Things I Want My Daughters to Know_ A Novel - Elizabeth Noble [142]
Things were faster and slower when she came back out into the party. The dancing was more frenetic, but her own movements felt like she was wading through treacle. Her hands looked like they were someone else’s, taking the joint and raising it to her lips. She didn’t want to do it. But she was doing it, anyway. And Nathan, when she found him in the front room, loved it. And that was good, right? He laughed and pulled her toward him possessively by the belt loops on her jeans, knocking their pelvic bones together through the denim. “I’ve got to go home, Nathan.”
“Stop worrying, babe. We’ll go soon. I said I’d take you, didn’t I?”
“I think I’m going to be sick.”
“Don’t be sick in here, for Christ’s sake.” Someone—was it Nathan?—was pushing her toward the front door. The fresh air that had been so welcome in the kitchen a minute (an hour? a week? a lifetime?) ago hit her like a train and made her so dizzy she tried to sit down on the front step. Someone wouldn’t let her, and now she knew it wasn’t Nathan, because Nathan was swaying in front of her. She vaguely understood that she was being ejected.
She wanted to, needed to lean on Nathan, but she couldn’t, otherwise she knew they’d both fall down. She kept thinking about an infant Bambi, learning to stand up, in the film. That was how her legs felt. It made her giggle, but she didn’t sound like herself to herself. When they got to his mum’s car, he pushed her hard against the door and kissed her hungrily. He tasted of smoke and beer. She was horribly, lucidly afraid, for a moment, that his tongue was going to make her vomit. And there was the erection, poking at her.
“Nathan,” she protested, her palms against his insistent chest. “I’m late. We can’t…”
He stood back, hands raised in a gesture of surrender. “Okay, okay.” Opened her door and gave a flourish. “Your chariot, madam….”
Hannah climbed in, leaning her head gratefully against the back of the seat and closing her eyes in the vain hope that it might make the ride slow down so that she could get off.
Mark
“So where were you?” Mark fed Lisa the question, hoping Hannah would interrupt the answer.
“I met a friend in town. I ended up going back to her place. Actually, she hadn’t heard about me and Andy, so I poured out the whole sorry story and had a good cry and had fish and chips and watched DVDs. A rocking single girl’s Saturday night.”
Lisa looked at Mark for a response, but he wasn’t really listening. It was nearly two o’clock now. He’d tried her mobile, twice. But it was switched off. Anger had long since given way to fear.
When the phone rang, Lisa exhaled. At last. Bloody Hannah. Mark picked up on the second ring.
“Hannah?”
Lisa watched his face.
“Yes. I’m Mark Forbes. Hannah, yes. That’s my daughter.”
His face drained of color instantaneously.
“My God.”
“What?”
He put his hand over the receiver.
“There’s been an accident.” Went back to the call.
“Yes.” A long pause. “Right. Okay. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Thank you.” He hung up and leaned his head against the wall.
“Mark? Talk to me. What’s happened?”
“Hannah’s been in a car accident. She’s in casualty.”
“Jesus. Is she okay?”
“She’s okay.”
“Thank God.”
“I’m going down there.”
“I’m coming with you.”
She already had her jacket on. Mark grabbed his car keys from the hook by the door, and they almost ran to the car.
Hannah
Casualty departments at 2:30 A.M. Sunday morning told a very sorry story about society. Mark couldn’t believe he was walking into the narrative. He gave his name and Hannah’s at the desk. The harassed receptionist didn’t look up at him as she told him to take a seat, that someone would be through to talk to him in a moment.
Lisa took his hand and squeezed. “It’s good that we have to wait. The longer the wait, the more trivial the injury.