The Beauty of the End (12 page)

23

O
f course, there was no telephone. After I tried several times to stir her, I took off my jacket with trembling hands, carefully spreading it over her, before running up the street in search of a phone box. The first one I came to had been vandalized, the handset ripped out, leaving a mess of frayed wires. I couldn't see another. Desperate, I ran back to the corner shop I'd passed earlier, where I burst in and pleaded with the owner.

“Please, sir, can I use your phone? A friend of mine's been hurt, really hurt. She needs help, sir.
Please
. . .”

I don't know if he'd ever been called “sir” before, but something in my rushed, heartfelt plea convinced him and his look of hostility gave way to one of mistrust.

“In here.” He beckoned me into a small, gloomy office. “Be quick. And don't go trying no funny stuff.”

“I won't, I swear, on my life,” I told him, having no idea what he meant and using words I'd never used before, but then this was like nothing I'd ever done before.

My hands shaking, I dialed before he could change his mind.

* * *

I waited with April for what felt like hours, but in reality could have been no more than fifteen minutes, crouched on the floor beside her while she drifted in and out of consciousness. Each time she came to, murmuring words I couldn't make out before lapsing into silence again, I'd panic, desperately searching for signs of life, from the slightest flutter of her eyelashes to the pulse in her neck, overwhelmed with relief when I found it.

As the distant sound of a siren reached me, I leaned toward her. “It's okay,” I told her quietly. “Help is coming, I promise. You'll be okay. . . .”

Her eyelids fluttered open as another wave of pain racked her face. “‘
You shouldn't be here, Noah.
. . .” Her voice was so quiet I could barely hear her. “
It isn't safe.
. . .”

In spite of everything, I felt my heart swell. She cared. In spite of her pain, she was concerned for me. But before I could reply, there was a knock on the door, followed by a voice.

“Hello? Anyone there?”

I was already on my feet, then in the hallway, filled with relief. “Quick. She's in here.”

* * *

I stood back after that, while they carefully checked April over, then very gently lifted her onto a stretcher and took her out to the ambulance. Then they drove away, leaving me there alone.

Now that April was on her way to the hospital, I couldn't get out of there fast enough, running until I couldn't breathe, then slowing to a walk, feeling a mixture of emotions engulf me. Elation that I'd helped her, but mostly horror at how much pain she'd been in. I was no closer to knowing what had happened to her than when I started out. But I'd gathered one important, precious piece of information from the ambulance driver. I knew which hospital they'd taken her to.

The next day at school, I made a point of finding Emily.

“You what?” she said when I told her what had happened. Instead of being worried, as I'd thought she'd look, she seemed vaguely impressed.

“She's in the new hospital, the one that's just opened.” I didn't tell her I was planning to visit April. I didn't tell anyone, just watched the clock on the wall slowly tick, wondering why today was the longest day ever.

* * *

I'd been to hospitals before, when my mother was ill once. But it had been years earlier and my hazy recollections didn't prepare me for the countless busy corridors and several floors of exotically named wards, like Alaska and Costa Brava, which did nothing to take away from the fact that it was bleak.

After asking several nurses, eventually I found April. I paused in the door of the ward, staring at the bed at the end by the window, shocked at how small and young she looked. Having come all this way, I hesitated as I looked at the families flocking round the other beds, suddenly not sure I should be there. But then April turned her head toward me and her eyes lit up.

With each step, as I walked toward her, my awkwardness was back. By the time I reached her bed, it had practically paralyzed me.

“Sorry.” I'd noticed the bedsides of the other patients, laden with cards, grapes, flowers. April's was pitifully empty. I looked at the starched white sheets covering her. “I should have brought you something.”

“It's okay. Thank you, Noah—for coming here. And for . . .”

April looked away and a tear rolled down her cheek. Suddenly less awkward, noticing a chair against the wall, I pulled it over to her bedside.

“Are you okay?”

She looked back at me, blinking away tears, nodding, just once. “I will be. When I'm out of here.”

The glimmer of her old spirit satisfied me. It wouldn't be long before she'd be back in school—and in my life.

“Before . . .” I hesitate, not sure how to ask. “Why did you miss so much school?”

But she didn't answer, just stared toward the window.

“‘Will you have to go back there?” I couldn't keep the horror out of my voice, at the thought of her going back there, near that man whose evil face still haunted me, but the alternative, of her going away, was even worse.

“I don't know yet.” Her voice was achingly empty. Then she sighed. “They've said I can't. They're talking about a place I can stay. Just until I'm better.”

“What—like a hotel?” It was a stupid thing to say. Even in my naivety, I knew that, but I couldn't imagine what else she meant. “Nearby, though, so you can finish school?”

April looked away. “Maybe. They haven't said.”

I didn't understand. Not who
they
were, or why April couldn't carry on at school, stay with friends nearby—like Emily or Bea—or something. Just for a few weeks and pass her exams with flying colors, as I knew she would.

“But it's important, April.” Feeling myself blush at the sound of her name on my lips, but meaning every word. “You're really clever. Even when you miss school, your grades are still good. You can't give up.”

But she just looked away from me. “You don't know what it's like.”

The full force of her sadness hit me. “Then tell me,” I said desperately. “Tell me all of it, because I want to know.”

In that moment, I thought at last she was going to let me into her world, but then a nurse came over and I was asked to leave.

* * *

I returned the next day, and the one after that, noticing the color creeping into April's cheeks and movement into her limbs; the trauma she'd been through brought us closer. But on the fourth day, just as I was setting off, my mother stopped me

“You're out so much recently, Noah. With your exams coming up, your father and I would rather you stayed at home.”

I stared at her in horror. “I have to go.... It's arranged.”

