Tuesday & Max

36

CALLING OUT YOUR NAME

CALLING OUT YOUR NAME

"Oo-aaah! I wanna be with you everywhere!"

Mom flicks on her indicator, checking the rear-view mirror and pulling out into the middle lane to overtake someone. Her voice is deep, gravelly and full. It's lovely to hear her sing. The radio blasts so loudly that the dashboard vibrates.

"Come on, Tues, sing along—did you check the chrysanthemums?"

"Yes."

"Good."

Tuesday rolls down the sticky window of their battered camper van. Wind buffets her long hair. Pale yellow tendrils stick in her eyes and she flicks it away, wishing she'd tied it up. Mom's strawberry blond curls are in a French braid down the back of her neck. Smart.

"I love Stratford," Tuesday says, of their destination.

"Me too," Mom says. "It's the perfect place to sell flowers. The sound of the river, the fresh air, all the romantic theatre types wandering down from the Royal Shakespeare Company and the tourists eating their fish and chips out on the front. We've got red and yellow bunting. Did you—" She looks over, concerned.

"Yes, I packed it!" Tuesday laughs. "God. You'd be useless at this without me."

"I know," Mom chuckles.

Tuesday looks out the window. "You know, Julia sent me over some college stuff the other day. She's starting her night classes. The college in town has an Art A-level where you can do textiles stuff if you want to."

Mom fiddles distractedly with the radio. Tuesday wishes she'd look up at the road.

"You could apply," she says, in the kind of tone that means Tuesday knows what's coming next. "But you don't need any of that. Just keep making your clothes. We could start an Etsy store—ooh! Or we could buy another table and you could sell them with our flowers!"

"Yeah..."

"Life's too short not to be out here living it, you know?" She slides the rickety van smoothly back into the inside lane. "You never know what's going to happen." Tuesday's eyes drift naturally to her chest. Underneath the full-coverage lacy dark green top of her dress, there's still some swelling from the double surgery.

Tuesday forces her eyes back onto the road. "No, you're right. I know that."

The car in front is driving criminally slowly. Mom tuts and rolls her eyes, glancing into her mirrors again.

"I'm not sure what's happening with me and Jack either, you know."

"What do you mean, hon?" There's still no space to pull out. Mom hovers the van towards the lane's edge.

"He's going to uni. I don't know if it's going to be weird."

Mom pulls out into the middle lane. Her mouth twists. She yanks and steering wheel last minute and cruises toward the outside lane.

"What if we break up?"

"Whoa!" Mom exclaims, peering into her mirrors and twisting the wheel back violently.

All sorts of things happen at once.

Noise.

Impact.

Tires squeal like stuck animals and something hits them, somewhere, hard.

Blink.

The world flashes by.

Blink.

Crash. Something else hits them.

Blink.

The van groans in pain.

Blink.

Loss of gravity.

Darkness.

When Tuesday opens her eyes again, her body is hanging sideways like a puppet with its strings cut, supported by her seatbelt. Her head is against the window—or where the window used to be. Her cheek is mashed into the road instead. Her shoulder throbs.

The windscreen is missing. The world is sideways and all its colours are wrong. Blue. Red. Blue. Red. Blue. Red. The yellow lei slung around the rear-view mirror is torn. The little dog pendant strung below it floats in mid-air, drifting back and forth gently.

Ahead on the road, Tuesday can just about make out a lump. People dressed in white are crouched around it. The lump has long, curly, fair hair.

For a second, Tuesday wonders if it's her. Is she dead? Is she having an out of body experience?

"Still doing okay?"

But then a voice comes from above. Tuesday turns her head to the driver's door above her. A woman peers in. Her neck and shoulder burn with pain and she cries out.

"Just hang in there, love. We're getting you out as we speak."

"Okay," Tuesday murmurs. Something bubbles out of her mouth and drips down her chin.

Mom, she realises blankly.

It's Mom. She was next to her, singing, hair flying; and now she's out there.

How did it happen?

How does something like that happen?

Blink.

The car starts to vibrate. Are they cutting her out?

Blink.

It's getting harder to see.

Blink.

Darkness.