Winter of Grace

by Kate Constable

  ‘Thanks so much,’ he croaked. ‘Thank you.’

  Stella grabbed his hand and squeezed it – any excuse. ‘Don’t worry about it.’ She plopped herself on the chair beside his bed as if she were already his girlfriend.

  He gave her a dazed, dreamy grin, lopsided under the bandage. It occurred to me afterwards that he was probably drugged out on painkillers. ‘Would you guys mind … would you be able to … could you stay till my brother gets here?’

  ‘Of course we’ll stay,’ choked Stella.

  ‘And the police are coming,’ Jay added. He closed his good eye and leaned back on the pillows. Stella hung onto his hand and sighed with pleasure, and I looked round for another place to sit. There were no more chairs, so I perched on the end of the bed with my feet dangling. Jay drifted into sleep – either that or a coma – so we just sat there for ages, watching him. It was peaceful, though not very comfortable, and it was nice to feel that he needed us.

  Eventually I remembered that I should call Mum, who was expecting us back. Since Stella was fully occupied with her hand-holding duties, and you’re not allowed to use mobile phones in hospitals, I went outside to make the call.

  It took forever to explain to Mum what was going on; she was much more concerned about what might have happened to me and Stella than what actually had happened to Jay.

  ‘Bridie! It’s all very well to play the Good Samaritan, but next time, just use your brains! They could have had knives; they could have raped you—’

  ‘It was the middle of the city, Mum!’

  ‘Being in the middle of the city didn’t stop them beating up this poor boy, did it?’ And of course there was no answer to that.

  By the time I’d assured her that we were perfectly fine and got her off the phone and found my way back to Jay’s bedside, he was awake again, and a police officer had arrived. Stella was showing him the footage from her phone. It wasn’t very clear, but you could see them kicking into poor Jay on the ground. Jay looked a bit green as he watched it.

  The officer took down my details and I told him what I’d seen, which didn’t seem to be very helpful. I couldn’t describe any of the guys, for instance; it had all happened too fast.

  ‘Who were they, anyway?’ said Stella. ‘Why did they pick on Jay?’ She squeezed his hand protectively.

  The officer shrugged. ‘You always get a few troublemakers at events like this. Stirs up tension, adrenalin rush, people get carried away. They see someone holding a placard and just lose it. Mob mentality takes over.’

  ‘So they weren’t muggers?’ I said. ‘You think it was political?’ Talk about standing up for your beliefs: Jay had risked his life for the cause of peace. I almost envied him. Apart from the actual getting-hurt part.

  The officer put away his notebook. ‘Probably students, I’d say.’

  ‘Students?’ said Stella. ‘Seriously?’

  Stella can’t wait to be a student; she’s hanging out for uni. I’m not, so much. Mum’s a lecturer and she’s told me enough about her students for me to know they’re not all glamorous and exciting.

  ‘That’s probably why they weren’t too hard to scare off,’ said the officer, which put a dent in our heroic pride. He stood up to go. ‘If you remember anything else, here’s my card,’ he said to Jay. ‘But I’ve got to be honest, mate; I don’t think there’s much chance of catching them.’

  ‘Not even with my video?’ Stella was disappointed.

  ‘Not even with your video, love. Sorry.’

  ‘Don’t you want to keep my phone as evidence?’

  The officer laughed. ‘You’ll need it more than we do. Wouldn’t want to interfere with your social life.’

  ‘Huh.’ Stella gazed after him as he left. ‘How lame is that?

  They’re not even going to try.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Jay weakly. ‘It was just a … misunderstanding.’

  ‘What, they misunderstood that your head wasn’t a football?’ I said.

  But Jay was struggling upright, looking past me and Stella with an eager expression. ‘My brother’s here.’

  Stella and I swivelled and saw another lanky young man striding toward us. He looked a lot like Jay, except his hair was cut shorter, and because he was a few years older, he’d filled out his frame and wasn’t so gangly. But he had the same green-gold eyes and the same scattering of freckles across his nose. The main difference between the brothers was that instead of Jay’s wide, glad smile, his face was screwed up in a scowl.

  ‘This is Elliot,’ said Jay happily, ignoring his brother’s expression. ‘Elliot, this is Bridie and Stella, they brought me to the hospital.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Elliot curtly. ‘No need to hold you up any longer.’

