Bone Song (11 page)

When the painkillers finally kick in, I lie back in the hospital bed and stare at the ceiling. White tiles, fourteen along by twenty two across, that’s –

‘Hello, sweetheart.’

I turn my head too fast and pain stabs through my shoulder and neck. It’s Dad. ‘Hi.’ What’s he doing here? That’s right, I told them to call him.

‘The doctor said you’re OK, no major muscle or bone damage.’ He tries a smile but it looks more like a grimace. ‘How on earth did you get involved with those people?’

‘Hey,
those people
are my friends!’ I glare at him. He’d better not have come here to lecture me.

‘You could’ve been killed, or badly hurt, Deborah,’ he says. ‘I don’t take that lightly.’

‘Dad, since when have you really cared about what happens to me?’ His face pales but I’m not letting him off the hook. ‘It’s a bit late now to be going on about
those people
. It’s the one at home that’s my problem. Where is my darling mother?’

Instead of going off at me for being rude about Mother dear, he rubs his ear and looks away. ‘She’s… not coming.’

‘How predictable.’ And just like that, I dismiss her from my brain. I no longer want to waste any time or energy on her. Delete.

‘Now about your friend and her father,’ Dad says, changing the subject.

‘Where is she? More to the point, where is
he
?’

‘He’s in custody. He’s been formally charged and the bail hearing is tomorrow morning.’

‘He won’t get bail, will he?’ God, Goody and her mum would be right back where they started.

‘Not if they give the police full
statements
. Your friend already has, but her mother was too upset.’

‘What about me? I want to make a statement too.’

‘Well, I tried to get you out of that –’

‘I don’t want you to get me out of it. I want to help.’ Doesn’t he understand anything? ‘Will they refuse him bail if we all stand up and say how obsessed he is?’

‘Possibly. It depends on his lawyer, how well he defends him.’ Dad fidgets in his chair. ‘I don’t think you understand the ramifications of all this.’

What? That some guy has been terrorising his wife and daughter for years, and no one has had the guts to stop him?

‘Fill me in, Dad.’ I try not to be too sarcastic but it still leaks out, and his mouth tightens.

‘If he’s convicted of assault, he’ll be disbarred as a lawyer. He might not go to jail, though, he might be given a community order instead.’

‘But that means he’d be out and harassing them again!’

‘That’s why a lot of women don’t testify. And when they do…’

I think about it and go cold. ‘There was something in the paper about a guy who shot his ex-wife. That’s what you’re talking about, aren’t you?’

‘Yes, and I don’t want you in the middle of it.’

‘So, just leave them to it, you reckon. Too bad if they get hurt or killed.’

‘That’s not what I mean at all.’ He jumps up, his face angry. ‘There are things like restraining orders, and if he offended again, he would be given a sentence.’

‘Great choice, huh? Testify against the guy and risk him tracking you down, or run again and let him off, and he’ll still track you down. Shit.’

‘That’s life, Deborah.’

Great, Dad. Wonderful philosophy you’ve got there.

‘He’s right.’ Goody’s voice is like music to me.

‘Hey, you’re OK!’ I say, grinning at her like a loony. Then I realise the door’s been open the whole time. How much has she heard?

‘Yeah, I am,’ she says, ducking her head a little. ‘And your dad is right. My father
could still hurt both of us. But I’m sick of running. The fear is the same either way, but if we stay here, we can get some kind of protection.’

‘But will your mum testify?’ Or more likely, would she end up in a psych ward?

‘I think she might.’ She turns her face towards me and I gasp. She has a huge black eye and three little stitches on her cheekbone. ‘When he hit me, I think that was the turning point for her.’

I glance at Dad, and the horror on his face is almost laughable. He says, ‘If you and your mother are staying here, maybe I can help her out with a job.’

‘That’d be great, Dad,’ I say. Maybe there’s hope for him yet.

‘But you, young lady,’ he says, turning to me, ‘are not staying at Village Gate.’

‘I am not going back to Barton, even if you tie me to their fancy front gate.’
Boarding school is starting to look like a real possibility. I swallow hard.

‘I don’t want to stay at Village Gate either,’ Goody says suddenly. ‘It’s the pits.’

Dad gazes at both of us and nods. ‘Let’s look for a compromise – a school we might all be happy with.’

‘Everyone except Mother, you mean.’ I don’t think he realises what a battle he’ll have.

‘I’ll deal with that later.’ He gives Goody his business card and says her mum should call him as soon as she’s ready.

‘Thanks,’ Goody says, and stares at it like it’s going to bite her.

After he’s gone, I ask her, ‘What are you really going to do?’

‘Testify against the bastard, and make sure Mum does too.’ She puts the business card in her pocket. ‘After that, try to start
living a half-normal life, I guess. It feels weird. And scary. But not as scary as running. And we’ll get to see Aunty Lesley again.’

‘Is your mum going to file for divorce too?’

Her mouth twists. ‘I wish. She said she’s scared it will make him worse, but how can he get worse than he is already? I don’t know…’

‘Hey, you’ve got me, you know. Maybe we could both learn kung fu or something.’

She laughs. ‘Yeah, right. You wouldn’t be able to, would you?’ Too late, she slaps her hand over her mouth. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.’

‘It’s OK.’ I fiddle with the bed cover, pick a thread and pull it out. ‘I’ve… decided to have the extra operations and go back to physio.’

Her eyes widen. ‘Really? What will that mean? You can dance again? That would be so cool. You’re so brilliant at it.’

‘Slow down!’ I love the way she’s so happy for me, even if I haven’t done anything yet. ‘It’s going to be a long hard road. I might not make it.’

‘But you’re going to give it a go,’ she says. ‘You’re going to fight the dragons.’

‘Yeah, well, so are you.’

She hoists herself up on the bed next to me, on my good side, and pulls two bars of chocolate out of her bag. ‘I got them out of the machine. Want one?’

I think about what I’m going to look like in a leotard, how much harder it is to glide and leap and spin with ten extra kilos hanging off me. ‘No, thanks. You need chocolate more than me.’

She shoves the bars back in her bag. ‘I’ll save it for later. Now what school do you think we should go to?’

Award-winning author Sherryl Clark lives in Victoria, Australia where she teaches professional writing and editing at Victoria University. She writes for children, young adults and adults and has had more than thirty books published. When not teaching she visits schools and runs workshops and seminars on writing and editing.