by Sara Foster
‘Another drink?’ Danny was asking, but Georgia knew that one more and her head would start to swirl. Saturday’s race was too important for that. She was thinking about heading home when Sophia came over and suggested they walk back together. As they grabbed coats and said their goodbyes, she tried to ignore Danny’s obvious disappointment.
And finally, Sophia was beside her, the door closing behind them, and the confession rose to the tip of Georgia’s lips. For a few glorious weeks, having such a secret had felt wild and delicious, making every day a little sweeter. But it was a shape-shifter, a bubble of trouble lightly fizzing in her hands to begin with, only later revealing itself as a bomb. She couldn’t hold on to it any longer. She couldn’t carry on alone, afraid of what might be about to explode in her face. She had to tell Sophia now.
Her heart hammered in anticipation as they set off down the lane. She waited until they were a decent distance from the house, and was just about to start talking, when Sophia turned towards her, her face serious, and took a deep breath. ‘Georgia, I—’
A door slammed and they heard footsteps behind them. A voice shouted, ‘Georgia!’ and she turned to see Danny jogging to catch up.
Sophia sighed, rolled her eyes and stomped ahead. Georgia faltered, dismayed as her small window of opportunity was slammed shut. She hurried after her cousin, with Danny close behind.
‘I need to get home too,’ he said as he caught up with them. ‘I don’t want to get drunk and stuff up the race.’ He smiled, then seemed to misread her expression. ‘You are going to win, Georgia. I’d put money on it.’
While he spoke, he took her hand. The movement was smooth and casual, as though this were the most natural thing in the world. She waited for him to release his grip, but he didn’t. Moments before, she had wanted to scream with frustration, but now she found she didn’t want him to let go. The feel of his warm skin against hers had her pulse thudding in her ears as loudly as when she caught sight of the finish line after a long race.
She pulled him with her, trying to keep up with her cousin. ‘You all right, Sophia?’ Danny called, but Sophia merely mumbled something over her shoulder and quickened her pace. Georgia gave him an apologetic look, but after that they made an awkward threesome with little to say.
A few months ago at this time of night they could have completed the entire journey bathed in the buttery glow of summer twilight, and perhaps that would have made all the difference. But now it was so dark that Georgia couldn’t see where each of her steps landed, and in another few months there would be times when it would take twice as long to trudge this way in snow, weighed down with wellingtons and thick jackets. The seasons were shifting seamlessly, a subtle reminder of other unrelenting changes that went on all around them. Already she could sense things falling away. Next year their exams would be done and the same first drift of autumn leaves would see her friends scattered across the country pursuing their different dreams.
They had walked this way many times before, and yet tonight Georgia felt that each step was unfamiliar. She was conscious of every puff of breath escaping into the crisp country air. The shortcut towards town had always been deceptive, even in daylight. To the right was a tennis court and playground, while to the left were fields patched with trees, and beyond both, surrounding them and sheltering the valley, were a huddled row of craggy Lakeland peaks. They were invisible in the darkness, but she knew they were there, as stoic and sure as the stars that peeked around the clouds. They were the reason that Ambleside’s major source of income was the tourist trade. For a little while you wouldn’t know you were so close to town, to the tightly packed slate terraces, the bustling pubs and restaurants, people hurrying in groups to get out of the drizzle. So much moving life so close by, and yet here, silence.
An indefinable loneliness seemed to clog the air, despite their proximity to one another. Just ahead, invisible in the night, was the town graveyard – rows upon rows of headstones mostly covered with moss and lichen, but with a small section of fresh grey marble markers that included Georgia’s grandparents. She always thought of them here, and she was relieved as the three of them drew closer to the church. It meant they were almost back in town. Once on the other side, beneath the streetlights, she hoped these strange feelings of loss would fade away.
