Then I saw Byron.
He was lying a few meters away, face down in the dirt. I nudged his shoulder, but he didn’t move. All I could think was that it was my fault. He’d been bullied, blamed, beaten, knocked out, and now tossed into a landslide. And he’d done it all for me. I collapsed at his side and started to sob, then to my relief, he coughed and rolled over. His face was bloody. He’d lost his front teeth in the fall. He looked a state, but through it, he smiled. He saw me and smiled.
‘Kate,’ he whispered, his speech impaired by the mess of his mouth. 'I'm not imagining you,am I? You’re real? We're alive?’
‘Just about,’I said. ‘Unless Heaven is a flooded school -’
‘There’s no such thing as Heaven,’ he said. ‘Besides, if there is,’ –he paused– ‘I doubt they'd let mein.’
I hugged him with my working arm, felt my heart opening up to him.
‘Can you move?’ I said.
He sat up.
‘Give me a minute,’he said. ‘My head’s spinning. I lost my glasses,’ –then he touched his mouth, examined the blood– ‘and my teeth.’
I wiped the dirt from my eyes. It was hard to hold on to clear thought. The dust was settling around us, among the upturned tree roots and rubble.
‘Why did you do it?’I said. ‘Why did you come with me? You knew there was going to be a landslide, but you still followed me?’
Byron shrugged. ‘You needed my help.’
‘But you risked your life-’
He looked nervous suddenly. He prodded at the gap were his teeth had once been.
‘I liked those,’he said. ‘First my leg, now my good teeth.’
‘Just tell me this,’I persisted. ‘What did you mean by Project Kate and Co? What was that stuff on your phone all about?’
‘You don’t need to worryabout that,’he said dismissively.
‘Oh,yes, I do.’
‘I wanted to get it right, that’s all,’he whispered. ‘I wanted to understand you. And I figured that in order to understand you, I needed to understand your friends too. I’m not good with people, you see. I’ve got this thing - I rub people up the wrong way. It’s just my nature. It never really mattered before, and then...then I discovered you.'
He stared at the sky.
‘Marshall Finch isn’t the only one, you know -’
The mere mention of Marshall’s name made me shudder.
‘Don’t worry,’he said.‘I’m not like him. I’m not thatcrazy. I’ll never claim to have a hold over you, Kate, not like he did. I'll never own you.’
He took my hand.
‘I just think you’re wonderful.’
His eyes were intense. Through the blood and dirt, they burned right through me.
‘You’re kind,’he said. ‘You’re smart. You’re popular. You’re everything.’
He seemed dazed, overwhelmed by what he was saying. He held my hand to his chest. I could feel his heart racing. He actually looked like he was about to say he loved me. I waited, listened for the words. It felt like we were in bubble. No past, no future. Just the two of us, randomly thrown together, surviving together, there for each other.
Suddenly, I jolted to my senses.
‘Leon!’I gasped. ‘We came for Leon. Where’s Leon?’
The bubble burst.
I’d forgotten Leon! I felt appalled, panicked by the dreadful possibility that the landslide had landed on top of him. I brushed Byron off me, stood and staggered to the water’s edge. There he was, a few meters downstream, still slumped over the tree stump. The landslide had missed him, but the water was up to his shoulders. His eyes were closed and his lips were blue. He looked like he was sleeping.
I tried to heave his body away from the water, using my good arm, but he was too heavy and the ground was too slippery. Even if I got him out of the water, what then? There was no way I’d be able to carry him back up the bank. I looked to Byron.
‘Please,’I called. ‘Help me. I can’t lift him on my own.’
‘Is it worth it?’he said frostily. ‘He looks a bit dead to me.'
‘Of course it's worth it!' I exclaimed.
He stumbled over to us, but his demeanour had changed. Now that I was cradling Leon in my arms, he could hardly bear to look at me. Nonetheless, I was determined. Since the landslide had slowed the current, I was able to wade in and stand up straight without too much difficulty. I hoisted Leon’s legs over my goodshoulder. On my insistence, Byron lifted Leon’s upper body and together we hauled him up the bank. It took a gigantic effort, the very last of our strength–strength we didn’t have. But something powered us - or me, at least - something made me believe it was worth it.
We lay Leon’s body down. I couldn’t stomach the sight of his twisted feet. I focused on his face, his ghostly skin, his lovely eyelashes, his dimpled jaw - my perfect Leon. I took his hands in mine. They were like ice. Then it happened.
The something.
His eyelids flickered. He murmured, opened his mouth, turned his head. His soft grey eyes looked out at me.
‘Kate,’he whispered, blinking, focusing. ‘Kate. That was some crazy jump. Did I make it? Did the rope snap? Are we home? I’m cold. Kate, I’m socold.’
I cried so hard I couldn’t answer him.
‘Don’t be sad, Kate,’he said, breathlessly.
‘I’m not sad,’I said. ‘I’m happy.’
