GLAZE (21 page)

‘Petri!’ Ethan calls after me. He’s carrying the girl, her head pressed into his neck.
 

‘If Glaze is down Zizi will know what’s going on,’ I say. The image of her standing in front of the mirror hits me again. Hits me so hard I have to grab on to a nearby wall to stop myself from falling over.

‘We can’t leave her,’ he says, indicating the girl in his arms.
 

‘It’s not like we can do anything to help!’
 

‘I’m going to stay. The police or ambulance or someone has to come. They can’t leave all these people here.’
 

The girl’s father isn’t the only one still lying on the ground. Amid the crowd of people gathering themselves, there’s another man not getting up.
 

‘OK, and then meet me at Logan’s lab. If this is his fault, if he did this...’ I can’t finish. ‘Two hours.’
 

Ethan nods.
 

‘I have to go. I’m sorry.’

19

THE READER SCREEN
on the security gates is still not working and Phil is nowhere to be seen. I look at the number pad, the last security measure. The lights on the unit are flickering on and off. My hands shake as I punch the code in. It squawks. I try again, focusing harder this time. The gates swing open allowing me to enter.
 

People are standing in their doorways and front gardens with that same look of shock and terror I’ve seen on almost every face on my way here. But there’s a new look emerging. A sort of contentment. I guess it’s because they’re happy they’ve survived whatever’s happened. But as neighbour hugs neighbour I can’t help but get the sense that they’re enjoying the shared experience.
 

‘Blitz spirit,’ a woman says as she hands her neighbour a steaming cup of tea.
 

My house waits ahead, standing alone. I race up the steps, two at a time, swipe my hand against the reader and throw the door open before the system has a chance to announce my arrival.

A man sits on the stairs, his head in his hands. He looks up slowly and the emptiness of his stare is like being kicked in the stomach by a horse. Eyes that once shone like silver now look like lead. I lean against the door behind me and slide slowly to the floor. I feared it on the way here. But seeing Max here, a broken man, confirms it. Zizi has to be dead.
 

‘She’s upstairs,’ Max croaks, then pulls himself to his feet using the banister and walks unsteadily up the steps.

A woman and a man, both in sharp suits, matching short haircuts and matching expressions of shock, appear from the kitchen and follow Max up the stairs. The man I recognise as Jonathan, Max’s personal assistant. The woman is new. I wonder what happened to her predecessor. And if Max hires people with cropped hair or makes them cut it after they get the job.
 

There will be a car outside with at least another three people in it. Max’s entourage. Accountants, media consultants, personal security. They follow him like a shadow. Is he ever really alone? I know he hardly ever goes home. ‘Business never sleeps,’ he said once. ‘So neither do I.’

Why are they here now? This is family business. That’s if Zizi and I could ever really be called a family.
 

I sit on the floor for I don’t know how long. A minute. Five. An hour? Time has ceased to mean anything.
 

Then I finally drag myself to my feet and start walking.
 

The roughness of the banister, which I have rubbed my hands against every day for nearly ten years, feels alien. Maybe this isn’t my house. Maybe there has been some strange mistake.
 

When I open the door to Zizi’s room, Max’s assistants are stood in either corner of the room, hands clasped together, heads bowed, like angels of death. Max is perched on the side of Zizi’s bed, wiping at her face with a hand towel. A guest towel I notice, and I’m dimly aware that Zizi would be annoyed that he was using it.
 

He leans back as I take an unsteady step into the room. I can see her clearly now. Her chest moves up and down, in quivering unsteady breaths.
 

She’s not dead. Not dead! My heart soars and the rush of joy practically lifts me off my feet and throws me back across the room.
 

‘Mum!’ I say, reaching out to her.
 

There’s still a chance. I can say sorry for everything I’ve done. I can tell her about everything that’s happened and she’ll know how to fix it. Then I see her eyes. As empty and lost as the man I saw on the street. Maybe it is too late after all.
 

‘What’s wrong with her?’

