‘What do you mean Alex’s problems? She’s done nothing wrong. She’s my friend and I am not abandoning her – especially not now.’ Her throat was thick with blocked tears, her words unable to find their way out. Tossing her cutlery down with an angry clang she rose from the table and ran towards her room, but not before turning and shouting, ‘So you can both get stuffed like the dumb pigs you are.’
It was mere seconds later when Andrew knocked on her bedroom door and stepped in. ‘When you are ready you can come back and apologise for talking to us like that.’ He extended one hand, fingers wiggling. ‘Until then, I’ll have your mobile, please.’
Maddi studied his determined expression from under her frown. ‘I’ll come and apologise now. I’m not giving you my mobile.’
He followed her out of her bedroom but before she reached the kitchen she turned and faced him. ‘And I’m not going to abandon my friend.’
Close to finishing her homework, her gut gnawing from hunger at not having finished her dinner, Maddi closed her laptop and was on her way to the kitchen when Alex’s Facetime image appeared on her phone.
‘What’s up?’ she said, immediately noticing Alex’s puffy eyes.
‘Roger Grenfell has been bashed.’ Alex’s face twisted with the effort of holding back tears.
‘What? Who by?’
‘I don’t know. But I’m freaking out in case it was Greg,’ she whispered into the phone, her eyes widening further.
‘Who told you about it?’ Maddi said, recalling the vision of Roger facing them on the pavement opposite their school, rocking on his feet, tall and scary, despite the incongruously lulling monotone of his voice. Then later, his terrified yet still strangely bland expression as he stood and faced Greg’s shouting.
‘Mrs Quarterman, the lady who lives across the road from him, she came into the store this afternoon and said she went out to water her pot plants this morning and saw him lying on his front verandah. She said she called an ambulance because he was covered in blood. I was freaking out, until she said he was not close to death or anything like that.’ Again Alex’s face contorted as she swiped at her eyes with the sleeve of her blue windcheater. ‘What if it was Greg? They’ll put him in jail. Mum and I will be homeless.’
‘Alex, Greg might be a bit psycho now and then but he’s not a basher, is he?’
‘No, of course not,’ Alex said, sniffing and wiping her eyes. She took a deep breath and shook her head. ‘But the world’s gone crazy since I was attacked.’ She disappeared from the screen and reappeared a second later with a tissue, vigorously rubbing her nose.
‘What do you mean?’ Maddi said.
‘For a start, all of a sudden Isaac hates me,’ Alex said. ‘The police have been hassling him about the night I was attacked. It’s like they’re blaming him now.’
‘Why would they be blaming him?’ Maddi said, opening and closing kitchen cupboards, fridge and pantry doors in search of something decent to eat.
‘Because at first his flatmate backed him up by saying he was at home with her that night. Then she changed her mind and told them she’d lied because he asked her to,’ Alex said.
Maddi pulled a plate of cold chicken from the fridge, kicked the door closed. ‘Mm. That’s really weird. Why did he lie in the first place?’
‘I asked him that and he got really shitty with me. Eventually he said something about the medical board finding out and not allowing him to sit his exams.’
‘Is he for real? They wouldn’t do that just because the police were asking questions – would they?’
‘I don’t know. I just know he wants me to put a good word in for him with the police.’
A sudden thought grabbed Maddi’s gut, like a cold hand. ‘Do you think it’s wise to back Isaac up? Like, maybe it was him who attacked you.’
A beat of silence. ‘Of course not. I would know . . . wouldn’t I?’
‘Who knows? You’ve forgotten everything, remember? Maybe you did know who it was and that’s why you’ve blocked it out.’ Maddi dropped down onto a kitchen stool. Watched her friend’s face return to stone. ‘Alex? What’s wrong?’ she said.
‘Oh my God, Maddi.’ Alex looked directly into the screen, her blue eyes widening. ‘I remember something else about that night . . . Oh my God, Isaac was wearing a backpack when we left the store. He’s never worn a backpack before.’
‘And that’s important because . . . ?’ Maddi said, tearing pieces off the chicken.
