Rain In My Heart (16 page)

PART THRE
E–
Heroics

Chapter Thirty

            
 ‘
Gemma
?
’

            
 ‘
GEM
?
’

              We each took a corner and searched the room.  It was a big space, lots of hidden areas and obstacles.  The dark added to the confusion.  I was worried sh
e’
d fallen, maybe hit her head on something, knocked herself out.  I looked under every table, every chair.  Curtis checked the store cupboard again.  Greg checked the sinks.  Byron leaned up against a bookshelf, casually pickedfluff from his jumper - as though Gemm
a’
s absence was a matter of curiosity to him, rather than a worry.  He made an unhelpful remark about how she may have encountered the thing that cut his knee.

‘
Leave it out, Byro
,’
said Leon.
 ‘
This is
n’
t the time for your warped sense of reality.'          

Greg rose up.                 

'
I’
m going to check the stairwell
.
’

          
 
'Be careful,' I said, on impulse.                

Leon and I followed him.  We stood at the stop and held the candle so he could see.

            
 ‘
Gemma
?’
he called.
 ‘
Gem?  Are you down here
?
’

              The water sloshed.  Greg's voice echoed.  The candlelight flickered on the ceiling.

            
 ‘
GEMMA
?’
we shouted, in unison.

              There was no reply.  And no indication of any leg-cutting monster - of course there was
n’
t.  The stairwell was only a few meters wide, just wall, floor, steps, and a handrail.  The door to the link corridor looked shut, locked.   The only way out was though the open font door. Greg waded deeper into the water and peered outside.

            
 ‘
I
t’
s all black
,’
he whispered, dismayed.

He came back up the stairs, shaking his head.  We returned to the main room, where Curtis was emptying boxes, upturning recycling bins.

          
 ‘
So, where is she
?’
Greg urged, close to tears.
 ‘
She ca
n’
t just vanish
.
’

It was an odd sight - this tall, sturdy Goth guy shaking with emotion, frail as a cobweb.  I do
n’
t have a problem with men crying, but Greg just was
n’
t the type.

‘
Do you think she might have left
?’
said Leon.
 ‘
She kept going on about wanting to get out.  Maybe she got bored of waiting?  We were arguing about it for so long - '

Greg shook his head.

‘
She would
n’
t
,’
he said.
 ‘
She would
n’
t go without me
.
’

He was right. 

But what he did
n’
t know was that Gemma had left Molly. 

The guilt slammed into me.  Maybe that was it?  Gemma had had enough of waiting, enough of arguing with Byron, enough of stressing about the whereabouts of her little sister, so she'd gone, gone to find her - without having to confess to Greg.

          
 ‘
Maybe she did a runner through the broken window when no one was looking
?’
said Curtis.

We all glanced at the window.  The exit was tiny.

‘
But why would she go alone and so suddenly
?’
said Byron, ponderously, as if trying to solve a difficult maths equation. 

‘
I mean
,
’ he added, adjusting the bandage on his knee
,‘
she knew you all wanted to go with her
-
’

Greg spun round.

‘
What do
you
know
?’
he said.

This time, I wondered if the suspicion was justified.  Something about Byro
n’
s demeanour wasn't right.  While everyone else was panicking, he was completely calm. 

Greg snapped.  He lunged towards Byron.  Byron held his hands up.

‘I’
m afraid I do
n’
t know any more about Gemm
a’
s absence than you do
,
’ he said.

But it was too late.

Greg squared up to him, his lanky black fringe flopping in his face.   He was two foot taller than Byron and twice as broad.  He jabbed his index finger in Byro
n’
s face and spoke with quiet, stern intensity.

‘
For the sheer fact that your leg is mashed and you were lying on the ground around the time she disappeared,
I’
ll give you the benefit of the doubt.  But have it known, lurk-boy, that
I’
m on to you.  When we get out of here, I'm going to get to the bottom of every little trick you've pulled.  And when I do, you're going to regret the day you were born.'

Then he stepped away.

