The Aura (3 page)

An hour later my cell phone rang and I glanced around to check that Alan wasn’t in sight before answering it. We weren’t supposed to take personal calls at work. The caller ID showed that my brother was on the line.

“Hi Leo.” I kept my voice down. I walked to the window, from where I looked down at the street, thronged with workers on their lunch hour. A pallid sun hung behind a veil of thin cloud, barely casting shadows, but at least alleviating the gloom of the previous few days.

“Katie, how are you doing? Dad called to tell me what happened. Do you need me to come up?”

“I’m fine. Everything is healing quickly. Paolo came over and looked after me. It was nothing. Just a silly accident.”

“Uh huh.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that you’re not telling me everything,” he said. “Dad sounded really worried about you and said something about… well, he seemed to think you were suffering from a concussion.”

I shifted my weight, aware again of the ache around my knees. “Can I call you when I get home?”

Leo paused. “Why don’t you come over this weekend? The boys would love to see you, and you can bring me up to date on how Dad’s doing.”

I thought for a minute. Rebecca and I were planning to see a movie on Sunday evening, but I had nothing else to do. The drive to Oxford would be a good distraction.

“Yes,” I said. “I’ll come for dinner tomorrow and stay the night.”

“Good, great.” Leo sounded relieved. He was worried; my Dad was worried. I had to get better quickly so everyone would stop worrying about me.

At lunchtime, I took a taxi to the doctor’s office. I was tense with anticipation, half hoping that the doctor would easily identify the cause of my visual disturbances, half dreading that the diagnosis would be unspeakably terrifying. The visit was inconclusive, however. The doctor, a portly, middle-aged woman with grey hair and bad teeth, examined my eyes and ears, pressed on various parts of my skull and wrote out an order for a CT scan. Then she offered me a prescription for antidepressants, which I refused.

As soon as I was out of the doctor’s office, I called the radiology department of the local hospital to make an appointment for the scan. To my relief, they were able to fit me in on Monday afternoon. At least I wouldn’t have to wait too long, in suspense.

I got back to my desk, had my coat off and was working when Alan came in with Josh and another team member, Ben, in tow.

“Team huddle,” Alan said. “Just want to be sure you’re all working your asses off on the Montgomery project. This one is crucial. Get it right and we’ll be deluged with new contracts. Jack will be coming in for the next meeting and we all want to look good for Uncle Jack, don’t we?”

I liked Jack Cohen. He was the other founding partner and had acted as my mentor since I joined the firm. Older than Alan, he didn’t work full time, but I gathered that he networked, lunched with influencers and came in a couple of times a week to see how things were going. Alan referred to him as the ‘big gun’. “We only wheel him out for special occasions,” he’d say. “And for the Christmas party.”

When Alan walked towards the door, I sighed with relief. At least he hadn’t referred to my time off again. But, just when I thought I was safe, he swung around to look at me.

“Kate. You’re outstanding at what you do, but I’m sensing a lack of commitment. Too much time off, and a recent tendency to distraction. Step it up, young lady, and give these two guys the full benefit of your talent. I’ll be keeping an eye on you.”

Ben smirked, his small dark eyes glistening with amusement. Josh told him to cut it out and, as soon as Alan had gone, leaned forward across the desk towards Ben and me.

“We need to cooperate if we’re going to get everything completed on time,” he said. “We’ll split the project into parts and we’ll each handle the details we’re strongest at. Kate, you’ll have functional design and Ben will work with…”

I tuned out, thinking it was ironic that Alan was picking on me just as when I was starting to feel like my old self and finding enthusiasm for the project. But he was right. I’d been distracted ever since my mother died. The shock of her death had knocked me sideways. And now this thing with the moving air. It was going to be hard to get through the coming weeks of long hours and constant review, but I would get back on track. I owed it to Josh, if no one else. I wouldn’t let him down.

By mid morning on Saturday, I had cleaned up my apartment, done my laundry and packed a bag for my stay at Leo’s. I seemed to have regained my usual energy and still had a few hours to spare before picking up a Zipcar for the drive to Oxford. A run would do me good. Just a short one to see how my knees would hold up. The night before, I’d removed the bandages and examined the damage. My legs were dotted with small red scars where each piece of gravel had left its mark. One or two spots were still raw but the rest had healed well. I jogged slowly to the park a couple of blocks away. The air was heavy and humid, and ominous black clouds loomed in the distance. My knees ached, but not as much as I’d feared.

