‘Help him,’ she whispered.
‘Help him what?’
‘Help him beat your time.’
I’ll admit, I wasn’t too keen on the idea.
‘Go on,’ Rose urged. ‘He’ll never do it otherwise. And boys love to win!’
Rose was so animated. She looked practically happy. There was something appealing about a happy Rose, especially when she’d been in such a bad mood. Letting Billy win would be a small price to pay, I supposed. So I agreed.
The next time Billy broke through the surface of the water, I told him my tricks. ‘Breathe slowly and calmly for at least two minutes. Then exhale everything in your lungs and take the deepest breath you possibly can. Then once you’re underwater, relax and let your thoughts drift away.’
Billy listened carefully before attempting it. And he did quite well, for a first timer. He was still no match for me, though. And when oxygen bubbled to the surface, I felt pleased. Until Rose said: ‘Help him.’
I frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Help. Him. Win.’
‘You mean . . .?’
She nodded.
We stared at each other. I was sure I’d misunderstood. ‘But–’
‘It’s the only way he’ll beat you. Hold him down.’
And so, I did. I put a hand on his back, and another on the back of his head. ‘Only forty seconds,’ I said to Rose. ‘Check your watch.’
Rose did. Billy started to struggle but in karate I’d learned to grip well. I’d spent months developing forearm and finger strength, so he had no chance of getting free. But he was twisting and kicking. I felt very uncertain. ‘How long has it been–’
‘Nearly there.’ Rose was looking at her watch.
‘Now?’ I said.
Rose shook her head.
It didn’t take long before he stopped twisting.
Rose kept time on her watch. I felt reassured by that. Rose wouldn’t let me do anything bad to Billy. And yet it felt like an eternity before she gave the nod to release him.
As soon as he rose to the surface of the water, I knew something was very wrong. I hooked my arms around his shoulders and lifted his head out of the water. ‘Billy?’ I gently slapped his face. ‘Come on, Billy. Wake up.’
But Billy didn’t wake up. He didn’t turn his head to suck in a breath or cough and splutter or gasp for air.
I dragged him from the water. He was heavy but I got him to the shore and rolled him onto his side. When he still didn’t breathe, I tried to administer CPR. I’d read a book about how to do it, and we’d practised it at school on plastic mannequins, but it was harder on an actual person. Rose just stood there, in shock. I breathed into Billy, again and again. After several minutes with no response, I sat back on my heels and looked at him. He was the most unnatural colour – a slippery, whitish blue. His eyes were open, but lifeless.
That’s when we heard Mum.
‘Girls?’ She was looking around for us, and spotting us on the shore, she appeared relieved. Then she looked past us to where Billy lay. For a moment, she remained completely still. Then she ran. It was a sight to behold. Mum never ran anywhere.
‘Billy!’ she cried, dropping to her knees beside him. She fumbled at his neck, presumably trying to feel for a pulse. ‘Billy. Come on. Come on, Billy. What happened?’
Rose and I remained silent, as Mum herself tried to breathe life into Billy. She continued for what felt like hours, only pausing to swear under her breath and, once, to lift her head and say what sounded like a quick prayer, which was odd as I’d never seen Mum pray before. When she finally spun around, her face was streaked with tears and dirt. ‘What happened? Someone tell me.’
‘I . . . I was trying to help him stay underwater longer than me,’ I stammered. ‘I must have held him for too long.’
‘You held him under?’ Mum stared at me. ‘Why would you do that, Fern?’
I glanced at Rose. Mum followed my gaze. Something funny happened to her eyes. ‘Did Rose tell you to?’
Somehow, I understood the danger of answering that question. And so I didn’t.
‘Oh, of course it’s my fault,’ Rose said. ‘Nothing could be the fault of your precious Fern.’
Mum stood up and grabbed Rose so tightly that her feet lifted off the ground. ‘Billy is dead, Rose. Do you understand that?’
‘Yes,’ Rose said evenly. ‘I understand.’
‘And now you’ve implicated your sister!’
‘You’ve always hated me,’ Rose shouted, crying now. ‘You’ve only ever loved Fern. Everyone loves Fern!’
Mum let go of Rose and lifted a hand to Rose’s face before hesitating and dropping it down.
‘I don’t hate you, Rose. But it does feel like you’ve spent your life trying to make me prove I love you. And now, a boy is dead!’
Mum looked down at Billy’s lifeless body, then up again, meeting Rose’s gaze.
‘If you want to prove that you love me,’ Rose said, ‘this is your chance.’
Mid-afternoon, Rose goes to Target to get the baby some smaller clothes. The moment she is gone, I move quickly.
The hospital is quiet, apart from a few mewling, newborn cries. I struggle into my rainbow dress, one of many souvenirs of the bizarre brand of love Rose has for me, and I lift the baby out of her crib. She is warm and feather light. I hook my bag over my shoulder and cradle her against my chest. It’s lovely how she seems to fit into the space perfectly, like she was made for this space. Perhaps she was?
It’s funny, she doesn’t look like an Alice to me, I realise. More like a Daisy or Lily or Poppy. Or Willow? There’s something about the strength of it that I like. Yes, Willow. That’s her name.
It is so easy to get out of the hospital that I don’t feel like I am ‘breaking out’ at all. I skulk past reception and out into the
