by Emma Rowley
“No,” says Olivia, and she starts pulling me down the corridor. “It’s everywhere!” Pain flares as I hit my hip on something—the banister—we’ve reached the main stairs. And now Olivia is trying to drag me down to the floor, and I resist, alarmed, so she moves the cloth away from her mouth to bark: “Get down.”
She’s right—I need to get on my hands and knees, feeling the carpet prickle through my nightclothes—and I start crawling and sliding down the stairs, under the worst of the smoke and the heat. As we reach the little landing on the turn of the staircase, I twist my head up to the big window, tears sliding from my sore eyes, and that can’t be right—I can see bright yellow flames, coming from outside the house—but I have to keep going. At the bottom of the stairs I clamber to my feet and turn left, for the front door, but again she grabs me, pushing me in front of her. “Too many locks,” she shouts, because the alarms are going off now, finally, screaming like sirens.
And she gets us into the narrow hallway, the smoke is not as bad down here, as we burst into the kitchen, me following as she goes for the windows. I hear her wrenching open the lock on the French doors and then she pulls one open, the little bolt at the bottom not holding, and I stumble after her onto the terrace, both of us coughing and gasping. I wipe my streaming eyes on my pajama sleeve, the fabric coming away black and greasy, and look back at the house.
Now I see why we couldn’t stay in my room and wait to be rescued. There is fire crawling all over it, the ivy is alight, it is consuming it from the outside in . . .
“Come on,” says Olivia, grabbing my hand, and I turn back to the garden, and want to scream. The fire is in the trees touching the house, the shrubs that flank the lawn, we are surrounded by it, whipped up by the wind after the long dry summer. In front of us, I see a line of flames ripple across the grass, making a scurrying run toward us.
But the heat and noise from the house is forcing us forward, and we are already running down the terrace onto the expanse of lawn. Without speaking we are heading for the darkness at the base of the garden, where there are no flaming trees or burning grass, just the cold water of the lake—Livvy always knows what to do.
Now there are sparks whipping through the air, and the fire is in front of us, too, long live fingers tearing through the grass before us like something alive, and my lungs are burning. But we are quick, too, we are flying over the ground—I can always run faster with my sister, like we have wings. What is happening?
We have done this before, I know somehow, but now I am the stronger one, I am pulling her along, headlong down the slope where the lawn ends, crashing our way through the thicker grasses and long weeds, blessedly wet and cool.
Still we keep going, desperate for breath and to get away from the flames and the smoke, running faster than we have ever run. And now we are at the edge of the water and I scream: “Jump!”
For a second we are suspended in the night air, hand in hand, then—
Chapter 68
NICKY
The lake is so cold that it clears my mind of all thought.
I can see it is lighter above me, through the dark water, and feel my pajamas swirl around my body, and then instinct kicks in, I am moving up, up with short, fast strokes, and I surface, taking huge heaving gulps of air. I see the stars in the night sky, the black water lit up red and yellow by the fire behind me—I let go of her—before thought returns fully and I twist and turn, looking for her, “Livvy!”
I can’t see her.
I take a quick panicked breath and kick myself down into the cold, forcing my eyes to stay open. The sides of the lake are steep, I didn’t touch the bottom when we jumped in. I can barely see a thing, but I stretch my arms out as far as I can, grasping at nothing. And I reach and reach, and my lungs are burning, and now I am coming up again, into the air, and shout: “Livvy!”
Nothing disturbs the water but me: she hasn’t surfaced.
She was coughing more than me, wasn’t she, she was out there banging on the door of my room, she has breathed in more smoke . . .
I go under again, using my arms and legs to push down and out, farther into the depths of the lake, heading for the bottom, blind in the water. And as I go, I grasp for something—a hand, an arm—my throat still burning from the smoke and my lungs full of new pain, and now I am out of air once more, I can’t stop myself—I kick up again for the surface, and burst into the night, gasping.
I couldn’t do it, I can’t do it. I was scared of not coming up again.
I scull with my arms to stay afloat, hearing nothing but the rasping sounds of my breathing and, far away, the noises from the house. The alarm is still ringing, tinny and high, but it could be miles away; everything is quiet on the still water.
I have to find her.
This time I take a deep breath, forcing myself to be controlled, then I kick myself up and over again, positioning my body straight in the water to dive one more time, straight down, and yet I don’t panic, I let my breath out slowly, so I can sink even deeper.
The water is colder here, unstirred by any current. I swim forward, unseeing, and reach with my hands.
And still she is not here.
She is not here, as I keep swimming, and I am feeling the pressure tighten in my head now, like something is pushing on the bones of my face, I need to go up, but I cannot leave without her—and then my hand brushes something, just weeds, but then I touch them again, and not weeds it is hair—and I make a fist and try to kick back up.
I can see light at the surface as I look up, it is brown through the earthy water, but I am so far away. I have Olivia, one hand in her hair and holding a shoulder now, too, but I am fighting the reflex to breathe in, underwater, and I am getting nowhere, as if something is dragging me farther down.
And there is a moment, as I feel myself sinking deeper into the lake, when I know with perfect clarity that I could let go, no one would blame me. No one would think less of me for saving myself.
