The Protected (13 page)

I hoist myself out of the water, the rock's surface grazing my palms. Without looking back I head in the direction of the track back up the gully. There is a pulling and churning in my guts. My lungs feel like someone is squeezing them.

‘Hannah?! Come on, Han. I'm sorry. Hannah! Come back.'

I pick up my bag, keep walking. Josh runs behind me, ducks in front. ‘Come on, Han,' he laughs. I turn my head away but he sees my face. His smile vanishes.

‘Oh shit. Hannah, I'm sorry, I didn't … Oh, shit, I'm sorry.'

‘You shouldn't have done that.' Water drips from my hair. A hot, sour gush of sick comes up from my stomach. I turn away and vomit into the sand.

‘Are you okay? Shit. Are you all right?'

Embarrassed and furious, I wipe my hand across my mouth. A deep breath pushes into my chest.

‘Han. I'm sorry. I was just kidding around, I didn't expect … Are you okay? I'm sorry.'

I keep my hand clamped over my mouth and try to breathe deeply through my nose. I let my knees fold beneath me. Josh grabs my elbows.

‘Hey, hey.' He steadies me, eases me to the ground. I sit in the sand and put my face in my hands. He crouches down next to me and puts an arm around my shoulders, hugs me towards him.

‘It's okay,' he whispers. ‘I'm okay.'

I put my head on his chest and let him hold me. We sit there on the ground until I stop shaking.

When I get home from school my mother is sitting in the living room. The television isn't on. The radio isn't on. She isn't reading a book or even looking out the window. She is looking at nothing and I step through the door and she turns her eyes to me.

‘Hi,' I venture. She says nothing. I walk past her into the kitchen. She follows me.

‘The school rang,' she says.

I open the fridge. The glass shelves gleam with Spray n' Wipe. Nanna must have been around.

‘It was your counsellor, actually.'

I stop. ‘Why?'

‘She said you didn't make your appointment today, you didn't go to class either. Is that right?'

‘I guess.'

‘Where were you?'

I turn away and head up the hall. She follows.

‘Where were you, Hannah? Is your hair wet?'

I turn and face her. ‘Are you and Dad getting divorced?'

‘What? Hannah, we're not talking about that. I'm asking you why you missed school today. You're not in trouble, I just want to know why.'

‘Why do you care?'

‘I beg your pardon, young lady.'

‘You don't care about anything. Why do you suddenly care about school? You wouldn't notice if I dropped out. How would you even know? You're always in bed.' It is the most I have said to her for nearly a year.

‘Hannah!'

‘Are you and Dad getting divorced?'

‘Come and sit down,' she says, pointing towards the lounge room.

‘No.'

‘Why do you think we're getting divorced?'

‘Because you hate Dad.'

‘I don't hate anyone.'

‘Yes you do, you hate Dad because of the accident, you think he killed Katie.'

‘Hannah, honestly, I don't know what to think.'

‘You think it was all his fault. It wasn't. You weren't there.'

‘Why don't you tell me then? Tell me what happened.'

‘I DON'T REMEMBER! But I know it wasn't his fault!'

She doesn't say anything.

‘You don't care about anything else! It's all about you and how sad you are. I was there. I'm the one who watched her die.'

I think she might cry at that. But she doesn't. ‘You said you don't remember anything. If you remember, you have to tell the police.'

‘Fuck you.'

I push past her and go into my bedroom. I slam the door and slide down to the floor, close my eyes. I shake my head, but I can't get it out, I can see it. I can see it behind my eyes; the picture that forms in the black of my memory. I see the intersection. I hear the sound. Katie's eyes look into mine, utterly terrified.

*

I can't be near her, can't be in the house. I open the window and push out the screen. I climb out into our front garden. The heat outside welcomes me, envelops me. Mrs Van is in her yard. She sees me and calls out. I ignore her and keep walking. I walk down the road, on the edge where the bitumen breaks into ochre pebble and dust. Somewhere in the distance a firetruck wails. I climb the hill and turn on to Blue Gum Crescent, lined with double-brick houses, Colorbond fences. There is the splash and squeal of kids in a backyard swimming pool. I head up Blue Gum, turn onto the highway and follow the path. I walk and walk until I get to Johnson Street. It takes an age. My shirt is clinging to my back, sweat trickles from my temples. The cars sweep down the slope of the hill, tinted windows up, passengers freshly chilled with air conditioning. I walk to the edge of the road. There is a speed sign there that says eighty. Taped to the traffic light pole is another bunch of tiger lillies, the cellophane that wraps them quivers and flutters with every passing car. I stand there with my toes on the lip of the kerb and feel the push of air from the traffic, like it could pick me up. A car blasts its horn in warning. Another. Another. I watch as a semi-trailer approaches the intersection two hundred metres further up the hill. It thunders, hurtles towards me. The horn bellows. I can see the blue sky reflected in its windscreen, the sunlight flare on the chrome grill. The wind takes my hair and whips my cheeks. I step from the kerb, back onto the grass of the embankment.

