Heartbeat Away (15 page)

‘Sorry . . . I was just . . .' He gives a forced laugh. ‘First Callum . . . then you . . . I don't think I could have . . . if you had . . .' His voice trails away to nothing.

‘I'm here. I'm alive. It's OK,' I say.

‘I've got to see you. So I believe it,' he whispers. And although I can't see his face, I know he's crying.

A few hours later on this sunny, Saturday morning, I'm sitting in the garden with him, being spied on by Danny, but not caring one little bit.

‘I need to know what happened to Callum the night he died,' I say quietly.

‘Is finding out really going to make everything OK, though?' he asks, his dark brown eyes staring into mine.

‘I don't know,' I reply. ‘Maybe it won't. Part of me is
scared stiff to even try.'

‘You mean in case he was involved in something bad?'

‘Remember that old black and white film about the doctor who drank some potion and changed?' I ask.

‘
Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde
.'

‘That's how Callum appears to me. One minute, he's an ordinary lad who loves sport and won't eat bacon butties, and the next, he's some kind of monster, picking fights and mixed up in goodness knows what.'

‘Hang on . . . he was my friend, OK?'

‘You said yourself he changed.' I sigh. ‘I need to find out for myself what was going on, because I've got his heart inside me. If what I learn is bad, I have to confront it and deal with it, rather than let it eat away at me all the time.'

‘But how are you going to deal with something like that?'

‘I don't know, but I can't live like this any more, Sam. I have to know the worst, whatever it is.'

He's quiet for a moment. I glance over at Danny, who's peeping out from behind a tree trunk, playing with some binoculars he's made from a couple of cardboard tubes and half a reel of sticky tape.

‘I'll help you,' says Sam at last. ‘We'll do this together.'

We lie on the grass side by side, talking. Although the sun feels hot on my face, and I'm wearing a T-shirt underneath, I don't want to take off my high-necked jumper and reveal my scar.

‘But how are we going to get any answers?' I ask Sam. ‘Callum died nearly five months ago.'

Sam gives a shrug, then sweeps his hair off his forehead. His dark eyes glint with the hint of an idea. ‘You've seen things,' he says finally. ‘You've seen and felt Callum's memories. Maybe that's our key.'

I feel a shiver run up my back to the top of my neck. ‘But I can't summon up things at will. His memories just appear when I'm not expecting them. Out of the blue.'

‘Try.'

‘What?'

‘Try to imagine yourself as Callum on the night he died. Where was he? What was he doing?'

‘OK, I'll give it a go.' I take a deep breath to steady my
nerves. My stomach is churning – I'm terrified of what I might see. I close my eyes. For a few moments there's nothing. I concentrate harder, but all I can hear is the traffic from the main road, and the man who lives three doors down, hammering in his shed.

I open my eyes. ‘This isn't going to work,' I tell Sam. ‘I can't see anything.'

‘Keep trying,' he urges.

I'm about to shut my eyes again when I see Danny watching us through those daft loo-roll tubes.

‘What you doing?' he asks curiously.

‘Nothing. Just talking.'

I think he'll go away, but he creeps nearer and then sits down quietly behind us. He takes a small toy car out of his jeans pocket and starts pushing it round the grass, occasionally eyeing us when he thinks we aren't looking.

‘Try again,' Sam tells me.

I shut my eyes and wait. Again I can see nothing. An aeroplane flies overhead and the man in his shed starts drilling. I can hear Danny making car noises as he pretends to play nearby. It's hopeless. Frustrated, I'm about to open my eyes when suddenly, emerging from the swirling colours behind my eyelids, I can see a shape forming.

‘Sam . . . I can see something.'

‘What is it?'

I shut out all external noises and focus inwards.

‘It's . . . a circle.' I'm sure now. ‘A red circle.'

‘OK,' says Sam, ‘keep concentrating. Give yourself a chance.'

I try my best but the image is fading.

‘I don't know . . . there's a line too. A blue line,' I say, desperately trying to visualise more.

‘What else?'