After doing a slow circuit around the park, I sat at the end of a green wooden bench to retie my shoelaces. One broke off when I tugged on it too hard. I took the shoe off to re-lace it with what was left of the white cord. A young woman pushing a stroller and talking on a cell phone stopped in front of me. Positioning the stroller at the other end of the bench, she sank on to the wooden seat and lit a cigarette. Annoyed, I stared at her. I didn’t understand why anyone would use cigarettes around children. The dangers of second-hand smoke were well-known, but the woman, oblivious, carried on her conversation, taking deep drags and coughing occasionally.

I worked faster on my shoe, anxious to get away from the smoke. A little girl climbed out of the stroller. She was about three, with blonde curls peeping out from a pink beret. Her pink raincoat matched her wellingtons and she clutched a small brown teddy bear. I didn’t think of myself as much of a maternal type but I smiled at the sweetness of all that pink. The mother didn’t seem very maternal either when she snapped at the child, who was climbing up on to her lap.

“For goodness’ sake, Sophie, get down. You’re too heavy to sit on me.”

In spite of the harsh words, Sophie remained where she was. I winced to see the smoke being blown into the child’s face. I slipped my shoe back on and stood up, just as Sophie dropped her teddy bear. She scrambled down to pick it up. Immediately, I saw that the air over her head was trembling. I sat back on the bench, trying not to stare. There was no doubt that the rippling air was there, shimmering over the pink beret and blonde hair. I glanced at the mother, but she wasn’t even looking at the child, focused instead on using her phone. I opened my mouth to say something but closed it again. I couldn’t tell her about the aura. The woman would think I was a lunatic.

Sophie began singing to her little bear, swinging the toy from side to side in time to the song. She took a few steps away from the bench, across the asphalted trail and on to the grass on the other side. She turned to look at her mother, who seemed to either not notice or not care, and then she ran a few yards further.

Alarmed, I spoke to the young woman. “Your little girl,” I said, pointing, but she waved my words away with an outstretched hand.

“What? Sorry, somebody interrupted me,” she said, settling further back into the bench.

I turned my attention back to the child, who was skipping towards the trees on the other side of the grass. She was moving fast for being so small. Deciding there was no point in waiting for the mother to make a move, I set off after Sophie. The girl had already reached the trees, where she disappeared for a moment between the dark trunks.

To my left, I caught sight of a man in a jacket with a hood up over his head. He was also walking towards the trees. My mind filled with thoughts of pedophiles, I broke into a jog. Reaching the tree line, I saw Sophie still scampering ahead of me; any second now, she would cross his path. What would he do? Snatch her and run? I darted forward, aware of stabbing pains in my knees, and saw the little girl pass just a few yards in front of him. He didn’t even look at her, but kept walking, white earphone cables dangling from under his hood.

Thunder rolled above us and a flash of lightning brightened the purple sky. Fat drops of water began to fall. Within seconds, rain cascaded through the trees, soaking my running shirt. Swollen black clouds hung so low that they seemed to be ensnared in the leafless branches. I wiped the rain from my eyes with a corner of my running shirt and then realized that the girl had disappeared from sight. Panicked, I ran in the direction where I had last seen her, my feet slipping on the wet grass. A glimpse of pink off to my right. I breathed again. Leaving the trees behind, I saw her on the other side of an expanse of lawn. In the lurid light of the storm, the grass looked black, like the surface of an angry sea.

It took a minute for me to register the danger. Sophie was standing on the concrete rim of a boating pond, looking down into the water. On sunny days, kids brought remote-controlled boats and raced them around the pool, but today it was deserted. Green water churned under the torrential rain.

“Sophie!” I shouted. “Get off the wall.”

