Lifesaving for Beginners Read online

  Also by Ciara Geraghty

  Saving Grace

  Becoming Scarlett

  Finding Mr Flood

  Lifesaving for Beginners

  Ciara Geraghty

  www.hodder.co.uk

  First published in Great Britain in 2012 by Hodder & Stoughton

  An Hachette UK company

  Copyright © Ciara Geraghty 2012

  The right of Ciara Geraghty to be identified as the Author of the

  Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright,

  Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,

  stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any

  means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be

  otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that

  in which it is published and without a similar condition being

  imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance

  to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

  A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library

  ISBN 978 1 848 94486 2

  Hodder & Stoughton Ltd

  338 Euston Road

  London NW1 3BH

  www.hodder.co.uk

  For my parents, Breda and Don Geraghty,

  with all my love

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Three months later . . .

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Prologue

  1 June 2011; Dublin

  He knows he is driving too fast. Not over the speed limit. Never over the speed limit. But too fast for the way he feels. The tiredness. It’s in his bones. It has seeped into his blood. It’s in his fingers that are wrapped round the steering wheel of the truck. It’s in the weight of his head on his neck. He feels himself sagging. He straightens and slaps his face. He blinks, over and over, training his eyes on the road ahead.

  He’ll be home soon.

  He turns on the radio and takes a long drink from the can of Red Bull on the dashboard. The sun has warmed it but he finishes it anyway. ‘A Pair of Brown Eyes’. He turns up the volume and thinks about Brigitta.

  The truck roars down the motorway.

  Later, he will deny that he fell asleep at the wheel. But afterwards, in the stillness of night, when he sits up in bed and wonders why he is shaking, he will concede that it’s possible – just possible – that he closed his eyes. Briefly. Just for a moment. A second. Perhaps two. Sometimes that’s all it takes.

  He can’t remember how long he’d been driving when it happened. Too long. He should have pulled over. Climbed into the back of the cab for a rest. Splashed cold water on his face in a worn-out toilet cubicle at the back of a petrol station. He should have done a lot of things, he admits to himself when he sits up in bed in the middle of the night and wonders why he is shaking.

  Instead, he drives on. The conditions are near perfect. The road is dry, the sun, a perfect circle of light against the innocent blue of the sky. It looks like a picture Ania draws for him with her crayons. She folds the pictures inside his lunchbox. ‘So you won’t miss us when you’re far away, Papa.’ A yellow sun. A blue sky. Four matchstick people.His face relaxes into a smile. He thinks perhaps this is when it happened. This is when he might have closed his eyes. Briefly. Just for a moment. A second. Perhaps two.

  When he sees it, the deer is already in the middle of the road.

  Some things are cemented in his memory. He remembers the beauty of the thing, the sun glancing against its dappled side as it runs its last run. The fear in the liquid brown eyes. Human almost, the fear. He’s never seen a deer on the road before. He’s seen the signs. The warning signs. But this is the first time he’s seen one on the road. He knows he shouldn’t try to avoid it. Shouldn’t swerve. He wouldn’t have, if he hadn’t been so tired. He wouldn’t have, if he hadn’t taken on the extra shift. The Christmas-fund shift. He started it last January. Julija needs a new bike. And then Ania will want one. She always wants what her big sister has.

  He grabs the steering wheel and swerves, glancing in the mirror only afterwards to check the lane is clear.

  The lane is not clear.

  The thud as the front of the truck hits the animal. Hits it anyway. The sound of his brakes, screeching, the crash of the gears as he wrestles them down. He remembers the car. A bright yellow car. There’s a suitcase on the back seat. Held together with a leather belt.

  The truck gaining on the car.

  The sound when he hits it.

  The sound.

  His body shoots forward but is wrenched back by the seatbelt. Later, there will be a line of bruises from his shoulder to his hip. The airbag explodes in his face and he will have to admit to the judge that he doesn’t know what happened next.

  The witness will know. He will describe how the car, the bright yellow car, is tossed in the air like a bag of feathers, rolling and turning until it lands in the shallow ditch the workmen have been excavating.

  The technical expert will know. He will talk about the truck. How it jackknives as it swerves, hitting two cars, causing one to roll and turn and end up in a ditch and embedding the other against the crash barrier, like a nut caught in the steely grip of pliers. The technical expert will present these facts with the calm monotone of a man who never wakes in the darkest part of the night and wonders why he is shaking.

  The judge will say it’s a miracle. That more people weren’t killed. That woman in the Mazda, for example. The thirty-nine-year-old woman. A hairline fracture on one rib after being cut out of the car embedded against the crash barrier. That she will live to tell another tale is nothing short of a miracle. That’s what the judge will say.

  And Brigitta. His beautiful Brigitta. She will be in the courtroom. Somewhere behind him. She will have asked Petra to mind the children for the day. When they lead him away, he won’t look for her. His eyes, open now, will be trained on th
e floor.

