Truly Madly Guilty(134)

One of the mechanical bearings malfunctioned on The Spider, and a car spun free.

All eight laughing, screaming passengers died. Five adults and three children.

The court cases dragged on for years. It consumed Harry. He still had the files: big foolscap binders filled with a story of negligence and incompetence and idiocy. Nobody ever stood up and took responsibility. Only Primo Paspaz said, ‘I’m sorry’ to Harry. He said, ‘It would never have happened on my watch.’

People needed to take responsibility.

Harry turned away from the window and spun Jamie’s globe so that all the places Jamie never got to see sped by his finger.

He looked back out the window at the neighbours. It occurred to him that if Elizabeth had lived he would have been down there at that barbeque, because Elizabeth was so sociable, and the Arab was always inviting Harry over, as if he really wanted him to come. It was peculiar. For a moment, Harry could see it so clearly; the way this night was meant to be: Elizabeth sitting at the table enjoying the music, Harry pretending to be grumpy about it and everyone laughing, because Elizabeth made his grumpiness funny.

Harry watched the two little girls run about the yard. It seemed to be a game of chasing.

The littler one got herself up onto the side of the fountain. She was carrying a little blue handbag. She ran around the edge. The fountain was the size of a swimming pool. ‘Careful there, little girl,’ said Harry out loud to her. ‘You could fall in.’ Was anyone even watching her?

He scanned the backyard. The adults were all gathered around the table, not even looking at the kids. They were laughing their heads off. He couldn’t hear their laughter over the music. He couldn’t see Oliver, but he could see his wife, Erika, that was her name, standing on the pathway that led from the back door. She’d be able to see the little girl.

He looked back at the fountain and his heart dropped.

The little girl was gone. Had she climbed down off the wall? Then he saw it. The pink coat. Christ Almighty, she was face down. She’d fallen in. It was like he’d made it happen by predicting it.

He looked for an adult. Where was that Erika? She must have seen it. She was standing right there with a direct line of vision.

But she was just standing there. What was the stupid woman doing?

‘She’s fallen in!’ He banged his hands on the glass.

Oliver’s wife didn’t move. She just stood there. Like a statue. Her face turned away as if she didn’t want to see, as if she was deliberately looking the other way. For God’s sake, what was wrong with her? What was wrong with all these stupid people? My God, my God, my God.

Harry’s face was hot with rage. The little girl was drowning right there in front of those idiotic, irresponsible people. Shooting was too good for them.

He tried to pull up the window so he could yell out, but it was jammed closed. It hadn’t been opened in years. He banged so hard with both fists on the glass it hurt. He yelled, louder than he’d yelled in years. ‘She’s drowning!’

Finally the woman looked up at him. Oliver’s wife. Their eyes met. Thank God, thank God. ‘She’s drowning!’ screamed Harry. He jabbed his finger at the fountain. ‘The little girl is drowning!’

He watched her turn her head towards the fountain. Slowly. As if there were no great hurry.

And still she didn’t move. The stupid, idiotic woman didn’t move. She just stood there, looking at the fountain. It was like something from a nightmare. Harry heard himself sob with frustration. Time was running out.

He turned from the window and ran from the room. It was the only way. He had to be fast. He had to be nimble. He had to run next door and pull the little girl out himself. The little girl in the pink coat was drowning. Elizabeth would have loved that little girl. He could hear Elizabeth crying out, ‘Run, Harry, run!’

He ran from Jamie’s room onto the landing. It was like he had his old body back. There was no pain. He felt exhilarated by the urgency of his mission. He was running gracefully, fluidly, like a twenty-year-old with perfect, limber knees. He could do this. He was fast. He was nimble. He’d save her.

On the second step, he fell. He grabbed for the banister to save himself but it was too late, he was flying, like his wife and son.





chapter eighty-four



It was early evening at the end of another beautiful day and Sam was walking home from the ferry beneath an indigo sky. There had been almost a whole week of clear weather now. Everything had dried out and dried off and people had stopped discussing how nice it was to see the sun. The ‘Big Wet’ was drifting away from everyone’s memories on a gentle spring breeze.

Sam had just had another fairly productive day at work, so that was something. It was a little embarrassing just how much nerdy satisfaction he had achieved today from successfully completing his proposed strategic plan for preventing the further loss of market share in the now crowded sugar-free, berry-flavoured caffeinated energy drink segment. He hadn’t exactly composed a symphony, but it was a well-thought-out strategy which would make the company money, which would make up for the last few weeks when he’d sat at his desk being paid for doing nothing. He’d used his brain. He’d ticked off a task. It felt good.

Maybe it was all due to the amazing, magical effects of his first counselling session. After the humiliating incident at the first aid course on Sunday, Clementine had arranged an appointment with a counsellor after-hours on Monday. Sam didn’t ask her how she managed to get an appointment so quickly. She’d probably got her mother on the case. Pam was a big fan of counselling. She probably had one on speed-dial. Sam cringed at the thought of his mother-in-law’s softly sympathetic face as Clementine told her about his tears, his so-called ‘post-traumatic stress’ for Christ’s sake.