‘We’re coming in to get you out, but we need to break the rear window,’ his booming voice continued. ‘There’s damage blocking it from opening so we need to smash it.’

  He was playing his torch around the bus as he called, checking there was no one trapped underneath. Jodie did the same. Les had been helping kids out through one of the front windows, the only one that seemed both smashed and accessible, but now Seb’s torch focused on the rear.

  ‘We’re about to break open the rear window,’ he called, still in that amazing voice. Where had he learned to do this—it seemed loud enough to be heard from one end of the island to the other! But there was no panic behind it. ‘Those still in the bus, turn away from the rear, and if anyone’s trapped, I want them protected. I want faces covered from any debris coming in. Use your bodies if you must, to protect yourself and others. Right, everyone keep absolutely still. Now!’

  Then he grabbed the stick Jodie was holding and handed it to Les. ‘Sorry, love, but Les is stronger. You change to front window duty, helping anyone who can still access there.’ His voice rang out again. ‘Back window clear?’

  ‘C-clear.’ It was a quavering voice from within the bus, full of terror.

  ‘Then hold still, everyone, and we’ll clear a way to have you all free.’

  * * *

  There’d been thirteen kids on the bus. They got twelve of them out and, thankfully, among the kids being helped out of the wreckage, there seemed no critical injuries. There were lacerations, many of them deep. There were fractures. All these kids would need to be checked for internal damage, but for now there were no fatalities, and hopefully no injuries that meant death was likely.

  By the time the twelfth kid was freed, Angus, Martin and as many capable islanders as Misty had been able to contact had joined them on the ledge. Floodlights were being set up and there were enough helpers to make the ledge crowded. It was growing even more crowded because the water was washing in.

  Angus, Jodie and Martin were working as swiftly as they could, checking airways, stemming bleeding, trying to keep injured kids still, trying to calm rising hysteria. The least injured kids were being helped up the cliff, out of the range of the water. The tide was coming in at such a rate now, though, that the more seriously injured would need to be moved.

  They needed choppers, stretchers, airlifts. They needed an army.

  But in the minibus Seb needed a miracle. Someone other than him. There was one kid still in the van. One kid still trapped and the water was rising.

  A girl. Eighteen? Nineteen? Trapped by the arm.

  Cody was in the bus with him, the local cop, big, burly seemingly unflappable, following Seb’s directions. Both of them were trying to ignore the rising water as they tried to shift crushed seats, struggling against whatever was holding the girl trapped. She seemed to be drifting in and out of consciousness, moaning for her mum, crying with pain and fear in her moments of consciousness.

  Finally, the mangled seat that had been blocking their ability to figure what was holding her came away in Cody’s hands. And Seb saw why they hadn’t been able to tug her free.

  Somehow, her arm was through the window. Trapped under the crushed side of the bus? Dear God...

  Another wave washed through, two inches deep, maybe more. Another.

  The girl’s face was lying on metal. They couldn’t lift her. They couldn’t...

  ‘We gotta lift the bus.’ Cody’s voice was grim as death, but Seb wasn’t listening. He was lying full length on the metal frame of the bus, playing his torch over the trapped arm.

  And what he saw... He felt sick. He pulled back, just a little but far enough so he could speak, softly but urgently, to the cop.

  ‘Mate, it’s half amputated already, and trying to move the bus—a team out there trying to lift, rocking it, the mess, the broken glass—if it slams back we’ll kill her. We need airbags to slowly lift the whole bus, but there’s no time, and all to save an arm that looks crushed beyond repair.’ He took a deep breath, faced the inevitable—and then he moved on.

  ‘Right. I need Jodie in here. Angus won’t fit where I need him to be—Jodie’s smaller.’ He gave a mirthless laugh. ‘Also, the last thing Jodie’s scared of is a bit of seawater. I suspect even if we’re submerged she’ll just hold her breath and keep going. I’ll need her for the anaesthetic. Tell her what’s happening—between them, Angus and Jodie’ll figure what I need.’ And then, as another wave washed in, he said, ‘Tell ’em fast.’

