Existing (33 page)

“Fucking madness,” he finishes. “And a whole bunch of other stuff, but it’s just insane that someone is doing that to her and she’s letting them.”

“I don’t think she exactly lies down and lets them do it,” I say defensively.

“No, but she’s not telling people about
it and that’s just as bad.”

We both stand in silence after that, listening to the wind and the rain that growl at us. I think about what Ava said about Roisin seeing a ghost. Maybe
that’s what it is. Maybe it’s a poltergeist or something. I know I sound stupid, but why else would she admit that it’s happening but not tell us who is hurting her?

“Rose is haunted.”

“I know,” he says, “it must be killing her not being able to tell anyone.”

I sha
ke my head. “No,” I sigh. “She told me that she sees a ghost. She’s been seeing it since she was about three or four, I guess. Ava, her little sister, told me that Rose’s stepmother blames Rose for having to move. I think it must have been Rose’s Father’s idea to move, and I guess he thought that maybe she wouldn’t see the ghost anymore.”

“She actually believes that there’s a ghost haunting her?” he says,
the shock clear in his voice.

“Yes.”

“Who is it? What does it want?”

“I don’t know,” I sigh. “She wouldn’t tell me anymore about that either. She
barely just admitted it and then shut me out. She made me promise that I wouldn’t mention it again.”

“Jeez,” he hisses. “How many other secrets does that girl have?”

I’d hate the thought of her having even more secrets. Seriously, how much can one girl take? “I hope not,” I say sincerely.

Ashley ignores the fact that the sand is soaking wet and flops down onto it. He pulls his knees into his chest and just sits like that, staring at not
hing for five whole minutes while I just stand there doing the same.

“I can’t get her face out of my head,” I whisper. “I just keep seeing her bloody face and battered and bruised arms be
ing wheeled away from me.”

I swallow, feeling like there’s something stuck in my throat.

“Do you love her?” he asks suddenly.

“I can’t answer that,” I say quickly.

“Why not?” he asks.

I shuffle uncomfor
tably on my feet. I don’t really want to get into this with Ashley. I barely know the guy. “Because it’s such a big thing. I’m not sure how I feel about it, but if I do find myself falling in love with her, then I want her to be the first person that hears it.”

“B
ut you do care for her?” he asks.

“More than you can imagine,” I tell him.

“Shit, Cabe,” he says. “What if she doesn’t wake up? What if she wakes up and she’s a completely different person?”

“I don’t want to think about it,” I say. “Her not waking up, I mean. If she wakes and she’s a completely different person, then we’ll just have to get to know the new Rose.”

“Okay.”

Eventually I decide that I feel like an idiot, just standing up and staring at the sea, so I drop down onto the sand and sit beside Ashley.

“If she wakes up what are we going to do?” he asks.

“What do you mean?”

“Are we going to tell someone? The police?”

I shrug. “I
’ve already told them everything I know just now. I just hope that I’ve not made her life any worse than it already is.”

“I hear you
,” he sighs, “but we can’t let this continue and not do something about it, can we?”

“No,” I say, trying to push away the guilt and the thoughts that it might already be too late.

I revel in the feel of the sand in between my toes. It’s so white that it reminds me of snow. I look up and shield my eyes from the bright sun with my hand as my Father and Ava paddle in the shallow, warm water.

“Are you coming in
, Rose?” asks my Father with a smile.

I stare at his tanned face and carefree
smile and find myself nodding.

I unwrap myself from my orange and pink beach towel and push my feet through the soft sand until they’re covered in the turquoise sea water.

Ava has only just learned to walk so she’s unsteady on her feet at the best of times. My father has to bend over so he can steady her with his hands under her armpits. I smile as I look at her chubby thighs that stick out from the bottom of her Winnie-the-Pooh swimsuit. Ava squeals and giggles with delight. My Father turns to me and splashes me with water that feels considerably colder than the water my feet is in. I gasp breathlessly and run away.

“Come back in
, Rose. You love swimming.”

“I’m going to get ice cream,
” I tell him.

“Just wait ten minutes and we can all go
, darling.”

I trudge back into the water a
nd decide to splash my Father. Tiny waves of water spill over Ava. My Father and I freeze and watch her blink furiously to try and clear her eyes, smiling at each other when she doesn’t cry.

“Can you watch your sister for a second?”

I sit in the shallow waters and watch Ava plod towards me. “Where are you going?”

“I’m just going to check on Hallie
, and then we’ll go and get ice cream and we can sort out what we’re going to do for you thirteenth birthday.”

I make
a face.

“You’re going to be a teenager
, Rose, we have to do something! I can’t believe how quickly you’ve grown up.”

I watch his bare back as he walks across the beach. I can’t
believe my luck that Hallie is feeling sick. We’ve spent the last six days playing on the beach and letting the sun darken our skin without having to worry if she’s too hot, or if she wants to go inside, or if the heat is making her hair frizzy.

“
Wosey,” mumbles Ava.

I smile at her
, knowing that she’s trying to say Rose and nod. “That’s right, Ava. Rose.”

I open my eyes and feel the stinging of my dry throat again. Ever since I woke up I have an unquenchable thirst.

“Here.”