I'm back to blackness. I shake my head.

‘Nothing. That's all.'

‘It doesn't make sense.'

‘A red circle and a blue line. It doesn't mean anything,' I say, disappointed.

Danny stops pushing his car on the grass and looks over at us. ‘Yes it does,' he says.

We turn to him and see his freckled face and clear blue eyes staring back at us earnestly.

‘It's the underground sign.'

I look at him and slowly realise he's right. ‘Danny, you're a genius!' I say, impulsively reaching out to give him a hug.

‘I know,' he replies with a grin, before strolling up the path to the house.

Sam turns to me. ‘Can you remember anything else?'

I close my eyes and concentrate again. ‘Nothing. Except that underground logo.'

‘So, if Callum was on a tube train the night he died, that's where we've got to start,' he says, suddenly getting to his feet.

‘What d'you mean “start”?' I ask nervously.

‘We've got to try and recreate his journey. Then maybe you'll remember more.'

I can feel the blood draining from my face as I think of the hordes of bodies in the confined space of a tube station.
Hundreds of people carrying a multitude of germs. My worst nightmare.

‘I . . . I don't think I can do it.'

Sam looks at me, puzzled. ‘But you're better now, aren't you?' he asks. ‘You said you were going back to school on Monday and everything.'

‘It's not that.' I sigh. ‘I've got this thing about being in crowded places. I can't cope with them. I get really panicky.'

There's an awkward silence.

‘So that's why you never wanted to get a bus or tube to the park . . . I thought you just liked walking.'

I hang my head. ‘I didn't want to tell you the real reason.'

‘I would have understood.'

‘Then please don't ask me to do this.'

‘But if you don't, you're never going to find out what happened that night,' says Sam urgently. ‘It's our only clue.'

I toss and turn all that night, thinking about what to do. I know Sam is right. The only hope I have of finding out what really happened to Callum is to try to retrace his steps – but I'm petrified. By the time I'm dressed the following morning, I've come to a decision. Before I can change my mind, I text Sam to tell him I'll meet him at the park at ten, then I cadge a lift from Joe, who's taking Danny to football practice.

‘You sure you're feeling OK, Becky?' Joe asks, as we drop Danny off at his practice ground.

‘I'm fine. Really. Don't worry. Just need a bit of fresh air.'

Despite my protestations, he insists on my staying with him in the car until we see Sam coming along the street.

‘Thanks for the lift,' I say, hopping out of the car.

‘You mind how you go . . . Stay with Sam,' he calls after me.

‘Don't worry, I will!' I reply, as I walk through the park gates and hurry over to Sam.

Sam takes my hand in his and holds it gently. ‘Don't be afraid,' he says quietly. ‘I'll be with you all the time.'

I give his hand a small squeeze and we head across the park, down past the still water of the boating lake and up to the gate on the opposite side. I think about the monster fish lurking beneath the surface and wonder if he's still there.

We walk along the street to the crossroads where the little shop sits low and squat between two elegant terraces. Then, instead of turning left into Callum's road, we go straight on for about a hundred metres, till we see the underground sign ahead of us.

‘Ready?' asks Sam.

‘Yeah,' I say, tightening my grip on his hand. ‘Let's go.'

We walk together into the tube station foyer. I glance around nervously. There are a few people milling about, but it reassures me slightly to see that the place is pretty empty. We head over to the ticket machine and study the tube map on the wall.

‘So where do we go?' Sam asks, turning to me.

As I scan the different stations, I try to weigh up whether one seems more important than any other, but nothing jumps out at me.

‘I don't know,' I reply with a bewildered shrug.

In the end we buy all-day travelcards. We go through the barrier and make our way down a winding tunnel until we reach an escalator, which I know will plunge us down into the depths of the station.

‘OK?' asks Sam.

I'm not, but I nod as confidently as I can.

