The Protected

by Claire Zorn

  There is nothing to say. I hold the glass in my hand and let the water warm.

  ‘People, they say to me, “How can you believe in a God who would let this happen?” But, Hannah, this is why I believe in God. Because otherwise, what is there? Only death and pain. And it is meaningless. I cannot accept this. I cannot accept that my sister is no different to a bug squashed under a shoe. There will be justice. But it will not be on this earth. I was very, very angry for a long time, Hannah. Even after we had settled here and I had my own family. But the anger it would have killed me, too, if I had not learned … If I had not learned to live despite what happened to my sister.’

  I swallow and look at the glass in my hands.

  ‘You need your mother.’

  ‘It’s not her fault,’ I whisper.

  ***

  The night after I refused to go to school I lay in bed listening to my parents talking.

  ‘I can’t help her if she won’t talk to me,’ Mum said.

  ‘Obviously it’s not easy for her to talk about.’

  ‘I get that. I’m not stupid, Andrew.’

  ‘I’m not saying you are, I’m just saying we have to be gentle with her. She’s just that kind of kid.’

  ‘I know my daughter.’

  ‘Hey, why are you getting defensive?’

  ‘I’m just worried about her. This isn’t a solution to whatever’s going on. Not talking about it and barricading herself in her room isn’t a solution.’

  ‘She’s being bullied.’

  ‘Who would bully her? Why?’

  ‘I don’t know, but I’m certain that’s what’s going on.’

  ‘She can’t stay home tomorrow. The longer she stays home the harder it’ll get. I’ll call her homeroom teacher again tomorrow.’

  When I woke up in the morning my mother had taken my uniform from my wardrobe and laid it on the end of my bed: short-sleeved shirt, tartan skirt, bottle-green socks.

  ‘Come on, Hannah,’ she said. ‘You can do this.’

  She had turned on my light, opened the curtains so sunshine flooded into my bedroom. I burrowed further down under the covers. She peeled them back.

  ‘I’m going to call the school and have a chat with Mr Black. But you need to get up. Come on, I’ll get your breakfast.’

  She left the room and I pulled the covers back up over my head, curled into a ball. Five minutes later she returned.

  ‘Hannah! Come on, sweetheart. You’re going to miss the bus. Honey, you can’t stay home, whatever it is, hiding in bed isn’t going to help. Come on.’

  ‘Hannah!’ Katie yelled from the hall. ‘We’re late. Hurry the puck up.’

  My mother sighed. ‘Yes, thank you, Katherine.’ She sat on the edge of the bed. ‘We’re going to sort this out, okay?’ She patted my leg. ‘You can do this. You’re not alone. Whatever it is, we’ll sort it. But you have to get back on the horse.’

  I lay there, tears running down my nose. I wanted to get on the horse and gallop away. I didn’t move. I thought she would give up but she didn’t, she stayed there, sitting at my feet on the bed.

  ‘Hannah, I know this is hard. I do,’ she said.

  She didn’t know. She had no idea.

  Dad looked in the doorway. ‘Paula, I’ll take her. I’ll drive her.’

  ‘Don’t you have a meeting this morning?’

  ‘Yeah. I’ll drop her off on the way. She’s not up to catching the bus. But we have to leave soon, Span.’

  I didn’t move. Dad came and knelt next to the bed.

  ‘I’ll drive you.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Look, I’ll drive you and have a word to your teacher. Span, please. Will you let us try to help you?’

  I looked at his face, so full of worry. I needed to trust that he could help, that he could fix it.

  ‘I want to change schools,’ I whispered.

  ‘You can, if that’s what you need to do. You can. But meet me halfway here, come to school, I’ll talk to Mr, Mr––’

  ‘Black.’

  ‘Mr Black. But Spannie, we’ve got to go.’