I kissed him and placed my head on his chest. I was too weak to do anything else. Pure life flowed between us, a hope, a future. Byron, meanwhile, wandered away. He lay down alone, on the other side of the bank, as far away from Leon and I as he could get. At first, it looked like he was sleeping. He was statue-like, motionless. Then I noticed his eyes were wide open, fixed to the sky, just staring and staring.
I’ve no idea how long we were there for. Minutes? Hours?
I had a vague awareness that I was drifting in and out of consciousness. A transient sense that the day had broken through, that the sky was bleeding light. At some point within my daze, however, I started to sense a pulse, a steadythrob in the air. It stirred me, brought me to the moment. I rubbed my eyes, saw movement, something spinning up above us– the blades of a helicopter, there one moment, then it started to fade. Or was it me? Was I the one that was fading?
The only thing that felt certain was that my hand was still holding Leon’s. I fought the weariness, did everything I could to stay alert. A blurry black shape jumped out of the sky - a man. He was clipped to a line. He came towards me, landed at my feet, said his name was Simon, said he was from the air sea rescue service, said he’d seen my SOS flagand that he’d picked up my friends on the playing field. He assured us that everything was going to be okay, that we were safe. He held my waist and strapped me to his harness. And then, at last, the sun came out.
Ten weeks later
‘Don’t worry,’I said. ‘It’ll be fine. If anyone has stuff to say, let them say it. It doesn’t matter to me. The important thing is that you and I are together now. It’s ourbusiness.’
Byron nodded, but I could tell he wasn’t convinced. We were in my parents’living room, getting ready for Greg’s memorial service. It was our first official outing as a couple. Up until then, the only people who knew we’d gotten together were Gemma, my parents, and my sister–and none of them were particularly happy. They thought it was too soon after the disaster. They couldn’t get their heads round it. But I don’t know. To me, it made sense. After everythingByron and I had been through together, it felt right to be spending time with him. It didn’t matter that he was awkward and odd, that he didn’t fit in with the rest of my life. In the aftermath of the flood, he was the one person who made me feel secure. So many things made me jumpy, but he didn’t.
And it’s not like we rushed things. For the first few weeks, the only thing on anyone’s mind was recovery. Everyone had to be treated for hyperthermia and shock. I had to have my shoulder popped back, followed by lots of physiotherapy. Byron had an operation on his kn
ee and emergency dental work. And Leon, Leon spent weeks in hospital. His injuries were the worst. His hyperthermia was so severe, he nearly died. He was strong though. He amazed the hospital staff. He had to have six metal pins screwed into his ankles to patch up the bones. He was still in a wheelchair on the day of the memorial service.
To begin with, I visited him as much as I could. I went to the ward, sat with him, talked with him, held his hands, stroked his hair. To and fro, I daydreamed about what it would be like when he got out, got back on his feet. I dreamed about our kiss, our first date, our future together–everything we’d talked about.
But in the end, I couldn’t compete with the hoards of girls who constantly crowded at his bedside. Every day, a different group, bringing giggles and teddies and naff, cute cards. It was like he’d developed some kind of injured-super-hero status. The attention went straight to hishead–and I went to the back of the queue. All the talk about 'meant to be' and 'growing old together', it represented nothing. When he finally got discharged from hospital, it was like we were strangers.
Not long after Leon went astray, Byron and I started talking online, chit-chat about how we were getting along, how we were coping. He suggested we meet up. I was surprised he asked. Pleased, but surprised. And surprised that I was pleased. We met in a coffee shop on the other side of town, one of the few that had withstood the flood. It was awkward at first. Neither of us knew what to talk about other than the disaster. We couldn’t discuss day-to-day school stuff, because we had so little in common. Despite the strain, however, I never lost the sense that he got me, that he understood what I was going through.
Like I said, what makes two people fall in love?
Everything and nothing.
We continued to meet, weekly at first, then twice weekly, then as often as we could, but we didn’t properly get together until a few days before the memorial. Even then, it wasn’t what you’d call a‘physical’relationship. We hardly kissed. He didn’t seem to be into that sort of thing. Any time I tried to show affection, to hold his hand or kiss his cheek, he looked awe-struck, like he couldn’t quite believe it.
‘Ready?’I said, linking my arm through his.
My parents were driving us to the church. The roads were still a mess. Repairs were going on all over town, but it was obvious it was going to take forever, with so many damaged and condemned buildings. There were daily council meetings about new flood defences and better early warning systems. People were scared the waterwould return, that another disaster would ruin all the progress we’d made. But at least we’d had a dry spell, three months of constant sunshine. In fact, the day of Greg’s memorial saw the first gloomy sky since it happened - almost like someone was trying to tell us something. Rain was in the air. It was coming. You could smell it, almost feel it.
When we pulled up outside the churchyard I noticed Miss Nevis's family lingering at the back. They were dressed head-to-toe in black. My mum scowled.
‘What are they doing here?’she said bitterly.
Lots of people–including my parents–blamed Miss Nevis for leaving as alone in the school. They said it was a neglect of her‘duty of care’. I think they were looking for someone to be angry with. Poor Miss Nevis. Her body had been found by two boys in a dinghy. She'd drowned not far from the bridge, presumably after she'd abandoned her car.
