Zero Option gs-2

by Chris Ryan

  The doctor was right. This wasn't something that I could handle. At least Tracy's fingers were clutching mine. Perhaps some contact was getting through.

  Presently her shakes subsided completely. I stroked her gaunt cheek with the back of my hand and whispered, 'Stop worrying, Trace. You're safe now. It's all over.'

  At last she turned to look at me properly and said, 'Where were you, Geordie? Why did you take so long to come?'

  'Sweetheart, I was trying. I was nearly killing myself trying to find you. You can't imagine what's been happening. As soon as you've had a rest, I'll tell you.'

  She kept on looking at me, and in her eyes I caught a glimpse of the person I loved.

  'Listen,' I said. 'Are you all right? I mean, did they… they didn't… molest you?'

  She shook her head slowly.

  'Is the baby OK?'

  For a terrible moment she stared at me silently, her eyes like stones. Then, very low, she muttered, 'No. I lost it.'

  'Oh Jesus!' I grabbed her hand, but not quickly enough. Again she was off into those dreadful animal roars, doubling her knees up to her chest and writhing all over the bed. To stop her falling off and hurting herself I got her by the shoulders and held her down until the shudders died away and she fell back exhausted, the tears pouring down her cheeks.

  When I leant forward and kissed her on the temple, she gave a wan smile and said, 'You need a shave.'

  Somebody knocked on the door. The fair-haired nurse came in carrying a plastic beaker in one hand, a shallow dish in the other.

  'Take these, dear,' she said. 'They'll make you feel better.'

  Tracy looked at me in a questioning way, so I nodded, and watched her swallow the two white tablets. Then I said, 'Back in a minute,' and followed the nurse into the corridor. I was meaning to ask the matron how long Tracy would have to stay in when I saw another nurse coming towards me, holding the hand of a small, fair-haired boy.

  'Tim!' I let his name out louder than I had meant to, and my voice echoed down the passage. As the pair approached I rushed forward, bent down and scooped him up in my arms. But at the very moment I touched him, I felt his body go rigid inside the grey track suit, and when I went to kiss him on the cheek he twisted his head away.

  Then he said, loud and clear, in a passable Belfast accent, 'Yer fucking wee murderer, yer.'

  The nurse took a step backwards. Her mouth fell open, and her face coloured to the roots of her hair. As for me, I was so amazed I didn't know what to feel. I didn't know whether to laugh, cry, curse, smack Tim or what. All'I could do was hold him tight and take a deep breath.

  'It's those filthy people who've been keeping him,' I said, by way of excuse and explanation. 'They've had a month to brainwash him.'

  'That's right,' the nurse replied, recovering her composure. 'It'll wear offsoon enough.'

  'What about his eye?' Even with Tim's head twisted away I could see that his right eye was swollen and discoloured.

  'It'll go down in a day or two,' the nurse replied. 'It seems he got a belt from the woman in charge of him.

  But Dr

  Best has had a look at it and apparently there's no damage to the eye itself.'

  'Hear that, Tim?' I hefted him up and down. 'You're all right. Come on, now. You've got to help me look after Tracy.'

  Still he wouldn't face me, and in desperation I suddenly remembered Billy, his teddy bear. 'Tell you what,' I said. 'We've got to go and find Billy. He's at home, and he's really been missing you.'

  Even that produced no reaction. I turned back to the nurse and said, 'Thanks. I'll take him now,' and I carried him back into Tracy's room, stiffas a board. When I put him down on the floor, he stood like a zombie, not moving.

  At least Tracy seemed more relaxed. The sedative was taking immediate effect, and some of the strain had gone out of her face. But as I thumped down on the bedside chair I reflected bitterly on how different this was from the homecoming I'd imagined. Over the past four weeks, whenever I had allowed my hopes to rise a degree or two, I'd seen us all back at the cottage, in high summer, out in the garden, a happy family, doing our own things.

  Now, in this bleak hospital room, I felt incredibly exhausted. I looked at the frozen boy and the horizontal woman, and thought, 'It isn't one life that I've got to rebuild. It's three.'

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