Shadow of the Mountain (14 page)

G
eneva had a stream of visitors over the weekend. Dayna, Sonya, another couple of girls from school. Tink came late in the afternoon and chattered about nothing in
particular
. Her father came and went through most of Saturday, in addition to his regular evening appearances. On Sunday Julia arrived with the twins. She was still there when Miriam put her head around the door.

‘I’ve obviously got you at a busy time,’ she said with a brisk nod. ‘I won’t stop long. I just wanted to see how you were, and pass on our best wishes. I’m afraid Angus is grounded, or I’m sure he’d have come himself.’

Geneva opened her mouth and shut it again. As she introduced the two women she could see them sizing each other up.

‘You must be very proud of Angus,’ Julia said. ‘We certainly owe him a great deal.’

‘Yes. Well, it’s good that it turned out no worse than it did. Clearly his actions weren’t well thought through but I hope he’ll be able to learn from that. We always have things to learn, don’t we?’ Her smile was brittle. ‘But now’s not the time to dwell on blame. Geneva, you just need to concentrate
on getting body and spirit whole and healthy. I’m sure you won’t be in here long. What have the doctors said?’ she asked, with a smooth change of subject.

Geneva avoided Julia’s eye. One of the twins chose that moment to discover the lever that raised and lowered the bed. Miriam left soon after.

‘I can’t stay much longer either,’ Julia said, ‘or the twins will wreak havoc. I’m amazed they’ve lasted this long.’

‘Julia, is Dad all right?’ Geneva asked.

For the first time, her aunt hesitated. ‘He’s coping,’ she said at last.

Geneva nodded, guilt rising like bile in her throat. ‘Mum hasn’t been in yet.’

‘No.’ Julia paused. ‘She’s taken it fairly hard, but that doesn’t mean she’s not thinking of you.’ She reached down to pull a twin from beneath the bed. ‘You know, it might be a good thing — bring it all to a head perhaps.’ With a quick smile, she shifted to a less serious mode. ‘We should have asked the redoubtable Miriam,’ she said. ‘She seems very sure of her ground.’

Geneva made a face. ‘I don’t think I’m too popular there,’ she said.

‘Angus struck me as having a mind of his own — as well as excellent taste,’ Julia added, with a hearty smile. ‘Now, I’m off, before these boys get us all in trouble. Imagine them as teenagers!’ She shuddered.

Alone again, Geneva studied the guilt that had been welling within her all week. She’d been avoiding it: avoiding acknowledging what her accident would have done to her mother. Now she faced it. Her mother had barely been
getting by before, and this was just about the worst thing that could have happened. Geneva wasn’t sure what it meant, that her mother hadn’t been in to see her.

‘How’s my girl?’ her father asked when he called by that evening. She let him settle before she broached the subject.

‘Dad, how’s Mum?’

He sighed, reaching a moment later to take hold of her hand. ‘You know she hasn’t been well,’ he began. Geneva wished she could take the question back. She felt cold. ‘She hasn’t been able to take it in properly.’ Her father squeezed her hand. ‘I took her to see Doctor Hansen and he talked us through a few options. We’ve already tried medication…’

As her father’s voice trailed away, Geneva felt as if a
boulder
had lodged itself in her chest. She tightened her hold on his fingers. He cleared his throat. ‘What we’ve decided is that it would be best if your mother had some time out, so she’s gone into residential care for a while. I’ve been trying to find the right time to tell you,’ he added.

Geneva nodded, tears brimming in her eyes. ‘It’s my fault,’ she began. Her father squeezed her hand in both of his.

‘No, love, it’s not. Your accident has been a catalyst, that’s all. And we needed to do something. It wasn’t working, the way things were. This is for the best.’

‘How long —?’ she asked.

‘A few months perhaps. We’ll go and see her as soon as you’re well enough. She can have visitors any time, and she looks better already. You’ll see.’

Geneva swallowed. Her mother had been getting worse
over the past few months, increasingly withdrawn and unfocussed. She thought about the incident when Angus visited.

‘Does she blame me?’ she asked miserably. ‘I mean, has she said —’

‘No one blames you!’ her father interrupted. ‘If anyone’s to blame, it’s me! I should have seen that you both needed more help than I could give. I haven’t been much good through any of this, as a father or a husband.’

‘That’s not true, Dad!’ The tears spilled over and began to dribble down her face. Her father leant close to hold her while she cried. When it was over he rested his forehead against hers. His cheeks were wet.

‘Let’s make a deal,’ he suggested. ‘No more talk of blame, okay?’

