bigger when I was in the hospital. There I was, on one side of it, while Mum and Dad and the rest of the world were on the other.’
Linda looks down at her shoes. She thinks how there’s no need to worry about their scuffed toes any more. She can only repeat what she has already thought; that she is free to polish them or leave them, because strictly speaking there’s no point any more.
‘That wall only exists in your head. You can decide to make it disappear,’ says Zak.
‘Yeah, sure. Perhaps you could tell me exactly how I’m meant to do that?’ says Linda, feeling herself get cross. She’s had enough of this Mr Wise Guy act.
‘Aha, are you feeling angry, Linda? Good,’ he says, crouching down beside her.
‘Hmm. A part of me just wants to lie in bed, pull the duvet over my head, and wait for the day to pass,’ Linda sighs.
‘And what if everything suddenly passes by while you’re lying there? Including life itself?’
‘I know . . .’
‘Do you want to hear a story about a woman I knew?’ asks Zak, continuing without waiting for an answer. ‘Well, this woman had been warned by a fortune teller that she would die in a road accident. At first she was terrified, but then she thought of a way to cheat death. She decided never to go out of the house. She stopped visiting her friends, stopped going to the cinema or the shops. Then one day a truck came speeding along, swerved off the road and plunged into this woman’s house. So she did die in a road accident, even though she was sitting in her own living room.’
Linda looks down. Zak gives her a little poke in the ribs and laughs.
‘So, you see, Linda, there’s no way of cheating death, and luckily nobody knows exactly when, where or how it’ll happen.’
‘That story: I don’t think you really knew that woman,’ says Linda.
‘Does that matter?’ asks Zak, getting to his feet again. ‘Haven’t you got a birthday party to get ready for? It seems there’s an awful lot to prepare before Friday.’
‘Who are you?’
‘I’m the person who’s going to take you home,’ says Zak, stretching out his hand. This time Linda takes it, and he pulls her to her feet.
‘You’re so cold,’ she says, pulling her hand away.
‘It’s February,’ he teases.
‘And it isn’t spring yet, in February.’
‘That’s right,’ says Zak, clambering up onto the quay.
Chapter 14
Linda is lying on her bed staring up at the ceiling. She is fully clothed. Covering her is a small knitted patchwork quilt. It’s too small, really, since it was made for her by her grandmother when she was a baby. Around her neck is a swimming medal. The one Maria gave her when she was in hospital. Linda looks down at the floor, and at the brown envelope that’s lying there. The X-ray of her heart is sticking halfway out of it. Linda thinks how weird it is that she can’t actually see what’s wrong in the picture. She leans over to pick it up, but a hand reaches it before she does. She looks up and sees her mother standing over her.
Her mum takes the heart picture out of the envelope, and looks at it. She has a deep furrow in her brow. It’s not one Linda has ever noticed before. Is it a new wrinkle? Is it because of her? These questions make her feel nauseous, flitting through her mind together with a chilling disquiet. Will her mother wake up one night and start to bleed like last time? Will it be Linda’s fault if there’s no baby again?
‘Have I slept for a long time?’ asks Linda, knowing the answer from the darkness outside.
‘A while. We’re going to eat soon. Dad’s made his speciality. Spaghetti carbonara!’ says her mother, sticking the picture back in the envelope and putting it on the desk.
‘Mum, are you frightened?’ asks Linda.
Linda suddenly realizes that it frightens her just to ask the question, so she tries to look calm as she folds up the little quilt and puts it on top of the pillow.
‘We’ve got to be strong,’ says her
Linda looks down at her shoes. She thinks how there’s no need to worry about their scuffed toes any more. She can only repeat what she has already thought; that she is free to polish them or leave them, because strictly speaking there’s no point any more.
‘That wall only exists in your head. You can decide to make it disappear,’ says Zak.
‘Yeah, sure. Perhaps you could tell me exactly how I’m meant to do that?’ says Linda, feeling herself get cross. She’s had enough of this Mr Wise Guy act.
‘Aha, are you feeling angry, Linda? Good,’ he says, crouching down beside her.
‘Hmm. A part of me just wants to lie in bed, pull the duvet over my head, and wait for the day to pass,’ Linda sighs.
‘And what if everything suddenly passes by while you’re lying there? Including life itself?’
‘I know . . .’
‘Do you want to hear a story about a woman I knew?’ asks Zak, continuing without waiting for an answer. ‘Well, this woman had been warned by a fortune teller that she would die in a road accident. At first she was terrified, but then she thought of a way to cheat death. She decided never to go out of the house. She stopped visiting her friends, stopped going to the cinema or the shops. Then one day a truck came speeding along, swerved off the road and plunged into this woman’s house. So she did die in a road accident, even though she was sitting in her own living room.’
Linda looks down. Zak gives her a little poke in the ribs and laughs.
‘So, you see, Linda, there’s no way of cheating death, and luckily nobody knows exactly when, where or how it’ll happen.’
‘That story: I don’t think you really knew that woman,’ says Linda.
‘Does that matter?’ asks Zak, getting to his feet again. ‘Haven’t you got a birthday party to get ready for? It seems there’s an awful lot to prepare before Friday.’
‘Who are you?’
‘I’m the person who’s going to take you home,’ says Zak, stretching out his hand. This time Linda takes it, and he pulls her to her feet.
‘You’re so cold,’ she says, pulling her hand away.
‘It’s February,’ he teases.
‘And it isn’t spring yet, in February.’
‘That’s right,’ says Zak, clambering up onto the quay.
Chapter 14
Linda is lying on her bed staring up at the ceiling. She is fully clothed. Covering her is a small knitted patchwork quilt. It’s too small, really, since it was made for her by her grandmother when she was a baby. Around her neck is a swimming medal. The one Maria gave her when she was in hospital. Linda looks down at the floor, and at the brown envelope that’s lying there. The X-ray of her heart is sticking halfway out of it. Linda thinks how weird it is that she can’t actually see what’s wrong in the picture. She leans over to pick it up, but a hand reaches it before she does. She looks up and sees her mother standing over her.
Her mum takes the heart picture out of the envelope, and looks at it. She has a deep furrow in her brow. It’s not one Linda has ever noticed before. Is it a new wrinkle? Is it because of her? These questions make her feel nauseous, flitting through her mind together with a chilling disquiet. Will her mother wake up one night and start to bleed like last time? Will it be Linda’s fault if there’s no baby again?
‘Have I slept for a long time?’ asks Linda, knowing the answer from the darkness outside.
‘A while. We’re going to eat soon. Dad’s made his speciality. Spaghetti carbonara!’ says her mother, sticking the picture back in the envelope and putting it on the desk.
‘Mum, are you frightened?’ asks Linda.
Linda suddenly realizes that it frightens her just to ask the question, so she tries to look calm as she folds up the little quilt and puts it on top of the pillow.
‘We’ve got to be strong,’ says her
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