Shadow of the Mountain Page 16

  As she manoeuvred around a hideous brown couch one of the crutches snagged on a coffee table and she lost her balance. Trying to save herself, or at least reach the couch, she twisted sideways, her ribs screaming in protest. As she landed her leg crashed against the arm of a chair. Geneva fainted.

  ‘You must really like us,’ a voice said. ‘Anyone would think you’re angling to stay a bit longer.’

  Geneva opened her eyes to find two nurses leaning over her. ‘I hit my leg,’ she said.

  ‘You’re not supposed to be out of bed.’

  ‘Did you get all the way along here on your own?’ the friendlier nurse asked.

  Geneva nodded. ‘I was sick of being in bed.’

  ‘Well you’ll be there longer if you keep this up,’ the other woman answered briskly. ‘You’ve torn some of your stitches by the look of it. What’s the doctor going to say?’

  Doctor Hurley said she could go home in two days, just as long as she promised to do what she was told between now and then. ‘No more wild jaunts, hmm? You could have really set yourself back.’ He smiled, his face momentarily losing its rigid lines. ‘You need to take it at the pace we prescribe: we do know what we’re talking about.’

  Geneva pressed her tongue against the back of her teeth and nodded contritely. She didn’t intend doing anything that would keep her here longer. She was fed up with hospital green, hospital food, hospital routines. Even the staff, whose breezy friendliness had helped her through the first few days, were beginning to get on her nerves.

  ‘And you’d be well advised to follow the physio’s recommendations. A straightforward break takes two years to fully heal, and this was a little more complicated than some. Understand?’ He waited for Geneva’s reluctant nod. ‘Right.’ Returning her chart to the end of the bed, he gave her toes a peremptory tap. ‘We’ll take another look at things tomorrow.’

  As he strolled out the door, Geneva hated him for his easy walk as much as for his patronising manner — but she was making progress. The stitches were due to come out the next day and everyone seemed pleased with the way the scar was healing — she’d got one of the nurses to hold a mirror so that she could inspect it. It ran like a jack-booted caterpillar trail up the side of her thigh and buttock. ‘You’ll scarcely notice it in six months,’ the nurse had said.

  ‘Frankenstein’s monster.’ Geneva scowled. ‘Lucky it’s not around my forehead.’

  ‘For more reasons than one,’ the nurse agreed. ‘But you’ll be amazed at how quickly it fades, and at least it’s out of sight.’

  Geneva nodded glumly. She felt as if she was out of sight — though that was hardly fair: she’d had plenty of visitors. Just not the one she wanted.

  Unable to contain her irritation, Geneva swung herself out of bed and down to the nurses’ station where she asked to borrow a phone book. Angus still hadn’t replied to her texts, and when she’d phoned his home number again she got Miriam and another smooth brush-off. If Angus was no longer interested, he should at least have the decency to tell her.

  Her hand felt damp on the receiver. She was glad it was Tink rather than Keith on reception duty at RockZone.

  ‘Hey, girl! Good to hear from you! I was planning to pop by at the weekend but Keith says you’ll be out before then.’

  ‘Hopefully. I can’t wait.’

  ‘I bet — how long do they reckon before you’re off crutches?’

  ‘I should get down to one in a fortnight — it’ll make it easier on my ribs as well.’

  ‘Mmm. Coming back to the club?’

  ‘I hope so.’ Geneva hesitated, but there was no subtle way to ask. ‘So, how is everyone? Is Angus okay?’

  ‘Haven’t seen him,’ Tink answered. ‘He rang to say he was grounded and couldn’t make it to practice last week and he didn’t show today; I guess for the same reason.’ Geneva could hear Tink’s hesitation. ‘Hasn’t he been to see you?’

  ‘He came last week,’ she answered. ‘He told me about being grounded. Just another thing for me to feel guilty about.’ She tried to say it lightly, as if it was a joke, but it came out badly.

  ‘Well, don’t. Angus is a big boy, and if you ask me he made the right decision, whatever anyone else might say. Sometimes you’ve just gotta do what you’ve gotta do.’

  ‘Mmm.’

  ‘Everyone at the club’s been asking after you,’ Tink offered.

  It didn’t seem enough.

