by Sara Foster
‘Sounds good,’ she said.
In response, he leaned over and kissed her, and she wrapped her arms around his neck and felt him solid and unyielding against her. His hand found the spot where her ribcage disappeared beneath the softness of her breast, and she thought, If he moves his hand even a little bit higher I am going to explode.
But there were more voices now, growing louder fast enough to bring them back to their surroundings. When they pulled away from each other she was sure that not much time could have passed, but a few grey clouds seemed to have rolled in to blot out the sun, and the day felt different. Colder.
‘Do you want to get back?’ she had asked him, hoping he would say no. But he had nodded and gestured at the sky. ‘I suppose we should.’
• • •
Stop the memory here, stop the memory here, her brain screams at her, even though this wasn’t where the scene ended. Over time she has grown better at safely cutting off the replay during their moment of connection, rather than letting it run on to the horror that came afterwards. But today she is dozing, not fully in control of her thoughts, and so they march on anyway, only interrupted when her phone begins to ring.
She comes to her senses in sheer panic, then realises she is alone in her room. She’s safe. She snatches the phone up quickly, unsure how long she has been dozing but not wanting her mother to hear the distinctive blast of Avicii. She doesn’t recognise the caller, but the first few digits of the number are familiar.
‘Hello?’ she says uncertainly. As she does so she sees that a note has been slipped onto her bedside table. Her mother has gone back to school.
‘Is this Georgia Turner?’ The woman’s voice is unfamiliar.
‘Yes.’
‘My name is Christina Kale – I’m the coordinator of tomorrow’s race. You forgot to put your age on the entry form, so I just wanted to double-check?’
Her heart is still thudding as she says, ‘I’m seventeen.’
‘Wonderful, thank you. Good luck tomorrow, Georgia – looks like plenty of rain tonight, so don’t wear your best gear, eh?’ she chuckles.
‘Thank you,’ says Georgia. The woman’s words make her uneasy, but perhaps because she is still thinking of the rain that had approached on that other day. When she ends the call, she checks her phone. It was as she suspected: the same number that had called last night. It had been nothing to worry about, after all.
She sees the time – nearly half-past three. She has slept for over an hour.
Her ears strain but she cannot hear anything. Perhaps she is alone in the house. Her fingers are tingling and her head feels strange. She shakes both hands, trying to encourage her blood to pump around her body, and for the first time wonders if her mother is right. Should she really be running an endurance race in a little under twenty-four hours?
She cannot bear this any longer. She needs to talk to someone. She gets up and straightens her clothes, smooths her hair, then goes downstairs. The door to the front room is ajar, and she peeps around to see her dad in the armchair, reading. As a little girl she would have run across to him and jumped onto his lap without a second thought. Lately she can’t even bring herself to catch his eye, for fear he’ll somehow know the truth, and his disappointment will be clear.
She goes across to him. ‘Dad,’ she whispers, stroking his arm.
He jumps at her touch and puts the book down. ‘Georgia, are you okay?’
‘I’m fine.’ She pats his sleeve. ‘But I need to get out for a while. Can you take me to Bethany’s?’
17
ANYA
I approach school for the second time today, having driven far too quickly away from Fellmere and down the long road towards Ambleside. School finishes at three-thirty, and I remembered my rescheduled appointment with Leticia only fifteen minutes before she was due outside my office door.
I had spent most of my brief time at home waiting to talk to Callum, but he had been busy making calls to the office and his clients. I’d sat idly at the kitchen table, watching my tea grow cold, listening to his voice, trying to calm down, and then Leticia’s disappointed face that morning popped into my head. Damn-damn-damn, I’d muttered, thinking of her fragile, pale features. She was not someone I wanted to let down.
Before I left I had crept upstairs and risked looking in on Georgia, twisting the door handle as quietly as I could. She was turned to the wall, her breathing even – I waited long enough to watch her chest rise and fall a few times, a maternal habit left over from the kids’ babyhood. I scribbled a note on one of her Post-Its and propped it on her bedside table, hoping she would stay asleep until I was back.
