Rockoholic

by Skuse, C. J.

  Mac flaps a fly away from his face. “I know. He’s kind of taken over.”

  “He’s asked me to go away with him, when he leaves.”

  Mac says nothing. Eventually he laughs. “How’s that going to work, then?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know. He just asked me.”

  “So you’re going to leave with him? You’ve known the guy two weeks.”

  “I haven’t said I’ll go. It’s a pretty amazing offer, though. Isn’t it?”

  “Yeah. Sure. What have you got to stick around for, after all?” he says, with more than a hint of sarcasm threaded through his voice. “Regulators is your life, that’s what you say, right?” We come across a large clod of dried mud on the path. He kicks it out of the way.

  “It’s not like that. He just asked me. It’s just an option.”

  “You’ll go, I know you will. He’s everything to you.”

  “No he’s not.”

  “He is, you love him to bits. That’s why he’s here, isn’t it? To be your dream man and ruin my life.”

  “What do you mean, ruin your life?”

  “Forget it.”

  “No, what does that mean, Mac? Tell me you want me to stay here with you.”

  I stop walking. Mac carries on for a bit and then stops and turns around, his arms flap once against his sides. “You waited all day to see his concert. You kidnapped him. You were willing to sell your soul to the BFD. I can’t compete, can I?” He turns and keeps walking.

  “Why would you want to compete?” I say, gaining on him, but he doesn’t hear, or if he does, he doesn’t show it. “Say I do go with him. Wouldn’t that be better?”

  “No, it wouldn’t be better.”

  I want him to say something, anything to make me believe what Jackson says is true. I want him to say he loves me so much he couldn’t bear it if I left. So I push the button. “I think I’m going to do it. I think I’m going to leave.”

  “Fine. Do what you want,” he says, walking faster.

  I don’t know what to say. But I don’t have to say anything, because at the next moment the most frightening noise I’ve ever heard is suddenly in my ears.

  And I realize I’ve heard it before. From Jackson. It is Jackson.

  Before I know what’s happening, Mac and I are running, sprinting along the track toward the sound. It comes again, and again, and we pick up speed. I’m trying to understand what he’s yelling, yelling all the time. Scream. Scream. Scream. Scream.

  And then I realize what he’s yelling.

  Cree.

  We sprint toward the top pond and, when we get there, Jackson’s just standing on the edge, combing the water frantically with his eyes.

  “Where is she?” Mac shouts, pelting to the edge of the pond and plunging straight in, a great crash of water behind him. My hand automatically grips the moon rock in my jacket pocket. Cree’s nowhere. I scan the pond. It seems endless and still and dark with green weed. Cree’s pink ball bobs alone on the surface.

  “She ran after the ball!” Jackson shouts at me. “She fell. I couldn’t get there in time — I didn’t see where she went in.”

  At one end, the pond feeds into a small cascade, which sucks the water down into another smaller pool and from then on into the trench that runs right the way along the entire valley.

  What if she’s caught in the weeds? What if she’s caught in the sucking pull of the cascade? It’s a ten-foot drop down into the next pool. That’s if she doesn’t drown before she gets there.

  “She just disappeared. One moment she was in front of me, next she was gone.”

  My heart is a huge hand thrumming its fingers on a tabletop. Mac’s not going to find her. I just know he’s not going to find her. I wait. What was it I learned in first aid? In an emergency, assess the situation. He bobs up and takes a huge breath.

  “Where the hell is she?!” he screams out.

  “She was right here!” Jackson yells back. “Oh God, no.”

  “Why didn’t you jump in, you fucking coward!” He disappears back under the water before Jackson can answer. Not that he was going to answer. He’s scared. He hates water. I know that from when I pushed him off the bridge. I leave my body. I urge myself to wake up. Nothing happens. I wait. And I wait. I grind my fingers against the moon rock and pray for Grandad to guide me, tell me what to do. Mac bobs up and frantically down again but there’s nothing. I kick off my sneakers and lower myself down into the water. I bob up. I wait. I can just about feel the bottom with my feet. It’s gritty and scummy. My soles roll over rough rocks as my open fingers comb the water, desperately looking for clues. I breathe in and just wait. My heart bangs in my throat. The pond’s so murky I can’t even see my own hand. It feels like she’s been gone for an age, but it can’t be more than seconds. There’s still time. There’s still time.

