Unspeakable (20 page)

I reach the top of a small hill and see it all. My legs fold beneath me, my knees crunching on hard mud as I fall. The fire devours everything with an insatiable hunger. It crackles and spits, roars and hisses. Smoke gusts across the field, snagging in my throat.

Where is she? I can’t see her!

Every sense is screaming at me to run away.

You’re afraid. You don’t have it in you.

SHUT UP!

I have to find Jasmine. I hurtle forward, clearing the field in seconds, then I plunge into the smoke.

My airway clogs. I try to drag in some clean air, but the smoke is too thick. Ripples of heat blast my skin. My eyes sting. Throat burns. I can hardly see.

Jasmine could be anywhere. How can I find her? Unless … My voice. But I can’t. I can’t just switch it on like that. My windpipe is almost blocked, my breaths grating in and out. I’m coughing so much I don’t think I can stop. I can’t. I’m sorry, Jasmine. I can’t do it.

A memory shoots through me. The way Jasmine looked as she slept this morning, freckles dancing across her nose. Several more images crash into my mind: the look she gave me just half an hour ago, the way she touched my hair last night.

I can do this. For her. I try to shout, ‘Jasmine!’ but my voice is just a feeble croak. There’s no response. I cough, then shout once more.

Against the thunderous bellow of the fire, I don’t stand a chance.

My vision slides as I’m battered with waves of dizziness. I don’t know where the ground is any more. I can’t feel my feet on it. I’m floating. My legs give in. I sink down. Close my eyes.

‘Help!’

I open them.

‘Somebody help me!’ Jasmine’s voice is weak. In pain.

I sit up, start to crawl towards her. She’s not far.

Keep shouting, Jasmine. Keep shouting! I’m coming
.

‘Somebody, please!’

I think I’m close, but her voice is quieter. Is she losing consciousness? I reach out, feeling blindly. But there’s nothing but air. Where is she? I can’t hear her any more! I can’t see a thing. I’ve got ash in my eyes. God, it kills!

Then my fingers collide with something – her arm or leg – and I almost weep with relief. Is she breathing? My stomach twists. Please, let her be breathing. I can’t lose her.

I rest my head against Jasmine’s chest. It doesn’t move. I cry out, clutch her face, let a few tears spill. More rise up, but I fight them down. I can’t lose it now.
Come on, Jasmine
. Her chest rises, but only a little.

I shake her shoulders. Nothing. I try again, more vigorously, until Jasmine’s head knocks against the ground. I slap her cheek, but I know I haven’t hit her hard enough to bring her
round. What the hell do I do? How am I going to move her? I tell myself not to panic, but the word is like a trigger, and suddenly there’s a vice around my throat. I’m choking. I’m going to die here. We’re both going to die here!

OK … OK, stop it. Get a grip. I know what to do. I have to get Jasmine away from the smoke. Just the thought of it brings more tears to my eyes. I don’t know if I have the strength to get myself out of this, let alone Jasmine. I’m not leaving her, though. I will not go through that again. I will not!

The fire is getting closer, its heat scorching my back. I need to move. Now.

I can’t stand, but I can shuffle backwards on my knees. I hook my hands under Jasmine’s arms. So heavy! Her head lolls sickeningly to the side. I drag her a couple of feet, then have to put her down. This is going to take ages. Too long! The fire is speeding towards us, engulfing everything in its path. But I grit my teeth and move her again.

Jasmine’s lips are moving. Her eyelids quiver.

Jasmine! Don’t pass out again
.

I shake her, say her name. I lean towards her ear and say it again, louder.

But she’s gone.

I haul her a few more feet, but I have to stop. I sit back on my knees, her head in my lap. My shoulders are aching, my arms trembling. I don’t think I can pull her much further. I start to sob, my tears dropping on to Jasmine’s still face.

I’m sorry. I’m so sorry
.

A shaking, hot hand finds mine. Jasmine tilts her head back.
My eyes lock with hers. That look is all I need. I squeeze her hand, muster all the strength I have left, and stand, then heave Jasmine to her feet. I wrap one arm around her waist. Her body is limp and she leans heavily against me, but I won’t let go.

We stagger away from the fire, one tiny step at a time. The smoke thins. I’m doubled over, wracked with coughs, but we’re almost there. We push ourselves on, until the air is fresh and clear. I gulp it in, more grateful for it than anything in my life.