She was grateful for that extra spot of warmth tonight, where her small, cold hand was wrapped inside Danny’s. And yet she was marking time until the streetlights, when she would have to find some excuse to break the hold. She wasn’t ready for this. Why couldn’t he have made his feelings clearer before the summer break? If he had, everything might have been different. Even so, she didn’t want Danny to stop looking at her, or taking her hand in the dark, his grip a fresh promise. She didn’t want that at all.
Sophia hadn’t said another word as they walked. Georgia knew she would soon be shivering in her thin jacket. Even though summer was barely over, at this time of night the air turned glacial. A gap had opened up between them. Had Sophia noticed Danny’s hand? Were they being discreetly cordoned off and left alone, or did Sophia hate feeling like an interloper? Georgia inched into the middle of the road, closer to her friend, pulling Danny gently with her.
‘Are you cold?’ she asked, as they finally turned onto Vicarage Road.
Sophia nodded briskly but kept her head down. Georgia had the impression that her cousin was angry, but she didn’t have time to ask any more. Above them, the floodlit spire of St Mary’s defied the darkness, spearing the night, blocking out the moon. She tried to let go of Danny’s hand, but he held on to her tightly. She felt her phone begin to vibrate in her pocket, and just had time to wonder who was calling when there was a noise behind them. She turned to see a pair of headlights impossibly close, the heat of them throwing sudden warmth towards her legs. The driver couldn’t fail to spot them and yet the car was still moving. She tried to look at the windscreen but was dazzled, her vision becoming wavy lines of fluorescence. Without warning, Danny dropped her hand, only seconds before she was lifted completely off her feet.
1
ANYA
I am not a woman given to premonitions. In fact, I have been known to chuckle at the queues each month outside the town hall, where local mystic Lillian Forbes never fails to draw a crowd.
But, if I’m honest, something inside me has been waiting for this. Quietly preparing for it, for weeks, perhaps months, maybe longer. When the phone rings, when I hear the voice, I am already primed, expectant. My mind registers no surprise; it’s more a case of here we go.
My body, however, responds appropriately. Adrenalin kicks in and I race up the stairs to Zac’s room. He looks up from his computer in surprise, unused to me barging in. He might be my baby but he’s almost as tall as me now, two months shy of fourteen, and since he started high school he’s grown protective of his personal space. I’ve forgotten that his friend Cooper is here – they are working on a school project together, although from the game consoles in their hands I don’t think they’ve got very far. They both stare at me, their expressions guilty, but I don’t have time to care. Zac’s room is dark and gloomy, as usual.
The words hurtle out of me in a series of short bursts. ‘That was Uncle Liam. I have to go – it’s Georgia. There’s been an accident. A car hit them. Sophia is hurt. I’m not sure about Georgia.’
Zac says nothing, but his mouth falls open. Instinctively I go across and put my arms around him, and when he stiffens I remember that this isn’t the done thing any more, especially not with friends present. Reluctantly I let him go and fly out of the room, down the stairs, calling out, ‘I’ve got my mobile. Try to get hold of your dad,’ even though I have no idea if he’s listening.
The next thing that stands between my daughter and me is our bloody car, which is reluctant to start even though it’s only September – we barely need rain and the sodding thing seems to catch mechanical flu. As usual, Callum has taken the Land Rover and left me with this heap of junk – the handle
flapping loosely in my hand as I close the door. Finally I get the engine going and I’m away down the road, the car grunting in protest as I try to negotiate the gears too quickly.
It had been Liam, my brother-in-law, on the phone. A man with a big laugh and a fierce competitive streak that always emerges when his little brother Callum is around. In the twenty years I have known him I have never heard him sound frightened before, but a short time ago a car scattered our children like ninepins down Vicarage Lane.
While this was happening I had been hurrying through the nightly chores, still smarting from the latest pointless sarcastic exchange with Callum, grumbling to myself about the lack of help. I had planned to check my diary and case notes for tomorrow and, once finished, to put my feet up with a glass of wine, and decide whether it would be a book or television that would keep me company tonight. That is the extent of my choices, since our children live in their rooms nowadays, and my husband is usually volunteering at the Mountain Rescue depot – sometimes helping people who have got lost on Lakeland walks, sometimes filing paperwork and running training courses, and sometimes, I fear, simply avoiding me.