As we step onto the escalator and ride down on its silver grilled steps, a sooty draught blasts up at us and makes me
shiver. I can hear the distant rumblings of trains travelling deep beneath us. I feel for Sam's hand and hold it tightly. He turns back to me and gives a reassuring smile, but he looks different – the pale fluorescent lighting has sucked the colour from his skin.

At the bottom of the escalator we are confronted by two tunnels, snaking off in opposite directions. As we stand between them, trying to decide which one to take, a crowd of people comes flooding out from the left-hand tunnel, surging around us. Seconds later, more people emerge from the other tunnel. Over the tannoy, a voice is spouting something about ‘unavoidable delays'.

‘Sam?' I say, looking at him fearfully.

‘Let's go,' he replies, and we start to weave our way down the second tunnel through the mass of people. I just manage to cling onto his hand until we get to the platform, but then we become separated by a few metres.

‘Go further along the platform,' Sam calls to me urgently. ‘We'll get on the next train . . .'

I try to catch him up, but two women pushing buggies come between us and I just can't get past them. ‘Sam – wait!' I call.

A train is pulling in now. Its doors swish open and, as people flood out, others surge forward, ready to climb on. Sam is about three metres away from me now. As he steps onto the train, people surge in front of me, filling the carriage and forcing Sam further down inside.

Before I can get any nearer, the doors to the carriage snap shut. For a few brief seconds, I catch a glimpse of Sam's
horrified face staring out at me from behind the grubby window, then I watch the train move slowly off, until it's swallowed completely by the darkness of the tunnel ahead.

I spin around, wondering what to do. The platform is still crowded and I desperately feel the urge to run for the exit, to get right out of this dark cave and back up into the sunshine outside. But I force my feet to remain planted where they are. Within a couple of minutes, a second train draws up at the platform. I figure that Sam will get out at the next station and wait for me there. All I have to do, I tell myself, is to get on this train, then get out at the next stop and rejoin him.

But this is easier said than done. Even if I manage to summon up the courage to follow my plan, the train in front of me is packed. I glance around the busy platform. How on earth are all these extra bodies going to fit in there too, I wonder, as my heart starts to thump faster.

The doors to the carriages swish open and several passengers get out, then everyone surrounding me suddenly surges forward. Caught in the moving tide of people, I nervously edge towards the nearest carriage entrance, then take two more small steps and find myself inside the train.

I planned to stay as close to the doors as I can, but I'm carried deeper inside until I'm standing in the middle of the carriage between two facing rows of seats. The hot air smells stale. I cover my nose and mouth with my hand, in the hope that I can somehow avoid breathing in anything bad. The doors at each end of the carriage are wide open. I can still get off. But within seconds they swish shut and it's too late. There's no escape now.

The train lurches away from the platform. I can't bear to hold onto anything, so I immediately fall sideways.

‘Sorry,' I mumble stupidly into the back of a grey overcoat, whose owner doesn't reply. Reluctantly, I reach my left arm above me and fix my hand around the handrail, which is coated, I know, with layers of invisible bacteria from the hundreds of hands that have touched it previously. It can't be long until we get to the next stop, I try to reassure myself, as the carriage lurches and rattles its way through the dark tunnel.

With each passing second, I become more and more aware of a thick, choking sensation building in my throat. My skin prickles hot and cold, my heart is racing. I lower my head and stare at the floor, which seems to be moving up and down. My whole body feels unsteady and weak – I'm getting giddy. Desperately I look up and fix my eyes on a single spot on the ceiling of the carriage. Just a few more seconds, I tell myself over and over again. I just have to hang on for a tiny bit longer and I'll make it.

But then something unexpected happens. The train grinds to a halt, its brakes squealing. We're all jolted forward and I fight hard to stay on my feet. Outside, there is nothing but
darkness. We've stopped in the middle of nowhere. There are low resigned groans and irritated mutters from people around me, followed by a subdued silence as everyone waits for something to happen.

A few minutes later, without warning, all the lights go out. The whole train is plunged into pitch black. There are gasps and a small child at the far end of the carriage starts to wail uncontrollably. Near to me I can hear the anxious voices of a French couple.