One Silver Summer Page 18

  When he came around again, minutes or maybe hours later, the sky above him still howled. His head throbbed and he was bleeding, the relentless rain filling his mouth and nose.

  Sass.

  Where was she?

  Alex tried to get to his feet, but he couldn’t move his legs. He swore. A dead weight that wouldn’t shift was pinning them down. In a panic, he began scrabbling and somehow he managed to pull himself free from the wreckage of the trailer. He got to his hands and knees and vomited: rain, river, and bitter bile.

  “Sass!” His pathetic shout a cracked mess. He tried again.

  “Sass? Sass! Can you hear me?”

  Fear took over that couldn’t be wiped away. He shouted again, and again, his heart pumping in his ears.

  “Sass? Where are you? Answer me.”

  He looked around him, scanning the riverbank. The trailer had completely gone; the only place he’d ever felt safe, smashed up as if it had never existed. And the creek, his creek, where he’d met her, was a torrent of madness battering its way to the sea.

  And Sass and Bo were nowhere to be found.

  Dragged off her feet, Sass had twisted onto her belly and tried to grasp at anything to stop herself from being taken by the roaring flood tide, but it was hopeless; she was fighting to stay alive in a corkscrew of chaos. She forgot about sadness and a life in rewind. The only thing she could think of was that she wasn’t ready to die. This was not her time. She had everything to live for: Alex, Bo. To love and be loved. If only she could breathe. Breathe, Sass. Breathe!

  Banged and buffeted, the current took her. She tried to stay on the surface, but her boots and Alex’s coat were dragging her down, and then came the terrible, choking, inevitable moment when her head went under, and she could see nothing but murk, her ears deafened to everything except the weird churn of water. Sass didn’t know which way was up as she rolled and pitched and tumbled, over and over, until her lungs were about to burst.

  Sass was swimming for her life: it was that, or twist and die. With one last frantic effort, she wrestled with the river and bobbed up, spat out by the current, and with a huge gasp for air, she reached up and grasped at an overhanging branch that she clung to with all her strength. Hanging there with burning arms, her chin scraping the bark, she shuddered with something like relief, hot tears running down her face.

  She was alive, but where was Bo … and oh my god, Alex?

  Sass stared across at the bank of the creek. It wasn’t how she remembered it. How could this have happened so fast? She squinted harder. There in the mud on the shore was a figure. Was it him? Alex. Was he hurt? Was he dead? A sob rose in her throat. In reply, the body moved, painfully at first; then it seemed to panic, roll onto its knees, and bend over double.

  “Alex?” she cried out, though she couldn’t possibly be heard. “Alex!” she sobbed, her voice breaking. How could she reach him? Her arms were so, so tired.

  From somewhere behind her came another low sound. The dull groan of an animal. Sass tore her eyes from the riverbank and turned her head to the uprooted tree that she was clinging to. Almost within touching distance, with a whirlpool between them, was Bo, trapped by trailing boughs that looked like the knotted hair of a drowned witch. The mare’s face was bloodied and covered in mud, but Sass heard her whicker, her dark horse’s eyes the only shining thing in the chaos.

  “Bo? Hey, girl, I’m coming. Wait for me …” And Sass let go of her precious branch.

  Alex blundered downstream, following the course of the water. How could half a ton of horse and a girl who could swim like a fish be washed away? “You’ll have to catch me” came her voice in his mind, a tease that became a taunt. He squeezed his eyes shut and saw Sass swimming on her back, her long legs kicking. Taking a deep breath, he cried out into the darkness, a cracked, desperate shout.

  “Where you are you, Sass? Help me! Tell me where you are?”

  He stopped to listen.

  Nothing. Nothing!

  He pushed past uprooted trees and bushes. Began searching through the smashed remains of the trailer: planks of wood and torn metal, a washed-up sweater, Bo’s old stable rug that he’d slept under the night he took off from school.

  “Bo?” He cried out to the horse who’d taught him to ride, the sick rising and sticking in his throat.

  Alex fell for like the hundredth time in the mud. Should he carry on searching, or go for help? How long would it take for him to return to the house? And then what? How could he even think of leaving while Sass and Bo were still out there?

