‘Shit!’ The grapes lay limp on the floor. She poked the bunch of upended fruit with the end of her crutch. Redistributing her weight she stabbed at the grapes with more vigour, snapping one of the delicate branches.
With her crutch she pummelled, crushing the fruit. She hit again and again, bringing the stick down on the grapes. A congealed mass of split skins, green fruit flesh and juice spread in a curiously pretty pattern across the floor.
Leaning heavily to keep her balance, she panted, her breath coming fast, ‘Go to hell, Ashleigh,’ she said out loud.
Then she began to cry, big shoulder-shaking sobs that made her sound like a wounded animal.
What was wrong with her?
***
What was wrong with him? He should be at full strength now.
Maybe because he had been asleep for so long this time it was taking extra energy to regenerate. Never mind. He was strong enough to move. Strong enough to escape.
He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and sat up. There was no avoiding this part. He pulled the nodes from his chest, the dangle of wires suspended for the briefest of moments before falling away from his body.
Somewhere an alarm sounded.
He stood up, his bare feet touching the cool floor.
His hospital gown flapped open. He would need to find something to wear.
Then he would take back what was his.
Sometimes in war, there are casualties. He reminded himself of this as he slipped from the room into the corridor.
***
Day Twenty-four:
Eventually Jenny came to tell Kara about the Halloween dance. It was two days after Kara’s birthday, a non-event. Rosemary had arrived with a cake, but Kara was too miserable to properly enjoy it.
Happy birthday to me.
The whole thing was just too depressing.
Kara had been expecting Jenny’s visit for days, knew that Ashleigh wouldn’t bother to come deliver the news herself.
In the weeks, days and hours of recovery, Kara had had plenty of time to think, too much time. Her phone had been totalled in the accident and she didn’t have internet access at the hospital. She was in a kind of technological quarantine.
At first she wondered why Ben didn’t come to visit. Then she was glad of his absence. What would he think if he saw her? She was a mess. Jenny’s account of the school dance was the nearest Kara was going to get to Ben Shephard.
‘So, I got to wear that fabulous orange dress that Ash suggested I buy. It was amazing. Everyone commented,’ she gushed, as she painted Kara’s nails. Crimson crush. Kara didn’t really like the colour, but didn’t have the energy to say anything.
Some days were better than others. Sometimes she pinged with energy; it rippled off her like heat waves. She wanted to move, to run, to punch – to do something, anything. Then other days it was as if a supernatural force had sucked her dry in the middle of the night. She would wake limp and weak, her eyes sunken and bloodshot. She didn’t know which version of herself she hated more.
‘Kim O’Brien got stood up by her date, Thomas Fisher. Can you imagine? I bet . . .’
Mute button. Kara watched Jenny’s lips moving, recognised some of the words, but couldn’t hear anything. For a second Kara hoped this bout of occasional deafness would last a long time. With a pop, the pressure in her ear readjusted and all sound came back.
‘. . . Miss Grimes and Mr Maguire were there, of course. They searched two of the senior football players for alcohol. They didn’t find anything, but I heard . . .’ Jenny rambled on, while Kara gazed out of the window.
Jenny was incessant in her detail of events and continued giving Kara a blow-by-blow account of dresses and shoes, handbags, dates, drinks, dances until Kara began to zone out.
It felt like an age had passed before Jenny got to the heart of her story, ‘And, of course, Ashleigh was there.’ She stopped talking, which alerted Kara, who looked up, afraid that she hadn’t given a reaction at the appropriate time. She looked at Jenny. The girl was biting her lower lip, her attention completely absorbed by the lid on the bottle of nail varnish.
‘What?’ asked Kara. Obviously something had happened that Jenny wanted to share.
‘Um, I don’t know if I should tell you this because you’ve been sick and all . . .’
Sighing, Kara kept her expression neutral, ‘Go ahead, Jenny. I don’t mind. You can tell me anything. I won’t be upset.’
Famous last words, thought Kara.
‘Well, it’s just that I know she should have told you herself, but she was sure you wouldn’t mind. I mean, what did you expect him to do, go on his own? She was only doing both of you a favour, you know, like a friend would.’
Kara eyed Jenny suspiciously. Cracking under the pressure of Kara’s steady gaze, Jenny gushed out the awful truth.
‘Ashleigh and Ben went to the dance together. They went ’cause they knew it was what you would have wanted. Ashleigh looked fab in her dress. They did the first dance, since Ash organised the theme and put up the decorations . . .’ Jenny’s voice trailed away.
There was a moment of blissful silence before she started to speak again, more bashful this time.
‘I mean, I know you guys organised it together and it was supposed to be both of you, but, you know she just . . . you know . . .’ Jenny looked sheepish as her sentence trailed off into thin air.
Kara eased out a shaky breath and nodded her head. Jenny took that to be a sign of goodwill and whipped out her phone to show Kara pictures from the night. Ben and Ashleigh looked lovely, both smiling happily into the camera. He was wearing a proper tuxedo, really handsome, and Ashleigh, well, Ashleigh looked beautiful as always, her long flaxen hair straight and sleek, flowing over her creamy shoulder, complementing perfectly the tones in her pale cornflower-blue dress.
Or should that be Kara’s cornflower-blue dress.
The dress that they had ordered together for the ball, the dress they had spent days searching for, the dress that was hers.
Kara forgot to breathe. Her head was getting cloudy, her vision distorted. She turned her face away and leaned back against the pillow.
‘I’m tired,’ she murmured.
‘OK.’ Jenny hovered nearby. ‘Do you want me to get someone? The nurse, maybe? Rosemary?’
Kara shook her head.
‘No thanks, Jenny. I just want to sleep.’ To forget.
Like with her father and the fire, she just wanted to forget.
***
He had forgotten. The corridors all looked the same. Which way to the computer, to the files? The echo of the alarm stung his sensitive ears. He slipped into another room, a storeroom. Here he found some clothes, a loose pair of grey tracksuit trousers, a rain jacket, navy blue in colour. He had nothing for his feet. Hopefully no one would notice.
He had to be quick. Find the files, find the room number.
Put an end to this blip in the plan to free himself, so he could get on with the real work.
His vision blurred and for a moment he thought he might pass out, his hand reaching forward, searching for the solidness of the wall. He could feel the fluidity of his muscles, the movement of sinew and tendon, bone and skin. It shouldn’t feel like this. If only they hadn’t stolen from him he would have regenerated perfectly. Now it was going to take more time. And time was something that he couldn’t afford.
He balled his hand tight, feeling the press of nails into the palm. Anger coiled in his belly.