Trust (24 page)

Jean was taken aback. Her capable daughter, on the edge of tears? ‘It’s perfectly all right, Susie,’ she said. ‘I can go.’ Yes, she could visit Leonard later. He could read her letter to Angie tomorrow; there was plenty of time. ‘You pick him up by the gate just after the Queens Avenue corner, don’t you?’

‘Yes, exactly. Oh, Mum,
could
you go? That would be fantastic. I’d ask Gerry but he’s away at that conference, and Angie’s – um – she’s at work.’

Jean suddenly remembered her eye doctor’s instructions.
No driving except in full daylight.
She looked out through the open front door at the sky and the light, and pressed her lips together nervously.
But I’ve said yes now.
And really, it was still daylight, more or less; it wouldn’t be properly dark for a good hour.

‘I’ll just get my car keys and be on my way,’ she said.

‘Oh, thank you, Mum, so much! What would I do without you? I can’t —’ Susanna’s voice seemed to hit a snag.

‘It’s fine, Susie, really. Everything’s fine,’ Jean said, each phrase smooth and calming as the stroke of a loving hand. ‘But I’ll want a thank-you present. Would you give me your first drawing from this class? I’d love that.’

Susanna drew a long shaky breath. ‘Of course I will, Mum,’ she said, sounding more like herself. ‘I hope I can do one that’s good enough.’

‘It will be. Off you go then. Bye-bye.’

‘Bye, Mum. Don’t let them give you any cheek if you’re a bit late. Thanks again. I love you.’

With all three of her grandchildren in the car, Jean concentrated hard on driving, doing her best to ignore the tense atmosphere caused by Seb’s foul mood. Surely it wasn’t just because he’d been kept waiting for a few minutes? More likely, judging by the way he’d been snapping at Stella-Jean, he was resentful of his sister being there. Jean had always found her grandchildren more enjoyable one by one than together – except for Finn, of course, who was impossible on his own, and needed Stella-Jean to keep him in line.
But I’ve been prejudiced toward him because of his mother
, she admonished herself.
I haven’t been fair to him, poor little boy.

Seb, in the front passenger seat, turned around abruptly. ‘Finn! Stop kicking my seat!’

‘Don’t yell at him,’ snapped Stella-Jean.

In a tired whine, Finn said, ‘Sorry, Seb.’

‘Be nice, everybody,’ said Jean. Which exit did she take at this roundabout? She would prefer to take them straight home, but they would all be in a better mood with food in their stomachs.

A few moments later, she heard Stella-Jean say, ‘Don’t scratch it, Finnster. You’ll just make it worse.’

‘Itchy,’ he groaned.

‘It’s just a titchy itchy.’

‘No! Not titchy. It’s
not
a titchy itchy.’

‘Shut
up
!’ roared Seb.

‘Please don’t shout in my ear, dear,’ said Jean firmly. ‘And you’ll have to tell me where this pizza shop is. I’m afraid I’m a bit lost around here.’ In the deepening twilight she blinked hard, trying to clear her vision.

‘You go straight on here, Jeejee,’ Stella-Jean said. Her voice was close behind Jean’s head; she must be leaning a long way forward.

‘You do all have your seatbelts on, don’t you?’ Jean asked. No one responded. ‘Don’t you?’ she repeated anxiously.

‘
’Course
we do,’ Stella-Jean answered. ‘We always do.’

‘Through these lights,’ said Seb, ‘and then you take the next left.’

The traffic light was green. Jean had just entered the intersection when a truck, coming toward her, popped its headlights on. It was like a phosphorus bomb going off in her eyes: the light exploded and spread instantly, a blinding halo surrounding that dazzling centre.
Stop, stop! I have to pull over!
But in her panic Jean slammed her foot down not on the brake but on the accelerator and her old car leapt forward —

‘
Stop
, Jeejee!’ Seb cried. ‘What the —’

The brake! The
brake
! She jammed it down and the car went into a skid across the intersection. Shouts, screaming, surrounded her. They were headed straight toward the truck’s dazzling headlights and Jean jerked the steering wheel hard around and the car spun, screeching hideously. In slow motion, it seemed, the truck went sailing by them and their car slid onward before slamming into the pole on the far side of the intersection, metal crashing on metal with an explosive roar.

A man was calling out. ‘Hello? Hello?’ He was asking something. Asking if someone could hear him.