‘
Well said
,’
crowed Curtis, patting Greg on the back.
 ‘
Properly put him in his place.  And do
n’
t stress.  Gemm
a’
s probably gone for a wee or something.  You know what girls are like.  Obsessed about privacy
.
’

Leon glanced at his watch.

‘
For half an hour?  Tha
t’
s some wee!  Maybe she went looking for something to eat
?
’

‘
No
,’
I said.

I realised it was time to speak up, before things got out of hand.

‘
Sh
e’
s gone
.
’

Everyone looked at me.

‘
I do
n’
t know how sh
e’
s done it
,’
I said
,‘
but sh
e’
s managed to get out
.
’

‘
Not on her own
,’
Greg protested
.‘
Not without telling me.  She would
n’
t
.
’

              I looked down at my feet, felt the guilt wash over me.

            
 ‘
She was more desperate than you realise
,’
I whispered
.‘
Sorry Greg, I'm afraid there's something she did
n’
t tell you.  She was scared you'd be angry with her
-
’

            
 ‘
What
?
’

              I took a breath and explained the situation with Molly.  When I finished, Greg sat back and pummelled his temples.  He looked wired and exhausted at the same time.

            
 ‘
I
knew
there was something going on
,’
he said.
 ‘
Why didn't she
tell
me? I might have been annoyed with her, but just to leave and avoid the issue entirely?  She could
n’t…
she would
n’t…
ther
e’
s no way sh
e’
ll get through the water.  She knows that.  Her swimming is rubbish
.
’

              As we listened to Greg, the bleak reality seeped to the surface.  Gemma on her own, surviving the current, escaping the flood, clambering up muddy hills - it did
n’
t seem likely.  She was tough in attitude, but not physically.  She hated sports.  She always bunked PE.  Every week at swimming class, she miraculously had her period.

Leon came over, squeezed Gre
g’
s shoulder.

            
 ‘
Sorry, mate
,’
he said solemnly.
 ‘
Maybe sh
e’
s okay, though?  Maybe the current has eased off now?  It has
n’
t rained for a while
.
’

            
 ‘I’
m sure sh
e’
ll let us know
,’
I said.

            
 ‘
How
?’
said Curtis
.‘
With morse code
?
’

            
 ‘
Sh
e’
ll phone.  Sh
e’
ll phone as soon as sh
e’
s safe.  And then sh
e’
ll get help for the rest of us
.
’

              Then I remembered.  No phones.

Chapter Thirty One

              Leon and Curtis tried their best to reassure Greg, but I hung back.  I did
n’
t know what else to say.   For one who was known for having a positive and forgiving outlook, I was struggling.  The guilt and confusion was draining me.  The nightmare of our predicament seemed close, too close. 

              Byron sidled up.  Silently, I wished him away.

            
 ‘
Another mystery
,’
he said.
 ‘
First the phones, now Gemma - '

I bristled. 

'So what is it
?’
I said.
 ‘
What's going on
?
’

‘
I do
n’
t want to say what I think, Kate.  The more I say, the more chance I'll be blamed.  And I do
n’
t want to be blamed for this.  Not by Greg.  Look at him.  H
e’
sbeyond reason.  Withou
t‘
Gremm
a’
,he's scared.  And when people get scared they become unpredictable
.
’

It was true.  Greg had worked himself into a state.   From the corner of my eye, I could see him crashing around the art room, crying Gemm
a’
s name.  Leon and Curtis were trying to reassure to him, but it did
n’
t make a difference.  He was desperate.

‘
Just his way of dealing with it
,’
I said protectively.
 ‘
You know he's been through a hard time, losing his mum and everything.  Even though they have their ups and downs, he and Gemma are, like,
soul mates
.'

‘
You reckon?' said Byron.

'Yes, I do.'

'You really believe people have
soul mates?
'

He paused for a moment, then looked at me.

‘
So what kind o
f‘
soul mat
e
’ leaves her eight-year old sister alone for a day, buys the girl off with pocket money, just so she can grope a giant in an empty school
?
’

‘
You ca
n’
t say that
!’
I argued.
 ‘
Not while Gemm
a–
and Molly for that matte
r–
not while the
y’
re missing! You say you do
n’
t want to be blamed, then you say heartless things like that
!
’

When he saw I was getting angry, he backtracked.

