Spark (13 page)

“Play it cool,” Miriam says. “Remember what we talked about.”

I doubt she can drive any slower, making me too irritated to enjoy the splendour of the Gallagher’s estate. We pull in by the front steps and I’m out of the car before Miriam has turned off the engine. I have so much adrenaline in my body I don’t notice the aches and pains from training. Miriam fishes in her handbag and fusses with the collar of her shirt, seeming to invent new means of stalling. I grind my teeth, choking my purse between my hands until she gets out of the car and joins me on the drive, holding a pack with a selection of photos from the ball.

Halfway up the steps, it hits me, a magnetic pulse that hooks behind my bellybutton. The tether. I grab Miriam’s arm. Tears spring in my eyes with the rush of irrational relief. I already know Kitty survived her stay in the hospital and returned home safely, but I still shake, overwhelmed by the proof of life. Immediately, my consciousness of the bandwidth heightens, like someone has turned the volume up. I don’t even mind the static.

“Even from here?” Miriam says.

The door opens and there stands Barb, fastening a pearl earring, a faltering smile on her lips. Behind her carefully applied make-up she looks drawn. I dab at my eyes, trying not to smudge my own make-up. I have shadows to hide too.

“Goodness,” she says. “Come in, come in. We’re all running a bit behind, I’m afraid.”

“Sorry, Evie’s been itching to get here.” Miriam mounts the porch, embracing Barb, kissing her cheek.

Barb looks teary eyed and shakes her head. “Sorry. Seeing you both – it makes me …”

“It’s all right,” Miriam says. “We all miss April.”

I’m so wired I don’t even feel the pang of grief. I follow Miriam into the vast foyer, gleaming, white-panelled woodwork, pale walls, sweeping central staircase, and a triple-height ceiling with a crystal chandelier. There are two sets of double doors to the left and right of the staircase. The first on the left lead to a formal dining room and out of sight beyond that, the kitchen. Second is the ballroom but its huge glass-panelled sliders are closed. A drawing room, living room and conservatory are through the first set of doors on the right, and Leonard pops his head out of the last set of doors, a phone pressed to his ear. He waves, makes an apologetic face and disappears again into his study.

“He’s on the line to his brother.” Barb’s mouth thins. “Knowing Jeremy, it might take awhile. Why don’t you come into the living room while we wait for the others. Jamie only just got in. He’s been running on Allesford Ridge.”

I couldn’t sit and wait if she paid me. “Can I go up and see Kitty?”

“Oh, um.”

I move towards the stairs before I register Barb’s hesitation and Miriam’s warning look.

“I’m sure she won’t be long,” Barb says.

“I’ll let her know we’re here.” I bound up the stairs as though the tether reels me in like a fishing line.

“Well, I suppose,” Barb’s voice peters out before I make the landing. Miriam murmurs something apologetic and I head left to the family wing. I haven’t been up here in three years but I know Kitty’s room is the first on the left and Jamie’s is at the end. Their parents have an apartment-sized suite on the right, running the length of the wing. One of Kitty’s double doors stands partly open. I have to stop in the hall, close my eyes and exhale before knocking.

I tap and call, “Hey, it’s me,” then nudge the door.

Kitty is at her desk in a casual blue dress with a high collar that disappears inside her foam neck support. She sits up, startled and closes her pen inside the cover of a brown journal. “Evie?” She glances at her clock and rises from her seat, pulling open the top drawer of her desk and sliding the journal in. “You’re here early.” She locks the drawer then slips the key into her pocket.

I stand on the threshold, taking in the stiffness and self-consciousness of her movements, trying to keep myself from running and squeezing the life out of her.

“Like my new foam?” She still sounds husky and though she makes a face as if it’s a joke, her eyes water.

“Better than the full brace.”

“Not by much.”