  But as he looked up at the sky, the choice wasn’t hard. He knew in his stomach, to the core of him, his very bones, that he’d keep on searching until he found them, because without Sass, he’d be … what? Nothing. He scanned the dark water again, and in the corner of his eye, he caught a movement: a glint of light coming from a dam of twisted black roots and upturned bushes, maybe fifty yards or so downstream from where he stood. He staggered to the water’s edge until he was directly opposite, squinting into the darkness; it was so hard to see or hear anything above the crash of water.

  There. A glimmer of gray-white. Was that Bo?

  Slicked with mud, the mare was almost ghostly, her eyes half closed, ears barely twitching, and next to her, chin deep in the still-rising current was … Sass. Who was holding up whom, Alex couldn’t tell, but they were alive.

  “Sass!” His whisper a proper shout at last. “Hold on. You hear?”

  Had she heard him? He’d no idea because he didn’t wait. He dived into the water and began to swim.

  Sass had made it to Bo, floundering like a kid swimming her first width without arm floats. She had scraped every last ounce of strength and gone to the horse because Bo needed her. The mare was in bad shape and surely, even if it took all eternity, they’d be better waiting together. She stroked the face of the mare, who, after rallying a little, had closed her long-lashed eyes. Poor Bo; however cold and dizzy Sass felt, she’d never leave her.

  From the water’s edge came a shout. Sass looked up, but she couldn’t see anything. Then from half out of the water came a face in the rain that she loved. His voice lit her senses like a flame to her heart.

  “Alex? Alex!”

  He slid his arms beneath hers and she wrapped her arms and legs around him, and buried her face in his neck.

  “I’ve got you, Sass. Don’t you dare let go!”

  “I won’t. Oh, Alex. I won’t.”

  “I’m so glad you’re okay.” His voice broke. “I love you, Sass.”

  “Alex, I love you too.” Her head so heavy on his shoulder that she could barely lift it.

  “Listen, Sass.” Alex was speaking to her again, a new urgency in his voice. Sass’s head was spinning so much. “We have to get to the shore and then I can go for help.”

  “We can’t leave Bo. She’s in pain.”

  He tilted her chin to his. His face was so pale and cold.

  “We have to leave her, Sass, but I’ll return for her, I promise.”

  When he took her face in his hands and kissed her cheek, she saw the blood, rain, and tears wash over his wrists.

  Alex steadfastly refused to look at the mare. He couldn’t bear to. Bo, the horse who had given him everything.

  “Sass, we have to go now.”

  “No. I won’t leave her.”

  He touched Sass’s cut face, gently stroked the water from her hair. Then his hand went from Sass’s head to Bo’s neck. The girl and horse were as one. He took hold of Bo’s trailing reins. How could he save them both? How could he not? He’d rather die trying.

  “Come on, Bo … walk on.” He gave the verbal command that he’d used a million times. Bo gave a shuddering lurch and Alex was afraid that if she began to kick out, they’d all drown. He also knew, however, that she had to fight her way out. He put the trailing reins over her head and smoothed her slicked neck.

  “Sass, get on her back.”

  “No. She’s too weak.”

  “G
et on her back, or we leave her.” He wasn’t asking Sass, he was telling her.

  “How can I?”

  “Because I say so, and it’s what she understands. It’s her best chance.” And he pushed Sass on. “Now ask her to move. Use your legs … hard. And your voice.”

  He slapped the mare’s neck with the reins, his teeth gritted.

  The mare gave a huge heave, her hooves finding some sort of foothold on the riverbed.

  “Now, Sass, steer her for the shore. Kick her on.” And Alex hung on by the bridle and Bo’s tail, and kicked out for himself.

  Somewhere above the coursing water, he became conscious of the faint whine of a siren, followed by a flash of blue at the top of the meadow, as a police 4x4 and a rescue truck plowed and skidded their way down to him. Shouts from the paddock were swallowed by darkness, replaced by bobbing torches, and above him came the throbbing rotor blade of a search helicopter, its arc light cutting through the wreckage.