You mustn’t panic, just keep going.
Now my feet touch the mulchy bottom, soft and slick against my soles, I am that deep—and I hear it again, a voice out of the past.
You have to stay calm, and if you do touch the bottom, then you KICK.
So I do. I let my legs bend a little more, and then I kick with all my strength, pushing off against the bottom of the lake. I kick again in the water, now I have momentum, and keep kicking, up and up, until we have done it, we are at the surface. And I gasp for air, but I keep our heads above the water, wrapping my arm under her chin, as I keep kicking.
The water’s edge is just meters away now, we are so close to the meadow and safety, but I am moving by inches. And she is so heavy and still, a dark shape facing away from me, her head knocking against my own, and I feel my feet touch the bottom again, but this time that is a good thing, it is shallower on this side.
Both our heads go under again, water filling my nose painfully—I slipped—but I am being driven now by something beyond fear, and I get us onto the slick steep bank of the lake, half in and out of the water.
I smell the cold earth, feel the muddy ground through my dripping clothes.
But she is not saying anything, is she drowsy? Unconscious?
I heave myself further out of the water, and pull her by the arms, so she is lying on leaves and mud and grass.
“Olivia,” I say, my voice hoarse from the smoke and exertion. I shake her shoulder, then again, more roughly. “Wake up.”
I turn her over a little, and some water comes out of her mouth. Her eyes glint, half-open, but I can’t see her chest moving.
And I am so tired and scared, I am so desperate and so full of wild emotion, that later I think that that must have been what did it.
That is what shakes the first memory free.
I am hiding in the meadow and Livvy is looking for me. When the shouting starts, we play this game. Come out, come out, wherever you are, she calls. It’s OK, Lexy, you can come out now . . .
&nb
sp; I was right there in the meadow, I felt the grass tickling my skin, but there is no time to think about that, I have to turn her onto her back again, remember what I am supposed to do.
I feel for a pulse in her neck, but my hands are numb, with cold or shock, and I don’t know what I am looking for even if I find it. So I lean forward and tilt back her head, and breathe into her mouth, one, two . . .
And at the same time, something else surges up out of the past, I am running, hand in hand with my sister, skimming across the lawn, cold and wet under our bare feet. Because we heard him shouting, from the garden, and I was scared, but Livvy knew what to do. I can always run faster with my sister, like we have wings. Livvy makes everything right . . .
But now she is so still, and I put my two hands in the center of her chest, like I am supposed to, and push down, wait a beat. I do it again. Nothing happens.
I keep going, counting ten, twenty, thirty beats—how can that be right? It seems so many—and start to cry. This can’t happen. It can’t end like this, not for us.
“Come on”—as I push down on her chest—“come on, Livvy.”
And then I stop talking, just pushing down, counting in my head, in the coolness of the night, just keep going. It’s time to breathe again, two strong quick breaths.
I see fat hot tears splashing on Olivia’s face below me, as I push down her chest, counting, then breathing for her again, and still nothing is happening . . .
I am sinking, Daddy let go. He says I have to learn, but I can’t swim, and I can hear Mummy crying, too, when I come up coughing again, but she is still standing there, on the bank far away. And then suddenly I am going up out of the water, lifted high over the lake, Livvy has got me, her pretty dress all wet and sticking to her skin. Don’t cry, she says, you mustn’t panic, just keep going. This is important, Lexy, if you ever get out of your depth. You have to stay calm . . .
I can’t let it end, I can’t let her go, not like this. Just keep going.
Because Livvy always looks after me. “Livvy . . .”
I feel it coming somehow, before her body shakes and convulses, and I help her onto her side as she starts coughing, making horrible racking noises, water coming out of her mouth.
Afterward she is shaking, and I am shaking, too, and I hug her close to keep her warm, until the sirens arrive, drawn by the fire and the alarms, strangers running down to the lake with their hoses.
Then I stand and shout, my voice reedy and high, we are here, we need help.
And through it all, the oxygen masks and the ambulance and the long frightening drive to the hospital, I keep holding her hand.
Because now I remember.
We are going on vacation . . .
I remember what happened that night.
Chapter 69
NICKY
If at first the memories came in flashes—like a camera going off, its bulb exploding light everywhere, illuminating what I had forgotten—soon they unfolded like a film played at high speed.
These days, I think of it like an old-fashioned cinema reel: at the start, just stray images flickering, then short bursts of action, before it all coalesces into something full of noise and color and life.
I was there in the meadow, feeling the heat of sunshine; I was running across the lawn, my feet flying across the crisp cool green; I was in the lake, my nose and mouth filling with coldness.
And then I was at the house, reliving the day that became that night. Even as I worked by the water, crying over my sister’s slack body, my past was hurtling into focus. I didn’t know, and then I did: it was there, fully formed in my mind.
The story I have been trying to tell all this time.
* * *
We are going on vacation.
Daddy says he can’t come, he has work to do, but I cannot be sad, not really. I am so excited, and so are Mummy and Livvy. I am so excited that I was annoying Nanny, who had to close the house up. Away with you.