I had rushed into the front room to let Callum know I had to go out. He had his phone to his ear, but snapped it shut as soon as he saw me.
‘Who was that?’
‘It hadn’t started ringing yet.’ He frowned. ‘Are you okay?’
‘I have to go back to school. Georgia’s asleep, and I have a client who’s really struggling – I’ve cancelled on her once, and I don’t want to do it again. If Georgia wakes up, can you tell her I’ll be back as quickly as I can. Don’t let her go anywhere, will you.’
Callum puts his phone in his pocket. ‘Look, Anya, we really need to talk about Georgia. I’m not sure we can—’
‘Cal, I haven’t got time for this right now,’ I yell over my shoulder as I head for the door. ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can – okay?’
There had been no answer. As I drive I can’t help but wish I hadn’t cut Callum off. I want to know what he had planned to say. I force it to the back of my mind as I reach the school drive and begin to manoeuvre the car around the parent pick-up gridlock, pretending I’m oblivious to the dirty looks as I pull up illegally on a spare patch of grass.
The police car parked a few spaces ahead is getting curious glances, and as I hurry towards my office I’m aware that I’m the one who summoned it. Rounding the final corner, I see Leticia leaning against the wall, eyes on her phone. As I draw closer I hear murmurs coming from inside my room.
‘I thought you weren’t going to show up,’ Leticia says accusingly when she sees me.
‘I’m sorry.’ My voice is brisk. ‘There’s been a lot going on. Come on, let’s see if we can find somewhere else that’s private.’
But before we can leave, my office door opens. Danny appears, raising his eyebrows at me before he walks away. The policewomen behind him are about to follow when I step into their path.
‘I’m Mrs Turner. Georgia’s mother. I called you earlier.’
I recognise PC Edwards from last night. She seems surprised to be accosted, but says, ‘Of course, I remember.’
‘So,’ I fold my arms and then unfold them, not wanting to come across as too pushy. ‘Is there anything else I should know?’
‘Not as yet, Mrs Turner, but we’ll keep you posted,’ the other policewoman cuts in.
‘Is Georgia in any danger?’ I demand, trying not to come across as a traumatised, neurotic mother, aware of Leticia watching.
‘Mrs Turner, we are taking Danny’s recollection very seriously, but so far it’s an isolated incident and we’re doing everything we can to locate the driver. Try not to worry, but if anything out of the ordinary happens, then of course you should call us straightaway.’
I gather this is meant to pacify me, as they both stride quickly away. It does anything but. I am in the midst of imagining what might give us grounds to call them for help, when Leticia pipes up behind me. ‘Why is Georgia in danger?’
I had completely forgotten she was there. How unprofessional of me. Flustered, I take a few slow breaths to steady myself, then turn to her. ‘We don’t know that she is – I’m just worried about her after last night.’ I indicate the empty office. ‘Want to come in?’
Once we’re sitting down I gather my wits. ‘So, how’s your day been?’
She shrugs. ‘Okay,’ she says as she fiddles with her long sleeves, repeatedly pulling them further down over h
er wrists. Then she focuses on me. ‘Is Georgia running tomorrow?’
Once again, my counselling session has ended up with my daughter as the topic of discussion. ‘I’m not sure,’ I say reluctantly. ‘I think she’d like to.’
Leticia’s eyes widen. ‘She’s amazing.’
I want to contradict her, but I’m not sure why. Of course my daughter is amazing; even though her determination to participate in tomorrow’s race is a little less than ideal.
‘What about you, Leticia? What have you got planned for the weekend?’ I ask, hoping to get back on task.
Leticia shrugs. ‘Not much. Homework, I guess.’ She is retreating now the topic has changed, withdrawing into her shell. She has been coming to see me for almost a year, so I am familiar with her body language. I press on, trying to draw her out again. ‘Is there anything on your mind today?’
‘Well,’ she says, her shoulders sagging, ‘I’m really worried about the exams this year. I think I need to start practising some mock papers.’
