All That Is Lost Between Us (23 page)

They unfold the stretcher and lift her on as gently as they can. Larry Semple immediately moves around to take a corner, but Callum gently guides him to one side, before taking up the position himself.

‘You must be exhausted,' he explains. ‘Have a rest while we do what we're trained for.'

Larry steps back with a curt nod, but his eyes are watery.

‘Besides, Larry, we need you to help us with a few of Ivy's favourite jokes,' he says, loud enough for Ivy to hear. ‘Keep her spirits up on the way back.'

‘Yes, do tell me a joke, Larry.' Ivy seems to find this idea incredibly funny until they lift her up and she makes a sharp hiss of pain.

‘Sorry, Ivy, we'll do our best not to wobble you around too much,' Bill says.

They begin a steady banter as they make their way down, trying to keep Ivy's mind off her injured ankle until the fentanyl kicks in. They are moving as quickly as they can in the dark, aware that the cold is intensifying.

At the head of the stretcher, Mike McCallister walks straight-backed and quiet, in contrast to the rest of the team who are making Ivy chuckle with their acerbic comments about one another's fitness. They swap positions after a while and Danielle takes her turn, relieving Mike, who seems to draw closer to Callum. The atmosphere is uncomfortable, and Callum counts his steps, willing them back to the vehicles. He sends a quick text to Anya.
Rescue finished – I'll collect Georgia on my way home
.

When they finally reach the farm, Ivy and Larry are swiftly loaded into the rescue ambulance. As they watch it leave, Danielle comes over to him.

‘Is Georgia running tomorrow?'

He is caught off-guard by the question. ‘I think so, why?'

‘I volunteered to be first-aider, so I guess I'll see you there.'

He studies her face but he can't discern any extra meaning behind her words. Had she always planned to do this, or did she volunteer today? He imagines Danielle and Anya in close proximity, and turns away to hide his discomfort. He climbs into the modified Land Rover for the ride back, and she jumps in next to him.

‘If this is going to be awkward,' she hisses as they shuffle along the bench seat, ‘you could always consider moving teams.'

That gets his attention. He stares at her. Is she really serious? He's spent over ten years here, has many friends, and has worked his way up to team leader.

‘Is that what you want?'

Danielle leans closer so that her chin almost touches his shoulder. ‘I'm just saying, I'm not the one who's married, Callum. And if you don't want your wife to find out anything about us, then perhaps you should think about it.'

Behind them, they hear someone noisily clear their throat.

Mike McCallister has climbed into the small space behind them. ‘I'm getting a lift to the pub,' he says. He looks between them. ‘I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt anything.'

Danielle shrugs. ‘We're just talking about the school fell-running championships tomorrow. I'm on first aid, and Callum's daughter is running. She's a champion runner, isn't she, Callum?'

Callum thinks of Mike's son, and the painful rehabilitation he must be enduring as he struggles to walk again. Had Danielle considered that before she said those words? What is she trying to do?

Mike grows serious. ‘My nephew is running as well. The weather doesn't look great for tomorrow. Tell her to be careful out there.'

‘She's used to running in different conditions,' Callum snaps. ‘She'll be fine.'

McCallister raises his eyebrows and then turns to stare out the window. Callum is embarrassed by the outburst, but nevertheless he can't bring himself to apologise.

The others join them and the vehicle starts. Callum tunes out of the jokey conversation. His head is swimming. Why does there seem to be a threatening undertone to everyone's conversation today? Or has he got it all wrong? Perhaps he is closer to the brink than he realises.

I
am shivering in the car by the time I see the orange RAC van approaching, almost two hours after my call for help. After the first forty-five minutes I had tried to get inside the school to keep warm, but although my security card had worked, every door to the buildings had been locked. Through one of the windows I had seen a dark shadow inside and I had frozen, mesmerised, before I'd realised it was just a reflection of the trees quivering in the breeze behind me. I had briefly considered walking home through the woods, but if that's how little it took to spook me, then I doubted I could endure the exacting darkness of the spirit road.

