A Year Without Autumn (20 page)

“Any of it. It’s too late.”

“I don’t understand. Too late for what?”

Autumn shakes her head. “For anything,” she says eventually. “For everything.” Her voice comes out as a squeak, as though the words are being squeezed and strangled in her throat.

“Autumn, what are you talking about?” I repeat, taking a step closer toward her.

She wipes the back of her hand across her face. “I can’t — I can’t . . . Please, just let it go, Jen.”

One look at her tearstained face is all I need to let me know this is serious. “No, I won’t let it go,” I say firmly. A tiny part of me registers a split second of shock. I’ve
never
said no to Autumn before!

Autumn looks into my eyes. She takes a deep breath, and when she speaks, her voice is so soft, it’s like a whisper on a breeze. “You remember last year, when I was so mean to you? I told you to stop living in a fantasy world? And I was so mad at Mom and Dad for hanging on to the smallest bits of hope?”

“I remember,” I say. It’s not hard, seeing as it was only a few hours ago in my world.

“Well, I was wrong.”

“What do you mean? You were wrong about what?”

“I thought that we’d all do better to face the truth. But I want the fantasy back,” she says.

I stop walking and turn to face her. “Autumn, what are you trying to say?”

She stops as well and looks at me. “They’ve been seeing a counselor for the last year. They’ve managed to drag me along a few times, too. He’s helped them face the facts. Helped us all to come to terms with the reality. With what the doctors have been telling us all for three years. That all we’re doing is prolonging the inevitable.”

There’s a cold feeling that I can’t explain slithering around inside my body. It creeps up my spine, snakes along the back of my neck, and comes to settle in my throat. “I don’t understand,” I say eventually. “What are you trying to tell me?”

Autumn’s shoulders shake as she drops her head. Her reply is barely audible. “They wanted us to come here to make the decision — the place where it happened, the last place we were happy together. We talked last night, and we’ve all agreed. We tried to find a way around it, but we’ve spent so long clutching at straws, there’s nothing left to hold on to.”

“Agreed about what?” I ask, even though I’m pretty sure I know what she’s about to say.

“We’re telling the doctors when we get home: it’s time to turn the machines off.” Autumn’s eyes are green pools of tears. “My little brother’s going to die.” And with that, she falls against me and sobs so hard her whole body shakes. “I can’t bear it, Jenni. My baby brother. I’m going to lose him forever.”

I wrap my arms around her as tight as I can and try to stop myself from crying with her. She needs me to be strong — and I’m going to be whatever she needs.

“Oh, Autumn. I wish I could change things,” I say as I hold her tight. “I wish more than anything that I could.” Little Mikey. I saw him two days ago, right here. And now — it’s unthinkable. It’s impossible.

“I know,” she says. “So do I. I’ve wished it every day for the last three years — wished we could have acted quicker at the time. Those three hours from when it happened to when he was finally scanned — how could a couple of measly hours make such a difference? Even one of them could have been enough to save him, enough to catch the bleed before it spread too far for them to operate. No one will ever know how much I’ve wished for those hours back — wished I’d never told him to gallop on that stupid horse and wished I hadn’t believed him when he said he felt fine after the fall.”

“Autumn, it’s not your fault.”

“I know. I know. I’m past that. I know it’s no one’s fault. And I know that no one can change any of it. You can’t turn back time and make it all different. I wish you could, though.”

That’s when I realize. My arms suddenly feel heavy, and I let go of Autumn.

Can’t you?

I’ve spent all this time thinking I’m trapped here for good — but there
has
to be a way to get back. There
has
to be. I might not be able to stop it from happening, but if I could just get back to the present day, I could get back to a reality where Autumn still has three more years with her kid brother alive. Let her live those three years again. And now that I know what’s ahead, I can be stronger for her; be a better friend; be by her side, no matter what. We could spend more time at the hospital, look after him better; maybe we could even do loads of research, find something that could change all this — maybe even discover a way of getting him out of the coma. Who says we couldn’t?

I’ve
got
to be able to do something. I’ve got to at least
try
— or Mikey will be dead next week.

