though, that one could lead to further paralysis, even death. By the time he got off the phone, the spasms had subsided and Wanda was checking to make sure Christine hadn’t swallowed her tongue.
“Can you hear me, darling?” asked Robert, trying and failing to sound calm. A barely audible grunt from Christine brought a loud breath of relief from him.
“Is she going to be okay?” Julian asked, arms hugged around himself.
“She’s going to be fine,” Wanda said, as the fingers of Christine’s right hand slowly curled and uncurled.
“You see,” Robert hissed in a whisper, eyes flashing at Julian. “You see what happens when you behave-”
Wanda silenced him with a, “Shh,” and a warning finger to her lips. She wheeled Christine into the lounge, spread a blanket over her lap, and fetched her a glass of water. Christine slurped at it, spilling most of it out of one side of her mouth.
“How do you feel?” asked Robert.
“Like I’ve been wrestling a gorilla,” said Christine, her voice stronger, but slurry.
“The ambulance will be here soon.”
With difficulty, Christine shook her head. “I don’t need it.”
“Now come on, Christine, don’t start that again. You need checking over, just to be on the safe side.”
Christine looked at Julian. “What happened to your face?”
“Nothing. I had an accident, that’s all,” said Julian, wincing inwardly at the lie.
“What kind of accident?”
Robert shushed his wife. “We can get into all that later.”
When the ambulance turned up, Robert tossed his car keys to Julian. “I’ll ride in the ambulance. You follow.”
At the hospital, the usual doctors ran the usual battery of tests. Julian and his dad sat in the waiting room, tense, unspeaking. Over and over, Julian kept thinking, if there’s anything wrong with her, it’ll be my fault and I’ll never forgive myself. From the occasional glowering looks his dad cast at him, it was clear he would’ve agreed with that line of thinking. Morning dragged into noon, and noon into afternoon. A doctor came to tell them that the seizure didn’t seem to have caused any immediate problems, but they’d given Christine a sedative to help her sleep off its after-effects. A long, deep breath swelled from Julian’s stomach, puffing his cheeks. The doctor led them to Christine’s bedside, where they stood looking down at her, Robert holding her good hand in both of his. For a while, all thoughts except thoughts of his mum had been driven from Julian’s mind, but now Mia’s face rose into his consciousness again. Thinking about her made him feel almost as helpless as the sight of his mum. But he knew he had to do something — no matter how useless it might prove to be — and the only thing he could think to do was find Jake, find out what he knew.
“I’m going,” he said. “I’ll be back later.”
Without looking at Julian, Robert held out a hand. “Keys.”
Julian handed over the car keys. He stooped to kiss his mum’s forehead, whispered, “I’m sorry. I love you,” in her ear, then left. He caught a bus home, answered Wanda’s questions about his mum and grabbed a bite to eat, before heading out into the forest. Rumour had it that Jake was hiding somewhere in the sprawling, congested tangle of trees. If he was, Julian knew, it could take days, even weeks to find him. By which time, there was a good chance Mia would’ve been found too — one way or another. Still, he had to try. Anything was better than the agony of just sitting and waiting for something to happen. He took Henry with him in the hope that he’d warn him if anyone was around. He hiked along the sandy trail, hurrying past the spot where he’d found Joanne Butcher to the derelict sawmill.
The sawmill was a brick building with a partially collapsed corrugated iron roof. A wire fence with signs that said ‘No Trespassing’ surrounded it. The fence had been pulled up and pushed down in numerous places. Julian peered through a door hanging off its hinges into a dank gloom. The mill had long since been stripped of its machinery and anything else of any worth, but a sappy smell of cut lumber still lingered, only faintly detectable underneath the sour-ammonia reek of old urine and the heavy wood-smoke scent of a recent fire. As his eyes adjusted, he saw that the walls were papered with graffiti and the concrete floor was littered with leaves, cigarette butts, broken glass, beer and aerosol cans, and other rubbish. At its centre, a torn, stained mattress was pulled up close to a circle of ash. “Anyone in there?” said Julian.
