Part 40 (1/2)

'She means it,' says Bianka unhappily. 'She really does. But she's no longer in control. I've worked out her pattern: binge, crash, sleep, recover, binge. Every time she uses, she needs more and the crash is worse. All she can think about is that initial buzz, but all she's achieving is a deeper and deeper h.e.l.l when she's coming down. I think they call it ”chasing the dragon”.'

'Chasing the dragon,' I muse. 'Chasing that beautiful moment.'

'It sounds a lot more romantic than it is.'

'Do you think you could forgive her, Bianka, if you were me?'

'Forgive her?' Bianka looks incredulous. 'Of course! You know it wasn't really Sacha on that balcony. She wors.h.i.+ps her little brothers. Her mind's been hijacked. But when it comes to forgiving herself . . . ooh, that's going to be harder. Much, much harder. I just hope she doesn't try to harm herself.'

It's still dark outside, but I catch the sleepy trill of a stirring bird. Another dawn. Another day to be faced. I dump my mug in the sink. 'I'll head out to the hospital. Kit's planning to bring Sacha and Charlie later. D'you think she'll make it, or has she totally crashed?'

'I'll get her into the car somehow. She needs to see Finn. Martha, please forgive her.'

I sigh. 'If you'd been there, on the balcony . . .'

'All the same, forgive her.'

'And you, Bianka? She's treated you so badly. Why are you here, sleeping on her floor?'

Bianka looks into her mug, swirling the tea. 'I was hiding in the instrument storeroom when Sacha auditioned for the orchestra. I couldn't face life that day, so I'd gone to ground. Then suddenly there was this sound . . . this beautiful sound. I'd never heard anything like it before. It wasn't just a schoolgirl playing. It was someone who knew and understood everything I'd ever felt. All the loneliness. All the grief. I sat on the floor, jammed between two cellos with tears pouring down my cheeks.' They're pouring down now, but Bianka lifts her head and smiles at me. 'That's the moment when I fell in love.'

It's after seven by the time I arrive at ICU. One of the nurses is just going off duty, and she lets me in.

'You're early,' she remarks, with friendly disapproval.

'How's Finn?'

'He's a little trooper. Actually, you're not his first visitor today. You've been pipped at the post.'

Perplexed, I stop in my tracks. 'But it's family only. And there's no other family who could visit.'

'Sure about that?'

'Quite sure.'

She raises her eyebrows. 'Finn's grandpa is here.'

'He can't be. It's physically impossible.'

'Well, he is.'

'No, really. Finn only has one grandpa, and he lives in England, and I don't think he even knows about the accident.'

'Really? Well, you'd better go and see.'

I sprint onto the ward. There's someone in the chair, a compact figure with his back to me. Lined hands are cradling Finn's. He must have heard my footsteps because he turns around.

It's like a miracle. I stop dead, staring into the face I know so well, the dark grey curls and keen eyes. Then he gets up and holds his arms out wide.

Why do our hearts finally overflow when we see someone we love? What is that about? I throw myself against him, and howl.

Thirty-eight.

We sit side by side, Dad's arm around my shoulder. I feel dazed.

'Lay your hands on his chest,' says Dad. 'You'll feel your energy flow into him.'

I do what he says, and he's right: I have a sense that my life is somehow sustaining Finn. Wacky, my dad, but wise.

'I don't understand how you can be here,' I say. 'I think I must be dreaming, because this just isn't possible. I mean, it's only been thirty hours or so since the accident-that was midnight on Monday here, and it's now Wednesday morning. I hadn't even told you yet, and it takes thirty hours to get here from England. You are a witch doctor!'

'Well, it's a bit of a long story. And a strange one.'

'Go on, then.'

Dad sits back in the chair, stretching his legs. 'Very late on Sunday night, I had a visit from someone you don't much like. Someone you once said does not figure in Sacha's future. Who d'you think?'

'That leaves a pretty wide field. I'm narrow-minded and judgemental, according to Sacha.'

'Well . . . maybe you're not the most tolerant woman on the planet.'

'Get on with it!'

'My visitor was Ivan Jones, also known as Ivan Gnome. He said he didn't know where else to turn. He'd been on Facebook and Sacha was online. Hang on just a minute.' Dad has an overnight bag beside the chair. He rummages in it and finds an A4 sheet. 'This conversation starts with Ivan writing hiya hows nz. See? Ignore the grammar and spelling, it's hair-raising. The next line is Sacha, and so on.'

I read with growing nausea.

hiya hows nz not gd nt gd ?????????

na :/ aw sorry . . . wts up in a house with ppl off their heads just lyng in sht think im going crzy why u goin crazy someones coming after me ??? whaaa im freaking u better go home cant why cant ripped off my family where r u theyre coming for me fk where r u!!!!!!!!!!

theyre coming have you got your fone yea fn yr mum think I wl die fn ur mum plz !!!!!!!!

Sacha is offline.

'Dear Lord,' I breathe.

'As you can imagine, Ivan didn't like the sound of it. He tried ringing your place. No answer. So he got in his car and drove straight around to me-he'd been before, with Sacha. I didn't like the sound of it either. I am aware that teenagers can be a little hysterical, but all the same . . . So I called you. No answer. Why don't you have an answer machine?'

'Never got round to it after we moved here. Kit reckons if it's important the person will call back.'

'Hmm. Well, I found Capeview's website and rang them, to be told that you were on leave. They wouldn't give me your mobile number. Actually, they weren't helpful at all.'

'Hang on. This would have been when?'

'About midnight on Sunday in the UK, so . . . um, Monday lunchtime here.'