By all accounts Leticia is a straight-A student. ‘Could it be a bit early in the year for that?’ I suggest. ‘You could wait another month or two and still have plenty of time.’
Leticia looks doubtful. Future events are something she struggles with, wanting to control them as soon as she can, never able to relax unless she is implementing a plan. I think of the other ways she has shown her self-discipline recently: the carefully counted and sandwich-bagged portions of steamed rice; the apple split into segments, one or two pieces lasting the whole day as she nibbles on them.
I rarely steer Leticia to talk about her eating disorder. There are others better qualified to support her eating patterns, and my priority is to help her cope at school. She is seeing a collection of doctors and counsellors, but as yet she seems no better for it. However, occasionally in the past few sessions she has laughed. This, for me, is a breakthrough – but today I am not on form enough to help her. Today I can’t think of anything funny to say. As she waits for me to speak, I find my mind completely blank. I think of Georgia sleeping at home, and realise she looks just as grey and drawn as Leticia. I have the overwhelming feeling that I should be there, not here. Leticia’s problems feel too much for me right now.
What has happened to you girls? I want to ask Leticia. This is your time. You are in your prime. You should be out there having fun, revelling in your youth, your beauty, your freedom. How has it come to this?
‘Are you okay, Mrs Turner?’
‘You know, Leticia, I’m not entirely sure,’ I admit. This is the second time today that I’ve been tempted to blurt out my fears to a student. My professional and private lives are uncomfortably entangled, and I need to pull myself together fast. I fidget in my seat, trying to disperse another surge of agitation, similar to the foreboding I’d had on my walk home with Georgia. These feelings are frightening. Threatening. Don’t, Anya, I tell myself. Don’t go any further down that road.
‘I think I’m still getting over the shock of last night,’ I say, gathering some papers from my desk and shuffling them unnecessarily. I put them down again. ‘But that’s not for you to worry about. Will you see any movies this weekend?’
Leticia loves movies. She often goes to the cinema by herself because she likes the solitude. It’s not that she doesn’t have any friends – in fact, she has a little train of acolytes hanging around her in the corridors, worshipping her, in danger of copying her, but she seems oblivious to them.
‘Nope, not this weekend. Maybe next week – Mum wants to see that new one with Hugh Jackman.’
I stall again. I can’t remember the last time Georgia wanted to go to the cinema with me. I can’t think of the last time Georgia wanted to do anything with me. For a moment I envy Leticia’s mum as the subject of this casual remark. I envy Leticia’s mum, whose heart will be breaking as she watches her daughter disappear before her eyes.
I swallow down another rush of emotion and sit straighter in my chair. ‘Is there anything else you want to talk about today, Leticia?’
She doesn’t think for long. ‘Not really.’
‘Well, I don’t want to keep you on a Friday afternoon. How about we reschedule a proper appointment early next week? I’ll take a look at your timetable and let you know.’
Leticia nods, gets up and grabs her bag. Highly relieved, I riffle through my diary and make sure I’ve jotted down a note to arrange the next meeting.
Behind me, I hear a loud thump. When I look around, Leticia is on the floor.
‘Leticia!’ I dash over to see her eyes open and rolling.
‘Help!’ I scream. ‘Help!’
There are running footsteps and Miss Chadwick, the art teacher, rushes in. ‘Call an ambulance!’ I shout. She sprints away, then Mr Fennell, the head of biology, arrives and we begin to work as a team. He checks Leticia’s breathing, nods at me, and begins to feel for her pulse. We are just about to roll her into the recovery position when she starts to come round.
‘Sssh,’ I tell her as she struggles to sit up. ‘Stay down. You passed out. There’s an ambulance on its way.’
Miss Chadwick returns with Mrs Jessop as Leticia begins to sob. I sit on the floor so she can rest her head on my lap. I stroke her forehead, which seems to soothe her, and we stay like that until we hear the sirens. A short time later the medics bustle in. They ask lots of questions, and when I finally look around I see that Mr Fennell and Miss Chadwick have disappeared, and only Mrs Jessop is watching on.