  * * *

  She wasn’t an anaesthetist. She wasn’t trained for this sort of crisis. Was anyone?

  It seemed Seb was.

  Anaesthetising a severely injured patient while lying in a wash of water among the chaos of a smashed bus was the stuff of nightmares, but Seb gave Jodie no time to indulge in fear.

  ‘I’ve worked in a war-torn country for most of my life,’ he told her simply. ‘I’m no surgeon but I’ve faced this before.’

  Part of her was horrified, but she didn’t have time to ask more. From the moment she crawled through the chaos of twisted metal to reach him, he acted as though they were in Theatre already, scrubbed, ready to go. His calm voice implied this was normal, nothing out of the ordinary. His instructions were crisp, imbued with authority—infinitely reassuring in a situation that was anything but.

  Before she’d crawled into the bus, she and Angus had done a fast think-through of what they’d need. There’d been no directions from Seb apart from that one passed-on order: ‘Tell Jodie I need her as an anaesthetist for an amputation. Tell her I need everything.’ Then Seb had simply assumed their competence, assumed the tools, the drugs he’d need would be there. And as she manoeuvred herself into the tiny space she needed to be in if she was to be of any use, as she tugged the bag of gear in after her, she thought he was assuming she was simply part of a team skilled in this sort of crisis.

  Had he slipped back into war-torn Al Delebe?

  But thank God for that, she thought, as she organised lights, a place to store the instruments they’d need out of reach of the water, as they talked fast and quietly of anaesthetic and risk. Of all the people to have...

  She had a sudden flash of Seb as a kid. Living in a country where this sort of thing happened all the time.

  They were working in a wash of seawater. Outside were the sounds of continuing chaos—the surf, the shouts of rescuers, the sobs of frightened kids. She could hear a helicopter above, maybe circling, trying to find a place to land.

  Maybe a chopper would hold someone more qualified than her to help, she thought as the anaesthetic took hold, but then Seb’s voice cut through.

  ‘Ready? Block everything out, love, there’s only this.’

  And there was.

  There was only Seb, and oh, thank God for him. The operation was appalling but they were fighting to save a life and there was no choice.

  She couldn’t have done it. She wouldn’t have the skills, she wouldn’t have the courage. But the alternative was to let the girl die.

  And it seemed she did have the skills, or enough of the skills to support Seb’s surgery. He simply assumed she was up for it—and maybe that was because he had no choice. She was all he had.

  I’m all he has...

  And at some time during that dreadful interlude, the phrase started echoing in her head.

  She was all he had.

  Right now, it was true, but it wasn’t just now. He’d used her to prevent Cantrell Holdings continuing its path of ecological destruction. He’d used her to keep the team in Al Delebe functioning.

  And more.

  He’d used her body to comfort him, to warm him, to give him strength when so many depended on him, when the weight of responsibility must seem almost impossible.

  And now...the way he was working, the skill, the assurance, told her that horror had been part of his life. For ever?

  And then she thought, what a privilege to be part of it. What a gift to be a partner to this man. To be a...helpmeet.

  Helpmeet. The word was old-fashioned, used in the past in an almost derogatory sense. A man and his helpmeet.

  This was her turf, though. Her island. This bus crash was her responsibility.

  So, right now, she was a woman with a helpmeet.

  She was working swiftly, handing implements, swabbing, making sure the lights were in the right place, adjusting her head lamp, the torches, to make sure his focus was where it needed to be. Working as hard as he was, doing the work of a team of theatre staff.

  But no, she thought. She wasn’t working as hard as he was. She didn’t have the skills to save this girl. He had the skills—and the opportunity, she conceded—to save so many.