  He will be a long time getting home.

  1 June 2011; Brighton

  Mam says, ‘Milo, you gave me a fright. What are you doing up at this hour?’

  I say, ‘I set my alarm.’

  ‘Ah love, you shouldn’t have. It’s five o’clock in the morning. You’ll be falling asleep in Miss Williams’s class.’

  ‘No way. We’re making papier-mâché masks. If everyone knows their spellings.’

  ‘And do you know your spellings?’

  ‘Course.’

  ‘Sorry for asking, Einstein.’

  The kitchen is colder than usual. Probably because the sun’s not properly up yet. Mam stands at the counter, with her hands wrapped round the mug I got her last Christmas. It says ‘World’s Best Mum’. I tried to find one that said ‘Mam’ but I couldn’t. They probably sell them in Ireland, where Mam is from. Still, she drinks out of it all the time. She says she doesn’t mind about the Mum bit.

  ‘What time is the ferry?’

  Mam looks at her watch. ‘I’d better go if I’m going to catch it.’ Her suitcase is on the floor beside the table. It’s still got Dad’s old leather belt tied round it. She was supposed to get a new case ages ago. She must have forgotton. The sticker on it says ‘Elizabeth McIntyre’ but everyone calls her Beth.

  ‘I’ll put your suitcase in the boot.’

  She smiles. ‘Don’t worry, love, I’ll do it. Besides, the boot is full. I forgot to take out the boxes of flyers I got for the café the other day. I’ll put the case on the back seat. It’ll be grand.’

  I hand her the car keys and look out the window. There have been a few car robberies lately but Mam’s car is still there. I don’t think anyone would steal it. We call it the bananamobile. It’s bright yellow. The writing is pink. Shocking pink, Mam calls it. It says ‘The Funky Banana’, which happens to be the name of Mam’s café.

  ‘So when are you coming home?’

  ‘I’ve told you a million times already. I’ll be home on Sunday.’

  ‘I wish I could come to Auntie May’s with you.’

  ‘There’s the small matter of school, remember. Anyway, you’ll have a great time with your sister.’

  That’s true. Faith doesn’t know how to cook so we won’t have to eat vegetables and things like that. And Rob always gives me money to get DVDs and sweets when they have to go to Faith’s room to talk. They’re always going to Faith’s room to talk.

  Mam puts on her coat and hat. It’s a beret, which is a French word and that’s why you can’t pronounce the t at the end. Her lips are red on account of the lipstick. She doesn’t wear half as much make-up as Faith but she still looks nice. For an adult, I mean. She puts her hand on my head. ‘Don’t forget to brush that mop before you go to school, mister.’

  I say, ‘I won’t,’ even though I probably will forget.

  ‘And you’ve got lifesaving class after school today, remember?’

  ‘My bag’s in the hall.’ As if anyone would ever forget about that. I’m still in the beginners’ class but Coach says if I keep on doing well, she’ll move me up to intermediate next year.

  ‘OK, so, see ya Sunday.’

  ‘Yeah, see ya Sunday.’

  ‘Are you gettin’ too big to give yer auld mam a kiss?’

  Mam’s mad about kissing. So is Damo. He says he’s done it loads of times with girls but I don’t believe him. I mean, he’s my best friend and everything, but sometimes he makes stuff up. His mam says she wouldn’t believe him if he told her the time. And last summer, he said he climbed Mount Everest but when I asked him where it was, he said it was in Spain. Near Santa Ponza.

  Mam holds out her arms. Before I can duck, she squeezes me so tightly I can barely move. Her hair tickles my face. She smells like soap and toothpaste. She’ll probably tell me not to forget to brush my teeth. She kisses me on the cheek and I rub it away with the back of my hand.

  ‘Be good.’

  ‘I’ll try.’

  ‘I mean it, Milo. No messin’ with Damien Sullivan, OK?’

  She’s only saying that because of what happened the last time she went to Ireland. And that was only an accident. Damo’s eyebrows have nearly grown back now.

  ‘And make sure you brush your teeth.’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘I’ll ring you tonight, OK?’

  ‘Promise?’

  She presses the palm of her hand against her heart. ‘Cross my heart and hope to die.’ She picks up her suitcase with the leather belt wrapped round it and that’s when I have the idea. About buying her a new case for Christmas. I still have most of my First Holy Communion money in the post office. I’ll buy her a green one. Green is her favourite colour.

  I stay at the window until she drives up the road and I can’t see her anymore.

  2 June 2011; Dublin

  ‘She’s coming round.’

  ‘Thank Christ.’

  ‘Kat?’

  ‘Katherine?’

  ‘Can you hear me?’

  ‘Come on now. Wake up.’

  ‘Don’t crowd her.’

  ‘Kat?’

