‘I just—’ Georgia’s voice breaks and I catch up enough to see a few tears trickling down her face. ‘It’s bad enough it happened at all. To think that someone wanted to hurt us . . .’
How I wish I hadn’t started this. I’m desperate to assuage her distress, and search for anything that might comfort her. ‘Danny is going to speak to the police again.’ I check my watch. ‘Right now, actually. We could call him afterwards, find out what happened . . . Or if you want to speak to them again too, you could.’
‘Just stay out of it, Mum!’ she shouts and stomps off. For the rest of the journey she remains two steps ahead of me, and we hardly exchange a word. It’s so hard to bite my tongue when I want to scream. Why does she never see that I’m on her side?
My fears have been rising all day, every thought baiting my uncertainties. Now my emotions are close to a riot, and Georgia’s reaction has done nothing to calm them. I think of Sophia, still unconscious in hospital. Why on earth would someone want to hurt our children? Who the hell is it? And, more to the point, where are they now?
15
ZAC
Zac is not where he is supposed to be. For the past hour he has been hiding under his bedclothes, having decided to play truant. He had been unable to cope with his instant popularity today, with all those randoms who had feigned excuses to chat before twisting the conversation around to the accident. Even the teachers had been at it. Time and time again, once he had told them he didn’t really know anything, they had retreated reluctantly back to their huddles, mouths twitching with unsated curiosity.
Zac has never minded that he flies under most people’s radar, and all he wants today is a return to anonymity. After a few hours at school his brain has become rubbery; he is wearing away at the edges, over-exposed from the barrage of unwanted attention. All morning he has replayed the expressions on Jacinta and Zoe’s faces. All morning he has found himself clenching and unclenching his fists.
As soon as the bell for lunch went, he had walked over to the chemistry block to see his form tutor, Mr Kyle, and informed him of a headache. Mr Kyle hadn’t even looked twice at him, although Zac had faked a few winces and squinted as though the room were pulsating, just in case. ‘Of course,’ his teacher had said, ‘get home and take it easy.’ Kyle was rarely so benevolent. It must have been down to the accident, otherwise Zac should have thought of doing this before.
There was, of course, a procedure to follow for leaving school early. You were supposed to visit the office, sign a form, call a parent. However, Zac had had enough inquisitions for one day. Once he’d had permission to escape, he had stolen through the school grounds like a thief evading capture, keeping a wary eye out for his mother and sister until he reached the bike sheds and unlocked his bike. He hadn’t looked back once he got to the gate, and on the ride home he had tried to let the fresh air blow away all his endless circling questions. His brain was buzzing with its burden, and during the morning a particularly alarming thought had repeated itself over and over: What if I made a mistake?
It had been fairly dark in Georgia’s room when he’d discovered that photograph – had he really seen what he thought he had?
He was temporarily distracted once he reached home, when it had occurred to him that his father might be there, since this was not a typical day. But the Land Rover wasn’t parked outside, and when Zac had unlocked the front door and shouted hello, his voice trailed away down the hall in fruitless search of a response. Each cold, empty room he walked past seemed to admonish him for playing truant. It had been a relief to retreat to his bed, and before he knew it, he was dozing in and out of his daydreams.
He wakes famished and rushes to the kitchen, where he grabs a stack of bread, slaps it down on the counter and lavishes margarine onto each slice, hearing the tuts from his mother as clearly as if she were in the room. He adds a few big slabs of cheese and a generous squeeze of mayonnaise, then sits at the kitchen table, chewing and thinking about that photo hidden just a short distance from where he sits. The stairs beckon him, just visible through the door jamb.
Do I really want to get involved in this?
No, he tells himself. Don’t go into Georgia’s room again. Just forget you saw anything.
He considers this for a few seconds, his sandwich just scattered crumbs now. Then he hears the familiar deep purr of the Land Rover’s engine pulling onto the drive.
His dad is home.
It’s now or never.
He jumps to his feet, springing up the stairs two at a time, rushing into Georgia’s room. He knows she will crucify him if she finds him trespassing. Georgia throws her sheets into the hallway when she wants them washed; her room has long been classified a strict ‘no entry’ zone.
He feels down the side of the bed to retrieve the journal, flicks to the back and takes out the photo. Stares at it, checking and rechecking, until he hears a key turn in the front door.