We collapse on our backs and lie there, filling our lungs between coughs. There’s the distant wail of a siren.

‘Megan?’ Jasmine’s voice is hoarse, tight with fear. ‘Are you OK? Megan, please. Just nod or something.’

Am I OK? I don’t know. I feel as if I’ve been gargling with shards of glass. My muscles are throbbing, my lips stinging, my chest sore, but I’m just about OK. I nod.

There are smudges of ash on Jasmine’s face. Her hair is sticking up all over the place and her eyes are bloodshot and wild. ‘God, Megan. You saved me! I can’t believe you saved me. You were so brave.’

I wish I could tell her not to talk – she should rest. But telling Jasmine not to talk is like telling the fire not to burn. She coughs, then the rest of her words fall out in one great rush. ‘I called the fire brigade. It happened so fast. I couldn’t stop it. I tried to use a branch to smother the flames, but that caught light too and I burnt my hands.’

I wipe my watery eyes and look at her palms, which are a mess of red, seared skin. Before I can think, I lift myself up and kiss her fingers. Jasmine’s lower lip drops. For a moment, we
just stare at each other. The fire fades into the background. I forget how bad I feel, how every breath stretches my lungs tight.

Jasmine looks away. ‘I’m sorry I left you.’

I shake my head.
We don’t need to do this now. Just rest. We can talk later
.

But she’s not looking at me. ‘Owen and I had a fight. You were right about him. I was just so flattered that anyone would find me attractive. I—’

‘You’re beautiful,’ I murmur.

Jasmine gasps, eyes wide with awe. ‘What did you say?’

I open my mouth again. Nothing. But Jasmine is looking at me. Waiting.

Don’t.

No. I’m sick of being a prisoner in my own body. It’s my turn now. My time to speak.

‘Say it again, Megan,’ Jasmine whispers. ‘I knew you’d find your voice. You’re amazing. Say it again. I want to hear you speak.’

My jaw resists, but I force each syllable out. ‘You’re beautiful.’

It’s hardly even a noise. My voice is husky, my pronunciation poor, but I know she understands.

Jasmine lunges forward and kisses me roughly, pushing hard to mould her mouth to mine.

My lips respond in an instant, brushing over the folds and furrows of her skin. There’s a burst of warmth inside me and my
hand winds through her hair, drawing her closer. She tastes of smoke and salty tears.

Jasmine is trembling. I wrap my arms around her, unwilling to break away for even a second. But it’s her who ends it, jerking her head back. ‘Megan,’ she says, eyes pooling with tears as she touches her lips in disbelief. ‘What are we doing?’

There’s a shout behind us. A team of firemen jog through the grass. Three of them charge straight past like stampeding animals, the ground vibrating beneath their boots, while one stops to ask if we’re all right.

For once, Jasmine has no words. Wrenching her gaze from mine, she nods.

‘Is there anyone else in there?’

Jasmine is staring at the ground. I have to force myself to look at him and shake my head.

The fireman barks into a radio to request an ambulance.

As we wait for it to arrive, Jasmine is silent. She’s pale, too. Whether it’s shock from the fire, or from the kiss, I’m not sure. Her words bounce around my head like a solitary sock in a tumble dryer:
What are we doing?
I can still feel her lips, remember how she tasted, the way her body felt pressed against mine.

I knew what I was doing. Didn’t she? Was she just caught up in it all? Did she only want to be comforted? Is she regretting it?

Whatever Jasmine’s thinking, we can’t go back now. Everything’s changed.

*

The next few hours pass in a whirl of oxygen masks, stretchers and sirens. When I get to hospital, I’m whisked away for tests. I close my eyes and block it all out. An image of Jasmine’s face is stamped on the back of my eyelids: that conflicted, stunned expression. It’s all I see. All I think about.

In my cubicle, they turn on the TV and let me watch the news. It’s taken hours, but after several helicopter dumps of water, the firemen have got it under control. They’re not mentioning a cause yet. I wonder how much Jasmine will say. I remember Owen messing around with that lighter. Did he do it deliberately, to try to scare her? I wonder what they argued about. I wonder what she’s thinking now.

I want to go home. I want to wrap myself in my own comfy duvet, not this clinical, scratchy thing. I want to smell Mum’s coconut conditioner, instead of antiseptic. I want to get out of this horrible gown and put my bunny rabbit pyjamas on.

Apparently they’ve struggled to get hold of Mum. Her stupid mobile’s always out of battery!

