her new phone, just days before That Night, and which her aunt had printed for her, thinking it would be a nice thing. Laura had almost torn it up when she had been given it on the day of the funerals.
Now, she crumples over it and sobs as the memories wash over her; less waves, more a tsunami. She cries until her stomach hurts, until her eyes hurt, until she can barely breathe. Finally, exhausted, she curls up on her nest of photos and dreams…
The whole family stood in the hallway laughing at one other, each looking like an impression of the Michelin Man because they were wearing so many layers. Cheeks rosy red in the heat of the house.
“Are you almost done?” chivvied Seamus. “I’m going to pass out from heat stroke if we don’t get out soon.”
“Just a sec, I want my thermal hat,” Laura told her dad, searching through the chest of drawers in the hallway. “Got it!”
“I’m not sure I’ll fit through the door; I’ve got my whole wardrobe on, I think,” sighed Jackie. Then she cast a stern eye on her son. “Go get a hat like your sister.”
“Mu-um! It’ll flatten my hair!” groaned the 16-year-old.
“Marcus, get on with it. We’ll be late at this rate,” Seamus said.
Finally they were all ready, and bundled into the car. It was a freezing cold night, a heavy frost making everything as white as snow. The car glittered under the house’s security light, and Seamus had to scrape the windscreen and let the engine run for a couple of minutes before the windows had cleared enough for him to drive. Normally they would not be out on a night like this, choosing to stay in in the warmth instead, but it was bonfire night, Laura’s favourite night of the year.
Marcus got in behind the driver’s seat, and whipped his hat off, preening his hair back into shape. Laura took her usual seat behind her mum, teasing her little brother even as she clipped her seatbelt on and they set off.
“Take it Lily’s going to be there tonight? That why your hair’s got to be all perfect?”
“I’m perfect enough, I don’t need to try,” he countered.
“Er, ducking the question! Look at you, you’re blushing.”
“Am not.”
“Are too.”
“Am not!”
“How old are you two?” laughed their mum.
Laura grinned and lowered her voice a bit. “So…is Lily going to be there?”
Marcus’s face screwed up like a paper bag, wrestling with himself about how much to say. Then nodded. “Yeah.”
“You really like her don’t you?”
He nodded again, face earnest this time. “She’s cool. I mean, cool because she doesn’t even care about being cool. She loves drawing, and-and she’s shy but once you get talking to her about art she lights up. I….well, I’ve liked her since I was 14, when I used to see her walking down the school corridors or down the street, with her arms folded, head always down, lost in thought, hair up in a ponytail that shows off her ears. They stick out just that little bit, you know, and it’s so cute…”
“You have got it bad,” Laura smiled gently, genuinely touched. Her little brother was growing up. She wished that Dean Matthews would think that kind of thing about her; she had had a crush on him for years, but her former classmate did not seem to realise she was alive.
Lily was a lucky girl. Marcus
was a genuine good guy – even if he was annoying sometimes.
Brother and sister were close now, the arguments they had had when growing up had all but disappeared, and instead they confided in one another and had a laugh together.
Didn’t mean Laura couldn’t still tease him a bit though.
She reached out, and playfully pretended to go to flatten his carefully mussed up hair. He dodged out of the way with a yell.
“Don’t be such a big baby,” she grinned.
“Yeah, cos you’re so grown up at nineteen. You’re such a big kid about fireworks!” Marcus teased back. “We’re only going tonight cos of you.”
“Well, whatever. I can’t help seeing them without smiling. They put a big smile on my face no matter how grumpy I am. And, and, and I need cheering up, you know, because I was in an accident. A terrible car accident, and that’s upset me,” she said loftily.
The pair of them burst out laughing. Marcus put his hand up to his brow in mock despair. “Oooh, my terrible accident. Woe is me. Woe!”
“Whoa!” shouted Seamus. For a moment Laura thought he was joining in, but at the same time came the screech of tyres and suddenly they were on the wrong side of the road.
Laura saw Jackie looked across fearfully at her husband. The car was travelling downhill towards a dip in the road that then disappeared round a bend. For all they knew, a truck could be heading towards them…
“Don’t worry, we’ve plenty of time before the corner,” Seamus calmed as he gently moved the steering wheel.
But instead of the car correcting, it slewed around with a scream of tyres.
Laura’s brain seemed to be seeing in high definition, everything appearing in ultra-sharp detail. The total silence. The twin cones of their headlights illuminating the glittering white scene as their car faced the wrong direction. The gathering speed as they went downhill backwards. Her brother’s gasp, his hand no longer on his brow but reaching towards her, clutching the top of her arm. She realised she had mirrored his movement, and was holding him too.
“Watch out!” shouted Seamus. And the world was rushing at them. A white hedge looming up against Laura’s side of the car – just like the white van had weeks before. Suddenly Laura was back to her own accident, remembering the shattering glass, the terror.
The window was going to break on impact, like before.
She let go of her brother and instinctively hunkered down, arms up, shielding her head to try and pull away from the glass that she was convinced would shatter all over her.
A shuddering impact. Screams. A sensation of the car flying.
Laura blinked her eyes open. Nothing made sense. Blinked them again, trying to work out what was wrong with what she was seeing. Everything hurt. Why did everything hurt?
Her brain kicked in. She was upside down. That was why things look weird. There had been an accident, she must have blacked out for a second.
She groaned. Coughed feebly, trying to get her breath. Called out. “Mum? Dad?” Turned her head. “Mar…”
She didn’t finish, his name dying on her lips because Marcus did not look right. It was dark, and she could not see properly in the upside down car’s headlights that were reflecting back at her by the frozen white ground. But she could see enough even in that poor light to know her brother’s head was badly injured.
