by Frewin Jones
“Evan! Stop!” she shouted.
“No!” he howled, his voice wild and cracked. “He’ll know we’re here. He’ll take you away from me!”
“What are you talking about? Evan, please!”
From the corner of her eye, she saw something huge and dark looming toward them. She just had time to turn her head as one of the stone pillars of Lambeth Bridge filled her vision.
A moment later, a violent impact sent her hurtling forward. Her ears filled with a brain-shredding noise. The sky whirled like a kaleidoscope. Then there was the deadly, freezing embrace of deep water. Red flames rimmed her sight and everything went black.
II
At first there was just the voice.
A man’s voice, speaking soft and low, very close to her head.
“…mortals stay in mortal world, iron-clad with half-blind eyes they see…”
“Dad?”
No, not her father’s voice.
It faded.
Then there were lights—bright white lights on a bright white ceiling. Concerned faces swam in and out of her line of vision.
She was lying on her back. There was pain—but it felt far away, as if it had nothing to do with her.
Soothing voices asked odd questions:
“Do you know where you are?”
“Can you tell me what day it is, Anita?”
“Squeeze my hand, Anita, as hard as you can. That’s good. That’s just fine.”
And then a different voice, distant but quite clear.
“She’s a very lucky girl, Mrs. Palmer. If that police launch hadn’t been nearby—well, it’s doubtful she would have survived for more than a couple of minutes.”
She heard her mother’s voice.
“Oh, Clive, look at her—look at our poor girl….”
And she was vaguely aware of her own voice, sounding weak and strained. “Evan? Is Evan all right…? Please, I have to know….”
Her father: “What’s she saying?”
“She’s asking about Evan.”
Then the lights blurred and whirled and the voices faded away.
Lights again. Voices. The sensation of movement. The distant squeak of wheels. A gray-tiled ceiling sliding above her head. Someone holding her hand. Her mother’s voice.
Cool sheets and a soft pillow for her head.
Floating away again.
Memories of the auditions for the school play came bubbling into her mind. Evan had surprised everyone. He was good—very good. He could make Shakespeare sound like everyday conversation.
Mrs. Wiseman had organized the first read-throughs of the play. Knowing her luck, Anita had guessed she’d end up playing the old nurse, especially as it was so obvious who was going to be playing Romeo.
All the same, she had learned a whole speech of Juliet’s.
O Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou, Romeo?
Voices again.
“Do you know what’s she saying, Mrs. Palmer?”
“It’s some of her lines from the play they’ve been rehearsing.”
“Will she be out of hospital in time for that?”
“Oh, I should think so. She’s had a bad concussion but she should be fine after a few days’ rest. There’s no real damage, just a few nasty bruises. She was lucky to be thrown clear when the boat hit the pillar.”
“Mum?”
“Yes, honey, I’m here.” A warm hand in hers.
“Where’s Evan?”
Her father’s voice. “He’s okay, there’s no need for you to worry about him.”
“Dad?”
“We’re both here. You’re going to be fine.”
“My eyes…so heavy…can’t open them…”
“You’ve had a bang on the head, sweetheart,” came her mum’s voice. “Go to sleep now. We’ll still be here when you wake up.”
“How’s Evan?”
“He’s fine.”
A third voice—a woman’s, soft and gentle. “She’ll probably sleep for a few hours. There’s a vending machine in the hall outside the ward. It has soup and tea and coffee but it all tastes the same, so it doesn’t matter which button you press.”
“Will the boy be all right?”
“The doctors will know more in a few hours,” the woman said. “We didn’t find any personal information with his belongings. Do you know how we could contact his parents?”
“I’m sorry, we don’t,” said her mum. “I know it sounds ridiculous, but I’m not even sure where he lives.”
“Do you know how the accident happened?”
“He hired a motorboat. He must have lost control of it as they were going under a bridge. They crashed into one of the pillars….”
A black velvet curtain swept in across Anita’s mind and oblivion took her.
Anita woke up to the subdued bustle of the hospital ward. She sat up, her head throbbing and spinning. The lights seemed very bright.
A pretty nurse with long curling red hair and a face full of freckles came over to her bed. “Steady now,” she said, an Irish lilt in her voice. “Don’t try to do too much too soon.”
Anita blinked at her. “What time is it?”
“Four thirty,” the nurse said. “You’ve been asleep all afternoon.”
“How’s Evan?” Her mouth was dry and there was a strange, bitter taste on her tongue.
“Your friend?” the nurse asked. “He’s doing fine.” She turned and pointed. “There he is.”
Anita frowned to get her eyes to focus. Her bed was at one end of a room that held five other beds. Across a stretch of gray linoleum, in the end bed on the opposite side of the bay, she saw a figure lying flat and still under the sheets. Evan’s pale face was on the pillow, his eyes closed.
“Is he hurt badly?” Anita whispered.
“Not very badly,” said the nurse. “He’s sleeping.”
“Is he going to die?” Anita heard her voice cracking and she felt tears sting her eyes.
