Part 39 (2/2)

We leave Kit's car at the hospital and drive home together. Sacha runs out to meet us, tearing my door open.

'How is he?' She's breathing fast. I can hear the terror and love in her voice, but I can't bring myself to look into her eyes. I turn away, pretending to search for something on the back seat.

'He's all right,' I say shortly. 'Actually, no, he's not all right. He has a plate in his skull, no spleen and a broken arm. He could still die.' I want to shake her. I want to thrust my face close to hers and scream blue murder. You did this. You did this.

She bursts into stormy tears. Kit looks at me in astonishment. 'Mum's pretty stressed,' he soothes, walking around the car to comfort his stepdaughter. 'Finny's doing well. He'll be playing football again before you know it.'

Tama and Bianka stand waiting for us at the kitchen door. 'Mum says she's thinking of you.' Bianka hugs me. 'If you want to stay at our place, save you driving so far . . . she says just to turn up.'

I'm touched by this message from one mother to another. We sit around the kitchen table, nursing mugs of tea. Charlie has fallen asleep in front of Mary Poppins and been carried up to bed. They tell me Ira was here earlier, but he's gone home.

'I can't believe it,' Sacha keeps muttering. 'Right outside my door.' She doesn't seem to be able to move on from this idea. She repeats it over and over, no matter what conversation the rest of us are having.

'Hey.' Kit taps her forearm, making her look at him. 'Listen, young lady. It wasn't your fault. Just get that into your head. Isn't that right, Martha?'

When Tama leaves, the rest of us begin to turn in. Bianka has already made up a mattress in Sacha's room, though I feel my daughter doesn't deserve such devotion. As I pa.s.s their door, Sacha calls out to me. My mind is fouled by an image of a fiend with devil's eyes, reaching for a tiny boy. It's like a film clip in my mind. It keeps replaying, over and over again.

'Where's Bianka?' I ask, looking around. The room has that familiar, ugly smell.

'Getting stuff from her car.'

'I'm going to bed,' I say, ma.s.saging my face. 'Haven't had any proper sleep for days, and I want to be up and off early tomorrow.'

She's sitting on the bed, picking at her arm. Her pillows have no covers, and the sheet lies in a heap on the floor. 'Last night was like a horror film.'

'You're right there.'

'I saw . . . I've never been so scared. I saw people.'

'People?'

'Crawling along the floor, whispering, like sort of human snakes. They had these weird eyes that gleamed. It was the freakiest night of my life.'

'Mine too.'

'And this morning-I just about died when I heard about Finn! It's like . . . nightmare meets reality. No more, Mum. No more. I never want to go through that again.' Sacha looks sickened. 'It was so dark.'

'We'll talk about it later.'

'I'm going to feel completely s.h.i.+t while I come off it. I feel completely s.h.i.+t right now. It's calling me already. It's calling me. Why can't I block my ears?'

'You tell me, Sacha. Why can't you?' I head for the door.

'I'm coming to see Finn tomorrow,' she says.

I stop. Hatred rises in my throat. I'm about to tell her that she can't see Finn ever again because she's a devil in human form, but when I turn around she's hunched on the edge of her bed, childishly round-eyed, squinting up at me with a mix of anxiety and trust. I know that look so very well, and I see no devil.

I wake at four. My mind is flitting like a fantail, never stopping, never resting. Kit sleeps beside me. He believed my story without question. He believed my lies. I can't bear it.

By four fifteen I've made a decision, once and for all. I'm going to tell the truth. Kit, Sacha, Finn and Charlie all have to know-how could I even think of covering up? I'll tell them, and they must deal with the appalling reality. Then, of course, we will go back to England.

By four thirty I've changed my mind. No. No, there is only misery down that road. I must keep my secret. Sacha is dismayed by her psychosis; she'll stay clean this time. If I can carry my bomb without dropping it, our family might-just might-be happy again. I even begin to hope we might stay here, in our own paradise.

By five I've changed my mind twice more. I can't think straight. I roll out of bed and pull on jeans, two sweaters and a pair of Kit's socks before padding down to the kitchen. m.u.f.fin is in her basket. When I lean to pat her, she stretches luxuriously and her tail flaps on the floor.

'Life's a b.i.t.c.h, m.u.f.fin,' I say. 'No offence.'

I try to phone Dad but he isn't in. Maybe he's away. I remember he said something about chairing a Rudolf Steiner conference sometime soon. In black loneliness, I try Lou's number. I get her answer phone, and don't leave a message.

Finally I stoke the stove and pull up a chair. Then I sit fretting, letting the warmth sink into my bones while m.u.f.fin clambers stiffly out of her basket and rests her head on my knee, eyes hidden by her schoolgirl fringe. When I hear the kitchen door inch open, I almost jump out of my skin.

'It's okay.' Bianka's low, smooth voice. 'Only me.'

'Jeepers, Bianka! I don't know how many more night-time horrors I can take.'

'Sorry.' The serene figure drags up a chair next to mine and sits down, wearing bed socks and a hoodie over her pyjamas. She's striking even in grungy nightclothes and without the blackberry lipstick. Her cheekbones are fine beneath the pale skin, her hair a dark gold-though a little frizzy this morning.

I squeeze her shoulder and get up to fill the kettle.

'Sacha kept me awake,' she says. 'Muttering and grinding her teeth.'

'Bless you for coming here yesterday. How did you know we were in trouble?'

She strokes m.u.f.fin's nose. 'Sacha hadn't spoken to me for weeks. Then yesterday morning-six o'clock?-I got this really weird call. She was in a state, going on about Finn and how these beings had come down from the hills to get her. It's meth psychosis, you know? I read about a guy who looked at trees, familiar trees that he saw every day, and thought they were people.' Bianka sits very still, her fingers resting on m.u.f.fin's ears. 'She said these creatures had come creeping along the balcony and into her room, whispering to her. She didn't remember much, but she remembered the fear. She was kind of delirious. When she woke up she wasn't in bed.'

'Where was she?'

'Sitting in her cupboard! She's no idea how she got there.' Bianka gets up and stands with her back to the stove, watching me. 'You know, it seems . . .'

I'm looking for teabags. 'Mm?'

There's a melancholy smile on the cupid's-bow lips. 'Well, you know, it just kind of strikes me as a bit of a coincidence. You've got Sacha, who's freaking about things on the balcony, and in the very same night you've got poor little Finn tumbling off it.' I freeze with my hand in the teabag jar. 'And then I noticed . . . I'm sorry, Martha . . . I noticed that her balcony door wasn't quite shut.'

I close my eyes for several seconds. Finally I make tea in two mugs, add milk and give one to Bianka. 'What would you do, if you were me?'

'I'd tell her. I wouldn't leave her with a h.e.l.lish half-memory. She needs to face it head-on, or she'll relapse again.'

'She says she's finished with it.'

'Ever heard that before?'

I'm silenced.

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