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My happy mood had melted away like butter on hot toast. I pasted on a semblance of a smile, as I went with Dean to the restaurant and waited for a table. I didn’t care what my family thought. I made my peace with that a long time ago.
Didn’t I?
We were shown to a table near the window and placed our food orders. It wasn’t fully dark yet, and the lights twinkled around the bay. I gazed at them, lost in thought.
“I’m going to ask,” said Dean, “and then I won’t bring it up again. Why do they treat you like that? Families are supposed to stick together, no matter what.”
His would. He talked lovingly of his brothers and sister, and with gentle exasperation about his parents. He’d be a great husband and father one day.
“I guess the party clinched it. They were all away for the weekend, and I invited some friends over. It got a bit out of hand.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Define out of hand.”
“Emptying Dad’s wine cellar and drinking his best whisky. Trashing the kitchen and the lounge. They had to replace all the carpets and a load of furniture. I haven’t finished repaying him yet.”
“Wow.” Dean paused, and I braced for his derision. “Was it a good party?” he asked.
I shrugged. “I don’t remember. I was off my head for most of it. I woke in the morning with a killer hangover, and saw the mess and panicked. There was a moment where I considered telling Mum we’d been burgled, but I couldn’t do it. It was just after Marnie died.” I stumbled over her name. “I wanted to escape from everything for a while.”
“I guess they didn’t take it too well?”
“Dad threw me out. Packed up my stuff and left it on the drive. He believes in tough love.”
“I’m sorry.” Dean closed his hand over mine. “Sorry you had to go through that. And sorry they can’t see how wrong they were.”
“What would your parents have done?” Why did I ask that? His family was worlds apart from mine. “Dumb question. You don’t have to answer.”
“Well,” said Dean. “The first time I got majorly drunk—like barfing-everywhere drunk—I was sixteen. Me and my best mate had been to a gig with fake IDs, and then on to the local Indian restaurant, and... yeah. It didn’t end well. We made it back to my place, and it was like something out of a horror movie. I threw up just inside the house. Mike went next. He claims he’s a sympathetic vomiter, but believe that if you will. Someone was in the downstairs toilet, so we dashed upstairs, but neither of us made it.” Dean sank his face into his hand. “There was a trail of curry-sick from the front door, up the stairs, and all along the landing to the bathroom. My mum’s face was a picture. To this day, I’ve not been able to eat Vindaloo.” He shuddered, and then peeked at me through his fingers. “Do I need to carry on? Just thinking about it is making me queasy.”
“There’s more?”
“Uh huh. Mike and I had to scrub the carpet clean. Repeatedly. I spent the entire weekend with my hands immersed in buckets of soapy water. And as a penance, I was on bathroom-cleaning duty for a month, scrubbing the toilets with an old toothbrush. That was how Mum and Dad disciplined us—by allocating additional chores.” He squeezed my hand. “I’d make a joke about it being brutal, but compared to your parents, they’re soft as anything.”
“I like that model of parenting.” His funny story softened the sharp edges of my distress. I’d be upset again later, probably in the early hours of the morning or when I was next alone, but for now, I’d be okay. Thanks to Dean. “Let’s talk about something else,” I said.
Our food arrived, and Dean dug into his fried noodles, moving his chopsticks with ease. “I have another confession,” he said. “First time I saw someone eating katsu chicken curry, my buddy told me it looked like roadkill, and I’ve never been able to order it.”
“Okay, I have a confession, too. I can’t eat the ramen soup without ending up wearing most of it. Those tiny little spoons are great for holding broth, but when you add some beansprouts or bok choy? How in God’s name can that work?”
Dean laughed, and the conversation moved away from family, to food, and then skipped along like a stone skimming across the sea. I wouldn’t let my family ruin my night.
From Wagamama, we went straight to the TSB Arena, the only indoor venue at the festival. We danced and sang along in the Villainy concert, and there, in the crush and noise and heat, I found solace. That might have something to do with the way Dean acted as my shield at all times. He stood behind me, hands around my middle, protecting me from anyone that might jostle me or step on my toes. I’d never danced like this before. I felt safe in a way I never expected.
The rain intensified while we were indoors, and when we left, we emerged to a downpour. Water splashed around us, drumming on the concrete floor, to rival the band now playing on stage. We’d planned to walk along the waterfront to the tent at the far end of the event, to catch the final act. Did we still want to do that? We had half an hour to kill before Shapeshifter took the stage, and the tent was only ten minutes away.