The nurses gently ask me questions. Jasmine must’ve given them my name when we arrived. They’re puzzled by my lack of response, but don’t press me. I hear one saying that it must be shock. I almost laugh. She doesn’t know the half of it!

Not everyone is quite so understanding. In the early evening, my curtain is ripped open by a rotund policewoman with a crop of dark hairs hanging over her upper lip. At first, she is nice – smiling and asking how I am – but it’s not long before she loses patience. Her bushy brows draw into a frown and she repeats the same questions over and over again.

‘Playing dumb isn’t going to help you, young lady.’

There are two specks of spittle rolling around the corners of her mouth. I can’t stop watching them, terrified they’re going to fly out and hit me in the face.

‘All I want is the truth. We’ll find out eventually, you know. The fire brigade have teams of investigators who can check these things. You’ve got nothing to gain by staying silent.’

Her interrogation is interrupted by a yell that echoes down the ward. ‘Take your hands off me! I don’t care if Jeremy bloody Kyle is interviewing her, I’ve told you, she won’t say anything.’

Mum swipes back the curtain and glowers at the policewoman. ‘You leave my daughter alone. She’s not some hooligan who goes around starting fires. How dare you treat her like a suspect when she’s lying there with an oxygen mask on?’

Another police officer – a wiry man with a dodgy tan and silver hair – steps forward and calmly tells Mum that, if she doesn’t lower her voice, she’ll be asked to leave. Mum harrumphs at this, but fixes the woman with a steely, mascara-rimmed stare. ‘My daughter’s a mute. If you don’t believe me, check her GP records. It’s all there.’

Moustache-woman pauses. ‘Well,’ she says crisply, ‘I’ll take a written statement.’

‘Not until she’s rested,’ snaps Mum. ‘Look at the state of her! She’s exhausted.’

But the police officer insists, and I agree, just so Mum will stop making a scene. The policewoman hovers over me as I complete an official form, eyeing my every movement as if she’s
some kind of human lie detector. I don’t mention that Owen was there. If Jasmine wants to drop him in it, it’s up to her.

After it’s done, and the police have left, Mum launches into a barrage of her own questions. How am I feeling? Too hot? Too cold? Does anything hurt? Do I know what happened? Did I see who started it?

I shrug. Not the response she’s looking for, but I’m tired.

Mum tells me I look awful. She tries to say it with some sympathy, but it doesn’t quite come out right. I look away. She heads off in search of coffee and chocolate, and probably a sneaky cigarette.

I listen to the news again, but they’re just repeating the same information. They say the fire was reported by two campers. They don’t give our names. I switch the TV off and catch whispered voices coming from behind the curtain. It’s Mum and Eleni.

‘I
knew
something like this would happen! We should never have let them go,’ Eleni says. ‘They could’ve been killed!’

‘They’re OK,’ Mum replies. ‘No point stressing about what might have happened.’

‘Jasmine’s barely said a word. I’ve never seen her like this. How’s Megan?’

‘It’s hard to tell with her.’

‘I’d better get back to Jasmine. Give Megan my love.’

Mum stays and chats to me for a while. A nurse pops in to tell us I won’t have to stay overnight, which is a relief. Mum helps me get ready to go, but I pause and scribble a note to ask if she knows where Jasmine is.

We find her two cubicles down. She’s staring straight ahead, into nothingness, responding to Eleni’s questions in a monotone. When she notices I’m there, her eyes flick towards mine, then quickly move away.

Mum starts to walk towards Jasmine’s bed, but I stop her, shaking my head and backing away. Mum frowns, but follows me out, shouting over her shoulder, ‘Feel better soon, Jasmine.’

‘Have you two had a fight?’ she asks as soon as we’re out of earshot. ‘What happened?’

I shake my head. Mum sighs, then starts to rant about the cost of coffee at the hospital. I tune out. I can’t shake that dull, dead expression on Jasmine’s face. My eyes blur with unshed tears. She wants nothing to do with me.

You’ve ruined it. Just like you ruin everything.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Dear Jasmine,

I don’t know where to start. My thoughts are all tangled and I can’t find a beginning or end to them. So I’m sorry if what comes out is a mess. But I just need to get it out.

I can’t stand not knowing what you’re thinking. This last week has been horrible. Could you not have come to the door when I called for you? I just wanted to see you. I understand you’re confused. If you want to talk, I’ll listen.