Flowers for the Dead (6 page)

“You have got it bad,” Laura smiled gently, genuinely touched. Her little brother was growing up. She wished that Dean Matthews would think that kind of thing about her; she had had a crush on him for years, but her former classmate did not seem to realise she was alive.

Lily was a lucky girl. Marcus was a genuine good guy – even if he was annoying sometimes.

Brother and sister were close now, the arguments they had had when growing up had all but disappeared, and instead they confided in one another and had a laugh together.

Didn’t mean Laura couldn’t still tease him a bit though.

She reached out, and playfully pretended to go to flatten his carefully mussed up hair. He dodged out of the way with a yell.

“Don’t be such a big baby,” she grinned.

“Yeah, cos you’re so grown up at nineteen. You’re such a big kid about fireworks!” Marcus teased back. “We’re only going tonight cos of you.”

“Well, whatever. I can’t help seeing them without smiling. They put a big smile on my face no matter how grumpy I am. And, and, and I need cheering up, you know, because I was in an accident. A terrible car accident, and that’s upset me,” she said loftily.

The pair of them burst out laughing. Marcus put his hand up to his brow in mock despair. “Oooh, my terrible accident. Woe is me. Woe!”

“Whoa!” shouted Seamus. For a moment Laura thought he was joining in, but at the same time came the screech of tyres and suddenly they were on the wrong side of the road.

Laura saw Jackie looked across fearfully at her husband. The car was travelling downhill towards a dip in the road that then disappeared round a bend. For all they knew, a truck could be heading towards them…

“Don’t worry, we’ve plenty of time before the corner,” Seamus calmed as he gently moved the steering wheel.

But instead of the car correcting, it slewed around with a scream of tyres.

Laura’s brain seemed to be seeing in high definition, everything appearing in ultra-sharp detail. The total silence. The twin cones of their headlights illuminating the glittering white scene as their car faced the wrong direction. The gathering speed as they went downhill backwards. Her brother’s gasp, his hand no longer on his brow but reaching towards her, clutching the top of her arm. She realised she had mirrored his movement, and was holding him too.

“Watch out!” shouted Seamus. And the world was rushing at them. A white hedge looming up against Laura’s side of the car – just like the white van had weeks before. Suddenly Laura was back to her own accident, remembering the shattering glass, the terror.

The window was going to break on impact, like before.

She let go of her brother and instinctively hunkered down, arms up, shielding her head to try and pull away from the glass that she was convinced would shatter all over her.

A shuddering impact. Screams. A sensation of the car flying.

Laura blinked her eyes open. Nothing made sense. Blinked them again, trying to work out what was wrong with what she was seeing. Everything hurt. Why did everything hurt?

Her brain kicked in. She was upside down. That was why things look weird. There had been an accident, she must have blacked out for a second.

She groaned. Coughed feebly, trying to get her breath. Called out. “Mum? Dad?” Turned her head.  “Mar…”

She didn’t finish, his name dying on her lips because Marcus did not look right. It was dark, and she could not see properly in the upside down car’s headlights that were reflecting back at her by the frozen white ground. But she could see enough even in that poor light to know her brother’s head was badly injured.

Part of his scalp seemed to be dangling free, and she could hear a deadened thud, thud, thud of blood dripping fast and steady from him onto the roof below them.

Laura was calm. Very, very calm, as she deliberately turned her head to look properly at the roof, part of which was millimetres from her nose, all dented and bashed in.

“Is it normally that low? I don’t remember it being that low,” she thought stupidly.

Focus. She must focus. There was something horribly, horribly wrong with her brother. She called again, louder this time.

“Mum! Dad! Marcus needs help. Quickly.”

No answer.

She craned her neck to see, but could not make them out properly. Her dad’s head had been pushed into a funny angle by the roof, though. It looked unnatural.

Her mum was completely obscured from view. Laura tried to reach forward and brush the back of Jackie’s neck but her seatbelt was holding her too tightly in place. Then she noticed an arm she could reach. It was flung backwards.

It shouldn’t be able to be flung that far backwards.

