All That Is Lost Between Us (34 page)

Her expression transforms as she sees him. She throws him a look of terror before she sprints to her car.

Callum rushes down the driveway, catching up with her as she reaches for the door handle. He launches himself at her, the force of his tackle knocking her over. They hit the ground hard, his body crushing hers, winding him. At the same time he hears a crack and she screams, and when he moves off her she gets to her hands and knees, dabbing at her bloody nose.

‘Where the hell is my daughter?' he roars, as she scrabbles backwards away from him. He gets to his feet, towering over her. ‘Hey!' he yells. ‘Answer me.'

Her back meets the low stone wall of their front garden. She stares at him, breathing fast, her body trembling. ‘She ran into the woods. I only wanted to talk to her, but she disappeared.'

‘What the hell have you done?' Callum lunges forward, intending to pull her up. Somehow he will force her to tell him the full truth, but before he can get any further he is grabbed from behind and hauled away.

‘Step back, sir, or I'll have to cuff you,' a voice says, so close to his ear that warm breath prickles his skin.

He is still being held as another uniformed officer stalks in front of him and offers a hand to the girl, pulling her up. The middle-aged policeman looks between them. ‘Who's going to explain what is going on here?'

‘My daughter is missing,' Callum pants. ‘I think she's lost in the woods. Please, let go of me, I need to find her. Where the hell is she?' he bellows at the woman once again.

She's changing in front of him, her confidence returning now his arms are pinioned behind him and she has the upper hand. She marches up until her face is right next to his.

‘Your daughter is a whore.'

She steps back with a vile smirk, and he is wrenching himself free from the officers. He has almost reached her when he is rugby tackled again. It takes two of them to hold him down, and when they pull him up he feels the steely metal of handcuffs snapping onto his wrists, unforgiving against his skin. As he is dragged across to the squad car, he yells, ‘Don't let her go! Call my brother, Liam Turner – for fuck's sake, someone
find my daughter
.' They leave him slumped against the vehicle and return to talk to the woman, who is crying and wailing and dabbing at her bloody nose. He catches sight of himself in his own front window, his clothes dishevelled, his hair sticking on end, one of his wellingtons missing. He spots it abandoned next to the white car, the thick rubber sagging into itself now its purpose has disappeared. He considers his reflection, discomfited by the stranger who stares back. Then his gaze strays towards the woods, and he knows that somewhere in that maze his daughter needs him. He swings around to the police officers and begins to shout and plead all over again.

G
eorgia doesn't move for a while. She's trying to process what has just happened; to keep calm despite the blood. Eventually, she pulls herself up and heads gingerly back onto the track, clutching at whatever she can for support. Everything is slimy and slippery from the rain. As soon as she has taken a few steps she dry-retches and searches for a place to sit down again. There are plenty of leaf-litters that look comfortable but before she selects one she pats it down for rocks.

She tucks herself between the trees and tries to calm down. She can't bear this awful pounding at the base of her skull. She doesn't want to touch it again. She's frightened – her hairline is warm with sticky blood. Perhaps if she lies still for a moment, she thinks, gently easing herself down so she's on her side, her right cheek pressed against soft wet leaves, breathing in earth and a combination of fresh and rotting vegetation.

She is so cold and wet that she's merging with the ground, no idea where her skin ends and the leaves begin. She had better move in a second, but she's exhausted; perhaps she should have a little rest and get her energy up. She allows weariness to take over – anything not to exacerbate the throbbing.

She's sure she hears her father calling her name, but he sounds so far away. It only happens once – perhaps she imagined it. Her mind drifts as she waits, hoping to hear it again, but when it comes his voice is different – coarser.

‘Dad, I'm here,' she calls weakly, ‘over here.'

Scraping footsteps get closer and closer, until at last they are so loud she knows he has found her. She would like to open her eyes, make an effort to show her appreciation, but she is so bloody tired.

‘Georgia, Georgia, what have you done?' And it's not her father at all, but Leo kneeling in front of her, shaking her awake.

‘Why are you here?' she asks, confused. Is he angry with her? She cowers from him.