“Hush, now, of course not,” said the nurse. “He’s been unconscious since the both of you were brought in here. But the doctors say there’s nothing seriously wrong with him.” She smiled. “It’s like his brain has shut down for a while so he can heal himself. He could wake up anytime.” She looked at Anita. “Are you thirsty? Can I bring you a drink?”
“My head hurts.”
“Ah, it will when you go head-butting bridges, Anita,” the nurse said with a smile. “What were you thinking?”
“It was a birthday present,” Anita said, propping herself on her elbow to get a better look at Evan’s face. “The boat ride, I mean.”
“Is it your birthday, then?” said the nurse. She gave a wry smile. “Well, this is a fine place for a girl to spend her birthday!”
“No. It’s tomorrow,” Anita said. “My birthday’s tomorrow.” She looked into the nurse’s kind face. “I don’t really remember what happened.”
“The boat went out of control and hit one of the supports of Lambeth Bridge, so I’m told.”
Anita threw her hands up over her face, overwhelmed by a flashback of stonework hurtling toward her. “Oh, yes!” She gasped. “We hit the bridge.”
She took a deep breath and lowered her hands. “Can I go and speak to him?” she asked.
“Later, maybe. Right now you need to rest.”
“Nurse!” It was a voice from a bed at the other end of the ward.
“I’m coming.” The nurse gently pressed Anita back down onto the pillow. “Try and get some sleep,” she said. She pointed to a button that dangled from a wire at the head of the bed. “Press that if you need anything.”
“Yes. I will,” Anita breathed as the nurse walked away. “Thank you.”
She lay back, her head twisted on the pillow so she could see Evan’s bed across the room.
What a mess. And everything had been so perfect.
Large, slow tears ran down into her hair, but inside she just felt numb and empty.
It was just before midnight. The curtains h
ad been drawn around Anita’s bed. Her mother and father were sitting on chairs pulled close together. They had been given special permission to be with her after normal visiting hours, as long as they were quiet and didn’t disturb any of the other patients.
It would be Anita’s sixteenth birthday in exactly four and a half minutes.
Some birthday!
“We’ve called everyone,” Mrs. Palmer said. “The party’s postponed until you’re back home.”
Anita was sitting up, propped against her bunched-up pillows. She was feeling a little better—her head was clearer and the worst of the pain in her arms, legs, and back had faded, but she couldn’t stop worrying about Evan. He still hadn’t woken up.
The Irish nurse had told her there was nothing physically wrong with him. So why wouldn’t he wake up?
“It’s a shame about the party,” her dad said, breaking into her thoughts. “I was looking forward to dancing the afternoon away in the garden.”
“You’re not invited,” Anita joked. “If you think I’m going to be known in school as the girl with the world’s most embarrassing dad, you can think again.”
“But I’ve been practicing the Hustle especially,” her father said. “Shall I give you a demonstration?”
“No, I don’t think so,” Anita said. “Mum, stop him.”
“Clive, sit. Behave yourself.”
A brief stab of pain in her head made Anita wince.
Mr. Palmer leaned forward, his eyes filled with concern. “How are you doing, my little girl?”
Anita clutched his hand. “I ache all over,” she whispered. “And every time I close my eyes I see the bridge coming at us.” She frowned. “I don’t understand why Evan doesn’t wake up. They say he’s fine, but how can he be fine if he won’t wake up?”
“They know what they’re doing, honey,” her mother said. “I’m sure he’ll wake up when he’s good and ready.” She gave a smile full of sympathy. “By the way, Jade sends her love.”
Anita nodded. “That’s nice. Have you phoned everyone to put the party off?”
“Yes,” her mother said. “I just told you that.”
“Did you? Sorry. I’m a bit fuzzy right now.”
“It’s the concussion,” her father said. “That’s why they want to keep you in here overnight. When someone’s been knocked out, they like to make sure nothing unexpected is going on in the old brain box.” He stroked her hair. “Although I could’ve told them that there’s never anything going on in yours—not a thing.”
Anita smiled weakly. “Thanks, Dad.”
“Don’t mention it. Now then, is there anything we can do for you? There’s a shop downstairs. We could get you some magazines, chocolates, a drink? I think they had some fruit too—fancy a few grapes?”
“They’ll be closed at this time of night,” Anita said. “And you know I hate grapes.”
“That’s not the point. You’re in hospital—you have to have grapes.”
Anita knew he was trying to make her laugh, but she couldn’t—not yet. She rested her head back on the pillow.
“We should go soon,” Mrs. Palmer said softly.
“Not before she gets her present,” said her father. He looked at his watch. “It’s midnight.” He leaned over her and kissed her forehead. “Happy birthday, sweet sixteen.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
Her parents had gone home in the evening to freshen up and to fetch her some pajamas, and they had brought back one birthday present for her to open.
She knew it wasn’t their present—they had told her their gift was too big to bring into the hospital. They wouldn’t say what it was, but she hoped it was the new computer she’d mentioned about fifty times in the past few months.
“We’ve brought you something that came in the mail this morning,” said her father.
Mrs. Palmer reached down and picked up a large, padded manila envelope.” We assumed it must be a birthday present,” she said, handing the envelope to Anita. It felt heavy and solid in her hands. “There’s no return address, but the postmark is Richmond.”