My mind replays the tremor in Liam’s voice. As a police sergeant, he has witnessed the aftermath of these accidents more than most. But tonight his panic is pervasive, and I drive like a maniac all the way down towards the main road, the car swinging wildly as I change direction. I speed towards the town centre, causing a neon ‘30’ sign to light up in reprimand as I whiz past, then take the one-way system towards Vicarage Lane.
I slow as soon as I see the flashing lights ahead. Where usually there is only a dark, quiet country road, the place is garish and bustling, the strobing colours reflecting over the church and graveyard, as though there might be a celebration going on beneath the headstones tonight.
I stop the car, fling the door open, jump out and break into a run, just as one of the ambulances starts up and accelerates past me. Behind me, I hear the siren begin to wail, and I swing around to watch it go. Who is inside? Who needs them to move in such a hurry?
Seconds later, a squad car emerges from a side road and chases after the ambulance. I get a flash of the person in the passenger seat; it might be Liam, but he is gone too fast for me to be sure.
I rush on, past a small crowd – how have they managed to gather here already? – towards the police car. I see a uniformed officer begin to raise his hand. ‘My daughter . . .’ I splutter, and as he looks at me his warning signal becomes a trusting wave forward, leading me round to the back of the other ambulance.
‘Does she belong to you?’ he asks, and I stop and stare.
My daughter is sitting on the steps of the ambulance, a stranger’s coat around her shoulders and a stranger’s arm pulling her close. He is beautiful, this boy holding her, and she is leaning into him, sobbing silently against his chest. For a moment she is as much of a stranger as he is, this girl I have held all through her life, this girl who used to fit into my arms as easily as she now fits into his. Before Georgia came along I thought that letting go was something you did when your child turned eighteen and decided to leave home. I didn’t realise how regularly your heart could be wrenched by giving them their freedom – the first time they sleep in their own room, or fall over, or go out on their own, or close their bedroom door on you. Each time this happened to me, I said goodbye to some part of my children, and to my power to control their world and keep them safe. Each time I was left feeling helpless and adrift, but none more so than this.
Upon seeing her, at first, there is pure relief. And then the most humiliating emotion descends upon me. Jealousy. She looks so safe, over there. I try to remember an occasion when Callum held me like this. I can’t think of any but he must have done, once upon a time.
My instincts kick in seconds later and I rush towards them. ‘Georgia, Georgia, are you okay?’
She looks up as though surprised to find me here.
‘Sophia . . .’ she says, and then breaks down in a torrent of tears.
‘Are you hurt, my darling?’ I ask, leaning in close to stroke her hair.
‘No, but I would have been. Danny saved me, Mum,’ Georgia sobs through her tears. ‘He lifted me out of the way just in time.’
The boy doesn’t move but he looks a little awkward. I rub Georgia’s arm while I talk to him. ‘I’m Georgia’s mum.’
‘Danny Atherton,’ he says.
I recognise him now, of course. I’ve seen him at school, but I’ve never come into direct contact with him before. Most of my counselling takes place with those who feel lost in some way – the outsiders. Danny is one of the popular crowd – much more rarely do they come knocking on my door.
The ambulance officer comes over to Georgia and gently pulls aside the blanket she is wrapped in. Only then do I see that her jumper is torn – the one she begged me to get her for her birthday. One of the woollen arms has been cut off and Georgia’s upper arm and elbow is a mess of blood.
‘Georgia!’
‘Don’t worry,’ the officer says, beginning to dab at the blood as Georgia winces. ‘It’s a nasty graze but not as bad as it looks. Be good as new in a couple of weeks.’
‘Not like Sophia,’ Georgia says through her tears.
‘Sophia’s leg looks pretty bad,’ Danny adds.
I stare at them both. ‘What the hell happened?’
