by C. J. Cooke
‘What about the Mayan-Toltec civilisation? Do you research that?’
‘Umm …’
‘… the name “toltec” actually means “master builders”. That’s because they built a lot of big buildings. My dad took me to Chichén Itzá. It’s an ancient Mayan site dating back over a thousand years. Have you been to Chichén Itzá?’
‘I’ve never been to Mexico,’ Shane says. ‘Perhaps one day.’
I ask Reuben to replay the sound fragment and fall silent when he asks why. I listen again.
Never been to Mexico?
But Jeannie said he was just there on business.
Why would he lie?
21
Michael
18th June 1995
It’s 6 a.m. and freezing cold, which is a good thing for starting off so early. There is nothing like the ghostly presence of the mountains and that brisk alpine wind to get the blood flowing and the body forgetting its aches and pains. Luke and Theo are in shorts and T-shirts. I’ve opted for tracksuit bottoms with a thermal base layer and a fleece jacket. Helen has obviously taken the advice given by the other climbers seriously and is already geared up in climbing pants, thermal layers, and protective gloves. She flashes me a smile and I give one back.
‘Alright, boys,’ she says at the hut doorway. ‘Let’s be off.’
Theo is our designated map person, being the most nerdy and organised of the four of us, though there are plenty of signs posted to give us an idea of where we should be headed. The path is still gentle and surrounded by trees, though I can see clouds not too far above us, now. It’s kind of surreal. Mont Blanc still seems staggeringly high, shrouded by wispy cloud, her pointy nose just touching the moon.
Our route takes us towards a hut a quarter of the way up the ascent where we’ll rest for a day or two. For all our preparation, this part of the climb seems deceptively easy – the valley splays before us in shades of emerald green, the mountains verdant and veined with snow. Meadows of buttercups, bunnies and zig-zagging dragonflies scale down our ‘expedition’ to a stroll on a warm summer’s day. Twenty minutes into the walk Luke and Theo get into an argument about something or other and I find myself walking alongside Helen. I try to keep a couple of steps ahead but she matches my pace, throws me a nervous smile. ‘So how did you and Luke meet?’ I ask to break the silence.
‘We met at an Oasis concert at Earls Court,’ she says. ‘He tried to chat up my friend Anna but she wasn’t having any of it.’
‘I did not chat up Anna. She has this huge nose,’ Luke shouts. I forgot he has the hearing of a bat. ‘She looks like a bloke.’
‘That explains it,’ Theo says, glancing behind. He’s fed up with arguing with Luke and walks alongside me.
‘I was … manoeuvring,’ Luke says when we catch up with him. ‘The old charm-the-best-friend approach.’
‘So, it was love at first sight, was it?’ I say. I don’t know why I say this. It just comes out.
Helen arches her head to grin brightly at Luke.
‘I’m going to take that as a no,’ I say.
‘Love at first sight for her, maybe,’ Luke says, taking her hand. ‘Isn’t that right, babe?’
‘Oh, I don’t think so,’ she says, smiling. ‘I don’t believe in love at first sight. Lust at first sight, maybe.’
Neither of them look at me. Their eyes don’t leave each other. It makes me uncomfortable. Luke’s never been touchy-feely with girls but now he reaches out to her, wrapping his arm around her waist and kissing her on the cheek.
‘Oh, the hubris of the madly loved. Hundred per cent agree with that one.’
Theo and I look at each other in shared irritation as Luke whispers something sexy in Helen’s ear that makes her giggle.
‘I take back what I said,’ Luke says then. He raises his arms above his head and walks backwards. ‘When I say it was love at first sight for her, what I mean was she quickly realised I was a tosser and changed her mind. For me, it was love at second sight, and third sight, and fourth sight, et cetera. The attempt so hard, the conquest so sharp, the fearful joy that ever slips away so quickly – by all this I mean love,’ he says in chorus with Theo. It takes a moment to register that they’re quoting Chaucer.
‘It’s from The Parliament of Fowls,’ I murmur to Helen when she looks confused by Theo and Luke’s chorus. ‘It’s a poem from the fourteenth century about love and Valentine’s day and all that crap.’