Twenty-one

There is a cuckoo clock on the wall, a tiny wooden house with flowers carved into its eaves and a front door painted china blue.

‘From Holland,' Mrs Van says as she places a glass of water in front of me. ‘My sister, Jani, send it for my birthday, many years ago. Too many!'

She nestles into her chair opposite me. I tell her it looks comfortable, more for something to say rather than because it does.

‘It is a ridiculous chair. My son buys it for me, tells me it will lift me up to my feet, save my back. See this lever here? I tell you, I pull it and I go shooting through the window. Ridiculous chair.'

I laugh and she frowns at me. ‘You think it is funny to catapult an old woman out the window. Young people all the same. My sister, Marieke, she was always making trouble for the old people. She would ring their doorbells and then run away, or meow like a cat in their window. She was fearless.' Mrs Van shrugs. ‘Or stupid, either way.'

She sips her tea and gazes at the clock.

‘Marieke, she has been gone seventy-four years. She would be an old woman now herself.' Mrs Van laughs softly. ‘I cannot imagine that.'

‘Did she die in the war?'

‘Yes. She used to lead the youth group at the church. The Germans occupied Holland. But they had left our village alone, mostly. This one day there were rumours, you know, of the Germans nearby. The Dutch police and authorities, you understand, they did whatever the Nazis wanted. They had surrendered to them.' She closes her eyes and shakes her head. ‘Nobody knew what was going to happen, everyone was scared. It was the day of the youth group meeting and I said to her, “Marieke, you cannot go. It is not safe” – the Germans, you see, did not like people meeting in groups, no matter if they were just teenagers. They would arrest people for talking too long on the street. But she was so stubborn. Defiant. She would have wanted to meet especially to spite the Germans. Silly, silly, girl. So she went. And an hour later my neighbour comes to the door and tells me the Germans are on the way into our village. So I run, I run down the hill, across the bridge to the church.' She shrugs. ‘But I am too late. People there, they tell me the Nazis have arrested all of the teenagers for conspiring. Except Marieke. And I say, “Where is my sister?” and they tell me she tried to stop the Germans. I go into the church hall and I find her in the doorway. She tried to block them. To stop them taking the others …' Mrs Van pauses. ‘She must have thought they wouldn't shoot a girl. She was wrong.'

There is nothing to say. I hold the glass in my hand and let the water warm.

‘People, they say to me, “How can you believe in a God who would let this happen?” But, Hannah, this is why I believe in God. Because otherwise, what is there? Only death and pain. And it is meaningless. I cannot accept this. I cannot accept that my sister is no different to a bug squashed under a shoe. There will be justice. But it will not be on this earth. I was very, very angry for a long time, Hannah. Even after we had settled here and I had my own family. But the anger it would have killed me, too, if I had not learned … If I had not learned to live despite what happened to my sister.'

I swallow and look at the glass in my hands.

‘You need your mother.'

‘It's not her fault,' I whisper.

***

The night after I refused to go to school I lay in bed listening to my parents talking.

‘I can't help her if she won't talk to me,' Mum said.

‘Obviously it's not easy for her to talk about.'

‘I get that. I'm not stupid, Andrew.'

‘I'm not saying you are, I'm just saying we have to be gentle with her. She's just that kind of kid.'

‘I know my daughter.'

‘Hey, why are you getting defensive?'

‘I'm just worried about her. This isn't a solution to
whatever's going on. Not talking about it and barricading
herself in her room isn't a solution.'

‘She's being bullied.'

‘Who would bully her? Why?'

‘I don't know, but I'm certain that's what's going on.'

‘She can't stay home tomorrow. The longer she stays home the harder it'll get. I'll call her homeroom teacher again tomorrow.'

When I woke up in the morning my mother had taken my uniform from my wardrobe and laid it on the end of my bed: short-sleeved shirt, tartan skirt, bottle-green socks.

‘Come on, Hannah,' she said. ‘You can do this.'

She had turned on my light, opened the curtains so sunshine flooded into my bedroom. I burrowed further down under the covers. She peeled them back.

‘I'm going to call the school and have a chat with Mr Black. But you need to get up. Come on, I'll get your breakfast.'

She left the room and I pulled the covers back up over my head, curled into a ball. Five minutes later she returned.

‘Hannah! Come on, sweetheart. You're going to miss the bus. Honey, you can't stay home, whatever it is, hiding in bed isn't going to help. Come on.'

‘Hannah!' Katie yelled from the hall. ‘We're late. Hurry the puck up.'

My mother sighed. ‘Yes, thank you, Katherine.' She sat on the edge of the bed. ‘We're going to sort this out, okay?' She patted my leg. ‘You can do this. You're not alone. Whatever it is, we'll sort it. But you have to get back on the horse.'

I lay there, tears running down my nose. I wanted to get on the horse and gallop away. I didn't move. I thought she would give up but she didn't, she stayed there, sitting at my feet on the bed.

‘Hannah, I know this is hard. I do,' she said.

She didn't know. She had no idea.

Dad looked in the doorway. ‘Paula, I'll take her. I'll drive her.'

‘Don't you have a meeting this morning?'