‘Danny!’ a male voice breaks through my thoughts and I turn to see a thickset man in a long overcoat hurrying towards us. He passes me as though I’m invisible and lays a hand on Danny’s shoulder. I can’t help but notice that Danny no longer has his arm around Georgia. I move a little closer to my daughter.
‘Are you okay? Christ, what were you doing out here?’ There is so much anger in this man’s voice that the ambulance officer stops what he’s doing, and I can see the policeman also taking an interest. ‘For god’s sake, Danny, you shouldn’t be out on a school night, you’ve got training in the morning.’ He sighs as though this is all a considerable inconvenience to him. ‘Come on, let’s get you home.’
‘Hang on a second, sir,’ the policeman intervenes, as Danny gets to his feet without a word. ‘Your son has been witness to a hit-and-run. We’ll need a statement before he leaves, and some follow-up details.’
‘Jesus Christ.’ The man looks again at his son. ‘Well, then, let’s get on with it.’
They all head off to the police car, Danny trailing the group. He turns back and gives Georgia a long look before he leaves. Georgia holds his gaze for a moment, and then lifts the blanket to bury her face in it.
‘It’s not surprising that Georgia is in a little bit of shock,’ the ambulance officer says kindly while finishing the dressing. ‘We can take her to hospital for a few hours and keep an eye on her, but she might be more comfortable . . .’
‘I want to go home,’ Georgia says quietly.
‘All right, then,’ the man says. ‘She’s already had some painkillers, and I recommend she keeps taking them for a couple of days. Start with Panadol but see your GP if she needs something stronger. If you have any worries at all, come to the hospital straightaway.’ He looks at me sternly.
‘Okay.’ I help Georgia down from the step and keep my arm around her as we head towards the police car. One policeman is still talking to Danny, but a female constable comes over. ‘I gather you live nearby?’
I nod.
‘If you want to take her home, we can come and speak to you there.’
‘Thank you, that would be good.’
I give them our address and help Georgia to the car. ‘Don’t ask me about any of it, Mum,’ Georgia says as soon as I climb in next to her. She turns her face away, her slender body trembling as she hugs herself tightly.
‘You’ll have to talk to the police when they come round,’ I remind her.
‘I know that,’ she snaps.
Once I start the engine, I don’t say anything more. We might be sitting next to one another, but that’s where the closeness ends. I�
�m desperate to comfort her, but I can’t find the right words. On the short journey home, each second is riven by our silence.
2
ZAC
When his mother burst into the room, Zac had expected to be reprimanded. Instead her words have left him stunned.
‘I hope Georgia’s okay,’ Cooper says quietly once she’s gone. He pauses. ‘Hey, I’m sure old Jenkins will understand if we can’t get our work finished now. Shall we leave it for tonight?’ When Zac doesn’t respond straightaway, Cooper picks up his pencil, begins to look through his notes, and then throws it down again. He leans back so his chair wobbles dangerously on two legs. ‘Screw this. What use is it going to be in the outside world anyway?’
Zac sighs. ‘If we fail we’ll just have to repeat it – more work in the long term.’ Why is he saying this, he wonders, because finishing their work is now the last thing on his mind. He imagines the thud, Georgia’s body flying through the air – then wishes he hadn’t. He feels sick, tries to swallow the burn in his throat, aware Cooper is watching him.
‘What you need is a distraction till we hear from your mum. A few more rounds of Black Ops should do it . . . Or, even better . . .’ He grabs Zac’s laptop and swings it round to face him, typing fast, then returning it to Zac. ‘There you go,’ he says with a laugh.
On the screen are rows and rows of photographs of women showing their breasts, and in some cases a whole lot more.
‘Jesus, Cooper!’ Zac moves his cursor quickly to the X in the corner and closes the window, only realising afterwards that he has closed down the whole browser and so lost his research too.
Cooper is frowning at him. ‘Calm down, I thought it might take your mind off things. What’s the matter – don’t tell me your parents still keep tabs on you?’