I'd tried calling both kids but neither of them picked up, nor had they replied to my texts. It hasn't helped my mood. As the van's headlights slow down to pin me in their glare, I feel foolish for not calling Callum. I reply to his text with a curt
OK
, then I'm terse with the RAC man, who grumbles back at me as he sets about recharging my battery.

This day cannot possibly get any worse. By the time I drive home I have grown tired from the effort of curbing my temper. I soothe myself by thinking of the long, deep bath that's finally drawing closer.

When I pull up, I'm surprised to see most of the house in darkness. I had been annoyed with the kids for not texting me back, but now I realise with a shock that I have not seen Zac since he set off on his walk with Maddie.

That was hours ago. I have been so concerned about my daughter's whereabouts that I have neglected to make sure my son is safe too. What the hell is wrong with me today?

I hurry up the path and let myself in. The hallway is dark, the living room door slightly ajar, lamplight escaping between the gaps. I automatically glance into the room as I pass, hoping to see Zac slouched there, eyes fixed on the TV, but the sofa is empty.

I climb the stairs and open Zac's door. His computer is on, as always, but he isn't there. His bed is unmade, as though he has just walked out for a minute. Where the hell is he?

There is nothing unusual in our house about an unmade bed, I reassure myself. He's probably gone to Cooper's. Keep calm.

I am about to go back downstairs when I pause. Georgia's door is slightly open. This never happens; we are always shut out.

I walk across and push gently against the wood. It gives way with a creak. For a fraction of a second, Georgia appears before me, asleep on the bed. A mess of dark hair, a long flowing skirt, a pair of dirty cream boots on the rich red covers.

I take a step forward. See her thin, pale, sleeping face. And I freeze.

It's not Georgia.

A stranger is sleeping on my daughter's bed.

This cannot be happening. I'm losing my mind. The first thing I do is pinch myself, to make sure I'm not hallucinating. Then I lean closer. She is breathing evenly, in fact she is snoring – delicate little whispery snores. Her skin is sallow – or perhaps the sickening yellow pallor of it is a mask made by the hallway light.

The low lighting renders this all the more surreal. I am lost in some kind of fairy tale, surely. Sleeping Beauty, or Goldilocks perhaps. I stare at her, trying to place her. Nothing registers. I can't recall ever seeing her before.

The hospital intruder. What had Callum said in the car?
Fairly young – in her twenties, I'd say. Long brown hair. Skinny. Dressed casually.

This woman matches that description to a tee. She looks so young, so vulnerable. Could this really be the person who had terrorised our children last night?

Fear drags me backwards. I don't take my eyes off our intruder, but I practise careful footsteps one behind the other until I'm out of the room. Panic has shut down all extraneous thought. My brain begins a series of emergency commands.

Priority one: locate the children.

I switch my phone onto silent and text Callum and both kids.
URGENT. Where are you?

Next step: call the police.

I head to Zac's room, which has the best mobile reception. I think of the sleeping girl next door. She seems more exposed than dangerous, caught off-guard as she is in slumber. But I'm not taking any chances.

Before I can dial, my phone lights up in my hand. It's Zac's name on the screen, and I quickly connect the call. Phone to my ear, I whisper, ‘Zac, where are you?'

‘At Cooper's. Why?'

Relief rushes through me at the sound of his voice. ‘Thank god. I've just got home and there's a woman asleep on Georgia's bed. I don't recognise her – do you know anything about her?'

‘What?
What?
No, I don't. How did she get in? Isn't Dad there?'

‘He's on a rescue. Perhaps it's one of Georgia's friends.'

‘Maybe. What does she look like?'

‘Skinny, long dark hair.'

‘I'm not sure. Maddie had a friend around at our place earlier but she's a redhead. What are you going to do?'

‘Phone the police. Sit tight, I'll call you back shortly.'

‘Mum . . .' he says, but I am not listening. My hand has dropped to my side. There's an apparition in the doorway.

Our visitor is awake.

The moonlight coming through Zac's window lends a ghostly sheen to her skin. Her hair is unkempt, tucked behind her ears. Her clothing is dishevelled. It's too dark for me to see her eyes properly.