  ‘That’s okay,’ said Stella. ‘We don’t have to be anywhere.’ She was still sitting on the bedside chair, but at a glare from Elliot, she reluctantly stood up so he could take it. Elliot sat down, still scowling. Of course, he was probably just worried about his little brother, but he looked as if he was working himself up to kill somebody, and I didn’t want it to be me.

  ‘We’d better go,’ I said hastily, sliding off the bed. ‘Hope your eye’s okay, Jay, hope you get better soon.’

  ‘Wait! Can’t I …’ Jay looked at us shyly. With the bandage over his eye it was hard to tell if he was looking at both of us or one of us in particular. ‘Can’t I get your number? So I can thank you properly, when I’m not so …’

  Feverishly, Stella rummaged for a scrap of paper.

  ‘Elliot,’ said Jay. ‘Could you …?’

  Elliot grimaced. He pulled a piece of pink paper from his bag and handed it to Stella, who scribbled her name and phone number. She wrote down mine too, because she is a fair person, really. Elliot refolded the paper and tucked it inside his coat. Then he turned the full power of his scowl onto us like a laser beam until we were forced to retreat out of the emergency ward and all the way back onto the street.

  ‘The brother must do Law at uni,’ said Stella. ‘That pink paper was tutorial notepaper. I wonder why he wasn’t at the rally, I bet all the other uni students were. Maybe he’s pro-war.’

  ‘Oh, no way. No one could be,’ I said. ‘He did seem pretty grumpy though.’

  ‘He had no right to be,’ said Stella. ‘Not when we saved Jay’s life.’

  ‘You’d think he could have been a tiny bit grateful.’

  ‘Who cares about the cranky brother?’ Stella twirled on the footpath. ‘I think I’m in love!’

  ‘A good day’s work then,’ I said. ‘We’ve stopped a war, saved a life and found you a boyfriend. Come on, let’s get the train home.’

  But I was thinking, I bet we never hear from them again, which made me slightly sad, because I liked Jay too, though not as much as Stella did. If he looked like his brother, under all that bruising, then he was definitely good-looking. I figured Elliot had thrown that pink paper straight in the bin.

  But I was wrong.

  I WAS WRONG ABOUT us stopping the war, too.

  I heard the news on the radio first thing on Monday morning. It was like a punch to the stomach. But it wasn’t a mistake; it was really happening. I sank down on the edge of my bed, feeling sick.

  ‘Oh, God,’ I said aloud. ‘Oh, God.’

  I sat there paralysed for a few more minutes, till I realised how late it was. I had to run.

  Stella was already waiting out the front of her house, with Tim the dachshund twisting himself into a yappy knot round her ankles.

  ‘Where’ve you been, I nearly left without you. Shut up, Tim!’

  ‘Sorry.’ I took over Tim’s lead while Stella pulled on her gloves. ‘Did you hear the news?’

  ‘Nuh, what’s happened?’

  ‘The war – they’ve declared war. It’s going ahead.’

  Stella stopped in her tracks. ‘Oh, no. You’re kidding. But – how? People marched – all those people, all over the world. How can they just ignore that?’

  ‘I d
on’t know,’ I said.

  Stella scooped up Tim and pressed her face close to his smooth black coat; he wriggled round to give her nose a lick of comfort. ‘How can this happen?’ she said in a muffled voice.

  ‘Why does anything bad happen? Why does a nice boy like Jay get beaten up? Why are people tortured, why do people kill each other, why are human beings so cruel and horrible?’

  ‘It’s God’s will,’ said Stella bitterly. ‘That’s what they’ll say at school, I bet.’ She sniffed fiercely. ‘Stop wriggling, Timmy, I’ll put you down when we get across the road.’

  It was our turn to take Tim for a walk down by the river. There was a family roster: one morning it was Mish and Stella’s little sister, Scarlet; the next it was Paul and her brother Tark; and every third morning it was Stella and me. We’d been doing it for three years, ever since Mish and Paul and Mum decided we were old enough to go out at dawn by ourselves. Of course, we had Tim to protect us, but since Tim’s idea of protection was to jump at someone’s knees and yap them to death, we didn’t rely too much on him.