“Mum?” she whispered, teasing at the thick woollen glove covering her mum’s hand until it came off. She touched soft skin, ran her finger along the length of Jackie’s palm. There was not so much as a twitch of acknowledgement.

They can’t be dead. They can’t be dead.

That was the mantra Laura repeated to herself again and again as she sat upside down, staring straight ahead, as frozen as the scenery outside. She did not know what to do. Her brain was desperately trying to push her into movement but the body wouldn’t work, it wouldn’t listen. There were too many other voices screaming in her brain too. Telling her she must get out. Telling her that everything was fine really, and she was completely over-reacting.

All the voices tore at her, leaving her paralysed with indecision. Keeping time with it all was the soft percussion of blood dripping.

Time passed. She was getting cold. How long had she been sitting there? So cold… She could not feel her hands or feet. Or perhaps something else was causing that; perhaps she was hurt. She had no idea how long she had been sitting there in shock. Staring straight ahead, listening to her brother’s life slowly disappearing.

There was another drip too, coming from beside her and slightly behind. Something that smelled familiar, and made her brain scream even more urgently for her body to pay attention.

Petrol. Oh God, the petrol tank was ruptured.

The realisation kicked Laura’s heart like a jackhammer, and suddenly it was thumping hard. She had to get out immediately. She had to get help.

A low groan. Marcus was alive! Maybe Mum and Dad were too.

CHAPTER SIX

~ Adonis ~

Sorrowful Remembrance

Laura patted herself frantically, trying to find her mobile. Thought back…yes, she remembered picking it up before they set off; she had had to undo her massive padded jacket in order to pop it into the inside pocket. She tried to wriggle her hand to reach it but it was impossible to pull down the zip because of the way the seatbelt was pulled so taut against her chest.

Whatever had frozen her immobile had gone now. Marcus was alive! She had to save her family. Laura was transformed into all thought and action. Desperate to get free, she put one hand over her head, above her, no below her – working upside down was so disorientating. Falling out of her seat might hurt, but that was fine, it had to be done. She hooked one hand around, undid the seatbelt and fell onto the ceiling. Managed to just manoeuvre herself so that she didn’t kick her brother and injure him further.

It was still too cramped for her to reach within her stupid inside pocket.

Frustrated, she yanked at the door handle, pushing and pushing, but something was stopping it from opening.

She had to get out of the car!

The dripping blood, the groaning, the pattering petrol all seemed to be speeding up, the panic building. There was another smell that joined the nostril-burning petrol, and the metallic tang of blood. Smoke.

Laura kicked out at the crazed glass of the passenger window. More cracks formed but it did not give way. She kicked again, as hard as she could, screaming in frustration and rage and fear. The glass shattered. Still on her back, she scooted forward, feet first, hearing the crunch of glass beneath her but she did not care and none of it shredded through the thick layers she was bundled up in.

Panting, she got to her feet, grabbing for the phone. There! Yes! It was undamaged! She looked at it triumphantly…and noticed a glow of orange dancing behind it. Fire.

Laura stared at it, mesmerised, caught in indecision. Should she dial for help, or try to save her family herself? Was there time for the emergency services to arrive before the car burst into a fireball like she had seen so often in films? But she knew she should not move people in accidents, in case of broken necks. But if she didn’t they might die in the fire.

She should…she should…she made a split second decision.

Laura dialled 999, put the phone on speaker, dropped it on the floor and dived forward. Reached for the handle of the front passenger side door to help her mum. Tugged at it, but it wouldn’t budge, why would it not budge? Because the car’s impact had embedded it into the iron hard, frozen ground, which had caved in the roof and bent every panel out of shape.

“Hello, emergency service operator, which service do you require? Fire, police, or ambulance?” came a voice over the speakerphone.

“Fire engines! And ambulance!” Laura shouted. She pulled and pulled and pulled at the door, but it wouldn’t give, not so much as a millimetre.

“What is the nature of your emergency?”

She ran round to the other side of the car, yelling: “There’s been a car crash!”

Pulling at the driver’s door, she looked down into her dad’s open eyes. The whites stared out from the red mask of blood, unseeing.

“Where are you? Do you know your location?” said the calm voice of the operator.

