Page 90 of The Vanishing Place
“There was once a little boy called Aiden. He was only six years old, but he was the best rugby player in the whole country.”
Maybe he couldn’t hear her. Maybe he couldn’t feel her next to him. But she was there.She was there. Effie needed her brother to know that she was there.
“His coach said that he’d never seen a boy throw a ball so far or run so fast.”
Aiden coughed and gulped for air, his jammed jaw like a fish carved out of stone. But Effie couldn’t cry—her tears would scare him. She had to stay strong. She didn’t realize she was already sobbing until the drips landed on Aiden’s forehead and she wiped them awaywith her sleeve. His little face was almost unrecognizable, his eyes sunken into two dark holes.
“The All Blacks heard about this magical little boy. So one day, they…”
But before Effie could finish, those cruel invisible fingers lashed out for him again, grabbing hold as he screamed. The merciless hands twisted and contorted his spine like a supplejack vine.
And the All Blacks asked Aiden to play for them.
Effie inched away, safe from her brother’s thrashing arms.
And they gave him black shorts and a black T-shirt with his name printed on it.
Aiden’s head bowed back and he gagged, his wide lips and his wide eyes gulping for air.
And Aiden smiled that great big smile as he ran onto the pitch.
Effie bit into her lip, breaking the skin.
He was the youngest ever All Black. Even younger than Jonah Lomu.
—
The next morning, as soon as the sun rose, Dad carried Aiden’s body back to Koraha. He wanted a doctor to tell them what had happened. He wanted a doctor to tell them why Aiden, who’d done nothing wrong or bad, had been taken from them.
Like some idiot doctor could ever answer that.
Dad went in front, and the rest of them followed in silence. Four didn’t cry as Effie waded through the river up to her waist. He clung to her back, silent, as his bare feet swung in the icy water. He didn’t complain when Effie said that he couldn’t walk, that he was too slow. Tia didn’t moan when it started to rain and the cold soaked through to her bones and gave her heels blisters.
Dad carried Aiden in his arms like a baby, her brother’s lifeless legs dangling in the air like two bags of sand.
—
June arrived at the medical center five minutes after them—she must have driven over as soon as the nurse called her. The doctor took another hour, driven in special, apparently.
June hugged each of them, even the rag doll in Dad’s arms, but only Four and Tia cried. Effie’s eyes were red-rimmed and sore from refusing any more tears. Tears hadn’t stopped Aiden from dying. And they sure as hell wouldn’t bring him back.
Dad’s eyes were red and swollen too. The grief had buckled his shoulders, shrinking him, and the sadness had scrubbed the color from his face, his skin raw and blotchy. Looking at Dad hurt almost as much as looking at what the invisible horror had left of Aiden.
“I’ll watch them,” said June, nodding at Dad. “You take Aiden in.”
Effie stood in the clinical light, squinting in the white glow, as the doctor touched a hand to Dad’s back. Like he could do anything. Like there was any fucking point in them being there. If it wasn’t for the strength of Four’s grip, his hand clutched around Effie’s trembling fingers, she might have marched forward and told the doctor to keep his useless hands off her brother. To piss off.
“Come here, sweethearts.” June opened her arms to Tia and Four, and Tia sank into them.
But Four’s grip tightened, crushing Effie’s fingers, and he shook his head.
“Effie,” he mumbled.
She knelt down in front of him and wiped the strands of wet hair from his face. Then she took off his soaking clothes, helped him into a set of pajamas that June had brought, and found him a glass of water.
“We could go back to mine if you’d like,” June said.
Effie shook her head. “We’re staying here.”