  We sprinted across the highway with Stella carrying Tim; his little legs couldn’t keep up. Safely on the other side, she set him down and he trotted off, his back half wagging. He knew the circuit: through the park, across the bridge and round past the boathouse, along the riverbank and back over the other bridge, then cut through the back streets and home by half-past seven to get ready for school. Normally I loved being up so early, while the world was all fresh and still, but there was nothing beautiful about today.

  Since Stella had switched to St Marg’s, our walks were practically the only time we got to see each other, and we always had heaps to discuss. But this morning I was too miserable to talk.

  At last Stella said, ‘Guess what?’

  Now I could see she was bursting with news; she couldn’t hang on a second longer. ‘What?’

  ‘He texted me! Last night, he texted me and asked for my address!’

  It took me a moment to realise she was talking about Jay. ‘Wow,’ I said, trying to sound enthusiastic. I didn’t want to spoil her excitement by telling her that he’d texted me too.

  ‘What do you think it means? Do you think he’ll just turn up on the doorstep? Tim, leave it … good boy.’

  I bent to fondle Tim’s ears. ‘I don’t think he’ll be going anywhere just yet, with his eye all cut up.’

  ‘Oh, yeah … of course. I keep forgetting he’s wounded.’

  I couldn’t bring myself to get too worked up about Jay. All I could think about was the war; that a man in a suit had picked up a phone, and on the other side of the world other people, innocent people, were going to be blown apart. My stomach churned.

  Stella said, ‘Do you think I’m getting over-excited?’

  ‘Hmm?’ I made an effort. ‘No … Jay’s sweet.’

  ‘The problem is, now I’m cut off from boys on a daily basis, I think I’m over-idealising them. Do you think that’s dangerous?’

  I smiled. ‘Come back to school and look at Frankie and Will, that’ll cure you.’

  ‘I almost miss Frankie and Will, how tragic is that?’ Stella was quiet for a minute. ‘I hate St Marg’s,’ she said suddenly. ‘I wish you were there.’

  ‘Maybe I could swap too,’ I said randomly, but as soon as the words were out of my mouth it seemed like a genius solution. Stella grabbed my arms and jumped up and down.

  ‘Yes, yes! Why not? Yes!’

  ‘Maybe we can’t afford it,’ I said doubtfully.

  ‘Of course you can afford it, Lisa told me she just got a pay rise. You’re loaded now.’

  ‘We are?’ Stella and my mum are great old mates; Mish and I get on really well, too. It’s weird; sometimes we seem to have more in common with each other’s mothers than we do with our own.

  ‘But we’re not Catholic. We’re not anything.’

  ‘That doesn’t matter. They’d love to have you, you’re smart, you’ll push the results up. Nana can coach you if you’re worried; she knows all the saints and the Hail Marys and everything. Hooray, hooray, Bridie’s coming to St Marg’s!’ Stella sang.

  We broke into a run across the wet winter grass, whooping and laughing like little kids under the white dawn sky, and Tim bounded after us on his short trundling legs, yapping with delight. It was such a great idea, I even managed to forget about the war.

  ‘Don’t forget to ask Lisa!’ Stella called as I turned into my street, waving goodbye with the plastic bag that held Tim’s poo.

  ‘Let me know if you hear from Jay,’ I called back.

  When I let myself in, Mum was making coffee in the kitchen. In our house it’s just me and Mum. I don’t have a dad; never had one; never wanted one, really. It’s no big deal. I never even think about it. Mum and I have always been a unit. We have each other, and that’s enough. Until lately, anyway. This year, without Stella around, I’d started to notice how busy Mum was with work, how we didn’t really do stuff together much anymore. Not that I felt abandoned or resentful or anything. But sometimes I couldn’t help wishing Mum would spend a bit more time with me.

  I peeled off my parka. The kitchen felt boiling hot after the crisp air outside. It was always hard to drag myself out of bed for our walks, especially in winter, but it was worth the effort for the blood-tingling, alert aliveness afterwards. The radio was muttering in the corner and suddenly I remembered. Soldiers were filing onto planes, weapons were being loaded. Soon, in a faraway country, bombs would fall on streets and houses and families just like ours, blasting their lives apart. The sick feeling flooded back into my stomach.