  And when finally he pulled back, using his strength to pull the girl free, leaving the mangled arm where it lay, but finally able to hold her head above the rising water, when he said, in a voice that was curiously detached, ‘Right, let’s get her out of here,’ she felt a wave of something so powerful she almost forgot to breathe.

  He’d done this thing, but he’d done so much more besides. So much before.

  And with that thought came more. She’d held herself back because she was afraid to commit. She’d held herself apart. Why?

  She thought of the solitude of his life and she thought solitude had been her god. Was she utterly, totally selfish? Was she crazy?

  She wanted to reach for him now, to hold him, to take the strained look from his face, to take as much of his burden as she could from his shoulders.

  She couldn’t—of course she couldn’t. All she could do was back out of her crawl space, clamber out of the wreckage, leaving him holding his patient out of the water.

  Outside there was chaos but it seemed the chaos was organised. There were paramedics from the chopper—they must finally have found a place to land. There were so many more. They were treating injured kids, but as she emerged, they all stilled. They’d been waiting for Seb—to save a life?

  ‘He’s done it,’ she croaked, and her voice didn’t come out right. There were so many emotions. ‘She’s free. If you could get the stretcher in there...’

  And then Angus stepped forward and gave her a fierce hug—and she took it with relief and hugged back. She needed a hug.

  She was a loner. She’d always been a loner. But right now the concept of being a loner seemed ridiculous. Seb was still in the bus, still working, still intent on saving a life. All around her were islanders, paramedics, a team of people all intent on doing just that.

  No man is an island...

  It was a quote from a poem. Donne, she thought, almost hysterically, and she remembered learning it in school as a fourteen-year-old, just before...just before Hali.

  And then, after the drama, the pain, the fear surrounding the birth of her little girl, she remembered thinking of the same quote and deciding the poet was wrong.

  No man is an island...

  So now...she hugged Angus back and she thought, Maybe Donne had it right all along?

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  WHO KNEW WHAT the time was?

  Who cared? She woke and sunbeams were streaming over the bed. It must be late, she thought dreamily, but it was more than late when she’d finally slept. The first rays of dawn had been creeping over the island as the last of the kids had been loaded onto the third medevac chopper and sent on their way to Brisbane.

  There’d been no fatalities. There’d been broken bones, lacerations, things that would heal.

  Or things that wouldn’t. One lass would be facing a future without her left arm. Months of rehabilitation. A life that was changed for ever.

  As was hers.

  Instinctively, she reached out for Seb. Her bed had become their bed, a shared space where their precious independence had been put aside. What independence? It had been an illusion, she thought as the emotions, the self-knowledge of the night before flooded back.

  ‘Seb,’ she whispered and turned to touch him.

  He wasn’t there.

  Blearily, she opened one eye and checked out the bedside clock. Eleven. Eleven?

  Yikes.

  Monday. It was Monday, she told herself. Monday was one of Seb’s Brisbane days. Seriously, would he have risen at six and caught the ferry to the mainland? Was he so driven?

  And once again the thought of his overwhelming responsibilities swept over her. How could one man keep on with such a load? And be alone.

  Right now, she felt alone. She wanted him...here.

  She just wanted him.

  What was happening in the outside world? It felt surreal that she was lying in bed, soaking in the sunbeams washing over the bed, while Seb was somewhere in Brisbane—what, operating? Did he have a surgical list today? Or at one of his interminable company meetings as he struggled to get the control he needed?

  Meanwhile, his wife lay in bed and thought, Angus is rostered on for clinic this morning, and Misty will still be able to back him up if there’s trouble. I can lie here for a while longer. Maybe I can go catch a wave?

  No. It felt deeply wrong.

  Her whole life felt out of kilter.

  Confused, she flung back the covers and headed out to the kitchen. And paused.

  Usually, Seb had a fast breakfast before he headed out. This little house didn’t run to a dishwasher, so he’d rinse his dishes and leave them on the sink. Also, he’d feed Freya and let her out.