‘Because Isaac could easily have changed into a dark jacket and balaclava stashed in his backpack once he got out of the car park. Then all he had to do was go through the side streets, cut me off in Davis Avenue before I turned into my street. He could so easily have done that.’
‘But why would he?’ Maddi said.
‘I don’t know. But why would he lie?’ Alex said.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Garry, the local police officer, stood at the door, his lips clenched, his eyes troubled. The way he clasped his cap in front of his body with such formality forced Laura to surrender her last thread of hope that he was paying her a social visit.
Without words she led him to one of the facing settees. Gestured for him to sit.
He shook his head and remained standing. ‘Laura, there’s been an accident.’
She heard and comprehended his words, but she could not acknowledge them. She lowered herself down onto the edge of the settee, stiff and impersonal, her hands folded in her lap.
‘It was Simon,’ he said, running his fingers around the rim of his cap.
She nodded, feeling nothing.
‘He was running up Sampson Hill. A motorist hit him. It’s bad, Laura.’
In that instant Laura felt as though every ounce of fluid drained from her body. Suddenly cold, she wanted to collapse in the middle, to fold up and block out the entire world. But she simply stared at him as though waiting for the ending to this bizarre story, the punch line where they could all relax and laugh at the joke. ‘Where is he?’ she eventually said.
‘They’ve taken him to the Bedford Hospital.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘He should be arriving any minute now.’
Relief flooded. Garry had not uttered the word ‘morgue,’ ‘Yes. Of course,’ she said, her mind churning like sludge with the practicalities of what she should take to him, who she needed to contact.
‘Laura,’ Garry said softly, his hand on her arm as she passed him on her way to her bedroom. She could not recall what she was wearing but she knew she needed to change. ‘It’s an hour’s trip. Let me drive you.’
She shook her head. ‘I can drive myself. I’m fine.’ She hesitated. ‘But could you wait and show me where it happened?’ So many times she had heard these sentiments expressed by the people she worked with daily – the victims of crime. Suddenly her understanding seemed profound. Suddenly she had glaring new insights into their pain, their pressing need to look, to imagine, to focus on ‘what ifs’.
‘Yes. Of course,’ Garry said. ‘But the accident investigation team may still be there. Are you quite prepared for that?’
She gave him a cursory nod. I’m a copper, Garry. Of course I’m prepared for it. ‘Yes,’ she said, finally making her way to the bedroom.
Sampson Hill was the main access into Ackland Bay – a steep, narrow, exceptionally winding route snaking through farmlands under the half moon. But Laura could not look too far into the distance, concentrating instead on Garry’s tail-lights. Small twigs and leaves blew across the asphalt from the stringybarks lining the road. She slowed behind Garry at the temporary 25 kph sign. Orange traffic cones glowed from the glare of spotlights, and an officer in a high-vis jacket directed them to move across to the wrong side of the road. They drove for several metres, slowing to caterpillar pace past the accident investigation van, spotlights blazing from its roof, a huddle of officers at its rear.
Garry pulled over on the shoulder, allowing space for Laura to park behi
nd. He jumped from the patrol vehicle and ran towards her, hands waving for her to lower the car window before she had barely turned off the ignition.
‘I’ll explain to them who you are,’ he said, bending and speaking through the window. ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’
Laura closed the window to stop the chill invading the car and allowed her mind to wander as she watched the lights on Garry’s stationary vehicle ahead, silently tossing scarlet and blue across the dark landscape. She wondered whether she should ring Tara, despite the hour. Whether, making that dreaded phone call now, or leaving it until a more civilised, less intrusive hour, would reap the chagrin of her daughter either way.
Garry’s thump on the roof of her car startled her. Her door suddenly opened. ‘All set. Let’s go,’ he said bending in to speak, his tone subdued.
Laura followed him along the narrow shoulder of the road, dolomite crunching under their feet, the breeze colder and stronger now, prompting her to zip up her jacket. The officers ahead were no longer a huddle but a scattered group of individuals, silently wearing their onerous responsibilities on their faces, measuring, photographing and marking with spray cans under the well of light their lamps had created. She knew then that she had been right – the accident was considered serious, possibly fatal.