“Jenni, are you OK?” Autumn’s staring at me.

“What?”

“Are you OK? You’ve gone pale.”

I pull my sleeve back to look at my watch. It’s one thirty. In half an hour — three years ago — Autumn and her parents are going to get the news that Mikey’s in a coma that the doctors believe to be permanent. I need to be with her when she hears this. We need to do the whole thing differently. I
have
to find a way.

“I’ve got to go,” I say suddenly.

“You’re leaving me? Now? After everything I’ve just said?”

I take both of her hands in mine. “Autumn, I’m not leaving you. I’m going to change things. Not everything, but some of it. I’m going to make it better.”

“But how —?”

“Just trust me, OK? Do you trust me?”

She nods.

“OK, I have to go, then.”

“Jenni,” she says softly.

I pause at her side. “What?”

She swallows. “I’m sorry. For everything. I’m sorry I pushed you away.”

I smile at my best friend. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” I say. “Nothing at all. It’s going to be OK. You’ll see.”

And then I run up the path, back to Autumn’s building. If I can just get back to the elevator, if I can find a way of getting into it again somehow. There’s
got
to be a way. Things
can’t
be stuck like this forever.

I’m standing on the fourth floor, in front of the old elevator. Correction, in front of where the old elevator used to be. But there’s absolutely no sign that it was ever there.

Maybe there never was another elevator. Perhaps I really did lose my memory. Or imagined this entire thing. Maybe I really
am
losing my mind. I lean against the wall, letting my head fall against it. It makes a hollow thud.

Hollow. The wall’s hollow. It’s plasterboard! The elevator must still be behind it! Maybe I can get to it after all. I hammer against it with my fists. But it’s useless. All I’m doing is bruising my hands.

I search frantically around me. Nothing. The place is always so tidy, so perfect.

Then I remember the closet downstairs with all the logs in it. Maybe . . .

I tear down the stairs. The place where the old elevator should be is exactly the same as the place on the fourth floor: sealed up, painted over, but hollow and flimsy. But it’s not the elevator I want; it’s the door beside it. I throw the closet door open. A couple of brushes are propped up along one side, a mop in a bucket along the other. I consider these for a second. Not heavy enough.

Then I spot it in the far corner. Bingo! The ax Mr. Barraclough used for the logs!

I grab the ax and run back up to the fourth floor. I’ve got to come back to the first floor in the elevator.

I’m panting by the time I get to the fourth floor. My chest feels like it’s got rubber bands wrapped tight around it. I run to the elevator.

I’ve never done anything like this in my life. Jenni Green doesn’t do things like this! Except, judging by today’s events, it seems Jenni Green has changed. Autumn would be proud of me for what I’m about to do. Will I ever get to tell her? Would she believe me, even if I did?

I’ve no time to think about questions I can’t answer. I’ve got to do this.

With a quick look around me to make sure there’s no one there to see what I’m about to do — and a silent apology for what in anyone’s book would amount to mindless vandalism — I lift the ax over my shoulder, take a deep breath, and smash it as hard as I can against the wall.

I’ve done it. There’s a hole in the wall. Through it, I can see the metal door of the elevator. It’s still there, behind the wall, exactly as it was.

I just need to reach the button. I raise the ax again and again, cracking it against the wall until I’ve made a gap big enough to reach through. I feel around on the old wall behind the plasterboard. That’s it. The button. I press it and wait.

Nothing happens.

I’ve made a hole big enough to climb through now, but there’s nowhere to climb to. Just the old door standing closed in front of me. What am I going to do? This is my one and only chance to change this.

I press the button again.
Please, please, please work. I’ll do anything. I’ll be the best friend ever in the world and the best daughter. I’ll only ever think of others, never myself. I’ll work hard at everything. Just please let me get into the elevator!

And then I hear it. The whirring noise. I leap up. It’s happening. It’s coming! My heart’s banging so hard it’s hurting my chest.

I clamber through the hole, open the first door wide enough to squeeze through, then pull the elevator’s inner door across. Without pausing to think, I close the doors behind me, slam my hand onto the button that says
1,
and hold my breath as the elevator rattles into action.