‘You didn't finish the race, Georgia. Everyone's looking for you. Your parents are frantic.'

Of course. How strange that she had forgotten the race. It seems such a long time ago.

She is curled into a foetal ball, and he tries to unfold her and pull her up. As he grabs her arms he finally notices the blood. ‘What's this?' He sounds confused as he rubs at her wrists and she realises that he thinks she might have harmed herself.

She tries to explain. ‘I walked home. A girl chased me. I hit my head.' Was that what had happened? It doesn't sound quite right. Has she missed something?

‘You hit your head?'

‘At the back. On a rock.' She lifts an arm and gestures weakly at the spot. He moves around and squats on his haunches and she knows he sees it because she hears his deep intake of breath, but he says nothing.

He is behind her. What is he doing? She jumps as he puts his hand on her shoulder. His fingers dig into the side of her neck. He presses hard against the wound on her head. She screams.

Then the pressure is gone. He is in front of her again. He is holding a wad of tissues covered in blood. She retches.

‘Can you walk?' He tries to help her up, but her legs are rubbery and she leans on him so heavily that he's almost lifting her off the ground. She doesn't feel right at all, her head is floating inches above her body. Perhaps this is a dream.
If so
, she demands of her subconscious,
could you make him a bit more understanding, more forgiving
.

‘Leo,' she tries to say, but it comes out
Lo
, and then she remembers she's not supposed to call him by this name any more, so she shuts up.

‘My head,' she attempts, which emerges as
Med
. She puts one floppy puppety hand up to swipe at the base of her neck, and at last he reads her meaning. He pauses, then scoops her into his arms. ‘Come on, let's go.'

He carries her as though she weighs nothing at all. Every thump of his feet makes her head pound harder. She bites her lip, trying not to cry out. He smells clean and fresh but there's muskiness in there too, a hint of something more primal.

‘Hang on,' he mutters after a while, and lays her down on a large boulder. The world is spinning but she sees the big oak tree pass by and guesses that she's lying on the coffin stone. Wispy lights dance in her vision, as though the spirits are gathering to watch this unexpected procession. Leo is leaning over her, his face dark, his jacket smeared with blood. In a haze, she wonders about this weird lightheaded pull that seems to lull her towards unconsciousness. Is it the beginnings of a change into something more ephemeral than flesh and bone? She is too tired to feel afraid. She just wants this journey to end.

Leo has one hand on her, holding her steady, and in the other is his phone. ‘I've found her,' he says. ‘You need to call an ambulance quickly. I'm almost at the field.'

When he attempts to carry her again she tries to resist, fighting him off. ‘I can't,' she wails, breaking down in tears. ‘It hurts.' But he hauls her up anyway, encouraging her to put her arms around his neck, but she's too weak, she can feel herself slipping, and his steps are slowing, she can tell he is struggling. He sets her down again briefly and scoops her up so she's cradled in his arms, staring at the tips of the trees as they point beyond the sky, counting silver stars that seem to be sailing down from heaven.

She drifts into weird daydreams. Her family, Danny, Leo, Sophia, Bethany – they are all jumbled up where they shouldn't be: her parents at school in uniform; Sophia running through the woods; Danny driving a car at her; Leo in her bed at home. Every now and again she comes back to herself in Leo's arms, panicking, gasping for air, and each time she sees they have made a little more ground.

He sets her down and picks her up again, supporting her legs around his waist, so she is wrapped against him, their bodies pressed hard together like that other time, that better time, the one that's faded into a dream. ‘Don't go, Leo,' she begs him. ‘Don't leave me again.'

Is it one of her hallucinations, or is he whispering into her ear, his voice breaking. ‘
I'm so sorry, Georgia. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry.
'

I
have long since reached the limits of my patience. I am monitoring the search effort as I pace in circles, my fingers hovering on the phone, willing it to ring.

When it finally does, it's Liam's name on the screen.

‘Has Georgia turned up there?' he asks.

‘No.'

‘I'm at your house,' he says. ‘Don't panic, but Callum's been arrested.'

