Free Blood Rush (Lilly Valentine) by Helen Black

swollen feet were squeezed into sandals. His ma had been the same, wearing her Scholls whatever the weather. There were prima ballerinas with fewer bunions.
    When the old lady recognized Jack, her eyes opened in alarm.
    ‘What has happened?’ She was out of breath.
    Jack jumped up. ‘Take a seat Mrs Ebola.’
    She flapped her arms against her sides, and began to groan. Jack tried to push her into a chair as her knees began to give way.
    ‘Oh my Lord. Oh my Jesus,’ she whimpered.
    Jack felt the full bulk of her collapse in his arms. He was terrified he wouldn’t be able to take her weight, that they’d fall to the ground together. He tensed both his arms and his back, holding her as best he could.
    ‘Why are we punished like this again?’ she moaned. ‘Why have you forsaken us?’
    Sweat prickled Jack’s back and just as he thought his knees would buckle the nurse sprang around the desk and wedged herself under Mrs Ebola’s left arm. She was surprisingly strong and Jack felt immediate relief. Together they managed to lower the desperate old lady into the chair where she slumped backwards, still praying aloud.
    Jack fell to his knees at Mrs Ebola’s feet and took one of her hands in his. It was huge and lined, yet smooth between the deep furrows.
    ‘It’s okay, Mrs Ebola, it’s okay.’
    He looked at the nurse and gestured to the phone on the desk. ‘Better get the doc.’
    She gave a single nod and hurried to make the call.
    Jack turned back to Mrs Ebola. ‘It’s going to be all right. Everything’s going to be all right.’
    Mrs Ebola looked at him as if he were completely mad. He noticed that her dark brown eyes shone with an intense brightness , like shards of broken mirror.
    ‘Malaya is dead and you think everything will be all right?’
    Jack frowned. Then in an instant he understood why Mrs Ebola had reacted as she had. She wasn’t having a heart attack, she had seen a copper and thought the worst. Mary, Mother of God, he had nearly killed the woman.
    ‘She’d not dead Mrs Ebola. Malaya’s not dead.’
    Mrs Ebola’s entire body went rigid. ‘Not dead?’
    Jack shook his head.
    ‘Are you sure?’ She blinked at him in incomprehension.
    ‘Absolutely.’
    ‘Then why are you here?’ she asked.
    ‘Because the hospital rang me to say Malaya had woken up.’
     
     
    The thumping on the door is so loud that Demi jumps out of bed.
    Shit. Her first thought is that Gran is back from the hospital. She’ll be furious when she finds out Demi hasn’t gone to school. Maybe Demi can say she felt sick. But will Gran believe that?
    And why is she knocking on the door? Why doesn’t she just let herself in?
    Demi’s heart pounds as the thumping continues. She can hear from the sound that whoever it is, is using the side of their fist and not their knuckles. Thump, thump, thump. Both the door and Demi’s heart.
    She rubs her bare arms in the cold and tries to think straight. Perhaps it is Gran and she’s lost her key. But why knock? She thinks Demi is out at school, so who could answer? And Gran would never hammer like that. She tells the girls off whenever they clatter down the corridor, or slam a cupboard door. ‘The world does not need to share our every move.’
    Not Gran, then. So who?
    If she just keeps very still and waits, whoever it is will have to go away. She holds her breath as if the person at the door might be able to hear even that. Another rally of thumping makes Demi start.
    Whoever you are, just go away.
    Then it stops. Silence.
    Demi listens very hard for the sound of shoes moving away from the door. She’s tempted to creep to the window and try to see who it is. But what if they look up and catch her? No, that’s a stupid plan. She’ll just remain completely still until the coast is clear.
    Just when she thinks enough time has elapsed and it must be safe, she hears the tell-tale scratch of someone lifting the letterbox as they peer inside.
    ‘Demi,’ a voice calls out, ‘you in