But she shook her head, turning back to the kitchen. “I'm sorry, but that's enough, Noah. It can wait until your exams are over.”

This was how it was. My parents would issue orders I was expected to unquestioningly obey. Well, not this time. I felt an explosion of heat inside me. April was waiting for me. No way was I staying at home.

“I have to meet a friend. From school,” I called after her. “They're really ill, in hospital. I said I'd visit and you can't stop me.”

I liked how I sounded—wild, reckless even. I wasn't a kid. Whatever my mother said, I was going.

“You'll do as you're told.” But the anger in her voice was halfhearted enough not to stop me.

It was the first time I'd openly defied my mother. It's perhaps why, as I reached to open the front door, she answered as she did.

“Just this once. I'll drive you, Noah. As long as when you get back, you work.” As I listened to how tired she sounded, I knew that I'd found her Achilles heel; that it was easier for her to take me herself than try to stop me.

We drove in a silence that bordered on glacial. My mother was clearly unhappy about what we were doing, yet unable to reason with me. As we parked, she unfastened her seat belt to get out.

I shook my head at her, because this wasn't part of the deal. Nurses were one thing, but my friendship with April was far too young and fragile for interlopers like my mother to come blundering between us.

“There's no point in you coming,” I told her abruptly. “It's no one you know.”

I was in too much of a hurry to get away to see the fear that flickered in her eyes. I raced along the familiar corridors, up the stairs two at a time because I knew from experience that it was faster than waiting for a lift. Turned right at the top, went along to the end and through double swing doors into the ward.

Only when I checked my watch, saw how early I was, way before visiting times, I hesitated.

“It's lucky you're early today!” It was one of the nurses, clearly recognizing me.

“Am I too early?” Her comment puzzled me.

“A bit.” Then she winked. “But if you're quiet, you can go in.”

At first, I didn't see what she meant. At the far end of the ward, April was standing by the bed, her back to me. Then as I got closer, I saw she was fully dressed with a bag on the floor by her feet.

Suddenly I realized what the nurse had been telling me. “You're leaving. . . .”

Hearing my footsteps, she turned. “Noah! You're early.”

“You're leaving,” I repeated.

My words were accusing, held the selfishness of my youth, I knew that, but I couldn't help it. Then I saw the worry in her eyes.

“It's good! It means I'm better! And I'm glad you're here. I wanted to tell you in person.”

“You're going back to that house?” Hating the thought of her being there, yet hating the thought of her going somewhere unknown, maybe farther away, even more.

“It's not up to me, Noah. I'm underage. I just have to do what they say. But we've got a few minutes—they're not here yet.”

“Who's
they
?” I asked her, not understanding. “And you'll be at school, won't you? When you're really better?”

I waited for her to smile, to tell me that she'd need to rest a bit longer, but yes, she'd be back at school—and everything would return to normal. But her silence told me that wasn't going to happen.

“The thing is,” she said slowly, “I'm going away.”

It was my worst nightmare. I felt my mouth open in protest. Then her hand touched my arm.

“Listen, Noah. It's for the best. It gets me away from . . .” She stopped, as I waited, knowing she was going to say something terrible. But all she said was “Horrible people. And a load of stuff.”

I gazed into her eyes, hungry for a glimpse of whatever it was, as she blinked at me.

“Oh, Noah, you don't want to know.”

“I do,” I said stubbornly. “I've already told you that.”

She sighed; then I felt her hand reach for mine. “You were right—what you said about exams being important. They are, to you. You'll get good grades and be a doctor or a politician and you'll be someone, Noah. I know you will.”

For the second time that afternoon, I felt powerless. There were so many people intent on controlling our lives. Being a teenager sucked. I looked at April, following her gaze out the window onto the rooftops, then turned to face her.

“So will you,” I told her, biting back my frustration. “Be someone, I mean. You know you can. You can do anything you set your mind to.”

But she shook her head. “I'm not like you. I won't be doing my exams. I've missed too much school, anyway.” She said it in a quiet, resigned way that told me she'd decided.

I couldn't bear it. As I pulled my hand from hers, I wanted to shout and rage about how unfair this was. How whoever was behind this should seriously think what was best for April, because one thing I did know was that taking her away from school, and from her friends, wasn't it.

“
Noah?
”

I didn't want to believe that there was another world, one I didn't understand. Nor was I giving up. Not yet. I couldn't. I was about to tell her what a big mistake this was, but it wasn't to be.

“April? Your car's here. Are you ready?” It was the same nurse I'd seen on my way in.

Turning my back on her, I walked over to the window, unable to believe this was happening, feeling my fists clenched in my pockets, my entire body rigid. She couldn't go. Not now. Not like this.

As I stared into the distance, I felt her standing beside me.

“Please, Noah . . . Try to understand. It's for the best.”

I was convinced she was wrong. Then I got my first glimpse of how breathtakingly cruel life can be, as in what was simultaneously the most brilliant and most wretched moment of my life, she reached up and kissed my cheek. I don't remember exactly what happened next. I was too consumed with my own pain to notice how she walked out of the ward and disappeared from sight. Nor, to start with, did I see my mother, standing at the nurses' station, a look of horror on her face.

* * *

Somehow I dragged myself out of there along the same corridors I'd just flown in on. Just ten minutes later, I was in my mother's car. Ten minutes during which I replayed my fantasies for the last time, of April staying here in Musgrove, metamorphosing back into the goddess she really was, of her finally being a part of my real life.

As the fantasies faded, I tried to tell myself that it was for the good—for April at least. That people would look after her and that she wouldn't have to go back to that awful house. But it was not knowing when I'd see her again. The pain I felt, so awful and so real, so deep in my chest, I actually believed was from my heart.