‘What?' I shriek. I know people are watching me, but I don't care. ‘What the hell are you talking about?'

‘That woman was here when he got back. He tackled her and it got a bit ugly – don't worry, it'll all be fine.'

My confusion has taken a turn towards delirium. ‘But what about Georgia?' I gabble.

‘I'm heading into the woods now – Callum asked me to walk through to the school. He thinks I'll find her on the way.'

‘Don't walk, Liam, run!' I shout. ‘Call me as soon as you have her.'

As I say this, Chris Jessop is rushing towards me. One glance at her face and I am clutching the phone to my chest, tipping over the final precipice of terror. ‘Leo Freeman just called. He's found her, he's bringing her back now, and he asked us to call an ambulance.' Her face is ashen. Before I can react she adds, ‘It's already done.'

‘Why the ambulance?' I whisper. I can hardly speak, there is so much fear coursing through me.

‘I don't know.'

I look up the hill. There is a figure staggering against the tree line, carrying someone in his arms. I begin to run.

I'm not the only one. The first-aid team are already halfway up the hill, much faster than I'm capable of moving, their equipment banging against their sides. Danny is sprinting ahead. Beside me Zac scrabbles up the incline too, using his hands to help gain speed.

As I get closer I see it's Leo Freeman, and Georgia is limp in his arms. ‘Tell Callum we've got her,' I shout into the phone, my voice breaking, unsure if Liam is still there. Then I drop the phone and let out a scream, charging up this never-ending hill as fast as I can.

J
ust as she thinks they are never going to stop moving, and this pounding in her head will never cease, she begins to hear voices calling in the distance. She knows that they have to go towards them, she longs to be warm and safe, but she will not let go of him again. As Leo slows down and the commotion gets louder, she finds a strength she thought had gone and clings to him with everything she's got, her fingernails digging into his neck, telling him fiercely not to let her go, not to leave her. The trees above them disappear, rain fires freezing arrows into her eyes, and he stops and loosens his grip on her, passing her over to someone else. He strokes her hair once, then squeezes her hand, and she doesn't break his gaze, because in his face, before he turns away, she finds things she feared were lost forever.

Only when she can no longer see him does she close her eyes, knowing it's all over. Finally she realises that everything becomes easier when she just stops resisting.

T
here are sirens in the distance. I see blood on Freeman's T-shirt and Georgia's face. I am delirious with dread, but I will not falter when I'm so close to reaching her.

Danny gets to them first. He helps Freeman steady Georgia until she's on the ground, resting in Danny's lap. Freeman staggers backwards and collapses. The first-aiders crowd around Georgia, while the sirens get louder. I glance back to see the ambulance arriving, the paramedics getting out and starting their own dash up the hill.

I push through the crowd of people. Someone murmurs that she's breathing but her pulse is low. Panicked voices talk over the top of one another. I'm just thankful she's alive, although I'm terrified by all the blood on her neck and hands. I'm on my knees in the mud beside her, leaning over my precious child, whose face is so grey, whose body is so still. I am calling her name over and over, trying to rouse her, until she opens her eyes and sees me and my hand finds hers. For a moment there's only the two of us in this muddy wet field, and the entire balance of my life, the worth of every minute, is held in the hollow space between our palms.

I lean closer to tell her I love her.

And just before she stops breathing, she whispers, ‘Mum.'

Three weeks later

C
allum checks his watch, and sees it's gone ten. He opens his wardrobe and considers his choices, picks out a shirt and lays it on the bed. It's time to get ready.

His thoughts converge on familiar territory. He hadn't even been there when Georgia stopped breathing on the field, and yet the scene that Anya described to him later has tacked itself to the forefront of his mind: the hushed horror as everyone prayed while the paramedics tried to revive his child; the half-dozen people who helped rush the stretcher back down the hill once they were sure she had taken a few lungfuls of oxygen. Then the struggle to stabilise her in the ambulance, ending in a dash from the emergency bay to theatre, where a stranger drilled a hole in their daughter's brain, and saved her life.