The Protected (15 page)

Twenty-four

People brought us meals for a while after the accident. My mother and I ate endless frozen lasagnes and shepherd's pies. Actually, ‘ate' is probably too strong a term. We defrosted them in the microwave and put them on our plates, that was about it. When Dad came home from hospital the meals stopped and it seemed strange to me. He was on crutches, his legs reassembled like a Meccano set. Not exactly the picture of domestic efficiency. I can't help but wonder if there wasn't another reason people stopped cooking for us.

The funeral was held at the church attached to the school. It was packed with people. Everyone in Katie's year group was there, half of mine too, crammed into the back of the church, overflowing out the door. I walked past them all with Mum and Dad as we went up the front of the church to take our seats. The other students clutched tissues, sobbing and hugging each other. Most of them didn't even know Katie – people she wouldn't have spat on if they were on fire. There were students there who had pelted me with spitballs and constructed Facebook pages in my honour. The Clones were especially dramatic; black eyeliner running down their cheeks, they looked like clowns from a slasher movie. I felt a touch on my arm as I walked past them. Tara and Amy were standing there with gleaming hair and sad eyes.

‘I'm so sorry about your sister,' Tara said. ‘You must be, like, so sad.'

I didn't say anything.

‘You should totally come and sit with us when you come back to school,' Tara said.

I walked away.

Before the service started, Charlotte's mum, Karen, came over to us with Charlotte trailing hesitantly behind her. Karen hugged Mum and Dad and then me, squeezing me tight.

‘I'm so sorry, sweetie.' She stood back. ‘We never see you anymore, Han. We miss you.'

Charlotte stepped forwards awkwardly. ‘Sorry about Katie,' she mumbled. I wanted to slap her. Instead I just nodded and turned away.

People said the service was lovely. Mum couldn't stand up, she sat on the pew sobbing while Dad held her hand. I listened to the prayers and the eulogy and felt numb, like I was watching a bad telemovie. Anything I did felt artificial: here is the grieving sister placing a rose on the coffin, here is the grieving sister handing the mum tissues, here is the grieving sister bowing her head in prayer. I was playing a bit part and not playing it very convincingly. Then the school choir sang ‘Stand By Me' and I could see Katie standing next to me making gagging gestures.

Afterwards the students made a guard of honour and eight guys from her homeroom carried Katie in her coffin out to the hearse. One girl who I had never seen Katie with once was sobbing particularly loudly. I could feel Katie roll her eyes.

There was a wake in the church hall. I've never understood why it's called a ‘wake'. Is it a last ditch effort to wake the dead person up? One last chance to make sure they are really sure about the whole being dead thing? ‘Good one, Katie! You really fooled us this time!'

The months after the funeral were silent. Time became stagnant when there was nothing left to organise.

I returned to school five weeks after Katie was killed. It was as long as I could stand being at home with my mother. She would sleep till noon then wander around the house, red-eyed and silent. The only break was when visitors came. They flooded in during the early weeks, bringing casseroles and teacakes. I think we would have set a world record with the amount of cups of tea that were made in the two weeks after Katie died, either drunk, or left to go cold next to the row of sympathy cards on the mantle. Gradually the flow of people ebbed, they started to phone instead – until there was nothing left to say.

It was Nan who took me to school the first day I returned. She drove me in her pale pink hatchback, rosary beads dangling from the rear-view mirror. (She's not even Catholic.) I wanted her to drop me at the corner so I could walk up to the gate with no fuss and embarrassment. She wouldn't, it was everything I could do to stop her sounding her horn in warning when we arrived. She pulled up to the gate and practically drove right through it. Faces looked up, eyes latched on. Nan glared at the other students like she wanted to attack them. ‘You can do this, Hannah,' she said sternly.

I got out of the car and shut the door.

Eyes followed me up the path, through the front gate. I went into the toilets. The chatter that echoed off the tiled walls stopped, the girls crowing around the mirror looked at me for a moment, then looked to the floor. I went to roll call and everyone was quiet. Mr Black gave me a card,
With Deepest Sympathy
. It was signed by all the students in my class.

The Facebook pages disappeared. Nobody pelted me with spitballs or bits of clay. No one graffitied my stuff. It was like there was force field around me.

***

My mother has her hand on my shoulder, she steers me through the people who mill around in the foyer of the courthouse. Nanna and Grandad trail behind us. There are barristers in gowns, clutching takeaway coffees. A woman in a slim, black suit checks her lipstick in the reflection of a mirrored wall. Uniformed police talk in groups, heads bowed. A man in a tracksuit argues with a security guard. When we find the courtroom it isn't what I was expecting, no polished oak panelling or high ceilings. Just a room with tables and plastic chairs, a raised bench at the front. Except for the wooden coat of arms, it's like a classroom, almost, or a really cheap church.