  There wasn’t really time for breakfast, but my mother poured soy milk over a bowl of home-made muesli and gave it to me anyway. I tried to eat it while she shoved things into my schoolbag: lunchbox, Science textbook, wallet, keys, mobile. My father darted from his study out into the kitchen, laptop under one arm, manila folders under the other. He dumped them on the table and patted his pockets. ‘Where’s my bloody phone?’ he asked no one in particular. Then he was gone again, back to the study. Katie appeared, earphones in, eyeliner smudged artfully. Dad returned, phone pressed to his ear. The three of us trooped out the door.

  Katie slid into the front seat and switched the radio from AM to FM. I sat in the back behind Dad. He made another phone call, ‘Yeah, mate, I’m going to be late. I know, I know, nothing I can do. Got to drop my kids at school. Start the meeting without me, yeah? I’ve got the Zurich stuff, just set up the projector. Stall them. Do what you can.’ He put the car into reverse and shot out of the driveway. He caught my eye in the rear-view mirror. ‘It’s going to be okay. We’ll sort it. Katie, for Christ’s sake, turn it down.’

  ‘Hey, if I’m going to get detention for being late, I’m gonna make it worthwhile.’

  Dad flung the car around corners, barely pausing at stop signs. He turned onto the highway and accelerated up the hill. The intersection of Johnson Street was at the top of the hill, at the crest. He moved into the lane to turn right. The lights turned orange. His phone rang and he reached for it at the same time as he accelerated across the intersection. I don’t know if he saw the truck come over the crest. If he did he must have thought it would stop but it didn’t.

  The sound of the truck’s brakes. A shriek. Then a sound like an explosion on Katie’s side and we are sailing, sailing sideways. Time slows and I can see everything, every detail. Grains of twinkling glass rain like confetti. The car slides, pushed along by the front of the semi-trailer, then it comes to a halt. Silence.

  Nothing in the front of the car was where it was supposed to be. I thought at first that Katie’s seat had somehow moved forwards into the dashboard but I realised the opposite had happened. It was like the front corner of the car had contracted in on itself. There was no room for Katie anymore. I didn’t understand how she could still be there. Her face was turned towards me and her eyes were open. She looked frightened but she didn’t speak. There was blood on her forehead and cheek. It clogged brightly in her dark hair. I looked over to my father. His head was tilted back against the headrest. His eyes were closed. I started to cry and scream. I was sure he was dead. I reached forwards and gripped his shoulder. Then I saw that his chest was rising and falling.

  ‘He’s okay, Katie,’ I said. But her eyes were closed. I said her name again and her eyelids quivered, opened. She blinked. There was a shallow, rasping sound in her throat. She was trying to breathe.

  Someone was shouting at me. A woman.

  ‘Are you okay? Are you okay? Oh shit. Shit!’ She stood there arms moving but not really going anywhere. A man appeared. He pushed the woman to the side. She stood with her hands over her mouth, crying. The man went to Katie’s door and tried to open it but it wouldn’t work. He ran around to my side and wrenched my door open. He leaned through and looked over me. ‘You’re all right,’ he said forcefully. ‘You’re all right! Okay? Ambulance is coming. Can you keep talking to her?’

  I nodded. He pulled open my dad’s door.

  ‘Stay awake, Katie, stay awake,’ I said. Her eyes were still open and she was watching me, shocked. I talked to her while the man checked over my dad.

  ‘Can you hear me, mate? Can you hear me?’ he shouted. He looked back to me. ‘He’s breathing well. Pulse is good. Okay? Keep talking to her.’

  I did. Her eyelids drooped, like she was dozing, but I knew she
could hear me.

  There were sirens, building and building as they got closer. An ambulance and firetruck arrived with a piercing wail and I remember wishing that they would cut it out. It was too much. Then the paramedics; one on Dad, one on Katie.

  ‘What’s her name?’ he asked.

  ‘Katie. Her name’s Katie.’