‘
Me and my mouth
,’
he said.
 ‘
Sorry, Kate.  I did
n’
t mean to sound quite so...blunt.  The point I was trying to make is that Gemma Dyce can look after herself.  But thanks to her selfishness, an innocent eight year old is frightened and alone in the middle of a disaster zone. 
That
upsets me.  Children need protecting.  I mean
,’
- he started to laugh
-‘
look at me.  A mum who does
n’
t care.  And a dad who never stops.  Punching me, that is.  No on
e’
s
ever
protected me.  I like to think
I’
ve turned out okay, but the rest of the world might disagree
-
’

He shrugged and walked away, went back to his private corner, left me standing, wondering. 

Rya
n‘
Byro
n’
Wheeler: awkward loner in need of friendship, or a calculating nutcase?  Before I had the chance to organise my thoughts, however, Greg went pow!  The volcano erupted.  All that pent up anger and emotion, suddenly released.   He burst from Curtis and Leo
n’
s grip, eyes wide, body pulsing, and yelled at the top of his voice.

            
 ‘
I
ca
n’
t
,’
he said, over and over.
 ‘
I
ca
n’
t
be here anymore.  I need Gemma.  I want Gemma. 
I’
ve got to find her
.
’

            
 ‘
Relax
!’
begged Leon.
 ‘
Ther
e’
s nothing we can do. She'll be on her way home.  She'll probably be sorting out help for the rest of us right now.'                           

Unlikely, but it was nice of Leon to be so encouraging.

              'What if she needs me
?’
said Greg, oblivious to Leon's or anyone else's comments.
 ‘I’
ve got to go after her
.
’

              Then he powered forward, pushed the chairs aside and ran straight to the stairwell.  Leon and Curtis sprinted after him.   I joined them.   We all leapt on Greg, took his arms, tried to pull him back.

            
 ‘
Get off
!’
he said.
 ‘
Let me go
!
’

              He was so strong.  It was hard to keep a grip of him, let alone stop him.

‘
Do
n’
t
!’
Leon begged.
 ‘
Do
n’
t go in the flood, mate! Do
n’
t risk it
!
’

            
 ‘
Please
,’
I said.
 ‘
Stay here and wait.  We do
n’
t even know if sh
e’
s definitely gone.  Maybe you were right.  Maybe Byron was
-
’

              But before I could say anymore, Greg overpowered us, pushed us out of his way.  He tore down the stairs with a look in his eyes: a fury, a rage.  When I saw that look, I knew there was nothing we could do.  He was lost to his cause. With one gargantuan Viking-style charge he burst through the door and threw himself into the water.              

              For a moment, it looked like he was winning.  He crashed through the torrent, big legs striding, aims flailing.  We shouted to him, begged him to come back, but our words were lost in the din.   It looked like he was aiming for the lamppost, the one that had maimed Curti
s’
s car.  If he could only get to it, I thought, something to hold on to - if he onlycould, h
e’
d have a chance.

            
 ‘
Look out
!’
yelled Curtis.

An uprooted tree, caught in the flow, suddenly span sideways and careered towards him.

‘
Tree
!’
we all shouted.

Greg turned, saw the tree coming, tried to dodge it, but as he leapt to the side he lost his footing.  He went down like a tower, face first, then came up splashing, choking for breath. 
I’
ll never forget the way his eyes went as wide as plates, frightened and awed.  He tried and tried to get back in control, to stay on the surface.  He fought for his position, but the current overwhelmed him.  All we could do was watch, as his huge frame was dragged under and eaten by the water. 

We stayed at the door, for what must have been ten minutes.   We watched and hoped and
believed
that h
e’
d reappear.   We stayed and we stayed and
we
stayed
. 

The water rushed. 

The wind shook. 

Andwhen Greg did
n’
t reappear, in our hearts, we knew.