  But there were no dishes on the sink and Freya was still on her bed by the stove. She wriggled her welcome as Jodie appeared, and then headed for the door. Fast. It seemed she’d been holding on. How early had Seb left? He must have been running for the ferry.

  Jodie let her out. A letter lay on the veranda. Mail. Every islander would be doing what they could this morning, she thought, picking it up. Dot must have delivered this, thinking to spare her the walk down to the post office to collect it.

  One letter. Formal. Buff envelope, almost the type a legal firm might send.

  She double-checked the address, thinking legal letters were surely Seb’s domain, but it was definitely hers. She sat on the back step, gave Freya a hug as she raced up for a pat and then slit the envelope.

  Dear Ms Tavish

  We’re writing on behalf of the child you gave up for adoption on the...

  Her heart seemed to just...stop. Her eyes were already starting to blur. She swiped unwanted, surely unnecessary, tears away with the back of her hand, and forced herself to read on.

  It appears that Hali is eager to meet you, and her parents have signified their willingness to get in touch. If you’re agreeable they’ve suggested a possible meeting.

  There’s no compulsion for you to agree to this, and if this raises concerns for you we suggest you get in touch with our counsellor on...

  For long, long minutes she stared down at the parchment, almost as if she was afraid it might disintegrate in her hand.

  Hali. Her Hali.

  Oddly, the joy that suffused her first and foremost was that they hadn’t changed her name. She was still...her Hali?

  Freya was now turning mad puppy circles in front of her, anxious to share her morning ritual—a piece of toast? But that was Seb’s job, or rather Seb’s pleasure. A vet would have frowned him down—dogs shouldn’t eat human food—but Seb had just laughed. ‘Aren’t we lucky there’s no vet on the island, hey, Freya?’

  Seb. She rose and went inside to put bread in the toaster, but her mind was in overdrive. This letter. She wanted—no, she needed to show Seb. She wanted to share.

  Maybe she could go to Brisbane. Find him.

  She had a sudden vision of seeing Hali...together? She’d need courage and Seb could...would...give her courage.

  Why would she need him?

  Why did she need him?

  She turned back to read the letter again, and there was such a jumble in her mind that she could hardly take it in. The emotions of the night before. The way Seb had held her when they’d finally showered and fallen into bed—they’d been exhausted beyond belief but still he’d held her. She’d gone to sleep in his arms, the nightmares of the night receding.

  But she was a loner. Wasn’t she?

  What a lie.

  And suddenly she found herself kneeling and hugging the big puppy tight, holding her as if her life depended on it. Confused but game, Freya did her canine best to hug back.

  She’d never let anyone close. She’d never even let her dog close.

  But why?

  ‘Stupid, thy name is Jodie,’ she whispered, thinking of the exhaustion on Seb’s face, thinking of all he was facing, thinking of...her helpmeet.

  Her lover.

  Her husband.

  ‘I need to find him,’ she told Freya and rose but, to Freya’s disapproval, she didn’t move across to the bench to fetch the toast. Instead, she headed for the bathroom. She needed to dress. If she had to go to Brisbane to find him then so be it.

  ‘Toast’ll have to wait,’ she called back over her shoulder. ‘Sorry, Freya, love, I need to find...my other love.’

  And then she tugged open the bathroom door—and there he was.

  Seb.

  He was slumped on the bathroom floor. Unconscious. Lying in a pool of blood.

  Dear God...dead?

  * * *

  He wasn’t dead. Those first frantic seconds as she knelt, as she fought to find a pulse, as panic almost overwhelmed her, would live with her for ever.

  What...? How...?

  Think. As she found his pulse, thready but racing, as she realised life was still there, she had to fight with everything she possessed to put herself in doctor mode. What she wanted to do was to tug him into her arms and wail. Somehow, she managed to sit back, force back panic and assess.

  Blood. He’d been vomiting blood? Bright blood, fresh. He hadn’t been here for long then. But so much blood.

 

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