Little Wing by Joanne Horniman

her father. She remembered how he used to take her, illegally, on the dirt roads around her grandfather’s farm, not so many years ago. She loved being behind the wheel. She felt that the whole world belonged to her. Once, there was nothing Emily couldn’t do.
    The thing about driving was, you needed to notice everything. The red car in front, the silver one behind. The woman with the stroller. The child in the flannelette shirt riding a bike and without a helmet. The old man with a stick. A border collie with a limp.
    Who is here with us: Lots of people and animals I should try not to kill. Emily’s father used to push-start his old car sometimes. Run it down the hill and turn on the engine, hoping that it would catch.
    Emily thought that if she could just push herself forward and pretend that she was operating okay, one day her engine would start up again.

2
    Emily wanted to see Martin and Pete again before they went away. She knew that Martin had been losing patience with her. ‘You’ll be all right ,’ he’d said to her, and she wanted to show him that she would be.
    She tried on the mauve hat with the yellow flower, turning this way and that in front of the mirror. She decided that she liked it, but what she liked most of all was that Martin and Pete had given it to her. She bought them something she hoped they’d like, chocolates that were shaped like sea shells, all different shapes.
    As she wrapped the box she remembered the real shells she had collected once, which now probably lay scattered on the ground near the van in the country where she and Matt had lived for a while, just before and after the baby had been born.
    Emily finished wrapping the chocolates and stood up, restlessly. Putting the present into her bag, she walked, first of all to the lookout because walking helped settle her feeling of agitation. Then she went quickly to Martin’s place. The front door was shut, and she knocked, but there was no reply. Hearing a sound from the back yard, she went down the side of the house, calling out hello as she went.
    Sleeping bags and towels festooned the clothesline, and a tent had been erected on the grass. Cat and Pete were crouched on the ground, rubbing away at something.
    â€˜Hello,’ said Emily, and they looked up, so engrossed in what they were doing that they’d not noticed her.
    â€˜We’re cleaning this!’ said Pete, indicating some sort of tarpaulin that was covered with soapy water.
    â€˜Is Martin around?’ said Emily.
    â€˜No, he’s gone to do something,’ said Cat. She looked up, and pushed hair out of her eyes with the back of her hand. She hadn’t stood up to greet Emily, but squatted there barefoot, in shorts. There was sweat on her upper lip, making a beaded moustache.
    Emily fingered the package that she’d stowed in her bag. She didn’t know what to do, whether to wait, or leave the present, or go without leaving it.
    â€˜Can I help?’ she said.
    â€˜Not really,’ said Cat distractedly, making it clear that she found Emily’s presence a bit of a trial. ‘We’re just trying to pack up to go away tomorrow.’
    â€˜You could get us a drink!’ said Pete.
    â€˜Okay.’ Emily dropped her bag onto the ground and went inside. Pete followed her, and they poured three glasses of juice and put them onto a tray, which Emily carried out. But in the yard, she stumbled, sending the glasses crashing onto the path.
    â€˜Oh . . .’
    She heard Cat say, urgently, ‘Pete, get away, you’ve got bare feet!’
    â€˜I’m sorry . . . Look, I’ll . . .’
    â€˜No. I will, you’ve done enough. Pete, keep away !’
    Emily blindly scrabbled at the broken glass, cramming it into her fist.
    â€˜Ow!’ Blood welled from the palm of her hand. She dropped the glass she’d collected and staunched the blood with the bottom of her shirt.
    â€˜Mum! Emmy’s