Anita looked at the bulky package. Her name and address were written in handwriting she didn’t recognize. She frowned. Richmond? That was in West London.
“I don’t know anyone who lives in Richmond,” she said.
“Well, someone in Richmond obviously knows you,” her father said. “Go on—open it up. I want to see what you’ve got.”
Puzzled, Anita opened the envelope. Whatever was inside was wrapped in blue tissue paper. She reached in and carefully drew it out.
She peeled back the tissue.
“Oh, wow!” she breathed. It was a book—a very old-looking, leather-bound book with red and green tooling on the spine and inlaid emerald-colored decoration around the binding. It was worn and faded and there was a pearly glaze on the leather, as if generations of hands had polished it to a glowing sheen.
“Is there a letter or a card or anything with it?” her father asked.
Anita peered into the envelope. “No, nothing.”
“What about inside the book?” her mother suggested.
Anita rested the book in her lap and opened the cover. Nothing. She turned the thick, ivory-colored pages.
The book was blank. Anita gave her parents a puzzled look. “It’s lovely,” she said. “But it’s a weird thing to give someone.” A book with no writing in it? And sent anonymously too.
“It’s beautiful, though, isn’t it?” her father said, running a finger along the leather binding. “Amazing workmanship. It looks like an antique. It’s probably valuable.”
Anita looked suspiciously at her parents. “Are you absolutely certain you don’t know who it’s from?”
“No, honey,” her mother promised. “We haven’t a clue. Maybe Evan sent it as a surprise?”
“I don’t see why he would,” Anita said. “Besides, the boat trip was my present.”
“You should ask him when he wakes up,” said her father.
“Yes, I’ll do that.” She carefully turned more of the old pages. All were blank.
“You could use it as a notebook for school,” her mother suggested. “Or as a diary.”
“That’s a good idea,” Anita said. She closed the book and rested her hands on the smooth, cool leather. She smiled. “First entry: Dear diary, who in the world could have sent me this mysterious book?”
“You shouldn’t use a ballpoint pen, though,” her father warned. “That book is far too grand for anything like that.” He grinned. “What you really need is a quill. I’ll see if the ducks in the park can spare a wing feather or two.”
“You leave those ducks alone,” Anita said. “I’ll buy a really posh fountain pen the minute I get out of here.”
“That’s the idea,” her father said. “And now I think it’s time we went home. You need to sleep.” He leaned over and kissed her forehead. “Look after yourself.”
“I will.”
Her mother leaned over her for a kiss. “Don’t worry about Evan,” she whispered as their cheeks touched. “I’m sure he’ll wake up soon.”
They drew the curtains back from around her bed and walked quietly away along the dimly lit ward. Her dad turned to smile and wave before he vanished through the double doors. Anita tried to wave back, but her limbs felt as heavy as stone and her head was beginning to ache again.
She lay back in the cradle of pillows, her hands resting on the book, her head turned to look at Evan’s darkened bed. She just wanted him to wake up so she could look into his eyes and know he was all right.
Why wouldn’t he wake up?
She tried to remember how the accident had happened.
She saw them speeding along under a clear blue sky.
He had said something.
Her head throbbed.
“There’s something important I have to tell you.”
Yes. That was it.
And then?
She remembered a shadow over the sun.
; Panic in his voice. He was shouting something but she couldn’t remember what.
There was something dim and indistinct in the water. Something big, right in front of them. Not the bridge, something else. Like…like…no! It was gone.
Then the bridge rushing forward.
And then nothing.
Nothing.
It was the maddening itching in her back that woke her up. It was those two stupid bites on her shoulder blades again—only they seemed to have gotten a lot worse.
It was some time in the middle of the night. The ward was quiet and only dimly lit. Soft footsteps sounded in the distance. Evan’s bed was shrouded in darkness.
Anita twisted her arm up behind herself to try and scratch. Through the white satin of her pajama top she could feel distinct lumps under her fingertips. No, not lumps. Ridges. Two raised parallel ridges running down her shoulder blades.
She sat up, alarmed now and wide awake. She forced her hand down inside the back of her pajama jacket, straining to touch one of the ridges.
The welt felt tender and sore. There was a warm wetness on her fingers—the skin was broken. She pulled her hand out and held her fingers up close to her face in the half-dark. She had expected to see blood—but the wetness was clear and thick and slippery.
She looked around at the sleeping figures in the nearby beds. She didn’t want to call a nurse. The whole thing seemed absurd, almost unreal. The bathroom was only a little way off. There were mirrors in there, and she would be able to see what was going on with her back.
She drew the covers down and slipped out of bed. She stood at her bedside, swaying a little and feeling very peculiar. Light-headed.
No, not just light-headed.
Her whole body felt light. Insubstantial—as if she was in a dream.
She took a step forward and felt herself almost float across the floor.
She smiled, enjoying the weird sensation.
Light as a feather, she glided across the floor. A black-haired nurse sat at the desk in a small pool of bright light. She looked up. Anita indicated that she was heading for the bathroom. The nurse nodded and lowered her head again.
Anita drifted forward. She pushed open the bathroom door and floated through.