‘Th’assay so sharp, so hard the conqueringe, the dredful joye alway that slitso yerne,’ Luke shouts, and she laughs.
‘What the hell language is that?’
‘It’s old English,’ Theo tells her. ‘That’s how people spoke back in medieval times.’
‘Seriously? Why?’
I go to explain, but Luke grabs her and lifts her up on to his shoulders. I look away, embarrassed.
‘By all this I mean love!’ he says, spinning her around as she shrieks. Then he sets her down and pulls her into a deep kiss. I’m just about to tell Luke to get a room when he raises his hands above his head in a victory salute and shouts, ‘I love her! I love this woman!’
‘Yeah, all right, mate,’ Theo says.
‘We get the point,’ I add. ‘Pack it in until we’re back in England, alright?’
Luke reaches out to take Helen’s hand but she grips on to the straps of her rucksack, her eyes darting at me. She’s sensed the resentment radiating off me and Theo and wants to calm Luke down a bit.
Theo stops, consults the map.
‘Thought you’d be happy for me,’ Luke says to him. ‘Finally finding someone I really like.’
‘Finally?’ Theo says, not looking up from the map. ‘Well, I suppose you’ve already slept with the entire Oxford campus. You don’t have to be a mathematician to work out that sooner or later you’d come across one that would put up with you for more than a week.’
Helen gives a nervous laugh. Luke glares at his brother, who is studying the map. I go to ask him if we’re lost but think better of it.
‘Isn’t it lunchtime?’ Helen says, keen to change the subject. ‘I’m hungry …’
‘You know we’re moving in together?’ Luke says to Theo. ‘So you’ll have to find a new place when we get back.’
Theo looks up from his map, pushes his glasses up his nose and stares at Luke. ‘Oh, I think you’ll find Mum put the flat in my name. So you’ll be the one moving out, Luke.’
Luke slaps the map out of his hands, sending it into the air like a wing. There’s another fight brewing, this morning’s bickering unresolved. They don’t fight often but when they do, it’s pretty nasty.
‘Mates, let’s just calm down for a second,’ I say, slipping between Luke and Theo and grinning like an idiot.
Helen approaches Luke, tries to pull him away. His face is burning red, his fists clenched. ‘When you insisted that I come along on this trip,’ she says, ‘I said I’d come on one condition: that you’d be nice.’
I turn to Helen. ‘Sorry, what did you say?’
‘Did you just say that Luke “insisted” that you come along?’ Theo adds, adding air-quotation marks.
Helen frowns in confusion. Her peace offering hasn’t quite worked as planned.
‘You insisted that she come along,’ I repeat to Luke, and he won’t meet my gaze. ‘That’s not the story we heard.’
‘Well, no, I didn’t want to come,’ she says again, stuttering. ‘At least, not at first. It’s a major expedition, isn’t it, so I … well, I wasn’t sure I’d be up to it …’
She trails off, turning her eyes to Luke. ‘I said I would, on the condition that I get some training first.’ She looks around, gives a nervous laugh when she sees the grim expressions on our faces. ‘What’s wrong with everybody?’
‘Oh, nothing,’ Theo says. ‘We were worried that you might not want to come, weren’t we, Luke?’
I slap him lightly in the gut. He winces but doesn’t retaliate. He knows he’s been rumbled. Liar, I thin
k.
After a few hours the deceptively gentle forest trail graduates to uneven scree. We find a clutch of dry rocks just off the path and choose it as a lunch stop. We shake off our backpacks and set up the stove. I make us cups of tea while Theo very helpfully makes himself a roll-up cigarette.
‘Want one?’ he asks no one in particular. Helen and I both shake our heads. I’ve decided to scale back on smoking for the duration of the climb. Luke accepts, though.
It’s windy, so Luke and Theo step to the side of a larger rock where the wind is re-directed. I can hear them murmuring from over here, moaning about the crowds of people we can see joining the trail in the distance.
I boil up some noodles, hand Helen a mug-full with a spork, then make my own. An awkward silence. She keeps hanging around, as if she expects me to make conversation. I pretend to take an interest in the stirring of noodles to avoid eye contact.