‘Yeah. I'll drop her off on the way. She's not up to catching the bus. But we have to leave soon, Span.'

I didn't move. Dad came and knelt next to the bed.

‘I'll drive you.' He glanced at his watch. ‘Look, I'll drive you and have a word to your teacher. Span, please. Will you let us try to help you?'

I looked at his face, so full of worry. I needed to trust that he could help, that he could fix it.

‘I want to change schools,' I whispered.

‘You can, if that's what you need to do. You can. But meet me halfway here, come to school, I'll talk to Mr, Mr––'

‘Black.'

‘Mr Black. But Spannie, we've got to go.'

There wasn't really time for breakfast, but my mother poured soy milk over a bowl of home-made muesli and gave it to me anyway. I tried to eat it while she shoved things into my schoolbag: lunchbox, Science textbook, wallet, keys, mobile. My father darted from his study out into the kitchen, laptop under one arm, manila folders under the other. He dumped them on the table and patted his pockets. ‘Where's my bloody phone?' he asked no one in particular. Then he was gone again, back to the study. Katie appeared, earphones in, eyeliner smudged artfully. Dad returned, phone pressed to his ear. The three of us trooped out the door.

Katie slid into the front seat and switched the radio from AM to FM. I sat in the back behind Dad. He made another phone call, ‘Yeah, mate, I'm going to be late. I know, I know, nothing I can do. Got to drop my kids at school. Start the meeting without me, yeah? I've got the Zurich stuff, just set up the projector. Stall them. Do what you can.' He put the car into reverse and shot out of the driveway. He caught my eye in the rear-view mirror. ‘It's going to be okay. We'll sort it. Katie, for Christ's sake, turn it down.'

‘Hey, if I'm going to get detention for being late, I'm gonna make it worthwhile.'

Dad flung the car around corners, barely pausing at stop signs. He turned onto the highway and accelerated up the hill. The intersection of Johnson Street was at the top of the hill, at the crest. He moved into the lane to turn right. The lights turned orange. His phone rang and he reached for it at the same time as he accelerated across the intersection. I don't know if he saw the truck come over the crest. If he did he must have thought it would stop but it didn't.

The sound of the truck's brakes. A shriek. Then a sound like an explosion on Katie's side and we are sailing, sailing sideways. Time slows and I can see everything, every detail. Grains of twinkling glass rain like confetti. The car slides, pushed along by the front of the semi-trailer, then it comes to a halt. Silence.

Nothing in the front of the car was where it was supposed to be. I thought at first that Katie's seat had somehow moved forwards into the dashboard but I realised the opposite had happened. It was like the front corner of the car had contracted in on itself. There was no room for Katie anymore. I didn't understand how she could still be there. Her face was turned towards me and her eyes were open. She looked frightened but she didn't speak. There was blood on her forehead and cheek. It clogged brightly in her dark hair. I looked over to my father. His head was tilted back against the headrest. His eyes were closed. I started to cry and
scream. I was sure he was dead. I reached forwards and gripped his shoulder. Then I saw that his chest
was rising and falling.

‘He's okay, Katie,' I said. But her eyes were closed. I said her name again and her eyelids quivered, opened. She blinked. There was a shallow, rasping sound in her throat. She was trying to breathe.

Someone was shouting at me. A woman.

‘Are you okay? Are you okay? Oh shit. Shit!' She stood there arms moving but not really going anywhere. A man appeared. He pushed the woman to the side. She stood with her hands over her mouth, crying. The man went to Katie's door and tried to open it but it wouldn't work. He ran around to my side and wrenched my door open. He leaned through and looked over me. ‘You're all right,' he said forcefully. ‘You're all right! Okay? Ambulance is coming. Can you keep talking to her?'

I nodded. He pulled open my dad's door.

‘Stay awake, Katie, stay awake,' I said. Her eyes were still open and she was watching me, shocked. I talked to her while the man checked over my dad.

‘Can you hear me, mate? Can you hear me?' he shouted. He looked back to me. ‘He's breathing well. Pulse is good. Okay? Keep talking to her.'

I did. Her eyelids drooped, like she was dozing, but I knew she could hear me.

There were sirens, building and building as they got closer. An ambulance and firetruck arrived with a piercing wail and I remember wishing that they would cut it out. It was too much. Then the paramedics; one on Dad, one on Katie.

‘What's her name?' he asked.

‘Katie. Her name's Katie.'

He put an oxygen mask over her face, talking to her calmly while he adjusted it. More sirens. Two more paramedics ran to the car: a man and a woman. There was a fireman with a huge pincer-like thing. They started to cut the door off. The paramedics were yelling about how they couldn't stabilise her. A paramedic left Dad and came to me. He put a neck brace on me and then an oxygen mask. He showed me a weird-looking thing like a padded back brace with straps all over it. As he slid it slowly behind me he explained that he would do up the straps around my chest and my head and it would keep me safe while they got me out of the car. All I could think of was how it was a bit late for that. Then he and the female paramedic began to lift me out and I wanted them to stop, to leave me because as they took me out I couldn't see her anymore.

***