  He put an oxygen mask over her face, talking to her calmly while he adjusted it. More sirens. Two more paramedics ran to the car: a man and a woman. There was a fireman with a huge pincer-like thing. They started to cut the door off. The paramedics were yelling about how they couldn’t stabilise her. A paramedic left Dad and came to me. He put a neck brace on me and then an oxygen mask. He showed me a weird-looking thing like a padded back brace with straps all over it. As he slid it slowly behind me he explained that he would do up the straps around my chest and my head and it would keep me safe while they got me out of the car. All I could think of was how it was a bit late for that. Then he and the female paramedic began to lift me out and I wanted them to stop, to leave me because as they took me out I couldn’t see her anymore.

  ***

  Twenty-two

  Monday. Anne sits opposite me, her elbow rests on the arm of the chair, propping up her chin. Long, dangling strands of purple stones hang from her earlobes, swinging when she moves.

  ‘Your mum rang me this morning. Do you know why?’

  I don’t. She has never rung Anne before. Since the accident it’s always Dad who calls the school if something’s wrong.

  ‘She said that you had a fight. She was worried about you. She said she thinks you might be starting to remember what happened.’

  My head feels like one of those cannonballs you see in cartoons: heavy and thudding, with a wick alight, set to blow. I imagine exploding right there in Anne’s office, blowing apart into little fluttering pieces. Settling like dust on the carpet.

  ‘Are you starting to remember, Hannah?’

  ‘It wasn’t his fault.’

  Anne leans forwards a little. I keep my eyes on my lap, where my hands are clasped, fingers laced so tightly I don’t know if I will ever be able to prise them apart.

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘It wasn’t his fault,’ I repeat, a little louder.

  Out the window, in the sky, a flock of birds twists and turns against the blue. They dive, climb, change shape together. So many tiny birds come together to form one large one. I wonder how they can keep their eyes open with the air rushing past them so fast. I wonder if it stings.

  ‘Okay. Do you think it was someone’s fault?’

  The birds switch direction, the head becomes the tail.

  ‘Not his.’ My voice is a whisper and I’m not even sure if I’ve spoken at all. ‘He was trying to help me.’

  I can’t see the birds anymore. They are blurry and distorted, like I’m looking up at them from the bottom of a deep pool. I feel the first tear slide.

  ‘Hannah. It wasn’t your fault. You know that, don’t you?’

  ‘It was. I was a coward.’

  ‘You were not a coward, Hannah.’

  ‘I was the reason we were in the car. I was the one who was late because I didn’t want to go to school. I was a fucking coward. I let them treat me like that. I was the reason that we were in the car. And you know what’s worse, she died and it all stopped. They – everyone here – they stopped everything.’

  Anne doesn’t flinch, doesn’t recoil or look at me in horror. Instead she hands me a tissue.

  ‘The people who tormented you for so long suddenly grew a conscience. You didn’t make anything happen. You didn’t wish for this to happen.’

  There is snot and tears and my head thuds.

  ‘If I was stronger, Katie wouldn’t be dead. It’s that simple.’

  I wipe and wipe at my cheeks with shaking hands. My whole body feels tired, hollowed out. There is no energy left to try to stop the tears.

  ‘I don’t think it is that simple. But, if you remember now what happened, you don’t have to be assessed by a psychiatrist. You do have to stand and testify at the trial. They will ask you questions and you will have to tell them what you remember because you’ll be under oath.’

  I nod.

  ‘Okay. Look, I don’t think you should be here today. I think you should go home. I’m going to call your mum. In the meantime, you can wait here. Is there anyone who you want to come sit with you? A friend?’

  Josh enters Anne’s office, hands in his pockets, shirt untucked. He looks around, eyebrows raised.

  ‘Jeez, they give you the presidential suite, Jane? You know what this place needs? A plasma. Yeah, I can really see a plasma there under the window.’

  Anne has given us both a glass of water and gone into her adjoining study. Josh sips his water, smacks his lips.

  ‘You know, I appreciate this, Jane, I really do. Shoulda seen Rourke, I swear she was about to throw me through the window – then I got called out of class.’ He dips his head a little, looks at me intently. ‘You all right?’

  I shrug.