  When her father appeared that evening, Geneva’s spirits were at a low ebb. She couldn’t summon much of a response to his efforts to make conversation and they spent most of the visit sitting in a slightly uneasy silence. She was almost relieved when the visitors’ bell rang, yet as soon as he was gone, she wished him back.

  When her phone rang she frowned at the unfamiliar caller ID.

  ‘Geneva? It’s Angus.’

  She straightened against the pillows. ‘Hi.’

  ‘Tink came by,’ he said. ‘She seemed to think I should give you a call.’

  Geneva’s spirits sank: it was a duty call. ‘Oh, it’s no big deal,’ she mumbled. ‘I was talking to her and she mentioned you hadn’t been to the club. I guess you’re still grounded.’

  ‘Yeah. Released on bail for school, and all other communication strictly controlled. She’s even impounded my phone. This is the cretin’s, and he’s making the most of it: treble rates plus blackmail money. At least it’s maturing his entrepreneurial skills.’

  That at least explained why he hadn’t replied to her texts, though the relief she felt faded to embarrassment as she pictured Miriam reading her messages. Innocuous as they’d been, they were private.

  ‘So you’re still in hospital?’

  ‘Till Thursday. Didn’t your mother tell you?’

  ‘My mother?’

  ‘I told her when I rang that I’d be out at the end of the week.’

  Angus let out a slow breath. ‘She didn’t even tell me that you called.’

  ‘Twice actually,’ Geneva said.

  ‘Bloody Nazi! Our Miriam takes control freak to a whole new level. I didn’t know she was screening my calls as well.’ He hesitated. ‘I could bunk off tomorrow afternoon if you could put up with a visit? Only if you want me to,’ he added.

  ‘Of course I want you to! Where’d you get the idea that I wouldn’t?’ she demanded.

  Angus groaned. ‘I’ll give you one guess — and it wasn’t my horoscope.’

  Geneva spent the morning feeling as if she was holding her breath. She knew it was crazy. At lunchtime she could hardly eat, and the woman who collected her tray raised an eyebrow in concern. ‘Not hungry today?’

  Geneva glanced apologetically at the stew and veg. ‘It’s just not one of my favourites.’

  ‘Keep the roll. You might want it later.’

  As soon as she was gone Geneva manoeuvred herself out of the bed and swung across to the tiny bathroom. Leaning against the basin she studied herself in the mirror. Her hair was a mess. She’d got a nurse to help her wash it that morning, but it looked like it had been dried in a windstorm. She tugged her hairbrush through it and studied the spots on her forehead. Hospital food, no exercise, stress … She brushed her teeth, struggled into a clean shirt and clumped back to the bed.

  It was still half an hour till visiting time. One of the nurses she remembered from her earliest days on the ward popped her head through the door. ‘Everything okay in here? Hey, hey, you’re looking good!’

  Geneva wrinkled her nose.

  ‘Expecting a special visitor?’ Geneva’s blush provided the answer. ‘You got a little bit of lipstick? That always helps.’

  Ignoring that, Geneva asked if it would be okay if she went down to the lounge.

  ‘With your visitor you mean?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Fine, honey. Just so long as you don’t overdo it. Good luck now.’

  By the time the bell signalled the start of visiting she felt sick with nerves, and was trying to tell herself it might be ho
urs before Angus showed up. If he showed up. He might not be able to get away, or he might have changed his mind. She rearranged her pillows and picked up one of Dayna’s books, but found that her eyes were just running over the lines without her brain noticing.

  When a smiling face appeared in the doorway, Geneva tried not to look disappointed. ‘Can’t stop long,’ Julia said. ‘Just brought a few things to break the monotony.’ She dumped a carrier bag with magazines and fruit on the end of the bed, topping the pile with several giant orange gerberas tied with an oversized purple bow.

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘I’ve been to see your mother,’ Julia said, her back to Geneva as she discarded a bunch of flowers that had passed their best. ‘Your dad told me he’d talked to you about it?’ She glanced over her shoulder.

  Geneva’s good mood evaporated. She nodded, and Julia returned to arranging the gerberas in the vacated vase. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t say anything the other day, but it was over to him to choose the time.’