Constable Warner arrives holding a cardboard tray with two takeaway cups. She hands me a hot chocolate and my mother a coffee. My mother's hand shakes so much that she can't hold it steady. ‘Thank God for lids,' she says and Constable Warner laughs a little, pats my mother's arm. A lawyer in a suit comes over and speaks with Constable Warner and my mother. I don't listen. I keep my eyes on a doorway to the left of the front bench. There is a shadow hovering there and I wonder if it is my father. My body, my bones and muscle feel pulled to that doorway. Then a young guy with gelled hair and a baby-face tells us we are to rise for the magistrate.

Nothing after that feels real. My father sits in a chair next to his lawyer. The prosecutor calls my name and as I walk up to the stand I feel as though the floor is moving beneath each step that I take. I put my hand on the Bible and swear that every word I say will be the truth. The prosecutor is polite, not aggressive like they always are on television. She asks me questions. She asks me what colour the light was when he turned across the intersection. If it was already red when the truck came through. I tell her it wasn't. I tell her about the phone ringing. My father sits with his eyes closed, tears streaming down his face.

The magistrate speaks about the impact the accident
has had on our family, about the suffering and punishment
already experienced by the death of Katie. She gives him a six-month suspended sentence. My mother is crying. I look to Constable Warner. She smiles at me. ‘He's not going to prison.'

My mother and I sit at the dining table opposite one another. Dad has gone to bed, exhausted after the day. Nanna and Grandad have filled our pantry and washed all the sheets on our beds. My school uniform hangs pressed in my wardrobe. Mum wouldn't let them stay and now we sit with a microwaved lasagne portion on each of our plates. The pedestal fan ticks and ticks, pushing warm air around the room. My mother looks up from her plate.

‘Do you want to go to school this week? It's up to you. You have to do whatever you feel helps you …'

‘I think I will. If that's okay.'

She nods, takes a sip of water from her glass. ‘You know, Hannah, we're both very proud.' Tears trickle down her cheeks. She sniffs, wipes at them. ‘Sometimes I think, my God, I'm not even here, you must feel like your own mother has been replaced by some, some impostor. I know I haven't done a good job of looking after us all.' There is terror in her voice, in her face, and she looks at me pleadingly. ‘Hannah, I know this isn't fair to ask you, I know, I know.' She clenches her eyes shut for a moment. ‘But Hannah, was Katie awake? Did she say anything? I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I just … It's all I can ever think about, whether she was in pain …'

‘She looked at me. She was looking at me. And I was talking to her. I said the stupidest things, I made a joke about her trying to be a vegan. So stupid. And I talked to her about this boy she was seeing.'

‘She had a boyfriend?'

‘Jensen. He was lovely.'

‘I didn't know that.'

‘She didn't want you to know. I was talking to her and I could tell she could hear me, and then … then it was like she fell asleep.'

I watch my mother. Her gaze shifts into the middle distance between us. She puts her hands to her mouth, closes her eyes, her shoulders shake. I don't tell her about the horrible rasping sound of Katie trying to breathe.

My mother wipes her cheeks with a tissue. She sniffs loudly, breathes as if she has just come up for air.

‘Hannah, I love you, very, very much. You know that, don't you? If you weren't here … I don't know … I don't think I could be here either.'

‘I know, Mum.'

I stand up and clear our plates from the table.

The air in the café is cool, big ceiling fans whirl steadily. Most of the tables are empty. He is sitting at a chair by the counter, newspaper on his knee, an almost-finished coffee in his hand. He doesn't look at me, but stands and walks behind the machine.

‘What can I get you?'

‘Hi Jensen.'

When he looks at me his expression is almost one of fright. He takes a small step backwards.

‘It's Hannah. Hannah McCann.'

‘Shit. Sorry. You, um …' he shakes his head. ‘You look like your sister. I … sorry. How are you?'

‘I'm okay.'

‘It's really good to see you. Sorry to freak out on you, I just …' He runs his hands through his hair, shakes his head again. ‘You really looked like Kate standing there. Sit down. Here.' He comes back around the counter, pulls a chair from a table. ‘Want a coffee? I'll make you one.'

‘Please. Latte, one sugar.'

I sit down. When he's done he sets the coffee in front of me, takes the seat opposite.

‘It's really good to see you, Hannah. I'm not, you know, just being polite. I often wonder how you're going. Especially the last week or so. I just, I can't believe it's been a year.' He looks out the windows on to the street. ‘If I think about it I get too angry.'

‘I get that.'