The airy room hasn’t changed from how I remembered it. A polished floor with a Gallagher textiles rug. The decor, white on white with raspberry hints in the exquisite drapes and quilt from their soft furnishings division. Big French doors, the balcony beyond. Hardbacks line an orderly bookcase and an old Audrey Hepburn movie poster hangs framed on the wall. I grin, close the door behind me and cross the floor, intending to hug her. She moves to the other side of the bed, tucks her hair behind her ears and brushes her hands down her dress, her eyes focusing on the pile of sweaters on her quilt. “Sorry about the run-around.” she says, as though trying to come across offhand rather than embarrassed. “We’re all a bit crap at returning calls.”

I stop by her desk and shake my head, trying to come across easy-going rather than agonised, knowing full well I made a nuisance of myself, texting, leaving messages at the hospital and on their home line. I stare at the bruising that has yellowed around her eye. “Sorry, I guess I was worried.”

“Good grief, don’t be sorry. It’s lovely.” She picks through the pile and fishes out a light sweater and makes awkward work of trying to get it over her head. “It’s been a bit mad with the police and so many bloody interviews and the doctors banging on about resting and whatnot.”

“Can I help you?” I take a couple of steps around the bed, anxious she might strain herself.

“No!” She backs away with the sweater only halfway on.

I stop, surprised by her tone.

“Sorry.” She gives a tremulous laugh. “But I have to learn to do these things by myself. I’m never going to come right if I let everybody treat me like an invalid, am I?”

“I guess not.” I move back, feeling awkward and unsure. “And they’re happy with your progress then? The doctors, I mean.”

Kitty tugs the sweater into place, hair mussed, pink in the face and red-eyed. “Well, they let me leave.”

The bedroom door opens, producing a gust of air. Jamie walks in, pulling a blue shirt on over a white T-shirt. I catch a glimpse of black ink circling his left bicep. Tattoos? His eyes are cautious, shifting from me to Kitty and back again. “I heard the car,” he says. “I was going to tell Kitty to get a move on but here you are.”

My consciousness of Jamie almost surprises me. With the potency of Kitty’s signal, I expected to find it difficult to concentrate on anything else, but Jamie seems to fill the room. He steps past me, heat radiating from his skin – that faint aroma matching the one from my memory – to stand beside Kitty and put his arm around her shoulders. His size only reinforces to me how small and vulnerable she is and my chest constricts.

Is it me, or does everything seem off? I wonder if my emotional vertigo is infecting everyone around me.

“You ready?” Jamie asks.

“Just need to fix my hair.” Kitty squeezes her brother’s waist. Even the physical affection strikes me as weird. The twins have never been particularly huggy with each other. “Why don’t you take Evie down and get her a soda or something. I won’t be long and then I’ll check on the dinner.”

“She’s gone all Master Chef.” Jamie raises his eyebrows.

“Fills the hours of my solitary confinement,” Kitty says, again attempting, and failing, to sound offhand.

He releases her and crosses to the door, holding it for me. I get the distinct impression I’m being ushered out. My pins and needles burn and my mouth feels dry. “I could use a drink.”

“Miriam says she’s got you running, Evangeline.” Barb sits at the end of the table, shifting her cutlery with her finger, as though measuring for perfect alignment. “Jamie runs, don’t you, dear?”

Jamie sits with his back to the French doors that overlook the garden. Miriam and I sit opposite the twins. I imagine the seating arrangement has been designed to give us the best view, but it’s dark outside now and even if the sun were blazing, my eyes wouldn’t be on Barb’s garden. Kitty and, for different reasons, Jamie are too distracting. He looks up at the sound of his name. “You tried the ridge?”

I shake my head, turning to my aunt. “You’ll have to show me.”

“We mostly do the reserve,” Miriam says, “since we can get to it through the backyard. It’s not as steep but the terrain is nice and rough. Keeps you on your toes.”

“Hard to really get your stride though,” Jamie says.

Miriam shrugs. “We manage.”

This, like each topic raised, fails to launch and ends in silence. Miriam has talked about her work. Leonard has said something about the state of the business in Europe. Jamie only speaks when directly addressed and Kitty says nothing at all. I listen but find it hard to concentrate, what with the static in my head so loud it surprises me the others can’t hear it. Every time I look at Kitty – and I try hard not to stare – she almost seems to vibrate on high frequency.