  ‘It’s all right,’ she said.

  ‘It is, sweetie.’ Julia turned. ‘It’s for the best. I really believe that.’

  Geneva couldn’t hold her aunt’s gaze and instead studied the weave of the blanket that lay taut across her knees.

  ‘This was going to happen sooner or later,’ Julia said, sitting cautiously on the side of the bed.

  ‘It’s my fault it’s sooner.’

  Julia pursed her lips. ‘Not fault, hon. You gave things a hefty nudge but that’s not necessarily bad: things couldn’t stay as they were. It was no sort of life, not for her and not for your father.’ She lifted Geneva’s hand and squeezed it. ‘None of us will ever forget Stephen, and nor would we want to, but we have to go on living.’

  Geneva swallowed. ‘Is she angry with me?’ She hadn’t acknowledged the fear until she spoke it, and tears came welling behind the words.

  Julia pulled her into a hug. ‘Of course she’s not! She loves you; she always will. She’s grieving and lost, but she’s also relieved she’s still got you! We all are.’

  Julia’s arms tightened, one hand rubbing her niece’s back. When she finally sat back, she wiped at her eyes with the heel of her hand, smudging her mascara sideways. ‘I must have needed that.’ She reached for her bag. ‘Tissue?’ she offered. ‘I hear you’re making your escape on Thursday?’

  Geneva nodded. ‘Well, if there’s anything you want, just give me a call.’ She stood up.

  Geneva felt undeserving of her aunt’s kindness. ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘And thanks for looking out for Dad as well.’

  Julia smiled. ‘We’re family, sweetie. We’re in it together.’ At the door she turned and waved her fingers. ‘See you, hon.’

  Geneva slid out of bed and clumped to the bathroom. She splashed her face with cold water then stood gazing at her reflection. The girl staring back reminded her of the book Dayna had lent her. She ran a brush through her hair and poked out her tongue.

  When she came out of the bathroom, Angus was standing in the doorway, a bunch of flowers hanging awkwardly from one hand. Her stomach dipped and lifted. ‘Hello.’

  ‘Hi. I brought you these.’ He took in the already laden windowsill and cabinet. ‘Looks like it might have been overkill.’

  ‘Even the school sent some,’ Geneva said, swinging back to the bed. ‘And Julia’s just been in. She brought those.’ She pointed at the gerberas as she set her crutches aside.

  ‘I saw her in the corridor,’ Angus said, still searching for somewhere to put the flowers.

  ‘If you shift Julia’s in with one of the other bunches, you could use that vase,’ Geneva suggested. ‘To be honest, I’ve never liked gerberas.’

  Angus grimaced at the results. ‘I don’t think flower arranging is really my thing.’

  ‘Hmm,’ Geneva agreed. ‘Yours are nice though.’ She hitched herself onto the bed. ‘Grab a seat.’

  Angus sat on the end of the bed. ‘How’re you feeling?’

  ‘Heaps better but I can’t wait to get out of here.’

  ‘I bet.’

  ‘How long are you grounded?’

  ‘Another week.’

  Geneva swallowed. ‘I’m really sorry, Angus. I’ve made a real mess of things.’

  ‘Yeah, well. You get that on the big jobs.’ The bed creaked as he shifted his weight. ‘I’m sorry about my mother,’ he said. ‘She was way out of line, not telling me you’d rung.’

  ‘She probably thought it was for the best.’

  ‘If I’d known — I was kind of given the impression you didn’t want to see me.’

  ‘What!’

  ‘Not in so many words. Mum told me she’d been in to see you,’ Angus said, ‘and that you’d more or less said you needed some space to work things through. She didn’t make it clear whether it was visitors in general or me in particular.’

  ‘She was only here a few minutes — Julia was here as well. And I didn’t say anything remotely like that!’ Geneva felt a surge of anger.

  ‘Typical!’ He paused. ‘Unless maybe your father …?’

  ‘My father would walk over broken glass for you! And so would I.’ As soon as the words were out, Geneva wished she could suck them back. That had been as subtle as a brick to the head. ‘I mean …’ She glanced at him. He was grinning.

  ‘Suits me,’ he said. ‘But we can pass on the broken glass, given you’ve done that already.’

