The Moon Spun Round (28 page)

T
HE WIND HURLS RAINDROPS
at the window, rattling against the glass like handfuls of sharp grit. Sally hovers on the edge of sleep, waiting for a quiet moment, but the night won’t let her. Cat has abandoned the bedcover and is sitting on the dresser peering down at her. Sally is still high on laughter, her limbs throbbing from the dance, her head buzzing from noise and flashing coloured lights. And the beer, of course. She’ll be sorry in the morning. Oh, but it was fun, wasn’t it? Best night out since…since…An image of Jonathan surfaces. Pity about that nasty incident Naomi had with Ayden. Glad she wasn’t there when it happened. Poor Claire, why does she put up with it? Jonathan…

A missile strikes. Cat takes a flying leap onto the bed, landing on all fours. It’s an effective attention-grabbing technique she has acquired.

‘Oh, for God’s sake, I wish you wouldn’t do that. Well, settle down then, I’ll never get to sleep with you tramping about.’

But Cat lets out a wail. It begins deep in her throat and builds to a scream, a primeval cry that cuts to the bone.

Sally struggles upright and fumbles for the light switch. ‘What the hell—’

Cat is off the bed and pawing at the door.

‘All right, I’m coming.’ She struggles into a dressing gown and they both head downstairs, Sally’s mind filled with images of smoke inhalation and swarms of invading rats. The kitchen, where Cat leads her, is dark and silent. She flips the switch and light floods the room but reveals nothing. Cat yowls again, dives for the front door, and starts scratching frantically.

‘Someone out there, is there?’ She slips the safety chain into place, then
presses her ear to the wooden panel. Now her thoughts are running with burglars and escaped lunatics. All she can hear is the thudding of her own heart, but Cat is insistent.

‘Who’s there? I’m calling the police.’ What I should have done in the first place, she thinks.

But there’s a faint sound, like something hitting against the bottom panel.

‘Who’s there? What do you want?’

A voice, incoherent, but it sounds like a woman and somehow familiar. Cat cries in response. Sally unlatches the door. It flies open, yanked against the chain, as something heavy falls with it. Pale yellow hair, a dark collar and, where raw skin is uncovered, a smear of blood.

‘Claire? Oh, my God, Claire! Wait, I’ll have to get this thing off.’

She struggles to release the chain with Claire’s dead weight against it. Seconds take forever. Then the door flies open, and Claire tumbles through onto the floor. She is soaking wet, her skin feels frozen. It takes all Sally’s strength to manoeuvre her inside, Claire moaning and whimpering with every movement while the cold wind blasts into the room, splattering them with icy rain. Eventually they’re both in and Sally slams the door shut. Then she’s down on her knees, pushing wet hair from Claire’s face.

‘What happened?’

Claire tries to speak, but manages only a choking sob.

‘I’ll call an ambulance.’

‘No. No, please.’ From somewhere Claire finds strength to grasp Sally’s wrist. ‘Don’t.’

‘You need help. I must get someone.’

‘No!’ Her voice rises to a scream. She is pulling herself up, eyes wide with fear.

‘All right, all right. But we must do something. I can’t handle this on my own.’ She looks around the room as if searching for some way out of this predicament. ‘Abbie. I’ll get Abbie.’

Claire nods and relaxes a little. She lies back on the floor and closes her eyes.

By the time Abbie arrives, raincoat around her shoulders and first-aid box in hand, Sally has turned on the heating and plugged in an electric fire. She has also managed to peel off Claire’s soaked cardigan and wrapped her in a duvet. She is still wearing the black dress, but the high heels have been replaced by flat shoes. Abbie kneels down beside her.

‘She’s still very cold,’ says Sally. ‘Must have walked all the way here. Look how she’s shaking.’

‘That’s because she’s in shock. That would make her cold, apart from the temperature outside. Look at all these red marks on her legs. Looks like she’s been kicked. You have called the ambulance, haven’t you?’

‘No. She won’t let me. That’s why I called you.’