  I could cry and never stop. But I keep looking, just standing there, stupid and helpless, looking, my hands swishing through the water, back and forth, back and forth. I just wait, I don’t know what for. I just know I should stay here, not dive under. Just wait. Wait. Wait. You’ll see her, just wait. Don’t go under. You’ll see her. Just. Wait.

  And then I see it. Fifteen feet away from me in a clump of weeds. A white sandal.

  I dive straight under and swim blindly to where I saw the sandal and I reach out and I grab it — a sandal, a sock, a leg, a body, and then something tears. Pondweed. She’s stuck. I push her body up and feel the weed tear away from it, up, up, up toward the surface of the water. The weed covers my face, it’s over my mouth, it’s in my mouth. I swallow dirt. But she’s out. And I’m out with her. And I hear the beautiful noise of her crying so hard.

  I stride through the weed and water toward the bank. I reach for dry land and claw my way up the mud with one arm wrapped around Cree. I drag us up out of the water, my heart beating so fast, my lungs pumping so hard, and I slump down onto the bank. I put my hands on Cree’s back and feel her ribs, her lungs working hard underneath. Her strong coughs ripping through her body. I sit up, I rock her, counting down the seconds. She coughs harder and throws up a bit. I sit her upright and rub her back. She cries my name. She says it perfectly, in between sobs and coughs.

  “Dody.”

  I scrape the weed away from her face as I hold her to me like the baby I always forget she is. I hold her close — I could hold twenty of her, she is so tiny. She coughs so hard her little white face bursts into purple.

  “It’s OK, it’s OK, you’re all right,” I say to her, wiping her face and cuddling her tightly. “Cree, you’re OK. Jody’s here.”

  “My . . . want . . . my . . . daddy.” She cuddles into me and she’s shaking so hard her hand keeps slipping on my rubbery arm. I look out to the pond. There’s no sign of Mac. He’ll kill himself trying to find her, I know he will. He’s always getting the third degree from his parents whenever Cree comes out with us. Make sure he changes her diaper every hour. Keep hold of her hand. Don’t let her wander off with any strange men.

  Twenty seconds. Thirty. Forty. He’s not coming up. He’s not coming up. Come up. Oh God, come up, come up, come up. Please.

  Jackson calls something and runs over to where I’m sitting with Cree on the bank. I’m still looking for Mac.

  “Oh my God, where is he?” I start to cry. Cree’s still howling and coughing in my arms, gripping on to me.

  “Where is he?!” I shout at Jackson. He just stares at me.

  And then Mac bobs up near the swan island and, as I close my eyes, my tears fall like never before. He searches around and sees us on the bank. I thank the sky above me. He front-crawls to where we are. Jackson sits down on the grass a few feet or so away. Mac wades out and runs immediately to me. He snatches up Cree and she clings on to him. I’ve never ever seen Mac cry before.

  “Oh my God, oh my God,” he keeps saying, and his hand clings on to her wet blonde ponytail at the back. “It’s OK, Kenzie’s here, Kenzie’s got you.” Cree’s coughing and sobbing on his sh
oulder. The three of us are crying. And then I feel it. I feel the pain more than I’ve ever felt anything before. Another minute and Cree could have died. We could be pumping her lifeless little body on the bank right now. I thought I’d felt terror before. I thought I’d felt the worst I could possibly feel, but that wasn’t this. This is real. It burns like a nightmare.

  Mac looks down at me. I’m shaking so hard and can barely see him through tears.

  “You got her out?” he gasps.

  I nod. I sniff. “I saw her sandal in the middle —”

  He bends down and with Cree in between us he hugs me, grabbing my head with one of his hands. “Jody . . .”

  I don’t think anymore. I lean forward and kiss him hard on the lips. It’s violent and wet-pond watery and at that moment all it means is sheer relief. “She’s OK,” I whisper as our foreheads rest on each other’s. “She’s OK.”

  • • •

  The four of us slop back along the path toward the parking lot. Jackson doesn’t say one word. But Mac says plenty.