‘What do you study, then?’ she asks, repeating it when I pretend I don’t hear.
‘Lit,’ I say briskly. ‘Same as those two.’
‘Medieval literature or some other kind?’
I can’t help myself. ‘There is no other kind.’
Her face breaks into a grin. ‘Ah, I see.’
‘See what?’
‘Why Luke is so fond of you. He’s a med lit geek, as I’m sure you’ll know.’
‘Yes. We’ve been friends for a while now.’
‘I’m sorry to have intruded,’ she says after a moment’s pause. Then, biting something back, ‘It’s so beautiful out here. I mean, look at it.’
She turns to look down at the valley from whence we came. The clouds separate just long enough for a shaft of brilliant blue sky to reveal itself and filter panes of sunlight all the way to the valley floor.
‘They say Sibelius heard his Fifth Symphony when he looked on a mountain range like this one. It’s no wonder.’
‘Who’s Sibelius?’ I say, immediately regretting it.
‘He’s a composer. I like classical music.’
‘You want to be a composer, then?’
She laughs and sits down on the rock next to me. I’ve no idea what I’ve said that’s so damn funny.
‘I’m a dancer, actually.’
Do I look like I care?
‘Luke wants to open a bookshop when he graduates. I suppose there’s little else you can do with a degree in literature.’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ I say, bristling. ‘I suppose those of us who are stupid enough to study something as useless as literature might make a life for ourselves. Maybe as bin collectors or toilet scrubbers, seeing as literature degrees are so useless.’
She falls silent, stung, then stands up sharply and moves away. Suddenly I feel moved to apologise. I watch as she makes her way towards the grassy verge on the other side of the path for a clearer view of the valley and, I know, to put some distance between us. She has only just crossed the path when suddenly a group of a dozen or so young guys from Russia come marching up the path like a frickin’ platoon, their heavy boots shaking the ground. I hear a scream and look over to see her being knocked sideways by one of the Russians. There’s a scrambling sound as she topples down the snout of the hillside.
It’s a sheer drop from there to the valley.
‘Luke!’ I shout, racing towards her, glancing down from the edge of the path. I can see her lying on her side on a rock jutting out, but she’s on a bank of moss, visibly struggling to hold on, and beneath her the drop isn’t nearly so gentle. Luke rushes over and looks down.
‘What the hell happened?’
‘I …’
‘Luke!’ Helen shouts.
He tries to climb down but catches his boot on a crag and isn’t fast enough to loosen it. Quickly I lower myself down after her, grasping on to the reeds and crags for leverage. She crawls towards me, reaching with all her might until I’m able to grab her hand and pull her towards me. Luke and Theo lie flat on their bellies, pulling us both back on to the path.
When she scrambles up the bank Luke wraps his arms around her, kisses her forehead, and immediately makes it all seem like a big joke.
‘Babe,’ he says, ruffling her hair like she’s four years old. ‘What did you leap off the mountain for?’
Helen visibly clings to the levity, scaling down from out-of-her-mind terror breath by breath.
‘You know, if you want to dump me you can just say,’ Luke continues loudly, giving us all a big performance. ‘You don’t have to go jumping off the edge of a cliff.’
She laughs, and Luke announces he’s brought Cuban cigars and this seems the perfect time to light up.
‘Good job you were there, mate,’ he tells me later, handing me a bottle of scotch. ‘I want you to point out which of those Russian guys knocked her over, alright? She won’t tell me.’
I stop, search his face. ‘Why?’
Stupid question. His face darkens and he looks away. ‘You know why.’
‘Luke, we’re not here to start a fight, alright? I’m sure it was an accident.’
‘Just point them out, alright?’
I nod. ‘Alright.’
22
Helen
3rd September 2017
We are pulling into the hospital car park at San Alvaro when Jeannie’s phone rings. She answers it, then mouths ‘Vanessa’ at me. I watch as she listens, her face tightening into a scowl. When she hangs up she tells Shane to keep driving.
‘Keep driving?’ he says, perplexed. ‘But we’re here. Have I come to the wrong hospital?’
‘No, just … go!’ Jeannie shouts, and he starts up the engine and pulls off, flustered.