‘What do you mean, she won’t let you?’

‘She got really upset. I didn’t know what else to do. You try talking to her.’

‘This is crazy.’ Abbie shakes her head. ‘Look, Claire, you’re badly hurt. This is more than I know how to deal with. You need medical help.’

Claire becomes almost hysterical again. This time she tries to struggle to her feet and they have to restrain her.

‘All right. I’ll see what I can do.’ Abbie finds a bottle of Rescue Remedy in her box and squeezes the dropper into Claire’s mouth. ‘Let’s get this wet dress off her and get a proper look. Have you got some scissors? It’s already torn beyond repair.’

While Abbie is snipping the material away, the telephone rings. The two women look at each other in alarm.

‘I’d better answer it.’ Sally picks up the receiver. ‘Hello? Oh, it’s you.’ She sounds relieved. ‘Yes, how did you know?…It’s Claire, she’s hurt—No, she wouldn’t let us. Abbie’s with her…Yes, of course.’ She puts the telephone down and comes back to kneel beside Abbie.

‘Naomi?’ Abbie asks.

‘She’s coming straight over.’

Claire whimpers as they remove the remnants of the dress and Abbie runs her hands over her body. But when she presses her fingers into Claire’s side she yells with pain.

‘What are you doing?’ asks Sally.

‘Checking points of impact. See here, all round her side. But I think the liver and spleen are clear.’

‘Some of those bruises don’t look new.’ Sally points to a series of purple-and-yellow blotches on Claire’s shoulder.

‘She got those about a week ago, I should think. And look at these white scars on her breast.’

‘What would have caused those?’

‘Cigarette burns would be my guess.’

‘Oh, my God. And look at this, on her arm. She said she caught it on the oven, but I don’t believe that for a moment. So what do you think? Can you do anything?’

‘Well, the rest is mostly scratches and abrasions. She’ll have some nasty bruises, but they’ll heal. The real worry is this big red area above the hip. It’s taken a heavy blow. It could mean a ruptured kidney. And almost certainly some of her lower ribs are cracked.’

‘How serious is that?’

‘Depends. If a lung is punctured…Look, I don’t care what she said or how upset she was, if she starts to have trouble breathing, or if she loses consciousness, we call an ambulance.’

‘So can you help her?’

‘I’ll need more stuff. I’ll have to go back to the stable. Do you know how to feel for a pulse?’

‘Yes, I think so.’ Sally takes Claire’s wrist and locates the spot.

‘It’s high, only to be expected. But if it suddenly goes any higher, or drops, or if there’s any other change—well, you know what to do. Keep her warm and don’t let her move about. Oh, and if Naomi’s coming you’d better ring Fran.’

By the time Abbie returns, Naomi has arrived. She is kneeling beside Claire, holding her hand.

‘You’re going to be all right,’ she whispers over and over again. ‘You’re going to be just fine.’ She strokes Claire’s hand, then touches her face, stopping only to wipe away her own tears.

Abbie starts to unpack a leather case, taking out an assortment of jars and bottles. ‘How is she?’

‘I think she’s a little better,’ says Sally. ‘At least she’s not shaking so much, and I think her pulse is a little steadier.’

‘She hasn’t coughed up any blood?’

‘No, nothing like that.’

Abbie is down on the floor again. ‘Claire, can you hear me?’ Claire stirs at the sound of Abbie’s voice. ‘Good. Here, Sally, fetch some warm water and get her to swallow two of these.’

‘What are they?’

‘Painkillers. Only Ibuprofen. Best I can do.’

‘Let me help,’ says Naomi. ‘I want to do something.’

Abbie hands her a screw-top jar. ‘Arnica cream. Put some on all the red marks on her arms and legs. It’ll reduce the bruising. But not where the skin is broken and avoid that burn. I’ll need to clean these scratches. More warm water, Sally. I’ve got some sea salt here, and then we’ll use some calendula cream. And look at this abrasion on the back of her thigh. Looks like she’s been dragged over something rough, like concrete.’