I hold my trembling hands out and take the plastic cup from my Father. “Thanks,” I whisper. Despite having been woken up from the coma a week ago and having the ventilator removed from my throat, it still feels sore. I scoot up in bed and wince at the pain in my ribs.

The doctors have told me about the injuries I sustained
, and I know I’m lucky that the only pain I feel is my ribs, and where the doctors made a small incision to repair my spleen, as well as a puncture wound from where they drained my lung. My knee was badly bruised and swollen, but I’ve been able to walk to the bathroom by myself since I woke up. My brain injury was what worried them the most.

Apparently
, the force of my head colliding with the hood of the car caused bruising, which meant my brain swelled up in response like the body does for all injuries. This caused my brain to push again my skull, which is why they put me in a coma. Thankfully, there doesn’t seem to be any damage. Unfortunately, I keep having headaches throughout the day and I can’t seem to remember anything that happened right before the accident.

I pass the
cup of water back to my Father and close my eyes again. I’m so tired. Even though I lie in bed all day sleeping, I still feel exhausted. The doctors said they were expecting this and it should settle down over the next few weeks. They also advised me to stay home for the next month.

“I’m sorry
, sir,” I hear an unrecognizable voice say at the door, “but she’s with her Father and she’s really not up to visitors at the moment.”

“I don’t care,” he huffs. “I really need to see her.”

“She’s sleeping.”

I feel my Father move at the side of my bed and even though I’m curious as to what’s going on
, I don’t open my eyes. “It’s okay,” he says in his deep voice. “Let him in.”

I hear footsteps and movement at the end of my bed and then a huge sigh of relief. “Is she okay?”

My Father tells the visitor everything that I already know. He tells them about my memory loss and my tiredness and explains that I’ve slept for about seventeen hours now.

“Who are you anyway?”
my Father asks.

“Cabe.”

As soon as his name floats into my ears, I want to open my eyes but they refuse to cooperate. I know him. It’s Cabe. All the memories of him come flooding back. I remember knocking his food over. I remember watching him in class. I remember the numerous times I’ve locked eyes with him. I remember our kiss in the ocean and how magical it was. I remember
him
and how he made me feel.

“
Do you know her from school?” my Father pushes. I haven’t ever mentioned Cabe, so I guess he’s wondering why he’s here.

“Yes.”

My Father sighs. “I’m sorry, Cabe. She may not remember you.”

“Because of the memory loss?”
Cabe asks.

“I’m afraid so.”

“So she won’t remember what happened to her before she came to my house?”

“What do you mean?”
asks my Father.

“She came to my house. We rang the ambulance.”

“The accident was outside your house?” I can hear the shock in my Father’s voice.

“Yes
.”

“Did she say anything to you?”

“No. She didn’t get the chance.”

I hear my Father sigh. “She shouldn’t have been there. I’m sorry.”

“What exactly are you sorry for?” Cabe asks, sounding annoyed.

“That you had to witness that. She shouldn’t have felt the need to run from me like that. It’s my fault.”

Cabe sighs and then I feel a warm hand weave into my own. “Who hurt her?”

My Father sniffs at the other side of me. I ha
dn’t realized he’d sat down. “What do you mean?”

“Her face,” Cabe says. “It was already battered and bruised when she got to our house. Someone had beaten her up.”

Everything goes quiet for a long time.

“Are you sure?”
my Father whispers.

“Quite sure,” says Cabe. “It’s not the first time she’s ha
d those types of injuries either.”

“What
?”

“She had a black eye the first week of school.”

My Father laughs. “Rose is clumsy. She told me herself that she fell over.”

“She told me that too, but what about her back?”

“What’s wrong with her back?”

“She had these cuts all over it
,” Cabe tells him. “It looked as if a wild bear had dragged its claw right down her spine.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Cabe huffs loudly. “I’ve already told the police everything I know anyway. I’m sure they’ll be asking you the same questions.”

My Father coughs.
“Police?”

“Yes, the police. Someone is hurting her.”

“I never saw her face. I couldn’t see it.”

Cabe clears his throat.
“Excuse me?”

“The morning of her accident
, she ran from me. She had her back turned and told me not to come near her. She wouldn’t let me look at her face.”

“So, it’s not you?
You’re not hurting her?”

“Of course not,” spits my Father.
“How could you think that?”

“It’s someone at home.”

“How do you figure, Son?”

“I’m not your Son.”

The room goes horribly quiet. I keep trying to open my eyes but they just won’t work.

Cabe sighs heavily by my side after a few minutes. “Look, I dropped her off at your house just before midnight on Friday night. She was absolutely fine and didn’t have a mark on her face. The next time I saw her
, she was bare-foot, dressed in her pyjamas, and her face looked like she’d gone twelve rounds with Mike Tyson.”

“She was still in bed when we all left in the morning. I just thought she was hung-over.”

“Well, somebody got to her,” Cabe tells him.

I’ve heard enough. I need to stop
this. I don’t want them arguing and I don’t understand what they are saying. Why was my face bruised? And why would I run away from my Father? Nothing makes sense, and it’s making my brain hurt just trying to understand what their words mean.

“Cabe,” I squeak feebly.

I feel him squeeze my hand instantly. “It’s okay, Rose. I’m here.”

I try t
o squeeze back but it’s too difficult. I’m not even sure if my fingers moved. I can feel myself being lulled into a dream and am powerless to stop it.