‘Where am I going?’ he says, pulling on to the wrong side of the road. A car sounds its horn and he swings back into the right lane, waving an apology to the other drivers who flash their lights and yell abuse out the window. I’m curled up in the seat, my hands pressed against my eyes. Any minute I’m expecting a white van to appear in the windscreen, the same explosion of glass and metal as before.
‘That was Vanessa from the High Commission,’ I hear Jeannie say. ‘She said the police are on their way to the hospital.’ A pause. ‘They want to arrest you, Helen.’
I open my eyes. ‘They want to arrest me?’
Jeannie’s eyes are wide, her voice shrill with horror. ‘She mentioned drugs. They think Michael has done a runner and they seem to think that arresting you will bring him back.’
‘Google it,’ Shane says loudly, his eyes flashing up in the rear-view mirror at Jeannie. ‘Google the Foreign and Commonwealth guidance for tourists in Belize. Google drug penalties in Belize.’
‘A bit late for that, don’t you think?’ Jeannie says, but she searches on her phone and says, ‘Uh oh.’
‘What?’ I shout.
She reads her findings aloud. ‘“Penalties for possessing, using, or trafficking drugs in Belize, even unknowingly, are tremendously severe. A life sentence is not uncommon.”’
‘What’s a life sentence, Mum?’ Reuben asks. ‘Is it the one that begins with a verb?’
Right then, a police car with flashing lights sweeps by. I turn and watch it pull into the hospital.
‘What do we do?’ Shane says. He’s gone a bit pale around the eyes.
‘Take a left here,’ Jeannie says, and despite the traffic light changing red Shane veers left and accelerates hard, all of us thrown back into our seats.
‘Where are we going?’ Shane says when he hits a motorway. His knuckles are white as he holds the steering wheel as though it might fall off the dashboard. As we reach ninety miles per hour I close my eyes and try not think about the fact that we’re in a car. A glance at Reuben shows that he’s loving the rocking of the car from side to side and is filming it all on his iPad. My heart is hammering so fast in my chest that I think I might pass out.
‘We need to go back to the hospital at Belize City,’ Jeannie says, and for once I’m glad she thrives on extremes, for whereas my thoughts are fireworks of handcuf
fs and hard labour she remains razor-focused on a strategy. ‘We need to get Saskia,’ she says firmly. ‘And then we need to fly home.’
Home? I can’t just abandon Michael. I try to tell Jeannie this but she cuts me off.
‘Helen, I need to ask you something,’ she says, exasperated.
‘What?’
She leans close in case Reuben catches the conversation. ‘This accusation against Michael.’
‘What about it?’
‘Do you think … I mean, is there even the slightest possibility that Michael might have actually done this?’
I feel like I’ve been slapped. ‘Of course I don’t think that! How could you even ask such a thing?’
‘Well, this whole situation is just bizarre,’ she hisses, flustered. ‘Michael has vanished into thin air. We saw on the CCTV that he literally just got up and left you all in the hospital without even checking to see if you were alive. And now the police are out to throw you in some manky jail cell for the rest of your life. And frankly you’re acting very weird. I have to look out for you if you won’t look after yourself …’
I check that Reuben is immersed again in his tablet before answering in a suppressed scream. ‘Jeannie, I’m acting weird because my little girl has just had major brain surgery to save her life. I’m acting weird because I’m in a foreign country in a cockroach-infested hospital, with no clean water or washing facilities, because someone tried to kill us. I’m acting weird because my husband has disappeared and the police are trying to arrest me for drug trafficking.’
I’m surprised by how loud and angry my tone is, and Jeannie seems equally taken aback by how her meek and placating sister has actually put her in her place. She nods quickly, chastened, and I’m reminded of how immature she is. Jeannie’s all bark, no bite, all persona and social airs and shockingly little substance. Our relationship has always been complex. We’re half-sisters, technically, the only physical signature of our genetic match in the form of our slightly pointy chins.
I ask Jeannie if I can borrow her phone and call Vanessa. She confirms it: the police contacted her at the British High Commission and asked if I was there. She acted casually, explained I was still being treated in hospital. The officer blurted out that I was to be arrested. He mentioned ‘suspected drugs’.