The Lost Swimmer by Ann Turner

direction.
    â€˜Help! Help!’ I shouted into the empty shadows as I took the stairs one by one in aching grinds and heard Big Boy fighting with Bonnie below, a cacophony of pain and brutality, growling and shrieking, the sounds intermingled into one hellish song.
    It took all my effort to slide the glass door open, my body erupting in flames. I staggered inside and put the limp, blood-soaked joey on the floor. I moved as fast as I could into the kitchen and snatched a towel. As I came back, Big Boy slumped down onto the deck outside. ‘Thank God,’ I exhaled. Big Boy watched exhausted through glazed eyes, his body a dark mess. I grabbed the phone and called Ian Sinclair, our vet.
    Forcing myself to remain conscious, the joey lying weakly in my blood-red lap, I reached my broken ribs upward and slid the door wide enough for Big Boy to limp inside. Without a glance at the joey he dragged himself into a nearby corner and fell into a sickly sleep. He looked like a can-opener had ripped him apart. A thumping made me turn in alarm. Bonnie had come around the back and was staring inside, one ear hanging torn and loose, her throat a fuchsia gash of blood and pale, exposed bone. She wailed, a high, reedy cry of despair as she leaped forward and began scratching at the glass with her powerful claws. She moved along the window, tail thumping, her high keening growing more urgent. Big Boy staggered up, barking furiously. I looked at the joey; it was desperately in need of care. Why did I think I was more capable of helping than its mother? Just then a car roared up the drive and moments later Ian raced inside.
    â€˜Bec!’ He rushed to tend to me first.
    â€˜No, no. The joey and Big Boy and the mother.’ I indicated outside to Bonnie.
    â€˜You should see yourself.’ His confident hands gently felt my ribs. ‘You’re a mess. Have you called an ambulance?’
    â€˜Don’t think so,’ I murmured, suddenly beyond rational thought as a deep tiredness overwhelmed and blackness rushed up, extinguishing light and pain. The last thing I heard was an unearthly howl from Bonnie and a volley of raw, strangled barks from Big Boy as my world collapsed around me.

10
    S omething was weighing me down. Tears sprang, salty and sharp, as I saw that it was Stephen holding my hand. Outside, the long rays of sun on the hill were mellowing to evening.
    â€˜Hey.’ Stephen’s brown eyes, dulled with concern, came alive. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he said as I gently touched my bandages, white with yellow seeping through, and my skin flared like an inferno beneath my prying fingers.
    â€˜Big Boy?’ I rasped, my throat parched.
    â€˜Ian stitched him up. He’s keeping an eye on him.’
    â€˜And the joey and Bonnie? Will they be okay?’
    â€˜Ian has them. They’re doing well.’
    I sighed with relief and my body ached. The grotesque bite on my arm from Big Boy throbbed.
    â€˜You have four broken ribs,’ said Stephen gently.
    â€˜I guessed as much.’ I scrutinised Stephen – there was something different about him and he seemed tense.
    â€˜What have you been up to?’ I asked and he bolted upright as if I’d just shot him.
    â€˜Nothing. Here with you.’
    â€˜Did you go to work?’
    He nodded. ‘Just a couple of meetings that I couldn’t get out of. Clarkey came over. And Sally Chesser came when Clarkey had to go.’
    â€˜But we barely know her.’ Or do you know her better than I think?
    â€˜She rang to thank us for the barbecue and wanted to help. Oh, and Priscilla sends her regards.’
    â€˜What are you doing talking to Priscilla?’ I tried to sit up but the pain knocked me down.
    Stephen sighed. ‘I told her you wouldn’t be in.’ He paused and squeezed my hand. ‘And no, I’m not having an affair with her. What goes on in that head of yours sometimes?’ Said with so much warmth that