I huddled closer to Dean. “What do you want to do? We’ll get saturated if we go along the waterfront. Do you want to stay here longer?”
The venue was filling up as we waited. It would soon be at capacity.
“Can we go the long way around, on the main streets? That’d offer us some cover, right?”
It was a great idea. “It won’t be as quick, but yeah. We can dodge most of the rain.”
We set off, dodging the puddles, our hands linked. My ears were ringing from the sound levels, but I felt good. I was at Homegrown, and I was sober and enjoying myself. What a difference from the me of twelve months ago.
The streets were busy, with plenty of traffic heading through the city, and we took shelter under an overhang as we waited to cross the road.
I was looking up at Dean and didn’t see what happened. A screech of tyres grabbed my attention, and I spun on my toes to see where it came from.
A dark minivan skidded on the wet road and smashed into another car waiting at the lights. A motorbike going the other way swerved, but the bike slid from under the rider’s grip, with rider and bike parting direction. The biker tumbled along the road and collided with a brick wall.
I was frozen.
Another car crashed into the minivan with a shriek of metal-hitting-metal.
“Fuck,” said Dean. “Steph, call triple-one. Tell them there’s a multi-vehicle collision at the intersection of”—he looked up at the street signs—“Customhouse Quay and Brandon Street. We need an immediate response.” He ran straight to the biker, who lay a few metres away from us.
I followed.
Dean alone sounded calm. Around me, people shouted. Someone was crying—a woman, asking for help for her daughter, who was trapped in a car.
I fumbled in my pocket for my phone, then dialled the emergency services and stammered out the message Dean gave me.
“Steph,” he called, when I finished on the phone. “This is Jason, and I need to keep him still until the ambulance gets here. I want you to sit here with him for a minute, while I check on the others.” He stripped his hoodie as he spoke, and placed it over the guy’s chest. “This will help keep him warm. I want you to hold his hand and talk to him. Okay? Make sure he doesn’t move.”
The biker lay on a wet pavement, with rain falling onto his face. Jason’s face. His eyes were open, and he looked scared and very young in the reflected streetlights. I wriggled out of my poncho and draped it over my arm, creating a makeshift canopy, then sat at his side, taking care not to jostle him.
“Hi,” I said. It came out as a croak. I cleared my throat and tried again. “Hi, Jason. I’m Steph, and that’s Dean. I’ve called for an ambulance, and it’ll be here soon.”
He gazed at me. “Please help me.”
“I will.” I swallowed. “I’ll wait until the ambulance is here. Do you want me to phone anyone?”
Tears shone in his eyes. “My mum will be mad at me. She hates me riding a bike.”
My heart thudded. Shit. What could I say? Hold his hand, said Dean, so I did. I squeezed Jason’s fingers. “Can you feel my hand?”
“Yes, but I can’t feel my legs.”
Oh God. He didn’t look any older than me. Tears blurred my vision, and I looked up, blinking furiously to clear it. Dean was nearby, helping another man open a twisted car door. This was his normal. He was at home in situations like this. When other people turned away, he ran straight into danger.
“Is he a doctor?” Jason’s voice was croaky.
I forced myself to sound calm. “No. He’s a firefighter.”
“Why can’t I feel my legs? I’m fucking freezing. Maybe that’s why?”
“Might be.” What could I say to this poor, broken guy? “Where do you live, Jason?”
“Karori.” His hand trembled in mine. “Why is it so cold?”
“Let me see if I can borrow a blanket or something,” I said, but he gripped my hand more tightly.
“Please don’t go. Don’t leave me.”
Where was the ambulance? Why wasn’t the place jumping with police? There was just me and Dean and a couple of people he rounded up to help. Somebody was directing traffic into a side street and away from the congested junction. The accident had blocked it.
“Stay with me, Jason. Tell me about your Mum.”
His eyes were closed, and panic tightened my chest. I squeezed his fingers. “Don’t go to sleep, Jason. Jason.”
A hand on my shoulder almost made me jump out of my skin. “Can I help?” a deep voice boomed near my ear. “I’m a doctor. Is this a friend of yours?”
“I don’t know him. His name is Jason.”
The man crouched at my side and lit the flashlight on his phone. “You kept him still. That was good. Ah, here’s the ambulance now.”
Blue strobes cut through the darkness, and sirens wailed. It was the best sound I heard all night.