  “Stupid, selfish, idiot! Why weren’t you watching her? Why weren’t you holding her hand? Why didn’t you jump in before we got there?”

  Cree starts whimpering on Mac’s shoulder. She’s looking at Jackson. Jackson’s got his head down, his hands wedged into the pockets of his Levi’s. Mac’s Levi’s.

  “You don’t think about anyone but yourself,” he goes on at Jackson. “Why didn’t you go in after her straightaway? Because you care more about your own safety than anyone else’s, that’s why.”

  Jackson yanks on his key string, the first time I’ve seen him do it in days. The sun is going out for the day and the grass in the shadows is cold to the touch. After a while, Cree’s little huffs are the only sounds on the air. Even the birds high up in the treetops seem to have stopped their incessant warbling.

  We make it back to the car in silence. Mac hands Cree to me as he opens the trunk and we stand her up to get her out of her wet things, wrapping her up in the picnic blanket to keep her warm while we get her spare clothes out of her SpongeBob bag. She holds on to me as Mac changes her. She’s all shivery and so small, like a little pink shrimp. She keeps asking for her daddy, sometimes Mummy, but mostly Daddy, and she’s clinging to me hard. I ask her once if she wants a cuddle with Jackson while I go to the toilet before we set off, but she shakes her head defiantly. I don’t want to leave her, anyway.

  We don’t report what’s happened to the staff at Weston Park, but there’s no getting away from telling Tish and Teddy about it. Cree doesn’t want to sit in her car seat so I cradle her in the back. Mac has the heating on full blast to keep her warm all the way down the motorway.

  “You’re going to see Daddy now. We’re going back to your house and you can give him big cuddles.” I kiss her on her head and all at once there are tears on my cheeks.

  “My daddy cuggles,” she repeats.

  “Yeah. Yeah, he will give you cuddles,” I say. I’m holding on to her really tight. Jackson remains absolutely silent, riding shotgun. Mac won’t even look at him.

  We get back to my house and drop Jackson off at our back gate. He holds the door open and leans in. “Mac, I’m sorry,” he says. Mac says nothing. “I screwed up.”

  Mac nods, his jaw clenching, still staring resolutely at the street beyond the windshield as the Saxo’s engine ticks over. “The sooner you leave, the better.”

  Jackson doesn’t even argue, he just nods, closes the car door, and walks back over to the drum room, opens the door, and goes inside.

  I don’t say anything, either. I don’t even look at Mac. He’s waiting for me to get out of the car. “I’ve got to take Cree home and tell Mum and Dad,” he says.

  “You’re not taking the rap for this on your own. I’m coming with you.”

  “Jody, get out,” he snaps.

  “No. I’m not leaving her on her own in the back.” Cree starts whimpering again in my arms and before I know it Mac’s put his foot down on the pedal and we’re speeding up Chesil Lane, on our way to the Pack Horse. The second we park the Saxo, Mac leaps out, leans in the back, and snatches Cree off me, so he’s holding her as we enter through the back of the pub. Teddy’s behind the counter, counting up the lunchtime take. The second Cree spots him she starts full-on crying out for him.

  “What’s happened? Why . . . why’s she . . .” Teddy’s all confused as to why Cree’s hair is damp and why she’s in utter despair for a cuddle and clinging to him with strength he never knew she had. Why Mac and I are wet and muddy and my hair is straggly and dirtier than usual. Teddy’s face grows whiter with shock as we tell him, leaving out all the bits about Jackson. Mac takes the full blame.

  “Me and Jody were talking and . . . throwing the ball to her and she ran after it. We weren’t looking. She fell in the pond.”

  “Bloody hell, Kenz, what were you bloody playing at, not watching her?! God, I think I’m going to be sick,” he says, sitting down on an upturned bottle crate and rubbing Cree’s back. She’s completely calmed down now, her face against his shoulder and sucking her thumb. Now that she’s got her dad, she’s relaxed. All her angst and crying has transferred to him. His face is sheet-white. “I should have been there,” he keeps saying. “Why wasn’t I there?”

  “She’s OK, Dad,” says Mac.

  Teddy’s shaking. He gives Mac a brief glance. “Jesus, she could’ve drowned! My poor little girl. Look at your hair, all dirty.” His whole hand shakes as he strokes over her damp ponytail. He’s deffo on the verge of blubbing.

