‘It’s ok, Oliver Olive.’ She strokes his wet hair. ‘We’re nearly at the road.’
Ahead through the trees Marc sees the black sheen of wet asphalt. He must be dreaming because he sees their van pulled askew into Leahy’s turnout. He thinks he hears Kimble yelling.
Marc stares at a thick, corded neck. He has never been so glad to see an ugly rose tattoo. The van shudders and jolts down the hill.
‘It keeps burning,’ Marc says. He meanders between consciousness and unconsciousness, between English and French.
Linus hushes Marc, cradling his head. ‘Nothing is burning. You’ve got hypothermia, I would say. Both of you.’
Riley is belted into the seat beside him. She bounces like a ragdollwith the van. Marc takes her and holds her steady. He pushes her pale face. ‘Wake up.’ He is afraid that she’s dead but she stirs and looks up at him with those eyes – his daughter’s eyes.
‘Riley,’ he says.
‘Oliver Olive.’ She reaches a trembling hand. ‘Did I really do it, to the children that night?’
‘You know you did,’ Marc says. ‘The night you made me leave.’
‘No,’ she says. ‘They are with me in Nowhere House. Hallie, Rufus, Whitey, Peach, Una …’
He wonders how often she has recited these names to herself in the dark. ‘I can’t help you, Riley,’ Marc says. ‘But you can help Silvie. She’s sick. You need to consent to donating your kidney. Say it now. Tell me you constent.’
‘Why?’ her voice wanders.
‘In case you die.’
‘So you didn’t come back for me.’
‘No. I came for her.’ Marc is exhausted. ‘Please.’
‘Is she like you?’ He can’t read the feeling in her voice, maybe he never could.
‘She’s not like anybody else in the world.’
Riley touches his cheek. ‘I hoped you’d have love. But I have to get back home as soon as I can. To my own little ones.’
Marc steels himself. He holds her hand tightly. ‘You were a child,’ he says. ‘We were both just children when it all happened. It wasn’t your fault. But this is now. You can save my daughter’s life.’ Marc takes a deep breath. ‘Your children would want you to help,’ he says softly. ‘I know they would.’
Riley’s face goes still with shock. She turns away from him, stares at the window, the driving rain. Her mouth moves silently, in some unheard conversation. He has lost her, Marc realises bitterly. He judged it wrong. Or maybe she wouldn’t have helped anyway, no matter what he said. He sees now that Riley herself is beyond help.
Marc lets himself collapse at the waist. He stares at the juddering floor of the van. It was all for nothing, in the end. The world is soft at the edges now and pointless. Nothing is real without Silvie.
A hand lifts his chin gently.
‘Don’t touch me,’ he says into her palm.
Riley raises Marc’s face to meet her gaze. ‘I’ll do it, Oliver Olive,’ she whispers. ‘I consent.’
‘Thank you.’ The relief is almost more than his body can take. Marc surrenders to black. But he sees that there is fire in the air, encircling them both in flame. It will never stop burning.
‘Linus and I agreed it was insane,’ Kimble says. ‘But we still came to get you.’ She shifts, trying to get comfortable on the plastic hospital chair. ‘Couldn’t see a thing, rain falling like park railings. And then the van stalled, just by Leahy’s turnout. Can I have your pudding?’
‘Sure,’ Marc says. He makes to pass it to her but his hands still haven’t lost their shake.
‘It was Linus who realised,’ Kimble takes the pudding and peels back the foil. ‘He said to me, “Marc knows this place. You realise that, Kimble? Marc is keeping things from you.”’
‘And I said—’ Kimble puts pudding in her mouth and closes her eyes. ‘I said, Marc would never lie to me like that. He would never trick me, persuade me to do a fake project for his own selfish reasons—’
‘Kimb—’