  At the water’s edge, Sass knelt in the mud and dead leaves, and stroked the crest of Bo’s neck. Even after a rescuer had carried her away, she looked back over a burly shoulder and reached out. Then with her eyes tight shut, pain in every jolting movement, she felt herself taken to safety. More arms took her; she couldn’t seem to stand, her knees giving way when her legs wouldn’t work, like a puppet on a string. She was laid on a stretcher, her head in some sort of vise, a tight mask placed across her face. Someone was with her, she half recognized, but it wasn’t Mom. Who was it? She couldn’t see. Suddenly she wanted her mom. “Mom!” There was a sharp prick in her wrist and then everything went blurry, and the pain in her body became a heartache that in turn became a fuzzy nothing. Where was her silver horse; had someone saved her? And where was Alex now? In her mind, he held her hand, but he wasn’t by her side. Was he with Bo? She hoped so. She just needed to rest her eyes, her head was so … so tired.

  When Alex first ran out of the house, Helena had waited in the morning room. She didn’t like to make a fuss and had been certain that Alex would find Saskia quickly. They deserved a private moment together.

  Four hours had since passed and the light, and the weather, had deteriorated. With a heavy heart, Helena had made the call to James Harrison, Alex’s new policeman. Wherever Alex was, she needed him found. Call it the jitters, but a lump of fear was growing in her stomach. She leaned against a chair with the receiver to her ear, her legs trembling. Water leaked in at the base of the French windows, seeping along the old oak floor and staining the silk curtains that pooled on the ground. Above her, the painted foam horses back in their place above the mantelpiece plunged through the waves, the whites of their eyes a warning through the spray.

  Unable to sit again, Helena went down to the yard for news, only to find the horses were ill at ease, and the drains overflowing. Dancer was kicking at his door and Figgy and Amy stood in a tight knot whispering to the capable young farrier, Dan.

  Figgy spoke first. Dear Figgy.

  “Have you called for help, Your Ladyship?” Her forehead creased with concern.

  “Yes, but Alex will return soon; he just needs a chance to find her.”

  But then, in the not-so-far distance, came a boom, a sound that she dreaded to hear again. The roaring of a plane with its engines screaming and on fire. Except it wasn’t a plane and this wasn’t the war, and the ground was shaking beneath her feet. It was the crack and shudder of a hillside sliding toward the sea.

  Landslip.

  Helena swayed on her feet and Figgy caught her by the elbow. A voice she barely recognized as her own cried shrilly.

  “Dear Lord! Call 999, call the coast guard, call the whole damn lot, if Alex and Saskia are caught up in this!”

  Like every small boy, Alex had liked to roam, and of course he’d had a den. Alex was no different from other children, whatever was said. His hiding place was the ancient horse box tucked down beside the creek, where they’d once stored winter feed and hay. Had he gone there to find her? She let out a long, tremulous sigh: the summer meadow, where every Tremayne went to hide, rest, and play … and to fall in love. Nowhere more perfect, until now.

  The blacksmith, Dan, came back from the main house, grim-faced.

  Helena wasn’t praying; she’d given up on prayer a long time ago. It was a turn of phrase, that was all, a habit that died hard. She held herself erect. She’d seen fire and now here was the flood; she’d not crumble, however biblically awful. Her mind turned to Saskia. Her uncle had to be informed; she’d send Corbett at once. Was she unnecessarily panic-stricken; was she entirely mistaken? She hoped so, she desperately did, but some instinct, some sixth sense, told her otherwise.

  After Sass was safe, strong arms took his, but Alex threw them off. Who cared about him when Bo was lying in the mud half dead? He refused to be a useless spectator. Jim was there, on the radio barking information, and a vet he didn’t recognize had arrived.

  What were they doing that could take so long? An animal rescue fire truck was being reversed, its winch exposed with a giant hanging cradle. Alex knelt beside Bo in the sludge. Was she breathing? Let her still be breathing. Alex took the horse’s head in his lap and stroked the length of her jaw. She made a low sound; Bo knew he was there, though her eyes stayed closed, her flanks barely moving, her tail a limp flag of surrender.