  Teddy’s right. If he’d been there, it wouldn’t have happened. She wouldn’t have got near that pond, let alone gone in. I bite my nails again, only there’s nothing there to bite anymore. All my nails are in fragments on the backseat of Mac’s car.

  There’s footsteps along the corridor and Tish appears through the beaded curtain at the back of the bar. “I thought I heard voices, d’you have a nice . . .” she starts to say and then sees us, sees Cree, sees Teddy’s ashen face, and immediately the panic sets in and she takes Cree’s dazed face in her hands. “Oh my God, what’s happened?”

  Mac and I tell her, almost word for word, what we’ve just told Teddy, again leaving out the missing-rock-star-that-came-with-us bits. It’s even harder telling her because she does cry. They both start shouting at us then, at which point Cree starts crying as well. It’s a total nightmare of crying and accusing and shouting, and most of the shouting and accusing is directed straight at Mac.

  “Don’t take it out on him,” I interrupt. “I was there, too. It’s my fault as well.”

  “Leave it, Jody,” says Mac.

  “I tell you time and time again you’ve got to watch her cos she wanders, but do you listen?” Teddy cries. “She could have died because of you!”

  At this point, Mac marches straight through the bar and upstairs. I hear a door slam in the distance. Moments later there are thumping footsteps down the stairs and the kitchen door opens and slams. He’s gone to his dress rehearsal about an hour early. I’m not aware of my heart beating a path out of my throat anymore, or my lungs ballooning in and out. I’m completely numb. I just feel dirty, like I want an endless hot shower. I think it must be shock, if not from what happened at Weston Park, then because of what they’ve just said to Mac.

  I have to say something. “It’s not fair, telling him she could have died. She’s OK. It was an accident.”

  “Go home, Jody,” says Tish, all quivery voice. “It’s all right, we’re not angry with you.”

  “We bloody are!” says Teddy. “The pair of ’em should’ve been watching her better.” Tish rubs her temples. Her hands are shaking.

  I turn to go, but I turn back. I don’t know what I’m going to say until I hear it coming out of my mouth. “When was the last time you took Cree out anywhere? For the day? We take her out all the time, me and Mac. All she wants is you two, but you’re always busy. You palm her off on Mac all the time. . . .”

  “I beg your
pardon,” says Teddy. “Don’t talk to my wife like that.”

  “Your wife? Not your barmaid, then? Just cos Cree’s not old enough to stock bottles or clear glasses she’s probably not on your radar really, is she?” I can’t help myself. I can’t stop it coming.

  “How dare you!” says Teddy. “Running a pub is a 24/7 job.”

  “So is having kids! You can’t just have them and then let them get on with it. It’s the same at the day care. Kids cry all day for their parents, but they’re too worried about paying for the mortgage or remodeling the kitchen to be that bothered. You don’t realize how much she needs you. All she ever wants is her daddy and you’re never ever there!”

  “How dare you!” Tish shouts. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Yes, I do,” I say. There’s no stopping me now. “Mac told me you were the same with him as a kid, too. Always making excuses. Can’t go and see him in his Nativity play, got to be back for opening up. Can’t go and see him sing at the school concert, who’ll run the pub? You missed out on Mac’s whole childhood. And you’re missing out on Cree’s, too!”

  “Get out, Jody. Go on, go home, you’ve crossed the line,” cries Tish. Teddy’s rocking Cree and just looks shell-shocked. And then Tish and Teddy start riffing between themselves.

  “This is just like last time,” Tish says, sobbing. “We weren’t there then, either.”

  Cree escaped from Bumblebees one day (one of the few days when I had genuinely been out sick). She had just learned to walk and she managed to undo the lock on the gate in the yard and wandered out into the street, which is right by the main road through Nuffing. It was sheer luck that one of the ladies from the sandwich shop was walking past.

  Teddy just nods and strokes the head of his now-sleeping little girl.

  Silence. “So what are you going to do about it?” I ask them. They both look at me. “Take her to the Easter egg hunt in the woods next weekend? Go and see Mac’s opening night tomorrow? I bet neither of you have ever been to one, have you?”