Little Wing by Joanne Horniman Page A

hurt herself.’
    â€˜Oh! Now look what you’ve done.’
    Emily closed her eyes and felt the thrill of the pain. She felt herself sway a little. For a moment there was only the blackness, and the pain in her hand. She opened her eyes and Cat and Pete were staring at her.
    â€˜Show me!’ Cat reached out angrily to take hold of Emily’s hand.
    â€˜No!’
    She pulled away and held her hand defensively against her chest.
    â€˜Oh, don’t be so stupid. Let me look.’
    Emily backed away from her.
    â€˜Emmy, here’s a teatowel.’ Pete had run into the house and emerged brandishing a cloth. Emily took it and wrapped it round her hand. She noticed her bag lying on the ground. Not looking at either Pete or Cat, she picked it up and said, ‘It’ll be all right. Look, I’ll just go now.’
    She made her escape, walking the streets with her hand pressed into the teatowel. Passing a charity bin, she pulled the wrapped box of chocolates from her bag and pushed it into the slot.
    â€˜How did you do that, Emily?’ asked Charlotte.
    â€˜I broke a glass.
    â€˜Round at Martin’s place,’ she added, though it hurt her to say his name.
    Charlotte fetched iodine and sticking plaster, and Emily held out her hand obediently for it to be dressed.
    â€˜Are you too wounded for a driving lesson?’ When Emily didn’t reply, she said, ‘Oh, go on! It’s not that bad.’
    The cut on Emily’s hand throbbed as she drove up and down meaningless streets.
    â€˜Mind that dog!’
    â€˜I didn’t see it.’ Emily screeched the car to a halt, but the dog had already skipped sideways, narrowly avoiding her.
    â€˜Keep going,’ said Charlotte quietly.
    â€˜It could have been a child,’ said Emily. She found that her legs were shaking; she barely had the strength to press the accelerator.
    In the mountains, the weather was ever changeable. It blew hot and cold, was brilliant sunshine in the morning, grew misty in the middle of the day, and squalled with rain in the evening. Clouds drifted across the sky in shifting patterns.
    When she was awake she had to keep moving, her feet pounding down the footpaths. One foot in front of the other. No thinking. Streets led into streets. She walked into shops, and out again. People spoke to her and she fled.
    â€˜Girls are sharks.’
    The man in the maroon jacket now wore a green T-shirt. He looked around, as though daring someone to challenge him. ‘Girls are sharks.’
    She saw him one day while she was out driving, had to stop at a pedestrian crossing for him. She saw that he was silent that time, walking doggedly, staring at his feet, hands in pockets. She eased the car into movement, and she felt the power of it as it took off, sweeping down the street, leaving him behind. She watched the road, kept her eye on the mirrors, determined that nothing would surprise her again.
    She walked to the edge of the town to her lookout, the one where she’d first seen Martin standing outside the safety fence. She thought how the town perched above the valley precipitously, too close to the sky and too far from the sea. She saw the yellow flowers gripping onto the rocks. She went past Martin’s place, but the front door was closed and the place looked abandoned. They had gone away. A child’s sneaker lay on the veranda upside down. She walked on. Flocks of black cockatoos screeched through the sky and landed heavily in the pine trees, making the branches shudder.

3
    Emily found herself one day at the shops. They were full of Christmas things – wrapping paper and packaged mince pies and fruitcakes. Images of Santa were everywhere. She thought of her baby. She thought of Mahalia.
    At the ATM she withdrew a small amount of money. To her astonishment, when she checked the slip, she had over three hundred dollars left in the account. She remembered Charlotte saying that her parents were