‘Sally said she might have some cracked ribs?’ Naomi dabs gently at the
reddened patches of skin, biting her own lip for fear of causing more pain.

‘Almost certainly. Not much can be done about that, even if she went to hospital. I’ll start a comfrey poultice every six hours—it should help the bones to heal. God, I shouldn’t be doing this.’ Abbie is suddenly angry. ‘You do all realize it’s probably illegal? If she comes to any harm we could all end up in gaol.’

Sally stands over them, holding the glass of water and the Ibuprofen. Abbie’s right. They should be at the casualty department filling in forms, trying to answer questions, with Claire behind a curtain surrounded by doctors and nurses and injections and machines. What the hell do they think they’re doing? For a moment she hesitates, looks towards the phone. A car pulls up outside.

‘That will be Fran and Ruth,’ says Naomi.

‘Here,’ Sally hands the glass to Abbie, ‘I’ll get the door.’

Claire is in Sally’s bed. With a lot of help she managed the stairs and has been cleaned and made as comfortable as possible. Naomi refuses to leave her and is keeping watch while the others go downstairs to recover. Ruth makes them all some tea, to which Fran adds a drop of brandy, while they go over the events of the past hour.

‘How did Naomi know?’ asks Sally.

‘She just did, that’s all,’ says Ruth. ‘We all felt something. I ought to have known, should have seen more clearly.’

‘You’re a clairvoyant, Ruth, not the bloody
Nine O’Clock News,’
says Fran. ‘Was anyone actually asleep or anywhere near it?’

They all shake their heads.

‘So what do we do now?’ asks Sally. ‘Find out what happened, I suppose?’

‘We all know what happened,’ snaps Fran, ‘and who. It’s not as if it’s the first time. But I don’t think he’s ever gone this far before.’

Abbie leans back in the rocking chair. ‘What we need to find out is why she won’t let anyone know. Why is she protecting him?’

‘Women often hide it,’ says Fran. ‘They feel ashamed, as if they’ve been made to think it’s their fault. “She made me do it,” that’s the excuse. “She was asking for it.” Makes you sick.’

‘No, I don’t think that’s it. When I said we’d call an ambulance, she acted as if she were terrified. We should be calling the police right now, but I can’t see that that would be any different.’

‘I think we’ve gone too far to bring the police into it.’ Sally is suddenly
animated. ‘Think about what it would do to Abbie. I’m sure there are laws about getting proper medical assistance. If it turns out Claire is seriously hurt, well, I don’t know how she’d stand legally. They could bring criminal charges against her. Us, too, come to that.’

‘Can you imagine how George would react? His worst nightmare come true.’ Abbie manages to smile. ‘At least I’ve got a good lawyer in the family.’

‘Right,’ says Fran, ‘but if we’re going to collude with this cover-up, we’ve a right to know what we’re dealing with. She’ll have to talk to us.’

Ruth has said nothing. She moves away from the others, over to the window. It could have been my daughter, she is thinking, my Shirley. We had no idea until the divorce. She never said. Wouldn’t admit it, as if it were her own fault, what her husband did. But I should have known. Me, a clairvoyant—that’s a laugh. I know all about everyone else’s problems, oh yes: Mrs Samuels’ operation, the break-in at the garage…But when it comes to my own daughter? Tonight she has seen the marks on Claire’s legs, angry red weals. But she has known about Claire long before. They’ve all known and they’ve failed her. They let a man do this. What right did he have? To break another human being just because he could? How could a woman deserve this? To be beaten down, made to cower?

She looks at the door, just a few inches from where she is standing. Her coat is hanging up beside it. Anger grows inside her, not as a red fire, but cold and white, as slow and solid and relentless as a glacier. Her hand reaches for her coat. Cat rubs against her leg, but Ruth pushes her away. She turns the knob slowly, so as not to make a sound. A man did this. No, she won’t leave it, not this time. She won’t fail Claire.