But as soon as we drive away, the sun shining through the car windows, Mummy and Livvy start arguing. I try not to listen, I am good at that. But it is hard sometimes.
You always think you know best, says Mummy, her voice spiky, and after that Livvy stops talking, she just leans her head against the glass.
It is better when we get off the highway and stop at the service station. I play on the adventure playground for hours. After that, I go to sleep in the car.
When I wake up it is dark and we are moving again.
Are we there yet?
Not yet, says Mummy.
But I keep asking. We have been in the car for so long now . . .
We are going back home, Alexandra, says Livvy.
She must be angry, because she didn’t call me Lexy. I don’t understand why.
So I listen to them talk for a bit. Mummy wants her jewelry, that is the least she should take away from this marriage, she says. She couldn’t pack it before, when he was there.
Livvy thinks we just need to leave.
I don’t know why Livvy has to argue all the time. She thinks I don’t know things, but I know a lot. She is going to have to go away soon, I heard Daddy tell Mummy. That girl is completely out of hand.
It was after she stole the money. She gave it back, so Nanny didn’t get the blame. But she still got in trouble. It wasn’t fair, when she only took it to give to Mummy. I heard them talking.
So I told Daddy that. He said I was a good girl to tell him, and to say no more about it, to anyone.
I get a funny feeling in my tummy when I think about it though, because Olivia is still having to go away to Grandma Vane’s and her new school.
So I don’t think that’s the only reason Daddy is angry with her.
I think it’s after Mr. Gregory came to talk to him. I watched through the banisters to see his police uniform, but he was just in normal clothes, which was a shame.
Nothing official, said Mr. Gregory, but we can’t have a repeat of this behavior, Alex. When your own daughter feels she needs to get me involved . . .
Daddy looked so sorry as they shook hands good-bye. He always knows the right things to say. Everybody loves my daddy. We are a lovely family, everybody says so.
But afterward there was shouting again, then the other sounds. Livvy came in to read me a story, even though I am too big for that now. She always looks after me.
So I think now that I will help her.
I say in a loud voice that Mummy can buy more jewelry when we get to the cottage.
She says, yes, darling, we can do that, too.
I wish Daddy was coming with us, I say, and no one says anything at all.
* * *
The next time I wake up we are home again, but everything is all dark and unfriendly, and it is just me and Livvy inside the quiet car.
She’s getting her stuff, says Livvy. She sounds cross still.
But I forget that, when I see Toby coming round the side of the house, his tail wagging.
Look, Livvy!
I open my door so Toby can say hello properly, pushing his cold wet nose into my hands—
What’s the matter, Livvy?
Because she isn’t pleased to see him. She has gone all white.
Stay here, Lexy.
And Livvy sounds so serious as she gets out that I do what I am told.
She is gone a long time though. Even after I count to one hundred, she still doesn’t come. Toby has wandered away somewhere, and I don’t know what could be hiding in the dark . . .
So I decide.
And when I open the car door again, I can hear shouting, like sometimes happens.
Think I didn’t know . . .
Never going to leave me . . .
You whore . . .
And I am afraid. Because even though I love my daddy, he is different some nights, after his drinks. Never when Nanny is here, or other grown-ups. And he is so good to Mummy the next day. So I know it’s not my nice daddy leaving those blue marks. It’s someone else.
> But then everything goes quiet and somehow that is worse.
The front door is a little bit open, so I can go right inside.
Livvy?
I don’t say it loud. The hall is full of shadows.
When I take another step in, I see the door is open to the sitting room, and—
Livvy! I run in to her.
But she just stands there, her eyes all big and wide.
Then I see it. The shape on the floor—
Mummy!
She can’t hear me, she’s not moving.
Don’t look, Lexy. Livvy sounds very stern. She’ll be OK.
And I don’t say anything more, because I can tell Livvy’s listening for something.
Then I hear it. A thud, like something big is being dropped.
My heart is beating very hard.
When the noise comes again I know it is not outside, it’s inside. With us.
We locked him in the cellar, says Livvy. He’s very drunk.
In my head I can see the door in the kitchen wall, the thick painted wood.
Then the banging starts to come faster and faster, like whatever it is won’t stop.
She was all right, says Livvy, we almost got out of the house, but she collapsed. I think she’s . . .
She says words I don’t know. Con Cussed.
Livvy runs over to the desk and looks for something in the drawer.
We need to go now, I say. Livvy! Mummy needs to wake up . . .
But Livvy is not listening, she is whirling around and now she has one foot on the metal sticky-out bit round the fireplace so she can reach up, and pull it down from the wall.
We are not to touch that thing, ever, Nanny says. Daddy keeps it for squirrels.
But Livvy knows how it works. She knows everything. She holds it in her hands, and she is putting the things from the drawer in it.
Come here, Lexy, she says. Stand behind me.
I do what she says. Because Livvy always looks after me.
But I wrap my arms round her, my head pressed in her T-shirt, just to be extra sure, as we listen to the bad man trying to get out of the cellar.
He lost it, Livvy says, he didn’t care how much he hurt her—her voice is small and hard. I don’t know what that man is capable of, I’m not letting him near us.