Part of his scalp seemed to be dangling free, and she could hear a deadened thud, thud, thud of blood dripping fast and steady from him onto the roof below them.
Laura was calm. Very, very calm, as she deliberately turned her head to look properly at the roof, part of which was millimetres from her nose, all dented and bashed in.
“Is it normally that low? I don’t remember it being that low,” she thought stupidly.
Focus. She must focus. There was something horribly, horribly wrong with her brother. She called again, louder this time.
“Mum! Dad! Marcus needs help. Quickly.”
No answer.
She craned her neck to see, but could not make them out properly. Her dad’s head had been pushed into a funny angle by the roof, though. It looked unnatural.
Her mum was completely obscured from view. Laura tried to reach forward and brush the back of Jackie’s neck but her seatbelt was holding her too tightly in place. Then she noticed an arm she could reach. It was flung backwards.
It shouldn’t be able to be flung that far backwards.
“Mum?” she whispered, teasing at the thick woollen glove covering her mum’s hand until it came off. She touched soft skin, ran her finger along the length of Jackie’s palm. There was not so much as a twitch of acknowledgement.
They can’t be dead. They can’t be dead.
That was the mantra Laura repeated to herself again and again as she sat upside down, staring straight ahead, as frozen as the scenery outside. She did not know what to do. Her brain was desperately trying to push her into movement but the body wouldn’t work, it wouldn’t listen. There were too many other voices screaming in her brain too. Telling her she must get out. Telling her that everything was fine really, and she was completely over-reacting.
All the voices tore at her, leaving her paralysed with indecision. Keeping time with it all was the soft percussion of blood dripping.
Time passed. She was getting cold. How long had she been sitting there? So cold… She could not feel her hands or feet. Or perhaps something else was causing that; perhaps she was hurt. She had no idea how long she had been sitting there in shock. Staring straight ahead, listening to her brother’s life slowly disappearing.
There was another drip too, coming from beside her and slightly behind. Something that smelled familiar, and made her brain scream even more urgently for her body to pay attention.
Petrol. Oh God, the petrol tank was ruptured.
The realisation kicked Laura’s heart like a jackhammer, and suddenly it was thumping hard. She had to get out immediately. She had to get help.
A low groan. Marcus was alive! Maybe Mum and Dad were too.
CHAPTER SIX
~ Adonis ~
Sorrowful Remembrance
Laura patted herself frantically, trying to find her mobile. Thought back…yes, she remembered picking it up before they set off; she had had to undo her massive padded jacket in order to pop it into the inside pocket. She tried to wriggle her hand to reach it but it was impossible to pull down the zip because of the way the seatbelt was pulled so taut against her chest.
Whatever had frozen her immobile had gone now. Marcus was alive! She had to save her family. Laura was transformed into all thought and action. Desperate to get free, she put one hand over her head, above her, no below her – working upside down was so disorientating. Falling out of her seat might hurt, but that was fine, it had to be done. She hooked one hand around, undid the seatbelt and fell onto the ceiling. Managed to just manoeuvre herself so that she didn’t kick her brother and injure him further.
It was still too cramped for her to reach within her stupid inside pocket.
Frustrated, she yanked at the door handle, pushing and pushing, but something was stopping it from opening.
She had to get out of the car!
The dripping blood, the groaning, the pattering petrol all seemed to be speeding up, the panic building. There was another smell that joined the nostril-burning petrol, and the metallic tang of blood. Smoke.
Laura kicked out at the crazed glass of the passenger window. More cracks formed but it did not give way. She kicked again, as hard as she could, screaming in frustration and rage and fear. The glass shattered. Still on her back, she scooted forward, feet first, hearing the crunch of glass beneath her but she did not care and none of it shredded through the thick layers she was bundled up in.
Panting, she got to her feet, grabbing for the phone. There! Yes! It was undamaged! She looked at it triumphantly…and noticed a glow of orange dancing behind it. Fire.
Laura stared at it, mesmerised, caught in indecision. Should she dial for help,
or try to save her family herself? Was there time for the emergency services to arrive before the car burst into a fireball like she had seen so often in films? But she knew she should not move people in accidents, in case of broken necks. But if she didn’t they might die in the fire.
She should…she should…she made a split second decision.
Laura dialled 999, put the phone on speaker, dropped it on the floor and dived forward. Reached for the handle of the front passenger side door to help her mum. Tugged at it, but it wouldn’t budge, why would it not budge? Because the car’s impact had embedded it into the iron hard, frozen ground, which had caved in the roof and bent every panel out of shape.
“Hello, emergency service operator, which service do you require? Fire, police, or ambulance?” came a voice over the speakerphone.
“Fire engines! And ambulance!” Laura shouted. She pulled and pulled and pulled at the door, but it wouldn’t give, not so much as a millimetre.
“What is the nature of your emergency?”
She ran round to the other side of the car, yelling: “There’s been a car crash!”
Pulling at the driver’s door, she looked down into her dad’s open eyes. The whites stared out from the red mask of blood, unseeing.
“Where are you? Do you know your location?” said the calm voice of the operator.
Laura yelled the location and that her three family members were seriously hurt, but knew it was down to her to act. The flames were getting bigger and stronger, and the heat was starting to beat her back, like a furnace. It was hurting her face to get close.
“Stay where you are, someone is on their way,” said the operator. “Stay on the line with me.”
Screw that.
Laura got on her belly and wriggled back inside through the window she had escaped through. Marcus’s head was a bloody mess but she had to do something to help him. She tugged at her little brother’s seatbelt. Yanked at it while shouting at the top of her voice to the emergency operator.
“There’s a fire! There’s a fire! I’ve got to get them out! And the petrol tank has ruptured, it’s leaking. Yes!”
Flowers for the Dead Page 5