The Near Miss Read Free Page A

fault,’ Grace said gloomily. It would have been nice to blame something other than her daughter’s lunacy, but in this case it was not possible. ‘She’s always been a runner.I’m just lucky you both have quick reflexes.’ She tore a corner from a magazine and wrote. ‘So here’s my address. I’ll see you.’
    At her feet, the boy, who must have been Lotte’s age, shrieked and pointed. A tiny tin train peeled away from his feet and skittered across the floor merrily, over the linoleum, under seats and between feet, carving a straight line through the lives it passed. The hippy looked accusingly at the man.
    â€˜You fixed it.’
    He looked sheepishly proud, and crouched by the squealing, delighted child.
    â€˜Yeah.’

    â€˜So this little girl, she was nearly killed.’ Eddy followed Romy into the kitchen. He kept one hand in his pocket, cupped around the small velvet ring box, blocking it as if it might leap out of his pocket and propose of its own free will. Had Romy heard the first part of the story? ‘We were so lucky someone grabbed her in time. Are you listening, hon?’
    â€˜We’re out of coconut milk. When did we run out of coconut milk?’
    â€˜I used the last can the other night, in the curry. Hey, did you take money from my wallet? I was sure I had about ten fifties, and now there’s only one. It’s okay, it’s just that—’
    Romy whirled and stabbed her finger at a piece of paper pinned to a wall. ‘You haven’t added coconut milk to the list!’ she said accusingly. Triumphantly, almost, Eddy could have said. Maybe she thought enough of these minor transgressions on his part would mount up to equal her infidelity. Maybe she was scrambling for the moral high ground. Oh God, what was he thinking? Romy was always like this. She had made love with some strange man without setting a foot off the moral high ground. He rubbed the velvet nap anxiously.
    â€˜I’m trying to tell you about something that happened to me today,’ he said mildly. ‘I wish you’d listen. This was huge. A little girl was nearly killed.’
    â€˜And yet, she was fine, si ?’
    â€˜She was, well her foot was bruised and she strained a ligament, but it could have been so much worse— Oh God, there it is!’ He crossed the room to the remote and turned up the television. ‘This is it!’
    There it was, on some current affairs show! First Melody and her son, sitting eating ice cream, probably shot on someone’s phone camera. Then something flashed white behind Melody and there was the little girl running into a river of moving cars, her head not much higher than a car bonnet.
    â€˜That’s me!’ He pointed at the red Subaru, sliding into frame, Melody already spinning and flying after the child, in a whirl of green dress and golden dreadlocks and sunbeams.
    â€˜Shit!’ breathed Romy.
    The brakes on his television car screeched, the camera frame wobbled, unseen people gasped and screamed. A broadcaster spoke solemnly over the top.
    â€˜This near miss today in the Melbourne suburb of Meadowview graphically illustrates the dramatic findings from the government’s newly released traffic accident report. If not for a quick-thinking bystander, this child would have become a statistic, one of the twenty per cent who . . .’ The footage was replayed, in slow motion.
    Romy shook her head. ‘Where were the kid’s parents?’
    â€˜The mother was there. She was so grateful.’
    â€˜That you hit her kid?’
    â€˜No, because I braked in time and it wasn’t worse. And I took her to hospital. The kid isokay. It’s minor. And the mother has asked us to dinner. You, too.’
    â€˜A thank-you-for-not-hitting-my-child-very-hard dinner? Kooky.’
    â€˜You said you wanted to meet new people.’
    â€˜Maybe.’ She finally seemed to wake up to his