Who is he calling to? Why don’t they answer?
Jean tried to answer, but the man probably couldn’t hear her because of this other noise, a sound that was all around her, so loud it seemed to be right inside her. Frighteningly loud, and fast; it was making the ground shake, and she was shaking with it.
Ba-boomp, ba-boomp, ba-boomp, ba-boomp.
Slow down, slow down! It was so close, and getting closer. Horses’ hooves! That’s what it was: the thunder of horses’ hooves. Many, many horses; it must be an enormous herd. Look out, look out! Which way were they coming? Wild horses, they could drag you away —

‘What is your name?’ the man was asking, but he was fainter now, further away, while the thunder of the approaching herd was louder, louder —
oh!
She could see the faces of the riders now. There was her father, right in front! Look at his smile, he was so happy to see her again. She hadn’t seen her father for so long. Or was it Neville?
Neville!
She tried to call out to him.

In a wild burst of scarlet light she heard her husband calling, ‘Forgive her, Jeannie. Won’t you forgive our little girl?’

I have
, she cried, but she knew there was something more. The burst of red light had knocked her off her feet and she was falling, a long, long way.
Now, do it now!
With a mighty effort Jean held herself from falling long enough to cry, ‘Forgive me! Angie, forgive me!’

There. She had said it, she had said it in time, and now she was falling again and then she understood, for just one perfect gleaming instant, that words didn’t matter.
It’s love that matters. Only love.

And then every word, and love itself, was gone.

TWENTY-ONE

He’d heard the dragon’s hunting cry, howling and screaming as it bore down; he’d tried to hurl himself from its path – but it got him. Its savage burning teeth ripped at his shoulder, its talons tore at his back.

‘
Get away!
’ Seb screamed, but with his face pressed into the dragon’s spongy hide, his voice was a muffled blur. He couldn’t see. He struggled to jerk free, to turn his head, but with one arm wrenched behind his back and the other pinned in front of his chest, he was trapped, helpless. The monster bit hard and deep, trying to rip him apart.

He fought against the searing pain to move something, anything. A crack appeared, and through it he could see his sister, wedged into the back seat of a car. Whose car?
Jeejee’s
. No, the back seat was too small. But Stella looked smaller too, tucked in on herself like she was trying to make room for the ridged metal pole which had somehow forced its way
inside
the car, shoving her aside. She was still, completely still.

We’ve had a crash
.
Jeejee crashed the car.

‘Stella!’ he yelled, but she didn’t move, maybe because his voice was still muffled. She was so close: if he could just get his arm free he could touch her, shake her knee, wake her up. Then, through the gap between the car seats, he saw his sister’s hand being lifted and held tight by two smaller ones, a kid’s hands.
Finn; that’ll be Finn.

How come I’m corkscrewed around like this?
Seb was trapped. Through the rear window he saw shapes, movement: people. He tried to call for help. Heard urgent voices at a distance, drowned out by sirens. Then the strobing of lights, blue and red.

‘Hello? Madam, can you hear me?’ a man’s voice shouted. He was very close: over on the driver’s side. Jeejee’s side. Seb tried to twist back around, reversing the corkscrew, but the pain was too hideous. He decided to hold still, but from the corner of one straining eye he could see part of the driver’s seat, and his grandmother’s shoulder. She seemed to be leaning toward the door.

‘What is your name, madam?’ the man said, very loud and very clear. Seb, his own face still jammed against the seat, could just manage to see the outline of the speaker’s head and shoulders leaning in through the open driver’s window. He thought he heard his grandmother reply; just a murmur, perhaps not even that. It could have been anything. Red light flashed on the man’s glasses as he leaned in further through the window, his head right up against Jean’s face. He thought he heard, briefly, something else: a high whimpering, like a puppy, or a bird fallen from the nest.

The overlapping urgent voices outside the car were clearer now.

‘Any response, Andy?’

‘Jo, go round the other side!’

‘How many are there?’

‘Joanne? Over
that
side! There’s a kid there, conscious.’

The guy had disappeared from Jeejee’s window. Seb managed to lift his mouth just clear of the seat, enough to shout as loud as he could, ‘Somebody help my sister!’ Couldn’t
somebody
hear him? ‘She’s not moving!’ he yelled desperately. ‘
Stella!
’

Nothing. All he could do was let his head drop forward again, peering with one eye between the seats. Stella-Jean was in shadow now – he hoped it was shadow, not blood, darkening the side of her face, her neck.