  He sighs. ‘And I thought I was effed up.’

  ‘You are.’

  He smiles, gives my arm a little shove.

  Then he takes my hand and squeezes it.

  Josh carries my bag and we make our way across the school grounds towards the front gates. Everyone else is in class, learning about ancient Rome, or The Great Gatsby, or the life cycle of plant cells. My hands are still shaking.

  ‘Don’t get any ideas about this, yeah?’ he says. ‘I’m not going to be carrying your stuff everywhere from now on.’

  ‘Least you can do. I got you out of class.’

  ‘Yeah, well. At least you haven’t gone off at me for being a chauvinist. Had this girlfriend once who almost punched my head in because I opened a door for her. Swore I’d never be polite to a female again. By the way, you eaten anything? Like, this year? Looks like you’re about to disintegrate. It’s the only reason I’m brave enough to carry your bag.’

  ‘Not really. It’s not my strong point at the moment.’

  We get to the front gates and he unzips his bag, and hands me a packet of corn chips. I try to eat one but it feels like cardboard in my mouth. Josh watches me and there’s a quietness in his eyes, not pity, something else.

  ‘You gonna be okay, Jane Eyre?’

  I swallow, try to nod convincingly.

  ‘’Cause I wasn’t actually drunk. I meant what I said. I like having you around.’

  I feel I could cry again.

  ‘I’m a good listener, you know,’ he says softly. ‘Despite what they say round here.’

  My mum’s car turns into the drive. She pulls up in front of us and gets out. She has brushed her hair and pulled it back. She is wearing lipstick. I see the moment she notices Josh and does a double take. He doesn’t hesitate, walks over to her and offers his hand.

  ‘Hi Mrs McCann. I’m Josh, friend of Hannah’s.’

  ‘Oh. Hello.’ She shakes his hand, gives me a sideways look. Josh hands her my schoolbag.

  ‘Better get back to class, hate to miss anything, you know.’

  ‘Sure,’ my mother says. ‘Thank you, Josh.’

  ‘Pleasure, ma’am. See you, Hannah.’

  I smile, overly aware of my mother next to me trying to work out who this guy is who shakes hands and calls women ‘ma’am’.

  Mum drives slowly out of the school. She keeps looking over at me.

  ‘You tell me when you’re ready to make a statement. I’ll take you. Okay?’

  I nod.

  She reaches over and brushes her fingers against my cheek. It’s the first sign of affection she’s shown me in I don’t know how long. She wipes her face and I can see that she is crying.

  ***

  Nanna and Grandad were there, next to my bed in
the hospital. They were on one side and my mother was on the other. When I opened my eyes she was holding my hand, her head next to mine on the pillow, her eyes closed. When I woke up she sat up and put her hands on either side of my face. She started to cry. Nanna explained that they had sedated me to reset my ankle and to calm me down because I was hysterical in the ambulance. I remember that there in the hospital was the only time I had ever seen Nanna without make-up and it seemed like such a strange thing to notice. I was in a room by myself and I thought that was odd. I felt there was a reason for it.

  ‘Is Dad dead?’ I whispered.

  ‘He’s going to be okay. He’s in surgery,’ Nanna said.

  ‘Where’s Katie?’ I looked at my mother. Nanna patted my arm. ‘You should try to get more rest.’

  ‘Where’s Katie? Mum?’

  Mum couldn’t speak. Grandad stepped forwards and took my hand in his. I had never seen him cry before.

  ‘Hannah, Katie died,’ he said softly.

  ‘But I was talking to her, she could hear me. No. She’s not. Where is she?’

  ‘Love, she died when they were trying to get her out of the car.’

  I stayed curled up on the bed, drifting in and out of sleep. Every time I woke I would think it was all a dream before the reality of the hospital room would chip its way in. Two police came in to speak with me, both women. Nanna and Grandad had left by then, but Mum remained, holding my hand.

  ‘Hannah, we know it’s hard. But we need you to tell us what happened.’