Geneva nodded and wiped her nose on her hand. Her father reached into a pocket for a handkerchief. ‘You’d think they’d supply tissues in a place like this,’ he said, looking around.

‘There’s toilet paper in the loo,’ she said, mopping up with his hanky. Her father nodded and disappeared. She heard him honk noisily before he returned. ‘You’ll wake the neighbours,’ she said.

He smiled. ‘It never hurts to have a good clean out of the sinuses.’

A bell rang in the corridor outside. ‘Time I was off,’ her father added. ‘Anything you’d like me to bring in tomorrow?’

‘Am I allowed a cellphone?’ she asked.

H
er father appeared the next afternoon with a fresh bunch of flowers and her mobile. She turned it on: no messages. ‘I might just get myself a coffee,’ he suggested. ‘Back in ten.’ She smiled gratefully at his tact, waiting till he was out the door before she sent a text.

Bored rigid. Are you still grounded? G.

When three hours had passed and there was still no reply, Geneva decided she was sick of taking the passive approach. Clearing her throat, she dialled Angus’s home number. She was surprised to discover how nervous she was as she counted the rings.

‘Miriam speaking.’

Geneva swallowed. ‘Hello. Could I speak to Angus, please?’

There was a pause. ‘He’s not here right now. Is that you, Geneva?’

‘Yes.’ She thought she could detect the same coolness she’d felt when Miriam visited the hospital — though perhaps it was just the woman’s professional tone — the one she reserved for dealing with loonies.

‘I didn’t realise you were out of hospital.’

‘I’m not. It’ll probably be another few days.’

‘Oh, I see. Well, I’ll let Angus know you called. He’s rather busy at school just now, but I’m sure he’ll be pleased to know you’re on the mend.’

Geneva would have confirmed that she was but Miriam didn’t give her a chance. With a breezy goodbye she rang off, leaving Geneva staring at the phone in her hand. The woman had been almost rude. Though perhaps she was imagining it — perhaps it was just about Angus being grounded.
Somehow
she didn’t think so.

Tossing the phone into a drawer, Geneva wriggled against her pillows. She couldn’t get comfortable. Dayna had left her a couple of novels and she reached for the first, but she couldn’t concentrate. Her thoughts kept drifting to Angus. He hadn’t promised anything, but she’d hoped he might come and see her again over the weekend — or if he couldn’t get away, that he’d at least text. And Miriam: Geneva could understand why Miriam might be angry with her, but Angus wasn’t — was he? Maybe she’d read it wrong. Maybe Miriam was covering for him, to save him the embarrassment of giving her the flick himself.

She tried to recall their exact conversation. She’d done most of the talking. What had he meant when he’d said she shouldn’t make a habit of it? Of what? Relying on him? And the bit about owing her an apology… Had she been the one jumping to conclusions this time? He hadn’t got closer than the bedside table and he hadn’t said anything about keeping in touch. That bit about how she came to fall — surely he didn’t think … And then there was that comment Miriam had made about blame.

Geneva tossed the book onto the bedside table and kicked
the sheet aside. She was sick of bed, sick of tubes and tray tables and doing what she was told. Clenching her teeth against the swift stab of pain in her chest, she twisted herself onto the side of the bed and reached for the crutches. Taking a slow breath, she moved her weight onto her good leg, braced herself and pushed up. She’d never done it without a nurse on hand but there was no reason why she shouldn’t: the physio had said gentle exercise was good.

With cumbersome, three-legged steps she crossed the room. Using crutches hurt her ribs and she rested, leaning against the wall. The stitches up her thigh and buttock felt tight but at least the bruised ache was constant, unlike the
unpredictable
barbs in her chest. Adjusting the crutches, Geneva gritted her teeth and poked her head out the door. There was no one in sight. Shuffling awkwardly through the doorway she set off along the corridor. The TV lounge was at the far end. She had to stop once along the way, panting with
exertion
. Her side felt as if her ribs had been tied together, front and back; as if they’d stitched right through her by mistake and each clumping step threatened to tear it all loose. Her leg was throbbing. When she reached the lounge it was a relief to find it empty.

As she manoeuvred around a hideous brown couch one of the crutches snagged on a coffee table and she lost her balance. Trying to save herself, or at least reach the couch, she twisted sideways, her ribs screaming in protest. As she landed her leg crashed against the arm of a chair. Geneva fainted.

‘You must really like us,’ a voice said. ‘Anyone would think you’re angling to stay a bit longer.’

Geneva opened her eyes to find two nurses leaning over
her. ‘I hit my leg,’ she said.