My words were drowned out by the gusty wind and crash of rain. In slow motion, the stuffed bear slipped from Sophie’s fingers into the murky water. She leaned forward, hand outstretched. She seemed to slip, tried to catch her balance and disappeared from sight over the rim of the pond. I dashed towards her. Stepping up on to the low wall, I saw a pink outline under the surface. I reached down, but the water was deeper than I’d thought. I couldn’t get hold of her. I plunged in, feeling the cold water hit my skin with a shock like an electric current. When my feet touched bottom, the algae-filled water was over my head, and my eyes burned.

Lunging towards Sophie, I tried to grab at her arm. She had drifted a few yards away, her pink raincoat rendered grey in the muddy, opaque water. I took several strokes towards her and reached down to gather her into my arms. Twice I tried to grab her and failed, my hands slipping on the plastic macintosh. Then, desperate, I caught hold of her hair to pull her towards me. Her body was limp, her eyes were closed, and blood was leaking from her head, trailing through the water like tendrils of black smoke.

I held her face above the water and dog-paddled back to the rim. There, I shifted my grip on her, while scrabbling at the wall with my free hand. The side of the stone basin was slick with frothy green scum and I couldn’t get a firm hold. Scraping my arms and legs against the concrete, I finally managed to grab the slippery wall and push Sophie over the top of it. Then I clambered out, my breaths short and ragged, my chest burning. I scrambled to my feet, stripped off my shirt and wadded it against the wound on Sophie’s head. She must have hit the rim when she fell in. I felt for a pulse but there was nothing. Frantic, I started gentle chest compressions, trying to remember what I had learned in girl scouts about CPR.

I shouted for help while I did the chest compressions, wondering how it was possible that I was in the middle of one of the busiest cities on Earth and yet so alone. At last, a man’s voice sounded close by.

“I’m calling for an ambulance,” he said, striding towards me with a cell phone at his ear. It was the young man with the hooded jacket.

I nodded and kept working. After what felt like an infinite span of time, the wail of an ambulance siren cut through the steady drumbeat of the rain. Sophie’s eyelids fluttered and my heart lifted. Thank God.

“Is she your daughter?” the stranger asked, holding the shirt that was now red with blood tight against her wound. I shook my head.

Before he could ask any more questions, a scream echoed over the pond. I glanced up to see Sophie’s mother running towards us, ungainly in her shiny padded coat and tight jeans.

“Sophie, oh my God. What did you do?” she shouted at me.

Then the grassy area was suddenly crowded with paramedics, calm, strong men in yellow jackets, with blankets and oxygen tanks. An ambulance parked a hundred yards away at the edge of the lawn, its blue light whirling.

I stood up and moved away to give the paramedics room to work. Sophie’s mother screamed and yelled while I sank to my knees on the wet lawn, vomiting up foul green water. I couldn’t stop shaking. The child had been well and happy just ten minutes ago. Now she was fighting for her life.

Images from the past flashed past my eyes. Visions of a tiny white casket, mourners in black, the smell of white carnations and blue hyacinths. So long ago, yet it felt like no time at all. This couldn’t be happening again.

One of the paramedics came over, wrapped a blanket around me, took my pulse and listened to my chest. His face was close to mine and he smelled of peppermint and something herbal, eucalyptus maybe.

“Good,” he said. “Pulse a little high but steady. No water in the lungs. But you should come in for a check-up at the hospital.”

“No, I’m okay. Just look after the little girl.”

“She’s in good hands,” he said. “And you did a terrific job.”

Just as he walked away, a uniformed police officer appeared, helped me to my feet and led me to the steps of the ambulance, where he asked a lot of questions about what had happened. I did my best to answer them, aware the whole time of the screams of Sophie’s mother.

Finally, the officer thanked me and helped me into the back of a police car. He told the driver take me home. My legs were like pillars of lead. It took forever to climb the stairs to my apartment. I tore my soaked running pants and sports bra off, threw them with the blanket on the bathroom floor, and pulled on my robe.

In the kitchen, I put the kettle on and stared, mesmerized, at the steam rising from the spout. It looked like the moving air over Sophie. It had been there, clear and distinct over her little pink beret. What did it mean? After I’d showered and dressed, I drank a cup of tea, leaning against the counter, watching my hand shake as I lifted the china mug to my lips. I wasn’t sure I should drive to Oxford, but I also knew I had to go. Leo was already concerned about me. If I didn’t turn up, he’d be at my door in a few hours.