I tense as she steps closer, and she stops. ‘I'm not going to hurt you.' Her words are soft and reedy. She makes a strange noise after she says this – half-laugh, half-sigh. ‘Don't call the police.'

‘Who are you?' I'm trying to feign boldness, but my voice quavers. ‘How did you get in here?'

‘The back door was open. I was waiting. I didn't mean to fall asleep.'

‘What are you doing here?'

She takes a shaky breath. ‘I came to see Georgia.'

Her hesitation bolsters my confidence. As I ask ‘Why?' I make the mistake of stepping forward. We are still out of reach of one another, but I see her flinch.

Her mouth opens, and I'm sure she wants to tell me. I hold as still as I can, willing the words to come. But it doesn't work.

‘I made a mistake,' she says, as she turns and runs for the stairs.

‘Wait!' I fly down the stairs after her, as she heads for the kitchen and the back door. She slows down as she reaches for the handle, and I grab her arm. ‘Stop! Tell me what the hell is going on.'

She pauses, but I feel how tense her body is – my hold on her is tenuous, barely keeping her from flight. Her head turns and her eyes meet mine. In the dim light, I see the sheen of tears. I see the haunted gaze of someone lost.

What can I do? If only I could open her mouth, pull words from her like streamers in a magic trick. My professional training kicks in.
Empathise
, I tell myself.
Draw her out with sympathy.
Against my instincts, I let go of her arm. ‘Sit down, please. Tell me what's going on. Perhaps I can help.'

I go over to the kitchen table and slide a chair out, gesture to it. Her eyes follow me but she doesn't move. I don't know what to do next, and there is a strange energy in the silence that follows – as though we're both on the cusp of something, and whatever we say next might tip us to another place. I am suspended in these seconds, but there is a weight to them. Suddenly I don't want this strange girl to move or tell me anything. I don't want my husband or children to come home. I don't want the clock to tick another second. I want to freeze the scene, then turn and boil the kettle, watch the steam swirl from the spout, feel my hands around the smooth china mugs as I collect them from the cupboard.

‘Your daughter is a slut.'

That final word is a needle, piercing through all other thoughts. Everything stirs.
Now
I am focused;
now
I am on high alert.

‘I beg your pardon.'

‘Your daughter is a slut.' Her words glint with steel. ‘And now her friend is in hospital – I hope she knows that's her fault. My life is a write-off, thanks to Georgia, and I see she has already moved on. I hope her new boyfriend knows what he's getting.'

My breath can't escape. My chest is so tight it might implode. Whatever Georgia has done, I'm sure that it doesn't match this twisted version of the story. So, my voice, when I finally find it amid my stunned disbelief, is a growl. ‘Hang on a minute. How
dare you
– it
was
you, wasn't it – the car – last night, wasn't it, WASN'T IT? And you were at the hospital too, weren't you? You were the one lurking in the corridor, stalking Sophia.'

‘Stalking her?' Her fists clench, her eyes widen. ‘You think I'm some kind of crazy woman? I wasn't
stalking
her, I was checking she was okay.'

The phone is still in my hand. My grip on it tightens, and she notices. Her demeanour changes again. I feel the hostile ripple of it, even though she barely moves.

‘I wouldn't call the police if I were you,' she says, in a low, menacing tone. ‘Ask Georgia what she's been up to first, or this might be just the start of your family's troubles.'

I freeze. In the silence I hear the front door opening. At the sound, our eyes lock, and for a moment we seem as scared as one another. But she reacts first, flinging open the back door, rushing away into the night.

I don't wait to find out who has just come in. I give chase through the shadowy garden, leaping over pot plants, rounding the corner of the house in time to see her shadow bob down our side path. I keep running, aware now of footsteps fast behind me, and a voice shouting, ‘Mum!' Even then, I don't stop until I am standing in the middle of the lane.

‘Who was that? Who are we chasing?' Zac asks, the words coming in breathless bursts as he catches up.

I'm too shattered to speak. I raise a hand to my forehead, panting, staring at nothing.