‘You’re not supposed to be out of bed.’

‘Did you get all the way along here on your own?’ the friendlier nurse asked.

Geneva nodded. ‘I was sick of being in bed.’

‘Well you’ll be there longer if you keep this up,’ the other woman answered briskly. ‘You’ve torn some of your stitches by the look of it. What’s the doctor going to say?’

Doctor Hurley said she could go home in two days, just as long as she promised to do what she was told between now and then. ‘No more wild jaunts, hmm? You could have really set yourself back.’ He smiled, his face momentarily losing its rigid lines. ‘You need to take it at the pace we prescribe: we do know what we’re talking about.’

Geneva pressed her tongue against the back of her teeth and nodded contritely. She didn’t intend doing anything that would keep her here longer. She was fed up with hospital green, hospital food, hospital routines. Even the staff, whose breezy friendliness had helped her through the first few days, were beginning to get on her nerves.

‘And you’d be well advised to follow the physio’s recommendations. A straightforward break takes two years to fully heal, and this was a little more complicated than some. Understand?’ He waited for Geneva’s reluctant nod. ‘Right.’ Returning her chart to the end of the bed, he gave her toes a peremptory tap. ‘We’ll take another look at things tomorrow.’

As he strolled out the door, Geneva hated him for his easy walk as much as for his patronising manner — but she was
making progress. The stitches were due to come out the next day and everyone seemed pleased with the way the scar was healing — she’d got one of the nurses to hold a mirror so that she could inspect it. It ran like a jack-booted caterpillar trail up the side of her thigh and buttock. ‘You’ll scarcely notice it in six months,’ the nurse had said.

‘Frankenstein’s monster.’ Geneva scowled. ‘Lucky it’s not around my forehead.’

‘For more reasons than one,’ the nurse agreed. ‘But you’ll be amazed at how quickly it fades, and at least it’s out of sight.’

Geneva nodded glumly. She felt as if she was out of sight — though that was hardly fair: she’d had plenty of
visitors
. Just not the one she wanted.

Unable to contain her irritation, Geneva swung herself out of bed and down to the nurses’ station where she asked to borrow a phone book. Angus still hadn’t replied to her texts, and when she’d phoned his home number again she got Miriam and another smooth brush-off. If Angus was no longer interested, he should at least have the decency to tell her.

Her hand felt damp on the receiver. She was glad it was Tink rather than Keith on reception duty at RockZone.

‘Hey, girl! Good to hear from you! I was planning to pop by at the weekend but Keith says you’ll be out before then.’

‘Hopefully. I can’t wait.’

‘I bet — how long do they reckon before you’re off crutches?’

‘I should get down to one in a fortnight — it’ll make it easier on my ribs as well.’

‘Mmm. Coming back to the club?’

‘I hope so.’ Geneva hesitated, but there was no subtle way to ask. ‘So, how is everyone? Is Angus okay?’

‘Haven’t seen him,’ Tink answered. ‘He rang to say he was grounded and couldn’t make it to practice last week and he didn’t show today; I guess for the same reason.’ Geneva could hear Tink’s hesitation. ‘Hasn’t he been to see you?’

‘He came last week,’ she answered. ‘He told me about being grounded. Just another thing for me to feel guilty about.’ She tried to say it lightly, as if it was a joke, but it came out badly.

‘Well, don’t. Angus is a big boy, and if you ask me he made the right decision, whatever anyone else might say.
Sometimes
you’ve just gotta do what you’ve gotta do.’

‘Mmm.’

‘Everyone at the club’s been asking after you,’ Tink offered.

It didn’t seem enough.

When her father appeared that evening, Geneva’s spirits were at a low ebb. She couldn’t summon much of a response to his efforts to make conversation and they spent most of the visit sitting in a slightly uneasy silence. She was almost relieved when the visitors’ bell rang, yet as soon as he was gone, she wished him back.

When her phone rang she frowned at the unfamiliar caller ID.

‘Geneva? It’s Angus.’

She straightened against the pillows. ‘Hi.’

‘Tink came by,’ he said. ‘She seemed to think I should give you a call.’

Geneva’s spirits sank: it was a duty call. ‘Oh, it’s no big deal,’ she mumbled. ‘I was talking to her and she mentioned you hadn’t been to the club. I guess you’re still grounded.’

‘Yeah. Released on bail for school, and all other communication strictly controlled. She’s even impounded my phone. This is the cretin’s, and he’s making the most of it: treble rates plus blackmail money. At least it’s maturing his entrepreneurial skills.’