‘We don’t know,’ Max says. He holds out the small towel and Jonathan plucks it out of his hand without needing be told. He runs off to the
en suite
and a tap starts running. Jonathan returns a moment later and places the towel, freshly dripping with cool water, into his boss’s hand. Max has removed his gloves, I notice, and his hands look unnaturally pale. He returns the cloth to Zizi’s forehead.
 

‘Some sort of virus was released on the network,’ Max says. ‘We’ve had to shut the whole system down.’ He spits the words, outraged that he’s been brought to this. ‘Whatever it is, it seems to be affecting different people in different ways. We all saw these images. Oh, Petri, I’m so glad you weren’t able to see them.’ He reaches out his spare hand to grasp my shoulder. ‘Terrifying in a way I can’t explain. But while most of us are now recovering from the shock, I’m getting reports that a handful of people, well...’ He looks down at Zizi. ‘Hopefully it’s only a matter of time.’ He reaches out and dabs at the angry red marks on my mother’s face with the towel.
 

‘The ambulance will be here shortly,’ the woman says.
 

I walk around the bed and sit on the opposite side of the bed from Max. The foam mattress hisses under my weight. Zizi doesn’t move.
 

I take hold of her hand, realising that it’s the first time I’ve intentionally touched her in months. Years maybe. She was always so busy with her career. And I was so busy being resentful. Her skin feels cold.
 

We sit in vigil over her stiff body for a few minutes before I hear the chime that means someone’s at the door.
 

‘That was fast,’ I say, not because I am paying any attention to the passing of time, but because I have the idea that’s what you’re supposed to say at times like this.

‘WhiteHealth ambulance,’ Max says, standing up. ‘Zizi would have insisted on NHS I’m sure, so this will have to stay our little secret.’
 

I hesitate before following him out of the room. I don’t want to leave Zizi alone with the assistants. But what harm can they do? Not after all the harm I have done.
 

My knees struggle to bend as I climb down the stairs, reminding me of when I was little and the stairs felt like a mountain to be conquered. The medics waiting below wear dark blue suits with the company logo punched out of their collars. Two men, and they look shell shocked; wide-eyed and pale.
 

‘Busy night?’ I say, and I choke a little laugh. I press my hand over my face to keep the laugh in and hide the smirk spreading across my face. And now it’s started I can’t stop it. The most inappropriate thing to do and it’s all I want to do. The laugh sounds like steam escaping through my fingers.
 

The medics give me the tiniest of glances, and one of them moves me out of the way so they can get upstairs. Firmly, but kindly.
 

I did this. I did this to Zizi. I wanted her out of the way and I got what I wanted.
 

I curl myself into a ball, shaking with suppressed laughter that turns into gasping sobs. There are tears streaming down my face and when I look up, I see Max crouching down and peering at me through a fog.
 

The slap comes out of nowhere. I hear it more than feel it. A loud, ringing
thunk
.
 

‘I’m sorry, but you were hysterical.’ He holds his hand against my face, gently thumbing my cheek, his eyes soft and sincere again behind his glasses.
 

He straightens up and pulls out his scarlet satin handkerchief and uses it to wipe his hand, wiping my tears off his palm. He considers the cloth for a moment, then lets it fall. I watch it drift gently to the floor, where it lies like a pool of blood.
 

By the time they bring Zizi down the stairs on a stretcher, my face has started to sting.
 

Max is pacing slowly, back and forth across the hallway, his black shoes squeaking with each tread. He stops to watch Zizi manoeuvred out the door and into the ambulance waiting below. The medics throw open the back doors and Zizi is swallowed up. One hops into the driver’s seat while other walks back up the steps to the house.
 

‘We’ll take good care of her, Mr White.’
 

‘Max, please.’
 

‘Sure, Max.’ The medic blushes. Another of Max’s fans I see.
 

‘What’s going on, Dave?’

‘We’re not exactly sure. But whatever those images were, they were broadcast network wide. Everyone saw them. Everyone.’ He rubs at his forehead as if trying to rub the images away. ‘And while it was terrifying for everyone, for some it’s... been too much. It’s put them into a sort of catatonic state. It’s only been an hour though, so we’re waiting.’

