Sundance giving voice to hers.
The girl sat down on the stool and bent her head over the plate to breathe in the smell of the pasta. Her hair fell over the table like the branches of a willow tree.
‘What is it?’
‘Nothing special. Just spaghetti with tomato and basil.’
‘Mmmh. It’s good.’
‘Are you taking that on trust?’
Sundance looked up at her with her clear blue eyes as if nothing had happened. ‘Your spaghetti’s always good.’
Vivien smiled and made an exaggeratedly self-satisfied gesture. ‘That’s quite a compliment! I think I’ll put it in my personal ad.’
She sat down next to Sundance. They started eating in silence, each conscious of the other’s presence.
After what had happened, Vivien had never talked directly to her niece about the things she had been involved in. There had been a psychologist for that, and a long, difficult and tortuous process that was far from over. Sometimes Vivien wondered if it ever would be. But she was the only stable point in Sundance’s life now, since her sister Greta had fallen victim to early onset Alzheimer’s and was moving closer to oblivion day by day. Sundance’s father, Nathan, who’d been a shit all his life, though he’d been skilful at hiding it, had revealed his true colours and run away, trying to forget something that would never abandon him. If nothing else, he had left behind enough money to provide for his wife and daughter. Vivien had often thought, knowing him well, that this was the most they could expect from him. And that in any case anything else that came from him would be more of a hindrance than a help.
They finished the pasta almost simultaneously.
‘Are you still hungry? I can make you a hamburger, if you like.’
‘No. I’m fine. Thanks, Vunny.’
Sundance stood up and went to the TV set. She saw her take the remote control from the armrest of the couch and aim it at the set. The images and voices of Eyewitness Channel entered the room.
And a spectacle of desolation and death appeared on the screen.
Vivien took the plates from the counter and went and put them in the sink. The images the channel was broadcasting were a dramatic corollary of what they had seen for themselves at close quarters.
The previous evening, when the explosion had blocked the traffic in the city and made the world catch its breath, Vivien had immediately switched on the car radio, sure that in a few moments they would find out what had happened. Both had sat there in silence, listening to the presenter’s words and at the same time seeing the glare of the flames in front of them, so vivid and violent it was as if they were burning souls as well as things. The fire had continued to blaze somewhere to the side of the car as they passed Alphabet City at 10th Street. Vivien was certain that the traffic in that area would be stopped very soon, which was why she had chosen to make a long detour to get to her home near Battery Park. She had crossed the Williamsburg Bridge and driven the length of the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway, emerging downtown through the tunnel. In all that time she’d hardly said a word, continuing to hop from station to station in order to get updates.
Once they got home they had rushed to switch on the TV. And the images of urban nightmare that had appeared confirmed what they had witnessed. They had followed the broadcasts until late at night, commenting on what they were seeing. They had listened to the words of the mayor and the brief statement from the White House, until tiredness had won out over despair.
They had fallen asleep side by side in Vivien’s bed, the thunder of the explosion still in their ears, feeling that vibration of the ground that had followed the blast as if, in memory, it would never end.
Vivien opened the faucet and let the water run over the plates dirty with sauce. She added a few drops of detergent, and watched the foam bubble up. Behind her, she could hear the voices of the reporters, who were adding nothing to what they already knew, apart from an update on the death toll, which continued to grow.
The ringing of the telephone was a sign of life among all these tales of death. Vivien wiped her hands and picked up the cordless. She heard Captain Alan Bellew’s voice, as strong and incisive as always, but with a slight hint of underlying tiredness.
‘Hi, Vivien. Bellew here.’
He had never before called her at home, certainly never on her day off. She immediately knew what was coming next.
‘What is it?’
There wasn’t any need to specify the subject. Both of them knew only too well.
‘It’s a mess. I’ve just come out of a long meeting at One Police Plaza with the commissioner and all the precinct chiefs. I’m recalling all my men. I need to see you all tonight to bring you up to date with the situation.’
‘Is it that bad?’
‘Yes. What the press knows is nothing yet. Though I have to say we don’t know much more than they do right now. There’s a distinct possibility the city may be under attack. But I’ll explain all that in person. Nine o’clock at the precinct.’
‘OK. I’ll be there.’
The captain lowered his voice. He was a friend now, not just a superior officer dealing with an emergency.
‘I’m sorry, Vivien. I know how hard you’ve been working lately and I know all the things you’ve got on your plate. I know you were supposed to be going to the U2 concert with your niece. But all public gatherings have been suspended until further notice anyway.’
‘I know. They just said that on TV.’
The captain paused. Out of sympathy, not embarrassment.
‘How is Sundance?’
Bellew had two daughters not much older than her niece. Vivien thought he was probably seeing their faces as he asked that question.
‘Fine.’
She said it softly, the way you cling to an illusion rather than a certainty. The captain understood and left it at that.
‘See you tonight, then.’
‘Bye, Alan. Thanks.’
Vivien hung up and put the phone down next to the sink. For a moment she looked at the two plates as if they were immersed in the depths of the ocean instead of a few inches of water.
When she turned, Sundance was standing on the other side of the counter. She was an adult at that moment, with old eyes in a girl’s body. Everything around her was telling her that whatever we possess can be taken away without warning. More than ever, Vivien felt that she wanted to teach her, to show her that many beautiful things can happen just as unexpectedly.
How, she didn’t yet know. But she would learn. And she would save both of them.
Her niece smiled at her, as if she had read her thoughts. ‘We have to go back to Joy, don’t we?’
Vivien nodded. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘I’ll go pack my bag.’
She walked away down the corridor, towards the bedroom. Vivien went to the little safe, rather unimaginatively concealed behind a painting. She punched in the combination, opened it, and took out her pistol and shield.
Sundance was at the end of the corridor, waiting for her with her bag in her hand. There was no trace of disappointment on her face. Vivien would have preferred that, rather than this premature resignation.
They had planned to go running together along the Hudson in the afternoon, before