  ‘Did you hear about the war?’ I said.

  ‘I know, it’s awful … Pick up your parka, sweetie … Makes me wish I’d marched with you girls on Saturday.’

  ‘Didn’t make any difference though, did it?’ That was the worst part; all that passion, all that determination – wasted. Useless.

  ‘Maybe it did make a difference. Maybe it made them think twice.’

  ‘What’s the use of thinking twice if you go ahead and do it anyway?’

  ‘Fair point. Want some toast?’

  ‘I’m not hungry.’

  ‘Darling, starving yourself won’t help anything.’

  ‘Oh, all right.’ I sighed. ‘Mum? Can I swap over to St Marg’s?’

  At the toaster, Mum’s back froze. Without turning round, she said, ‘Why on earth would you want to go there? I thought Stella hated it.’

  ‘She does, but I think … maybe it’s because I’m not there.

  And, you know, I miss her, too.’

  ‘I know you do, darling. It’s a shame Mish and Paul got it into their heads …’ Mum stopped herself. She turned round and leaned on the bench. ‘Maybe you should see this as an opportunity to make some new friends? Not to replace Stella; you and Stella will always be friends, I’m sure.’ She could see me opening my mouth to protest. ‘But you could broaden your horizons, meet some new people.’

  ‘There aren’t any new people, it’s the same old people, I know them all already,’ I grumbled. ‘Couldn’t I just try St Marg’s and see? We won’t know till we do the experiment.’ That was Mum’s usual line when she was coaxing me to try something new, but it didn’t work this time.

  ‘It’s halfway through the year, Bridie, it’s too disruptive.’

  ‘Change is good,’ I said. ‘It’ll keep me on my toes, challenge me to adapt.’ I shadow-boxed round the bench. ‘Adapt or perish, isn’t that what you say in biology?’

  ‘I’m not sending you to St Margaret’s,’ snapped Mum. ‘You can put that idea right out of your head.’

  I stopped boxing. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I’m not. Or any other religious school, for that matter.’

  ‘So if …’ I searched my mind for the most prestigious girls’ school I could think of, ‘if Brookings Hall offered me a scholarship, you’d say no?’

  ‘Yes, I would.’

  ‘What’s wrong with religious schools?�
��

  ‘I don’t believe in them, on principle. I believe in state-funded, secular education. If people want to teach their children lies and superstition, let them do it at home.’ Mum’s voice rose, and two red spots glowed in her cheeks.

  ‘But—’

  ‘Bridie, I’m not discussing it. I wouldn’t send you to St Margaret’s if it was the last school on earth. End of story.’

  ‘But can’t we at least talk about it?’

  ‘Bridie, I said enough.’ Mum hadn’t spoken to me in that tone of voice since I was about six.

  ‘Right,’ I said. ‘Fine.’ I stalked to the bathroom, fuming. I showered and flung on my school clothes, still silently raging.

  How dare she just shut me down like that? End of story. She couldn’t order me around any more, I was sixteen now. Didn’t I get any say in my education, in my own future? My mother was just as bad as the politicians and the dictators, plunging us into war in spite of all our protests. End of story. Was that what the Prime Minister said when he made the decision?

  The whole world had let me down. Even Mum wouldn’t listen to me; how could I expect to stop a war by putting my hand up? Even my best friend was more interested in a boy she’d only just met than in the screwed-up state of the planet. But at least I knew Stella would listen to me.

  I yelled ‘Bye’ to Mum as I grabbed my toast and slammed out of the house but I pointedly didn’t kiss her before I left. I couldn’t wait to talk over the unfairness of it all with Stella. I walked faster and faster to the bus stop where she’d be waiting.

  It wasn’t till I reached the end of the street that I remembered that Stella was at St Marg’s now, that I’d have to get through the whole stupid day without her.

  WHEN I GOT home, I felt wrung out. There wasn’t anyone at school I could talk to, not properly. No one cared about the war as much as I did. As for the fight with Mum, I couldn’t discuss that at all; it would have been kind of insulting to say I wanted to go to another school. Not that I wanted to leave, I just wanted to be with Stella. But I knew there was no point bringing it up with Mum again. When she used that voice, the subject was not negotiable. It was so unfair.