Wait and hope, I think.
 

‘How many so far?’
 

The medic’s eyes snap up and to the right. Hard to know if he’s accessing something, or if it’s a tick left over from too long on Glaze. ‘Ten so far for us. But I think more across the country. There’s also been some heart attacks and injuries caused during the attack. The NHS is overwhelmed. When we’ve finished for the night, Luke and I were going to volunteer. If that’s OK with you, sir, I mean, Max?’

‘Of course. But make sure everyone in the company is comfortable first.’

‘Yes, Max. Thank you.’ The medic takes a quizzical look at me.
 

‘I’ll look after her, Dave,’ Max says, placing a hand on the man’s dark blue shoulder. ‘You do your job.’

I always thought he knew everyone’s names simply because he could match them to the database. But now I realise, with Glaze down, it was him all along. Does he know the name of everyone who works for him?

Max closes the door after Dave and a moment later the ambulance’s engine whirrs and red and blue lights flash through the frosted glass of the front door.
 

Heart attacks. People have died. All because I gave Logan the access. I wish that my heart would stop right now.
 

‘Max?’ the female assistant appears at the bottom of the stairs, her male counterpart a step behind her. ‘Your appointment with the mayor is in 30 minutes.’

‘Tell him I’ll be late,’ Max says.

‘But… ’ Jonathan says.
 

‘But nothing,’ Max snaps.
 

They flinch at his harsh words. Max’s reputation for treating all of his staff like family is cracking.
 

 
‘Tea?’ I say, my voice choked, because, again, it’s what’s expected, isn’t it? Tea. And I have to do something because if I sit here and keep thinking about how it’s my fault, I’ll never get up again.
 

I wander into the kitchen, not checking if Max is following me. I press the button on the kettle and listen to it ticking and hissing as the water begins to get angry.
 

‘What now?’ I look back at him from the open fridge. Jonathan and the woman are in the hallway, busy trying to make mobile phones work. With Glaze down, they’re having to go back to old ways.
 

‘We wait.’
 

‘Max,’ the woman says, covering the earpiece of the phone with her hand rather than the mouthpiece.
 

Max grips the bridge of his nose with two fingers. ‘Yes, Natalie?’

‘The team have found the source of the virus and tracked down the people who released it.’
 

Max eases onto a stool and a disturbing smile takes over his face. ‘Good.’

My hand holding a bottle of milk goes limp and the bottle smashes to the floor.
 

I grab a tea towel off the sideboard and start mopping it up, glad to have the excuse to hide my face.
 

They’ve found Logan. And that means they’ve probably found Ethan too. Because I sent him there. Sent him straight to where he is going to get caught. I have to do something.
 

‘You found them?’ I say, shaking white liquid and broken glass out of the tea towel into the sink, careful to keep my back to both him and Natalie.
 

‘The team are there now.’

‘Good,’ says Max again. ‘Once we know what we’re dealing with we can get Glaze back up and...’

I’m starting to get annoyed with his habit of leaving his sentences unfinished. I used to think it was because his mind was so full of thoughts that he couldn’t stay on one track for long, but now it seems solely manufactured to irritate the hell out of me. I know it used to drive Zizi nuts.
 

‘Will you send the police to arrest them?’

‘The police? And have them make a hash of the whole thing like they did the riot? No, the police are irrelevant now. We’ll handle this ourselves.’

‘How?’

‘By making them pay.’
 

I start at the ice in his voice, like he’s slapped me again. He’s so casual, so ruthless, I don’t know who he is any more. I’m not sure I ever did. I don’t know what he’s going to do to me if he finds out that I was responsible for this, or to Ethan if he finds him. If only I could send him a message, but I have absolutely no idea how to. I never did.
 

The last shards of glass ring in the metal basin.
 

There’s nothing I can do. I turn back to the kettle and pour hot water into two mugs, then I realise I’ve not even put the tea bags in.