Laura yelled the location and that her three family members were seriously hurt, but knew it was down to her to act. The flames were getting bigger and stronger, and the heat was starting to beat her back, like a furnace. It was hurting her face to get close.

“Stay where you are, someone is on their way,” said the operator. “Stay on the line with me.”

Screw that.

Laura got on her belly and wriggled back inside through the window she had escaped through. Marcus’s head was a bloody mess but she had to do something to help him. She tugged at her little brother’s seatbelt. Yanked at it while shouting at the top of her voice to the emergency operator.

“There’s a fire! There’s a fire! I’ve got to get them out! And the petrol tank has ruptured, it’s leaking. Yes!”

She yelled that last because the seatbelt had finally undone. Marcus collapsed, and though Laura tried to catch him, he fell into a heap, his elbow and knee smacking into her face, making stars dance in front of her eyes. She grabbed him anyway and started pulling.

His hair is a mess. He’s taken so long over his hair. He wanted it to be perfect, didn’t even want to wear a hat, and now it’s a bloody, matted mess, and…there are big clots underneath it. It’s brain, it’s brains.

With an effort, she shoved the thoughts away. Put her hands under her brother’s armpits and heaved with all her might, veins standing out with the effort. He moved. Not by much, but he definitely moved.

She could not use her strength properly in her current position. She pulled again. He was almost at the window. Right, if she wriggled out, she should be able to brace her feet against the wreckage and pull him through the window.

She scrambled out, turned around just as there was a loud crackling noise. The whole front of the car was ablaze now, the heat searing. Her parents, she had to get them out too!

Laura was screaming. Screaming at the operator who was telling her to be calm.

“How can I be bloody calm? They’re going to die!” she shrieked.

In her panic she stumbled backwards. There was a deafening noise. And once again she was flying, flying, flying…

***

Laura wakes with a jolt. It is no surprise, she has had this nightmare, woken at that precise point too many times. For a second though, her sleep-addled brain cannot work out where she is; her bedroom looks different. Two seconds tick by before she works out it is only because she is on the floor still. With a grunt, she shifts, forcing herself to sit upright. She raises a hand to rub at her stiff neck and discovers a photograph sticking to it, which she peels off her flesh.

So, she has had the dream again. She has relived that bloody accident time and time again in her sleep, sometimes hating it, sometimes loving it because for a few sweet moments at the start, it is as if her family is alive again. Her mind has always skittered away from the aftermath of the accident though. Now, she forces herself to remember waking in hospital.

Her Aunt Linda had been by her side. One look at her face had told Laura everything she needed to know. Her family was dead. Laura was kept in overnight for observation because she had concussion, but the next day she was deemed well enough to be released.

People had told her it was a miracle that she had survived. As if she was some kind of chosen one. As if she must have deserved the miracle when her parents and brother had not.

The truth, she knew, was that if she had not frozen, they might all have survived. She could have pulled them out in time. Or she could have called for help earlier to douse the flames.

At the joint inquest, experts agreed it was just one of those terrible things. That her father, Seamus, fifty, had done nothing wrong but had simply hit some black ice and the whole incident was a tragic accident.

The car had hit the hedge side on and bounced off it, flipping over and landing upside down in a field, burying itself in frozen earth as hard as iron, and the front of the car smashing into a tree. Seamus had braced himself for impact, straightening his arms against the steering wheel and sitting up straighter. The impact had shuddered up his arms, shattering all the bones, and when the car flipped onto its roof and was caved in, it smashed into his head, creating catastrophic injuries and snapping his neck. The only comfort was that it had been instant.

Her mum, Jackie, forty-eight, had died on impact, too, from multiple injuries that included a ripped aorta, like Princess Diana.

Experts agreed Marcus would have died of his injuries too. Laura remembered the groan though, and knew he had survived the crash. It was her lack of action that had killed him, she was certain.

The whole thing was her fault – they had only been going out at all because she loved bonfire night and fireworks so much.