When they reached the spot where Simon had been hit, Garry stopped and allowed Laura to edge past. ‘What happened?’ she said, trying not to stare at Simon’s running shoe lying abandoned on the asphalt. Resisting the urge to bend and pick it up. To take it home where it belonged. Clearing her throat she shifted her vision to the bush at her side, once obviously thriving and lush to the point of encroaching on the asphalt, now a crushed tangle.
‘He was running on this side of the road, facing oncoming traffic,’ he said solemnly. ‘She – the motorist hit him here as he swerved onto the road. She was taking the bend at that exact same moment.’ He glanced at Laura and continued. ‘He was thrown to the other side of the road,’ he said, pointing to an officer collecting swabs, syringes and saline bottles left by the paramedics. ‘She only clipped him rather than hitting him head on, otherwise . . .’ He glimpsed at Laura. ‘Anyway, none of us can work out why Simon didn’t hear her coming, but according to her, he was looking down when they . . . um, collided. She said he seemed to be in a bit of a dream.’
Shielding her eyes from the spotlights’ glare Laura studied the spot where Simon had landed, forcing herself to imagine him prostrate, immobile, unconscious and bloody, receiving the ministrations from two, maybe three paramedics on the side of the road, the offending motorist sobbing as she recounted to police what had happened.
Garry sighed. ‘She wasn’t speeding, Laura, but the impact still threw him a fair distance. It’s real lucky there wasn’t any oncoming traffic.’
‘Thanks, Garry,’ she murmured, turning back towards her car. ‘I’ll get moving.’ Suddenly she felt saturated with visuals and information.
‘Are you sure you’re OK to drive?’ he said, placing a gentle hand on her arm.
‘Yes. I’m fine. I’ll see you soon,’ she said, knowing that if she hadn’t been a member of the force he would never have allowed her to leave alone.
Bedford Hospital was only a thirty-minute drive north, yet the road there seemed endless. Later she would look back and distinctly remember drawing up at so many traffic lights, vaguely remember watching the driver in a car alongside thumping on his steering wheel to the rhythm of heavy metal rock that grated on her nerves and stole her silence.
Laura had visited Bedford Hospital countless times for work, and once as a day patient for a routine medical procedure. All those times had made sense to her. But this time she felt shrouded and numb. Side-stepping hoards of muffled, buzzing people, dodging obstacles –prams, wheelchairs, elderly people on walking frames – she found herself standing in a huddle in front of a grey elevator, eventually shuffling into the claustrophobic space. She glanced at their bland faces as they stared straight ahead and wondered how they managed to appear as though life was normal.
She was directed to a narrow corridor outside double doors she assumed led to theatres when Simon’s attending doctor met her, a theatre mask draped below his chin to reveal a wide genuine smile under blue eyes softened by concern. ‘Hello, Laura. I’m Bryce Cowlett. We’re about to take Simon into theatre,’ he said. ‘But first I’ll explain what’s happening.’ He gestured for her to sit on a bench against the wall as he sat and turned to face her. ‘Simon has sustained severe head trauma. We’re going to try to relieve the pressure on his brain by making an incision in his skull.’
‘You mean drilling a hole in his head, don’t you?’ she said in a voice she did not recognise as her own.
He took a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry if it sounds harsh but it’s a life-saving necessity and he won’t feel a thing. He’ll be in an induced coma for a while so we won’t know the outcome of his injuries for several days. His right femur is broken, as well as his collarbone and several ribs.’ He paused to study Laura’s expression. ‘He’s likely to be in theatre for several hours. You’re welcome to wait in the visitors’ lounge on the next floor, but you may be more comfortable at home.’
Laura shook her head. ‘No. I’ve driven for an hour to get here. I’ll stay.’
‘Sure.’ He rose promptly from his seat. ‘We’ll let you know the moment he’s out of theatre. You can see him then.’
The visitors’ lounge was a modest area with floral upholstered armchairs and magazines piled on coffee tables in each corner. The moment she stepped into the room, the hyperactive twang of a telemarketer’s voice coming from the TV sent Laura’s already jangled senses into overdrive. Searching for the remote she pointed it at the wall-mounted screen to create a much-needed shroud of silence.