  31.

  ‘Mum?’ Geneva waited at the threshold of the room as her mother turned from the window, a wan smile lifting her face from its habitual tired repose.

  ‘Hello, darling.’ As though she was wading through knee high water, Geneva’s mother wandered past the mismatched couches and chairs of the visitors’ lounge. She frowned at the crutches. ‘How are you?’

  Geneva nodded, unable to find words. Her mother leant forward and, hands on her daughter’s shoulders, pressed her cheek quickly against Geneva’s. Because of the crutches, Geneva couldn’t return the embrace and it felt awkward and forced. As her mother stepped away, Geneva studied her face, trying to read any signs that might be there. There was nothing.

  ‘Dad’ll be here in a minute,’ she said, as they moved to sit down. ‘Mum, I wanted to say I’m sorry.’

  Her mother smiled. ‘There’s no need,’ she said vaguely. ‘I feel better for being here.’

  Geneva nodded. Her father and aunt had both said as much, but it was still difficult to get past the guilt she felt over her mother’s breakdown.

  ‘Dr Laracy says guilt is an indulgence,’ her mother said, startling Geneva into wondering whether she’d read her mind. ‘We’ve talked such a lot since I’ve been here and I think I’m beginning to believe that I’m not responsible for Stephen’s death.’

  Geneva stared. ‘What? Why? How could you be?’

  Her mother gazed towards the windows. ‘I let him go,’ she said simply. ‘I should have known; I should have stopped him, and I didn’t.’

  ‘But Mum —’

  ‘I was using guilt to mask the grief — Dr Laracy has helped me understand that. Take away the mask and I’m free to feel the grief.’ She patted Geneva’s hand where it lay between them on the faded floral sofa. ‘Just the grief.’

  Geneva was relieved when her father joined them, kissing his wife’s cheek before he lowered himself into a chair with a conspicuous clearing of his throat. ‘Genna’s birthday in a few weeks,’ he said. ‘How about I take my two girls out to lunch?’

  Geneva hadn’t given her birthday much thought. It had passed last year, a week after Stephen’s funeral, without acknowledgement. She swallowed, aware they’d first have to get through the other anniversary. ‘Would you like to come, Mum?’ she managed.

  ‘Of course I would,’ her mother said. ‘I’ll talk to Dr Laracy. I’m sure it’ll be fine.’ She hesitated. ‘We could go somewhere new perhaps.’

  Anywhere but Spinelli’s, Geneva thought.

  ‘Anywhere you like,’ her father said.

&n
bsp; As they drove away, Geneva asked how long it would be before her mother came home. Her father sighed. ‘Weeks or months,’ he said. ‘It doesn’t matter, as long as she’s ready. The doctor is very positive about the progress she’s making.’ Something in his voice sounded strained and Geneva decided not to probe.

  That evening she found her father in the garden beyond the swimming pool, turning soil in a wide band that already ran a third of the way along the fence. Beyond him the sun’s last blush was shading the mountain’s western slopes amber. She’d once seen an insect suspended in kauri gum the same colour.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she asked, setting the tips of the crutches at the edge of the freshly dug soil.

  Her father looked up. ‘Planting a hedge,’ he said.

  Geneva frowned. Her father had never been interested in gardening. ‘What sort of hedge?’

  ‘Natives, maybe, or that red-leafed thing people use — something quick growing.’ He wiped his forehead with one forearm. ‘Something that would bring the birds, perhaps.’

  ‘Wouldn’t natives grow too tall?’ she asked, thinking about the million dollar view.

  ‘She’s had to look at it every day for a year,’ her father answered. ‘I don’t want that to be all she sees when she comes home.’

  Geneva nodded slowly.

  Her father stabbed the spade into the earth. ‘It’s something I can do.’

  On the anniversary of Stephen’s death, Angus, Dayna, Julia and Dan, Geneva and her father, planted a dense border of trees and grasses along the length of the garden. Kath Macphee had been called in to provide advice on species; Dan took charge of ferrying the purchases from the local tree nursery; while Angus was enlisted to set up a watering system. Geneva marshalled the production, using a crutch to direct Dayna’s father, who delivered not only his daughter but a truckload of compost.