Yet Laura was the one who had walked away with barely a scratch. The only mark she bore was a scar down the back of her thumb, which was shaped like an exclamation mark. Accident experts at the inquest said that her hunkering down to shield herself from the shattering glass had saved her life. Because she had been low down, the roof had not hit her when it caved in. That white van man had saved her life when he had smashed into her a handful of weeks before.

Laura had wished he had not. She had longed to be with her family.

Ever since, she had been in a limbo. Not wanting to die but not wanting to live either, sitting on the fence and not caring if something blew her over to death so that she can be with her loved ones and the guilt could end.

She had given up on her studies to become a nursery nurse. What was the point? In fact, she had told herself there was no point to anything. Making plans was a waste of time when everything could be taken from you in a split second.

She pulls down the long-sleeve of her favourite forest green t-shirt, her last present from Marcus, and uses it to dab at her damp face. Gives a shuddering sigh, then forces herself to stand and shakily walk to the bed, where she sinks down again.

After the accident she had sold the family home she had inherited, unable to stay there with all the memories, and bought herself a little flat. The only thing she had not put into storage was the bed, which had been her 18
th
birthday present from her parents. She had felt so grown up asking for this glorious thing, which she had fallen in love with when they were at an antiques fair one day.

It was the only thing from her life before. Everything else she had bought from Ikea in the space of just three trips – it wasn’t like she was particularly bothered about the décor, this was merely somewhere for her to escape from the rest of the world.

Now though, she knows she must slowly start to rebuild her life. To live instead of exist. Briefly she wonders if she has the strength, but then she looks once more at that photograph and nods grimly. She will do it. She has to.

***

Adam is waiting outside Oasis in Covent Garden. It’s one of his favourite places. He loves the anonymity of London, so different from his home in Birmingham, where people meet your eye, say hello and then, even worse, insist on engaging you in conversation. He likes that in London people avoid eye contact, and that everyone is hiding behind headphones so it is clear they do not want to speak.

Covent Garden is a popular place for friends to meet up, though, and that is why Adam is there. He likes to stand at this spot, opposite the exit of the Tube station, watching everyone. Their eager faces as they scan the crowd for pals, the way their faces light up when they spot them, the hugging, the way people’s voices sound so eager, so animated, so full of life. They are happy.

He wants someone to look at him like that, and this way he gets a tiny sliver of the action by proxy.

Everyone assumes he is waiting too, and they are right, in a way he is. No one realises how long he has been lingering though, do not see how he can be there all day sometimes, because they move on so quickly. But not him, he carries on searching the crowd, looking, waiting, for that one person he will recognise instantly.

They won’t recognise him, of course, because he is a stranger – at the moment he is a stranger. But all it takes is for someone to be stood up, that sadness to envelope them, and that is when he will choose them. He doesn’t like it if they get huffy and angry. He could never be with someone like that; they deserve to be stood up or treated badly if they have no manners. No, he waits for the ones who hang their head, who are enveloped in a cloud of sadness; he can see their shoulders drop as they finally give up looking at the crowds hopefully, checking their watch every couple of minutes. The way they walk away, trying desperately not to show their sadness, putting on a brave front while pretending that they have not been stood up at all.

Poor souls, they are so unhappy - and that is why he chooses them. Because they deserve his friendship, they need someone to look out for them. He just wants to make them happy. No matter what it takes.

Of course, there are times when he follows someone who is impossible to help purely for geographic reasons. He has taken a shine to women who have been on holiday from abroad, which is frustrating, but he knows he has to let them go. But more often than not he chooses British women. The really lovely thing about Covent Garden is that people come from all over the country, so he never knows where he might end up.

He once fell for a girl from Inverness, and had to spend hours travelling to see her. Irene had been her name. The instant he thinks of her, lisiathus flowers spring to mind. Adam cannot look at lisianthus without thinking of her soft-as-petals skin; the warm brown tendrils around her neck when her hair was pulled into a ponytail, just as the flowers’ buds twisted delicately; or how she had betrayed him with another man, as the flower had warned him she would. The flower stood for ‘out-going’, and Irene certainly had been.

He feels her soul stir restlessly inside him now, apologising and feeling ashamed of herself, and he takes a moment to soothe her before continuing to look around.