When Leticia is sitting up, I move across to join Chris Jessop. One of the paramedics comes over to us. ‘I think we’ll take her in to the Royal. Her pulse rate is still dangerously low. We’ll get the stretcher, then we need to move quickly. Who’s coming with her?’
Mrs Jessop turns to me. ‘I’m so sorry to ask, but can you go, Anya? I have visitors waiting from the education department. I’ll ring Leticia’s parents.’
It takes every bit of strength I have not to burst into tears. The Royal Lancaster hospital is at least forty minutes’ drive away.
I think of my traumatised, pale-faced daughter, curled up in bed. Needing every bit of love and attention I can give her today. How can I go?
I look at Leticia, an oxygen mask covering most of her gaunt features, lying curled on her side with her eyes closed, my jacket under her head. Desperately needing my help right this moment. How can I not go?
The paramedic and the headmistress are both watching me, waiting for my answer.
Callum is with Georgia, I remind myself. I will be as fast as I can. Leticia is the one who in danger; my daughter is at home, resting. My daughter is safe.
Yet it still takes all my energy to nod.
18
ZAC
At the beginning of their walk, Arthur entertains Zac and Maddie, leaping in and out of streams, retrieving sticks, jumping and barking with delight whenever they join in his games. Fallen leaves crunch underfoot as, now and then, their bodies brush one another, until Zac feels bruised from each contact. He studies his old, scuffed trainers, which are letting in the damp, and wishes he’d bothered to buy some new ones.
For a while it doesn’t matter that Maddie isn’t saying much. But as Arthur grows tired and begins to trot quietly by their side, the silence grows obvious and more uncomfortable, on Zac’s side at least. They are still heading away from home, but Arthur’s antics have meant they haven’t got very far. Zac is loath to be the one to suggest turning around, because that would mean cutting short their time alone together, and who knows when this opportunity might come round again.
How can he break into her reverie? He could ask her more about Sophia, but he doesn’t want to upset her. He could tell her that her friends are ridiculous, but he suspects she won’t agree. He could whisper that she looks beautiful today – and every day – but that’s totally inappropriate. He could suggest they go hunting for frogs, but that’s about six years out of date.
In his pocket, he clutches his mobile. This would defini
tely get her attention. The phone seems alive in his hand, burning his skin, a fuse drawing closer to explosion.
‘We should have brought some food or something,’ he mutters.
She doesn’t respond straightaway and he bites his lip. Of all the thoughts he has had, why is it this mundane mumble that leaks from his mouth?
‘I’ve completely lost my appetite,’ Maddie declares eventually. ‘I’ve hardly eaten anything since last night.’
Zac can’t think of a response. The scene resets itself as though he had never spoken. He doesn’t trust himself to say anything interesting, so he ambles alongside her, restless and despondent. He hears Jacinta’s taunting voice, ‘She’s your cousin. It’s a little bit sick.’
But they’re not blood relations. Surely Maddie wouldn’t think like that. He steals a few sideways glances at her while she finds more bounty for Arthur. He is continually amazed at her height – a few inches taller than him – her lean face, the curves of her cheekbones, the shimmer in her hair. He can picture her leaping in the air in one of his mother’s clothing catalogues, her arms a V of victory, her hair fanning out in joy. How has she morphed into an almost-adult, when he doesn’t feel much different to the kid he’s always been?
He tries to think of the last time they were alone like this. He can’t pinpoint it. It must have been a long time ago. Has she missed him anywhere near as much as he has missed her?
When they reach one of the viewpoints she sits on the bench and he rests beside her, feeling like an unstrung puppet, fixated on the correct arrangement of his limbs. She stares out across the valley, and Zac turns slightly, keen to catch her eye, hoping there will be something there to help him when she does.
‘Maddie?’ he says eventually.
She turns to him then, and sees something in his expression that makes her frown. But she doesn’t look away. Zac squirms, dropping his gaze to his hands, hardly daring to find her eyes again.