Finn started yelling, ‘No! No!’ Then screaming, ‘
No, no, no, no!
’ Seb could see him trying to scoot closer to Stella-Jean, away from whoever must have opened the door.

‘It’s all right, it’s okay,’ said a woman’s voice, trying to calm him. ‘What’s your name? We’ll just get your seatbelt – it’s
okay
.’

‘No!
No!
Stella!’ Finn was clutching convulsively at her arm.

‘Finn,’ called Seb, trying to get his attention through the gap between the seats. ‘Finn, let them help her.
Finn!
You’ve got to get out of the car, so they can help her.’ He was in an agony of fear and impatience. ‘
Ste-lla!
’

The door on his side opened; he couldn’t see it but he could feel the change in air, in pressure.

‘Hello there, mate. I’m right behind you, right here,’ said the same guy who’d been talking to Jeejee. He had a British accent. ‘You can hear me, can you? What’s your name?’

Seb lifted his mouth clear again. ‘Sebastian Greenfield Visser.’ It seemed important to say his full name.

‘Sebastian. Right-oh. Is that your little brother? Flynn, is that his name?’

‘My cousin. Finn.’

‘Jo, the lad’s called
Finn
,’ he heard the guy call. ‘Okay, Sebastian, I’m Andrew.’ He must’ve put his mouth right up to Seb’s ear; he could feel the warm breath, hear every syllable. ‘I need you to do something. Can you move your feet a bit for me? A little soft shoe shuffle?’

‘My sister’s not
moving
,’ Seb said, incredulous.
What kind of idiot is this guy?

‘Don’t worry, we’re getting to her,’ Andrew said, infuriatingly calm. ‘How’re those feet?’

Seb moved his feet to and fro just to shut him up.

‘Oh that’s beautiful,’ said Andrew. ‘Champion.’

Seb could hear other voices now, outside the car, calling orders, advice, instructions, only some of which he could understand.

‘And this hand – can you wriggle these fingers for me?’ Seb felt a touch on his right hand, the one twisted behind his back, its shoulder still gripped tight by the dragon’s teeth. ‘Twinkle, twinkle, little star?’

Twinkle, twinkle? Jesus!
But Seb moved his fingers around.

In his narrow slice of vision he saw Finn’s hands being prised from Stella-Jean’s arm and, still protesting wildly, the kid was lifted away from her and out of Seb’s sight. Immediately, a woman in a white uniform climbed into the back seat with Stella-Jean, close, putting one hand up to her mouth. Seb understood that she was feeling for his sister’s breath, and held his own as he waited for what seemed an age.

‘Respiration’s good,’ the woman called, and Seb let out a sob of air. Now the woman had two fingers on Stella-Jean’s throat. ‘Pulse is strong, steady.’

‘Her name’s Stella,’ the guy behind Seb called.

‘Stella-Jean,’ Seb amended, even though he used his sister’s full name less than anyone else in the family. Andrew repeated it in his British voice.
Scottish, that’s what he is
.

‘
Stella-Jean!
’ the woman yelled, very close to her ear. ‘Stella-Jean, can you hear me?’

Open your eyes, Stell
, Seb willed her.
Please, open your fucking eyes!

Did her eyes flick open? Yes? No? Seb thought they had, but now they were closed again.

The woman picked up Stella-Jean’s hand and pushed the edge of what looked like a pen hard against the bed of her fingernail. Seb saw his sister’s arm jerk up and try to pull away.

‘Hey, you’re hurting her!’ he yelled. ‘What the fuck are you doing?’

The woman glanced toward him briefly, and lowered the hand. ‘Stretcher,’ she said, backing swiftly out of the back seat, and out of his sight. Seb heard her yell, outside the car: ‘Stretchers, spine boards!’

‘Right-oh then, Sebastian,’ said Andrew, behind him. ‘Time to get you out of here. This seatbelt is well and truly fooked, so I’m cutting it. Hold still, okay?’

Seb grunted assent, and a moment later he was, not free exactly, but no longer trapped in that corkscrew twist. Andrew’s hands were guiding him, his arm bracing and supporting, and he was being moved out of the car. He could see Jeejee now, just sitting there in the front seat, head back and turned aside, none of the ambulance people doing anything with or to or for her – and then, as his right shoulder and arm swung back, Seb screamed. The pain,
holy shit
! The pain!