Laura left her handbag and the overnight bag she had packed for Simon secreted under one of the coffee tables and wandered along the corridor to a windowless space signed ‘Visitors’ Kitchen’. Ignoring smells of stale food and sour milk, she made a mug of double-shot instant coffee and grabbed up a few cellophane packages of biscuits. Back in the lounge she reclined in a chair and stared mindlessly at a Monet print on the wall, sipping her coffee, nibbling at the biscuits and wondering again who she should call. There was still not yet sufficient daylight to justify throwing Tara and Seth’s lives into turmoil. But there was someone else she knew she should ring. She dialled his number.
‘Tom Baker,’ he answered, heavy with sleep.
‘Tom, it’s Laura Nesci. I’m sorry to disturb you. I thought you’d have your phone off and intended leaving a message.’
‘Is everything OK, Laura?’ he said, suddenly alert.
‘No, not really. I’m at Bedford Hospital. Simon’s been hit by a car. He’s badly injured. I wanted to let you know I won’t be at work tomorrow – I mean today.’
‘What happened?’ he said. For some inexplicable reason Tom’s empathetic response made Laura feel pleased he was the one she had contacted before all others. And that puzzled her.
‘You take as much time off as you need. And look after yourself, you hear?’
Laura now felt ready to tell Tara. She messaged her daughter with a deep sigh: Ring me when you’re awake xxx
Curled up on the settee with a blanket and pillow provided by a sympathetic nurse, Laura woke to sounds of escalated activity.
‘Mum, what’s up?’ Tara sounded bothered.
Laura bit her lip. Tried to swallow her tears. ‘Simon’s been hit by a car. He’s badly hurt. I’m at Bedford Hospital.’
A beat of silence. Tara’s hushed voice. ‘How . . . how is he?’
‘I don’t know. He went into surgery hours ago. I thought he’d be out by now. I haven’t heard anything from the doctors since.’
‘What sort of surgery?’ Tara whispered and Laura wondered if Seth was still asleep.
‘They were drilling a hole in his skull to relieve the pressure on his brain. He has a
badly broken leg and collarbone and several broken ribs.’
‘Oh God, Mum! Have you seen him?’
‘No,’ Laura said, suddenly afraid.
‘I’m going to get a friend to look after Seth. I’ll phone my boss. I’ll be there as soon as I can.’
‘But Tara, your work . . .’
‘Mum, this is far more important than work. Keep your mobile close by. I’ll be there soon.’
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Maddi knew she was being dramatic but she didn’t care. This situation demanded drama. She glanced at her friend’s passive expression. ‘Seriously, Alex, I did not sleep one wink last night and I blame you for that, after you told me about Isaac and his backpack. You have to tell Laura,’ she added with a flourish of one hand, her eyes wide as she turned and faced her friend.
‘I will tell her,’ Alex said. ‘Next time I see her.’
‘When will that be?’
‘When it happens.’ She pulled her arm free from Maddi’s grasp.
‘Promise me,’ Maddi said as they approached their classroom. ‘Laura seriously needs to know about the backpack.’
‘How do you think I feel, Maddi? I’m supposed to work with the guy again tonight. I won’t be able to look him in the eye after all the trouble I’ve caused him.’
‘Just tell Laura. That’s the best thing to do, believe me,’ Maddi said, frustrated by her friend’s inability to grasp the obvious. The sound of footsteps approaching too close, too quickly, caused Maddi to turn towards Fullavit’s looming presence. The roll of her eyes was spontaneous as she wondered how he managed to be in the same spot as them so often.
‘Good morning, girls,’ he said directly to Alex.
‘Hi,’ she said with a half-smile.
‘How was your hot chocolate yesterday?’ Fullavit said smirking, falling into step beside them. ‘I’d love someone to take me out for hot chocolate,’ he added, his smirk morphing into a smile.
Maddi had no idea what he was talking about, and did not care until Alex said, ‘Well, you could always ask Ms Hosking to pay next time you go out together.’
Things We Cannot See Page 14