The elevator seems to creak downward even more slowly and uncertainly than last time, shaking and rattling all the way. It sounds as if bits of metal are falling down the shaft below me. Eventually, it rattles to a halt and I pull the gate across, open the outer door, and step out. The plaster wall is gone! I glance behind me to make sure the elevator doesn’t disappear the moment I’ve turned my back. It doesn’t. It’s still there.

I check my watch. Quarter to two.

Quarter to two? My heart drops so hard it’s as if it’s falling down an elevator shaft itself. What was I
thinking
? I’m a complete and utter fool! There’s no way I can get to the hospital in time to change anything. It takes at least twenty minutes to get there in the car. Half an hour if it’s anyone except my dad driving.

And even if I could get to the hospital faster, what could I possibly change, anyway? I’ve been kidding myself — trying to stop something that’s going to happen whether I’m there or not. I was so desperate to help, it didn’t occur to me that the main thing I need to change is the accident — and there’s
nothing
I can do to change that. It’s already happened, and there are no buttons left to press in the elevator. I can’t go anywhere and I can’t change anything.

The best I can hope for is that I can be a better friend this time around.

I tighten my belt to hold up the jeans that are baggy again, get back into the elevator, and slump down against the wall, my head in my hands. Maybe I’ll just sit here in a ball, hide in this elevator, and hope it’ll all go away.

There’s a noise in the foyer as someone comes in from outside. I jump up.

“Jenni!”

“Craig?” Six-year-old Craig! Cute, silly, messy-haired, and gap-toothed Craig!

“
Thought
it was you!” He grins.

“What are you doing here?”

He nudges a thumb at the door. “I saw you from outside. I’ve been talking to the workmen. Mom said I could, remember?”

I brush myself down and join him in the hallway. “Come on. Let’s go back to the condo.”

Outside, I take his hand and try to act normal. “So what did the workmen tell you about this time?” I ask, ready to let him prattle away while my brain carries on being somewhere else.

“They told me all about what they’re building over the road,” he says, his eyes shining with excitement. What is it about construction that’s so fascinating to six-year-old boys? “They’re making a new building where we can play Ping-Pong and pool and foosball,” he says.

“Great. What else?”

“Um.” Craig presses a finger to his chin. “That’s it.” He swings my hand as we walk. “Oh, yes,” he says as we approach our block. “They were telling me how that one”— he points back at Autumn’s building —“used to be a hotel, and all the rich people used to come there and the servants used to live in the basement and you never saw them and —”

I stop and pull him around to face me. “The
what
?” My face has gone cold.

“The servants. You never saw them ’cause they —”

“Not the servants.” I pause while I catch my breath. “The basement. You said there’s a basement.”

“Yeah, that’s where they lived.”

“Really?” I drop Craig’s hand.

“What? What’s wrong? What did I say?”

There’s a basement!
Maybe the elevator could take me there. But it can’t — I’ve pressed all the buttons. There isn’t one for any basement. But maybe I didn’t look carefully enough. Maybe there is a way. “I’ve got to do something.” I start walking briskly back to Autumn’s building.

“I’m coming!” Craig runs after me.

“Go home, Craig.”

“I’m coming with you.”

“No.”

“Where are you going?”

I quicken my pace. “I don’t know,” I say. It’s true. I don’t know where the elevator will take me or even if there
is
a basement. But it’s got to be worth a try. It’s my only hope — and I’m
not
giving up till I’ve tried everything.

“What are you doing?”

I ignore Craig as I scan the buttons:
4, 3, 2, 1.
That’s it. I
have
been to every floor. My heart sinks heavily, dragging down my last shred of hope with it.

But wait. Maybe I
haven’t
been to every floor. The piece of plywood underneath the buttons. Could it be hiding something?

I pull at it, but it’s stuck fast.

“What are you doing?” Craig asks, craning his neck to watch as I pull hopelessly at the wood.

“Nothing. Leave me alone, Craig.”

He shrugs and wanders off — but a moment later he’s back.

“Craig, I’ve told you to —”