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Authors: Amanda Jennings
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deal with her had apparently floored him.
Stephen cleared his throat when the two policemen finally arrived to break the dreadful silence.
‘Dr Howe?’ the older one asked. He didn’t look at Kate.
Kate squeezed her eyes shut. She wouldn’t cry. She couldn’t. She wasn’t the victim here and she deserved whatever was coming.
Musical Interlude: Number One
She watched the scene from the front of the group of people. They’d all run out of the hall when they heard her mum screaming in the playground then got stuck with shock at what they saw.
Lizzie was numb. She couldn’t feel a thing. All she could do was stare at them both, her mother shaking uncontrollably, standing over a terrified Rebecca.
Noise grew louder around her, and as it did she felt herself smack into life. She started to shake too. She felt faint. Lost. She wanted her mum. She wanted to run to her, have her hold her and tell her it was OK and that she hadn’t meant to hurt Rebecca. She began to cry and call out for her. She’d never seen anything so awful as her mum hitting Rebecca; the anger etched into Kate’s face had terrified her.
Lizzie stepped backwards through the crowd, being jostled left and right as they all tried to get a better view. When she reached the back and found herself free from everyone else, she turned and blindly looked for a place to escape to. But where? She felt faint, sick even, and for a horrible moment she thought she might actually throw up. She leant forward, resting her hands on her knees, trying to breathe deeply, hoping her head would stop spinning enough for her to walk away.
Then Lizzie felt someone touch her.
In a daze she looked up to see who it was. Her vision was blurry and she had to squint to focus. The figure slowly began to make sense; it was Haydn. She was surprised to see him. She hadn’t imagined he would come back for the service. Silly really; of course he’d be there.
Haydn didn’t say anything. He just took her arm and guided her away from the people towards the picnic tables. He sat her down on a bench. She started to speak, but he shushed her with a finger on her lips. He smelt of cigarettes and his skin was rough as if he were made of sandpaper. She watched him reach into his pocket, moving deliberately, silently, as if in slow motion or under water. Then in his hand were headphones, small delicate wires of white, and without a sound he put an earpiece into each of her ears, all the while holding her gaze until he brushed his hand down over her eyelids, closing her eyes and blocking himself and the world around them out.
The music filled her head, muting the shocked gasps, the screaming and crying, flowing into her body like water to a dying man in the desert, the first notes of a tune she didn’t recognize running along her veins to the tips of her fingers and toes, pulsing with her heartbeat, filling her head with colours. A man began to sing. His voice was soft and low, a mournful magic carpet that carried her away from the chaos around her, dissolving her broken mum and the quivering Rebecca into nothing but pinpricks far below.
Haydn’s hand slipped something into her own, and then he squeezed her fingers closed around it. He held her hand for the briefest of moments and there it was again, the sandpaper skin, but this time it was safe and strong and knowing, as if it were the most familiar skin in her world.
She opened her eyes to see what it was he’d given her. An iPod. She looked at him. The music still played. It had wiped everything else out of her head – there was only him and her, like cardboard cut-outs, cut from the real world and stuck to a sheet of brilliant white paper. Just them and nothing else. Then he stood and smiled at her.
It was a simple, uncomplicated smile that needed no explanation or translation and required no reply. It was the sweetest smile she’d ever seen, and at that very moment something amazing happened. Something she could never have
Stephen cleared his throat when the two policemen finally arrived to break the dreadful silence.
‘Dr Howe?’ the older one asked. He didn’t look at Kate.
Kate squeezed her eyes shut. She wouldn’t cry. She couldn’t. She wasn’t the victim here and she deserved whatever was coming.
Musical Interlude: Number One
She watched the scene from the front of the group of people. They’d all run out of the hall when they heard her mum screaming in the playground then got stuck with shock at what they saw.
Lizzie was numb. She couldn’t feel a thing. All she could do was stare at them both, her mother shaking uncontrollably, standing over a terrified Rebecca.
Noise grew louder around her, and as it did she felt herself smack into life. She started to shake too. She felt faint. Lost. She wanted her mum. She wanted to run to her, have her hold her and tell her it was OK and that she hadn’t meant to hurt Rebecca. She began to cry and call out for her. She’d never seen anything so awful as her mum hitting Rebecca; the anger etched into Kate’s face had terrified her.
Lizzie stepped backwards through the crowd, being jostled left and right as they all tried to get a better view. When she reached the back and found herself free from everyone else, she turned and blindly looked for a place to escape to. But where? She felt faint, sick even, and for a horrible moment she thought she might actually throw up. She leant forward, resting her hands on her knees, trying to breathe deeply, hoping her head would stop spinning enough for her to walk away.
Then Lizzie felt someone touch her.
In a daze she looked up to see who it was. Her vision was blurry and she had to squint to focus. The figure slowly began to make sense; it was Haydn. She was surprised to see him. She hadn’t imagined he would come back for the service. Silly really; of course he’d be there.
Haydn didn’t say anything. He just took her arm and guided her away from the people towards the picnic tables. He sat her down on a bench. She started to speak, but he shushed her with a finger on her lips. He smelt of cigarettes and his skin was rough as if he were made of sandpaper. She watched him reach into his pocket, moving deliberately, silently, as if in slow motion or under water. Then in his hand were headphones, small delicate wires of white, and without a sound he put an earpiece into each of her ears, all the while holding her gaze until he brushed his hand down over her eyelids, closing her eyes and blocking himself and the world around them out.
The music filled her head, muting the shocked gasps, the screaming and crying, flowing into her body like water to a dying man in the desert, the first notes of a tune she didn’t recognize running along her veins to the tips of her fingers and toes, pulsing with her heartbeat, filling her head with colours. A man began to sing. His voice was soft and low, a mournful magic carpet that carried her away from the chaos around her, dissolving her broken mum and the quivering Rebecca into nothing but pinpricks far below.
Haydn’s hand slipped something into her own, and then he squeezed her fingers closed around it. He held her hand for the briefest of moments and there it was again, the sandpaper skin, but this time it was safe and strong and knowing, as if it were the most familiar skin in her world.
She opened her eyes to see what it was he’d given her. An iPod. She looked at him. The music still played. It had wiped everything else out of her head – there was only him and her, like cardboard cut-outs, cut from the real world and stuck to a sheet of brilliant white paper. Just them and nothing else. Then he stood and smiled at her.
It was a simple, uncomplicated smile that needed no explanation or translation and required no reply. It was the sweetest smile she’d ever seen, and at that very moment something amazing happened. Something she could never have
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