  ‘Easy now. Take it easy.’

  ‘Thomas?’ My voice sounds strange. Rusted. Like I haven’t used it in a long time.

  ‘Give her some space.’

  ‘Am I in a hospital?’

  ‘Get her some water.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘It’s all right. You were in an accident but you’re all right. You’re all right now.’

  ‘Tell me what happened.’

  ‘Calm down, Kat. Take it easy.’

  My breath is quick and shallow. Panic isn’t far away. I move my legs to see if I can move my legs. They move. I can move my legs. I try to calm down, to beat panic back with both hands.

  Someone puts a hand under my head. Puts a glass against my mouth. I think it’s Thomas. ‘Here, take a drink of water.’ That’s definitely him. The soft, low voice. It would make you think of Wispa bars, whether you wanted to or not.

  The water goes down, cold and pure. Panic falters. Takes a step back. Thomas’s hand is solid against the back of my head. I keep my eyes closed, in case he’s looking at me. In case he sees the panic. And the gratitude. I am weak with gratitude all of a sudden.

  When I open my eyes, I say, ‘I’m not forty yet, am I?’ so that we can have a laugh and everything can go back to normal. It works because everyone has a bit of a laugh and the atmosphere in the room slackens and there’s a chance that things can get back to normal.

  Thomas says, ‘You’ve still a bit to go.’

  The light grates against my eyes as I look around the room. The hospital room. I’m in a hospital. I hate hospitals. I haven’t been in a hospital bed since I was fifteen.

  I do a headcount. Four people. They look tired, like they haven’t slept, or, if they have, they’ve slept badly. My parents. My oldest friend, Minnie. And Thomas. Almost everyone.

  I say, ‘Where’s Ed?’

  My mother says, ‘I had to send him home. He was too emotional. You know how he gets.’

  ‘He’s not on his own, is he?’

  Dad steps forward. ‘Your brother’s fine, Kat. Don’t worry. I brought him to Sophie’s house and Sophie’s parents are there. They’ll look after him. You need to worry about yourself for now.’

  ‘What’s wrong with me?’ I feel far away, like I have to shout to make them hear me.

  Dad says, ‘You got a bump on your head. The doctor says it’ll hurt for a while.’

  Mum says, ‘And you’ve got a fractured rib. You either got it in the accident or afterwards, when they cut you out of the car.’

  ‘Jesus.’ I curl my hands into fists so no one can see the shake in them.

  Minnie says, ‘It’s not even a proper fracture. It’s just a hairline one.’

  Thomas says, ‘You were lucky, Kat.’

  I don’t feel lucky. I feel far away.

  Minnie looks at her watch. ‘Well, now that I know you’r
e not going to cark it, I suppose I should go back to work.’ She sounds annoyed but when I look at her, she’s got that pained expression on her face that she gets when she’s trying not to smile.

  It’s only when Mum puts her hand on my forehead that I realise how hot I am. Her hand is cool and soft. I’d forgotten how soft her hands are. Her eyes are puffy, like she’s been crying. But she never cries. The last time I saw her crying was in 1989, when Samuel Beckett died.

  She says, ‘We’ll go too. We’d better pick Edward up.’ She pulls at some strands of my hair that are caught in the corner of my mouth. I try to sit up but I’m like a dead weight so I stop trying and lie there and try to make sense of things.

  The room smells of heat and bleach. The sheets are stiff and make a scratching sound when I move. There’s a deep crack zigzagging along the ceiling. Like the whole place is going to come tumbling down. Right down on top of me.

  Dad says, ‘Get some rest, Kat. I’ll call you later, OK?’

  ‘Will you tell Ed I’m fine? Tell him I’ll see him soon. Tomorrow.’

  ‘Of course.’ Dad bends, kisses the corner of my eye. I’d say he was going for my forehead but he’s a little short-sighted.

  Minnie says, ‘The next time you’re going to have a near-death experience, could you do it on a Friday? Get me out of the weekly meeting with the Pillock.’ Pillock is what Minnie calls her boss, and the funny thing is that they get on quite well. She picks up her handbag and coat and is gone in a cloud of Chanel Coco Mademoiselle.

  Now it’s just Thomas and me and, all of a sudden, I feel sort of shy, like I’ve been doing the tango in my bedroom with an imaginary partner before noticing that the blinds are up and the neighbours are gawking. I grab the sharp edge of the sheet and pull it to my neck.

  I say, ‘Shouldn’t you be spreading dung on some poor unfortunate turnips?’ If you ask Thomas what he does, he’ll say he’s a farmer, even though he’s a freelance journalist who happens to have inherited a smallholding in Monaghan where he grows impractical things like grapes that are never anything but sour, and sunflowers that, as soon as their heads poke above the earth, get eaten by his one goat, two pigs, three hens, a garrulous goose and a lamb-bearing ewe.