I didn’t blame her for all our trouble though. She hadn’t known the risk. She’d simply been trying to get the mural started, trying to buy more art supplies to replace the stuff that had gone missing. She hadn't known what was coming.
We filed into the church and I could feel a dozen sets of eyes on Byron and I. He started to twitch. His eyes scuttled from side to side, like he was looking for an exit, but I gripped his hand, squeezed it tight. We sat in one of the unoccupied pews, shuffled until we got comfortable. A minute later, Leon rolled down the centre aisle, with Curtis on one side and a group of girls on the other. I attempted a smile,but he didn’t see me.
Gemma sat a few rows ahead of us, crying, clutching a hanker-chief. I leant forward, touched her shoulder, to let her know I was with her. She turned to me. Her eyes were red-raw, full of sadness, but when she saw I was sitting with Bryon, that sadness turned into something else.
‘I need to talk to you,’she mouthed, her brow a deep‘v’.‘Urgently.’
‘Now?’
The music started.
‘After.’
Then she turned away.
I picked up the‘order of service’and stared at the front cover. There was Greg, smiling out of a black and white photocopy, holding his best guitar. I choked up. They found his body in a ditch three days after the floodwater subsided. He’d drowned–that’s all we know. For the first two months, I kept waking up in a panic, thinking that if I’d done things differently, he’d still be alive. I talked about it endlessly in the therapy group, but guilt sticks. Ironically, throughout the flood, Gemma’s sister, Molly, had been fine. She’d been ather best friend’s house. For all the time we’d been worrying about her, she’d been eating ice cream and reading magazines.
Just as the music started to fade, I heard whispering behind me, a tap on my shoulder.
‘Have you heard about Marshall Finch?’said the girl to my left, one of Leon’s new‘friends’. ‘He’s been given sixyears. But that’s not all of it. They're locking him up in a mad house'cos he's a lunatic.’
She said it like it should be news to me. Byron glared at her.
‘Keep you gossipy mouth to yourself,’he said. ‘This is a memorial service. Have some respect.’
Sometimes his bluntness had its uses. The girl shut up. I smiled inside.
In any case, I knew all about the situation with Marshall. After all, I was the one who pressed the charges. He got six years–which was no less than he deserved–and a restraining order, which meant he couldn't go near me again. And, yes, he’d been moved to a psychiatric prison hospital. Apparently, he’d been asking to see me. But I was more than done on that issue.
It was after the service, out in the churchyard, under the steel grey clouds, that the real madness untwisted. As promised, Gemma pulled me aside. She took me to a bench, away from the rest of the crowd. She was wearing dark glasses to cover her tear-sore eyes.
‘There’ssomething you need to see,’she said anxiously.
‘What?’
‘Read this,’she said, thrusting a newspaper in front of my face, the latest copy of The Hurst Chronicle.
'What is it?'
'Just readit!’
I stared at the page in front of me. Yet another flood-related article - the press had endless angles - but as I started to read, I realised why she’d bought it to my attention. I whispered the headline:‘Hurst Valley Flood Disaster: Concerns Over Cause’.
It wasn’t a long piece. There wasn’t a photo. The first paragraph explained how the council had been investigating‘contributing factors’, in an effort to work out why the flooding had been so severe. The second paragraph mentionedthings like unprecedented rainfall, poor irrigation, low-lying territory and deforestation - things we’d already heard over and over.
It was the thirdparagraph that got my attention. Apparently, environmental officers had been surveying the town’s old flood defence - a massive sluice gate up at the lake behind Hurst College - and had found evidence of sabotage. The outflow grill had been deliberately plugged with lumps of concrete, chunks of wood, and of all things, paint cans, modelling clay, bubble wrap and paint rollers–pretty much the contents of the order that had gone missing from Miss Nevis’s corridor.
I glanced at Gemma.
‘You know who I think was responsible, don’t you?' she said.
She didn’t need to explain. I knew.
I looked across the churchyard, to where Byron was standing, hovering behind a cluster of headstones. Flashes of that afternooncame back to me - his arrival, how he’d stood in the doorway of the art room, red-faced and sweaty, shoes caked in mud; how he hadn
’t been told to work on the mural, but had simply‘turned up’; how he’d known everything, pretty much everything there was to know about floods and how to survive them; how he'd come prepared, providing crisps and beer when we needed them most; how he'd been sure, so sure that we were better off staying in the building. He’d done it. He’d planned it. He’d sabotaged the sluice gate in order to flood the school and trap us - trap me - inside. A captive audience.
He’d said it himself: Marshall Finch isn’t the only one.
Suddenly I knew, I understood.
I looked up, felt the first drop of rain on my cheek. I flung the newspaper away. Gemma tried to hold me, but my head was a splintering mess of hate and rage. Everyone in the churchyard started opening umbrellas, huddling for shelter, cuddling for comfort.
What would an umbrella do for me?
What difference would a cuddle make?
I was broken.
All I could do now was scream, throw my hands to the rain, and scream.
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