“When do you go back to Berlin?” Miriam asks.

Jamie presses his lips together and shakes his head. “No set date.”

“He will go back,” Barb says. “When – when everything settles down.”

Jamie glances at his mother then away.

“Kitty, this looks delicious.” Leonard leans forwards from the head of the table, reaching for the tureen of minestrone.

I sit there, impatient with the small talk, desperate to know what the police have come up with – DNA test results, anything – but sense the topic is taboo. Wouldn’t they bring it up themselves if it’s open for discussion? Things are definitely off. Maybe their family really is connected to the Affinity Project, and all this jumpy behavior is hyper-vigilance, and inviting us to come tonight is purely to get us off their case? I have to swallow the urge to blurt my secret right then and there. How crazy would it sound? I bite the inside of my cheek for self-control.

“Smells fantastic,” Miriam says, tapping my ankle with her foot and breaking my trance. She passes me her bowl and I give it to Leonard who mans the ladle. Like a discordant background note, I can’t pick why that also seems so strange and then it hits me. Where is the household staff?

“Tell us about Burton Central, Evie,” Leonard says, after another awkward silence. “Will you know any of the Seniors there?”

I don’t want to talk about it. With school only a week away and the future so uncertain, I have no intention of even starting the year until Kitty is safe. Miriam and I have argued about that too. Bitterly. Burton Central and Gainsborough Collegiate are on opposite sides of town. As far as I’m concerned it’s completely out of the question. “I doubt it,” I say. “Maybe I should look into those scholarships you were telling me about, Kit. Mom always raved about Gainsborough.”

Kitty rises awkwardly from the table, eyes darting from side to side. “I forgot the other rolls. I – I made wholemeal rolls, and I better check the lamb. I’ll just be a few minutes, sorry.”

I hate to see her so fragile.

“You need a hand?” Jamie rises from his seat.

She shakes her head and steps away. We all watch her slip through the kitchen door. Her parents exchange worried looks. Conversation stalls completely and I become aware of an uncomfortable churning in my stomach. Miriam compensates for the silence by spooning soup into her mouth and
mmm
-ing repeated compliments, saying she’ll have to get the recipe and Barb says something about it being handed down and then I lose the thread because the churning feeling quickly sharpens to a point. My lower abdomen contracts so fiercely, I nearly groan aloud and a horrible realisation hits me. The cramps. Miriam’s warnings about my body, my monthly period becoming a weekly ordeal and the cramps that will signal its arrival. I have been living in dread of it for the last two weeks.
Not now. Please, not now
. Heat creeps up my neck and my ears feel hot. I lift my napkin and dab at my lips, about to excuse myself.

Jamie frowns across the table. “What did you do to your fingers?”

The heat in my ears fills my cheeks, my gut gripes and my mind blanks.

“Overzealous with the cheese grater,” Miriam supplies the alibi, affecting a wry tone as if to say, poor, clumsy Evangeline.

My laugh sounds weak and I push my chair back. “Just need the powder room.” I have to force myself not to run, feeling every eye on my back. But once I make the foyer, I snatch my purse from the console table and hurry up the corridor to the guest bathroom, thanking God for the emergency supplies I always keep zipped in the side pocket. I barely make it before the flood hits and I buckle over on the toilet seat, cursing but desperately relieved I left the table when I did. I can’t bear to imagine the humiliation if I’d waited any longer.

It takes me a minute or two to pull it together and organise myself. Only an hour, Miriam said. I hope she’s right. I wash my trembling hands, dry them and lean on the vanity, checking that my mascara hasn’t bled down my cheeks. The tightness in my stomach contracts with the tether, stabbing behind my bellybutton. The static in my head crackles loudly, something changes and I became very still. An electric current expands from my spine to the tips of my fingers and the soles of my feet. Seconds, milliseconds, hours and years, I stand paralysed, lost in an internal storm. I blink once in an endless slow sweep, my pupils expanding in the mirror – black pools that make everything around me razor-edged and painful to look at.