That at least explained why he hadn’t replied to her texts, though the relief she felt faded to embarrassment as she
pictured
Miriam reading her messages. Innocuous as they’d been, they were private.

‘So you’re still in hospital?’

‘Till Thursday. Didn’t your mother tell you?’

‘My mother?’

‘I told her when I rang that I’d be out at the end of the week.’

Angus let out a slow breath. ‘She didn’t even tell me that you called.’

‘Twice actually,’ Geneva said.

‘Bloody Nazi! Our Miriam takes control freak to a whole new level. I didn’t know she was screening my calls as well.’ He hesitated. ‘I could bunk off tomorrow afternoon if you could put up with a visit? Only if you want me to,’ he added.

‘Of course I want you to! Where’d you get the idea that I wouldn’t?’ she demanded.

Angus groaned. ‘I’ll give you one guess — and it wasn’t my horoscope.’

Geneva spent the morning feeling as if she was holding her breath. She knew it was crazy. At lunchtime she could hardly eat, and the woman who collected her tray raised an eyebrow in concern. ‘Not hungry today?’

Geneva glanced apologetically at the stew and veg. ‘It’s just not one of my favourites.’

‘Keep the roll. You might want it later.’

As soon as she was gone Geneva manoeuvred herself out of the bed and swung across to the tiny bathroom. Leaning against the basin she studied herself in the mirror. Her hair was a mess. She’d got a nurse to help her wash it that
morning
, but it looked like it had been dried in a windstorm. She tugged her hairbrush through it and studied the spots on her forehead. Hospital food, no exercise, stress … She brushed her teeth, struggled into a clean shirt and clumped back to the bed.

It was still half an hour till visiting time. One of the nurses she remembered from her earliest days on the ward popped her head through the door. ‘Everything okay in here? Hey, hey, you’re looking good!’

Geneva wrinkled her nose.

‘Expecting a special visitor?’ Geneva’s blush provided the answer. ‘You got a little bit of lipstick? That always helps.’

Ignoring that, Geneva asked if it would be okay if she went down to the lounge.

‘With your visitor you mean?’

She nodded.

‘Fine, honey. Just so long as you don’t overdo it. Good luck now.’

By the time the bell signalled the start of visiting she felt
sick with nerves, and was trying to tell herself it might be hours before Angus showed up. If he showed up. He might not be able to get away, or he might have changed his mind. She rearranged her pillows and picked up one of Dayna’s books, but found that her eyes were just running over the lines without her brain noticing.

When a smiling face appeared in the doorway, Geneva tried not to look disappointed. ‘Can’t stop long,’ Julia said. ‘Just brought a few things to break the monotony.’ She dumped a carrier bag with magazines and fruit on the end of the bed, topping the pile with several giant orange gerberas tied with an oversized purple bow.

‘Thanks.’

‘I’ve been to see your mother,’ Julia said, her back to Geneva as she discarded a bunch of flowers that had passed their best. ‘Your dad told me he’d talked to you about it?’ She glanced over her shoulder.

Geneva’s good mood evaporated. She nodded, and Julia returned to arranging the gerberas in the vacated vase. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t say anything the other day, but it was over to him to choose the time.’

‘It’s all right,’ she said.

‘It is, sweetie.’ Julia turned. ‘It’s for the best. I really believe that.’

Geneva couldn’t hold her aunt’s gaze and instead studied the weave of the blanket that lay taut across her knees.

‘This was going to happen sooner or later,’ Julia said, sitting cautiously on the side of the bed.

‘It’s my fault it’s sooner.’

Julia pursed her lips. ‘Not fault, hon. You gave things a hefty
nudge but that’s not necessarily bad: things couldn’t stay as they were. It was no sort of life, not for her and not for your father.’ She lifted Geneva’s hand and squeezed it. ‘None of us will ever forget Stephen, and nor would we want to, but we have to go on living.’

Geneva swallowed. ‘Is she angry with me?’ She hadn’t acknowledged the fear until she spoke it, and tears came welling behind the words.

Julia pulled her into a hug. ‘Of course she’s not! She loves you; she always will. She’s grieving and lost, but she’s also relieved she’s still got you! We all are.’

Julia’s arms tightened, one hand rubbing her niece’s back. When she finally sat back, she wiped at her eyes with the heel of her hand, smudging her mascara sideways. ‘I must have needed that.’ She reached for her bag. ‘Tissue?’ she offered. ‘I hear you’re making your escape on Thursday?’

Geneva nodded. ‘Well, if there’s anything you want, just give me a call.’ She stood up.