He clasps his hands on the table top, hunches over a little, head dropped.

‘I want you to know, Hannah, I never meant to …' His eyes look up at mine. ‘I never wanted to hurt her. I really … She was wonderful. I'd never met anyone like her. I don't think I ever will again. But she told me she was older, Hannah. And I just felt, when I found out she wasn't even sixteen, I didn't want to hurt her. I just wanted to do the right thing. I really cared about her. I thought that I should break it off. I didn't want to. She was so young. I thought we could wait a bit. I could wait a bit. And you know, I was willing to do that. There wasn't anyone else. There hasn't been. And then she died … Shit, listen to me. She was your sister. You lost your sister. Who am I? Just some guy that she went out with. I'm sorry, Hannah.'

‘You don't need to apologise.'

‘Well. We all need to apologise for something.'

‘Someone puts flowers at the intersection. All the time …'

‘Yeah. That's me. I hope it's okay, for you. Doesn't upset you?'

‘It doesn't.'

He takes in a big breath then looks up at the ceiling, squeezes his eyes closed.

‘Can you stay a few minutes?' he asks me. ‘Just … Can we talk about something else, just for a bit? I've got another two hours to go here and …'

‘Sure.'

‘Good.' A smile. ‘What are you reading at the moment?'

‘Aldous Huxley.'

‘The light stuff as usual, then?'

‘Yeah, just the light stuff.'

‘Your parents know you read that?'

‘They've kind of got other stuff going on. How's uni?'

‘Hmm. Uni. Kind of dropped out. Or “deferred” if you will.'

‘You dropped out? Why?'

‘After Katie … I just couldn't get my head in the right place.'

‘You can't drop out. Do you know what I would give to go to uni, like right now? How bad is it? You have to read all the time and have intelligent discussions. Sounds horrible.'

‘Thought I'd work a bit. Travel.'

‘You have to go back and finish.'

‘If you say so.'

‘I say so.'

He opens the door for me and walks with me out onto the footpath.

‘Come back, hey? Don't disappear on me. I want to know what you're up to.'

‘What if you're in Argentina or somewhere?'

‘I will let you know if I'm going to Argentina. Just don't be a stranger.'

Twenty-five

We follow the track down the side of the gully. Josh is barefoot. The soles of my shoes slip on the rocks and eventually I give up, take them off and carry them. The others follow us; the only names I know are Sam Wilks, Maddie and Lola, but there are more. We carry plastic shopping bags of food: chips and chocolate and fancy cheese that Maddie insisted was worth paying ten bucks for. Sam has a sixpack of beer and Josh is at pains to assure me we won't be binge drinking and going on a reckless crime spree like
A Current Affair
says we will. I would have been surprised if that was the plan because there's only enough for half a beer each.

Our voices and laughter echo around the gully. A flock of cockatoos evacuates branches overhead, drowning us out in a chorus of screaming squawks. When we reach the bottom we drop our stuff on the rocks by the creek bank. Josh wades into the rushing creek.

‘Aww! Jeez, it's freezing!'

Maddie scoffs. ‘You're soft, Chamberlain.'

He kicks water over her, then catches my eye. ‘You wearing your swimmers, Jane? Hope so. I won't feel safe, otherwise. You know, Jane here saved my life a couple of weeks ago. She fully jumped off the cliff.'

‘It's not really a cliff, Josh,' I say.

‘Close enough. I could have died.'

‘Wait,' says Lola. ‘You did the whole drowning thing to Hannah?' She laughs and I feel the familiar dread building in me. Maybe this is the point it's revealed that everything Josh has done has been part of an elaborate prank. My brain lurches around grabbing at every horrible possibility – it was a dare to see if I would have sex with him, he was going to film me having sex with him and share it on Facebook, he was going to wait until I had my clothes off and then burst into laughter while simultaneously Instagraming the whole thing, everyone was going to point at me and say AS IF, HANNAH!

‘You are completely pathetic, you know that, don't you?' Lola says to Josh.

His cheeks flush red and he splashes us both.

‘He has a fantasy about being saved from drowning by a pretty girl.'

‘SHUT UP Lola! I will kill you.'

‘Not if you die of embarrassment first.'

I laugh. ‘Leave him alone.'

‘Yeah, leave me alone.' He bolts off up the rocks that lead to the drop off.

I wait until the others are all in the water before I strip off my shorts and T-shirt. I have a new pair of swimmers, a fifties-style polka dot one-piece. I bought them on a shopping trip to Westfield which, for the first time, was not punctuated by a panic attack. I do my best not to think about it, I just run to the edge of the rock, squeeze my eyes shut and let my body drop into the water.