Silence was the only reply. Cautiously, Julian approached the remains of the fire and poked around in them with his foot. The ashes gave off a faint heat. Henry sniffed at something behind a corrugated panel propped against a wall. Julian pulled him away and saw that a rolled up sleeping-bag was stowed there. He sat on the mattress, figuring that whoever the sleeping-bag belonged to would show up sooner or later. The gloom had deepened to twilight when Henry suddenly sprang up from where he’d been lying and barked. Julian rushed to the doorway. There was no one to be seen. “Jake, this is Julian Harris,” he called, his voice echoing back eerily from the trees. “I need to talk to you about your sister.” When no reply came, he added, “And about your mum.”
A minute passed. Henry darted to the rear of the building, barking. Julian ran after him, crunching leaves and glass underfoot. He stumbled and had just managed to regain his balance when something hit him in the back, knocking him to his knees. Jake’s scowling face loomed at him through the murk. “What the fuck do you know about my mum?” he said, one hand clutching Julian’s throat, the other raised and clenched.
Before Julian could reply, Henry buffeted into Jake, teeth flashing. The boy reeled aside and the dog’s teeth closed on the air with a snap. “No, Henry,” commanded Julian, scrambling to grab the dog’s collar. Henry strained momentarily to get at Jake, then settled back, eyeballing him. “Good boy.” Julian turned his attention to Jake, whose knife-like eyes glared at him from a face as pale as his knuckles. There was a coiled tension about his wiry but muscular frame, as if at any second he might spring to strike or flee. “I don’t know who’s told you what, Jake, but I’ve got nothing to do with Mia’s disappearance.” Jake’s face was unreadable, except for his eyes, which narrowed in a way that suggested he wanted Julian to further explain himself. Julian was struck by how much he looked like his sister. If he’d grown his hair and slapped on some makeup, they would’ve been almost impossible to tell apart. “I’m here because I want to find out what’s happened to her and I need your help,” he continued.
“Why the fuck do you care what’s happened to Mia? What’s she to you?”
There was that question again. With every asking, it seemed to assume more significance. “I don’t know exactly. I only knew her a few days, but, well she…she…” Again, Julian reached for but failed to grasp the words he wanted. He heaved an exasperated breath.
“You fuck her, did you?”
“No.”
Jake spat out the side of his mouth. “Bollocks you didn’t.” His hostile voice brought a growl from Henry. Julian shushed him.
“Believe what you like, but it’s true. I care about your sister as a friend, and that’s all.” But that wasn’t all there was to it. Julian knew it, and, from the glint of suspicion in his eyes, Jake knew it too.
“And what about my mum?”
“The thing is…well, it looks like…like…” Each word weighed like a rock on Julian’s tongue. It looks like your sister’s thrown herself off the same bridge as your mum did. He thought the words, but didn’t know how to say them.
“Well, fuckin’ spit it out then.”
“Maybe we’d better sit down,” Julian suggested, and not just out of concern for Jake. A great wave of tiredness had suddenly come crashing over him.
“What for?”
Without replying, Julian moved to sit on the mattress. Jake remained standing a moment, eyeing him uncertainly. Then, with the wariness of a cat, he approached the circle of ash and dropped down on his haunches. He dug at the ash with a stick, found some glowing embers amongst the grey wood and fed in several handfuls of leaves and twigs. As flames crackled into life, Julian looked at Jake’s intense, suspicious eyes, looked at his androgynous teenage face, and dragged the words out one by one. He told him about what he’d found at the bridge, about what Tom Benson had told him, and about the newspaper article. Except for maybe a slight thinning of his lips, Jake’s face gave no clue as to his emotions. “So she’s gone and done it,” he said, when Julian finished. His eyes shifted to the flames, taking on a familiar blankness. “She always said she would one day, but, fuck, I never believed she’d actually do it.”
“You mean she spoke about jumping off the bridge?”