  The vet bent to her task. She was young, doing emergency out of hours. He’d heard her talking to Jim and the farrier, Dan, was there too. Dan was a good bloke; treated Alex like a friend. They were murmuring in urgent whispers.

  “I want to put her out of her misery. Who do I ask?”

  “You can’t do it,” answered Jim, “she means too much to him. Can’t you save her?”

  “Look at the mare. She’s broken; it’s not fair.”

  Alex watched Dan stand up and run a hand through his fair hair. Someone had given him a neon jacket that he’d half pulled over his clothes. He glowed bizarrely. He crouched down beside Alex, who knew what he was going to say.

  “Alex. You know what’s right. Her Ladyship will understand.”

  “No!” Alex shocked himself at the violence of his reaction. Bo’s eyelids flickered. “No, I won’t let you. She’s a fighter; give her a chance.”

  Dan turned to him, put both hands on his shoulders.

  “Alex, you understand horses. This is not about chances, it’s about doing what’s right for her. She’s an old horse and suffering badly … Say good-bye.”

  Alex nodded blindly. He closed his eyes; he wasn’t ashamed of his tears. This horse had shown him so much. Given him everything. In his head, Sass whispered, “She’s beautiful, is she yours?” The voice he couldn’t ignore. Bo had done everything anyone had ever asked of her.

  It took seconds.

  “It’s done, she’s gone …” the young vet whispered, putting the syringe away: professional, but visibly shaken.

  “You did the right thing,” Dan murmured to her, his hand on Alex’s shoulder.

  Helena was driven by Figgy as close to the creek as was possible. She had forgotten her macintosh and shook a little when she saw the scene. It was like the stage set of a tragic opera: the fire brigade, police, and a veterinarian she didn’t know were all assembled in luminous yellow in the gathering darkness.

  In the time it had taken for an old woman to struggle across a field, an ambulance had left with Saskia on board. She’d been told at the house that both were safe, but where was Alex? She looked around fearfully. Had he gone to hospital too? She needed to know. And where was Bo? The mare hadn’t galloped home. She felt so very responsible and suddenly so terribly frail.

  She looked across the surging water and saw her grandson kneeling on the bank: her summer meadow splayed wide, now a scene of winter’s mud. What was he doing on his knees? Something was cradled in his arms. She stumbled closer. The day had almost gone, while the moon cowered in the sky.

  When Sass had run out at lunchtime, David had let her go. If she needed time by herself, who was he to st
op her, but as the weather got worse, he couldn’t concentrate. He’d grabbed his car keys and headed to the estate, the most obvious place she’d have gone.

  At the house, the grim-faced butler had told him what had happened. A million things went through his mind as he reversed the Land Rover back around and stepped on the gas, the jeep straining up the drive in a cloud of smoking rubber. He clenched the wheel, skidding in a shower of spray as somewhere before the main gates, he leapt out and flagged down a departing ambulance and police escort, praying that it was Sass who was on board.

  At the hospital, Sass was out of it, murmuring drugged nonsense to herself. David held her hand as he’d done that one time not long after she was born, her tiny hands squeezed into tiny pink fists. Fighting fists. He looked at her long fingers now, her skin almost transparent from the water, her nails torn from holding on.

  He thought of his big sister, and how she had died. Those photos. Had it been instant? He hoped so. Or was he simply comforting himself? He thought of the lost years and the pain he must have caused when he left. He should’ve stayed. What did it take for her to raise a child by herself? And he knew then, he had to protect Saskia as his sister had looked after him. Be there when she needed him and step back when she didn’t. He felt a shudder run through him as something inside of him split and the tears rolled down his face. He rubbed them away. Sass no longer had a mother, but he could step up and be more like the father she’d never had.

  “Alex?” Sass whispered, her eyes still closed. His name the only clearness in her head. It hurt to take a breath, as if a steamroller had squashed her flat. Her favorite kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Hull, with the wriggly hair and the beautiful handwriting, had read a story once about a kid who could slide under doors, and mail himself to friends. Flat Stanley. She felt like him.