Rose laughs. ‘You weren’t serious about dancing were you?’
‘Deadly. Do you like Sting?’
‘Yes. I do actually. Such intelligent lyrics.’
‘Used to be a teacher. Had the sense to get out. My hero.’
‘I love this track. I forget what it’s called.’
‘Fragile. Shall we dance?’
He holds out his arms.
~
‘The kettle boiled.’
‘Aye.’
‘Shall I make the coffee?’
‘Would you have to let go of me to do that?’
‘Yes.’
‘I'll pass on coffee then.’
‘The music did actually finish.’
‘Aye, you noticed that? Shall I turn the tape over?’
‘Would you have to let go of me to do that?
‘Only with one arm. Watch...’
~
Rose sighs. ‘I really ought to go, Calum. Megan might be listening out for me. I don’t want to worry her.’ He is silent. ‘She might ring Shona and wake her.’
‘Megan won’t stir till lunchtime tomorrow. I mean today. Please stay, Rose.’ She says nothing. He releases her and looks into her eyes. ‘D’you really no’ want to?’
‘A part of me wants to stay. But another part wants to run away and hide.’
‘Because you’re scared? Of me?’
‘No, of course not.’
‘But you are scared, aren't you?’
‘Yes... Oh, just back off, Calum - you really don’t want to get involved. I’m such a mess... and it’s all too complicated.’ She picks up her coat from the sofa but Calum takes it from her and tosses it back down again.
‘But I do want to get involved. And I don’t think you’re any more or less complicated than anyone else, Rose, it’s just that your illness has made you self-aware, self-consciously so. That and your paint-stripper honesty, that’s what makes things difficult for you. You feel things, you see things and you say them. That’s the artist in you. In me.’
‘You’re just trying to talk me into bed.’
‘How hard are you having to fight to stay out?’
‘You arrogant sod!’
‘Aye, I know, but it’s the truth, isn’t it? I think you’ve wanted me since the first evening we spent together at Shona’s, when I saw you home... You wanted me then but you sent me away. Tell me that’s not true.’
‘My body wanted you, my mind rejected you - and I can’t trust either of them, Calum! My drugged and sensible mind said you were too young, too nice, far too deliciously fuckable - and I wasn’t going down that road again - I’d come here to avoid all that. I wasn’t going to be hurt and... humiliated again.’
Calum sighs. ‘I’m not Gavin.’
‘No, you’re not.’
‘But you wish I were,’ he says irritably.
‘No, of course not! If you were anything like Gavin I wouldn’t be here now, don't you understand that?’
‘I’m trying to. Tell me, Rose, if we make love now, what in Christ’s name do you think can happen that is so very terrible?’
She says nothing for a long while, then: ‘If we make love, Calum, I will start to live with the fear of losing you.’
‘You didn’t lose Gavin - you never had him! You had an understanding, a shared life together, a history. From all that you've told me about him, you came third in his life anyway - after himself and climbing. All that kept you together was trust, Rose, and that’s a fragile thread. You can’t bind someone to you with that. It doesn’t make much of a leash either. Gavin was just a guy whose eye wandered after five years. I’m not saying it was an okay thing to do, but it happens. Folk forgive. Or they break up and get on with their lives, begin again. But you’ve let him take everything. Why shouldn’t you have another chance?’
‘You don’t understand.’
‘Too bloody right, I don’t! I think you owe me an explanation, Rose. You grab me by the balls - literally! - you invite me into your bed, you cry on my shoulder and tell me all about your earth-moving ex-lover - but I’m not allowed to touch you without written permission!’
Rose sinks onto the sofa, leans forward, head in hands. Her hair falls forward and hides her face. ‘If I have nothing, it can’t be taken away,’ she says quietly.
‘It’s a living death, Rose, that’s what you’ve chosen! You’ve walled yourself up so no one can get at you - but haven’t you noticed? You can’t get out.’
Rose sits upright. She lifts her head slowly and gazes up at Calum standing in front of her.
‘I hadn’t looked at another man until I met you. Not in five years... I suppose I finally felt safe enough to put my head up above the parapet. And I thought it was nothing serious.’ She smiles and shakes her head. ‘You were younger than me - I thought a lot younger. That somehow disqualified you, made you “safe”. I thought I could just lust from afar, which God knows, Calum, I did. I have lusted for England!’
He kneels, takes her face in his hands and kisses her. She recoils for barely a second and then her hands are on him, pressing and sliding, searching for his flesh. Calum fumbles at her breasts, undoing the buttons of her dress. Suddenly, she puts her hands on his chest and pushes him away.
‘No!’ She covers herself up and sits hunched over.
‘What?’ Calum sits back on his heels, dazed. ‘What did I do? What’s the matter?’
‘I can’t.’
‘Why not? Jesus, Rose!’ He wipes his wet mouth on the back of his hand. ‘You’ll never convince me you don’t want me now!’
‘I’m sorry, Calum. I thought I’d drunk enough... not to care.’ She swallows. ‘I know it’s really silly, but... I can’t bear for you to see me.’
‘We’ll put the lights out, I don't mind - whatever you want.’
‘No. You see...’ Her voice is unsteady. ‘I'm covered in scars. It’s not just my wrists. My arms... my shoulders... legs... even the soles of my feet. I’m stitched up like a bloody patchwork quilt! Only not half so pretty.’
Calum swallows. ‘How...?’
‘I walked through a glass door.’
‘Why?’
‘I couldn’t find the key.’
Calum’s mouth opens and shuts as he tries to find words. ‘But surely Gavin—’
‘He never saw me like this.’
Calum is silent for several moments, then he stands and starts to pull his jumper over his head.
‘Calum, what are you doing?’
‘Undressing.’ He drops the jumper onto the floor.
‘Stop it.’
‘No.’
‘Are you going to rape me?’
‘No, not unless you want me to.’
‘So what is this?’ Rose laughs nervously. ‘A last desperate attempt to drive me wild with desire?’
‘Not exactly, as you’ll see in a moment.’
Rose stares transfixed as Calum unbuttons his shirt. He stands, kicks off his shoes, shrugs off the shirt and drops it beside the jumper. Standing unsteadily on one leg he removes one sock, then the other, then unzips his jeans.
‘Calum, I—’
Ignoring her, he removes his jeans and boxers in one, steps out of them neatly and kicks them aside. He is not smiling and there is an ugly, angry light in his eyes.
‘Okay, pay attention now and I’ll give you the tour.’ He points to his chest, to a mark just below his collarbone, a scar two inches long. ‘Glasgow, 1995. This is where wee Davy McAllister's knife went in, and this,’ he says, tracing the long scar under his chin with a finger, ‘is where it went when he pulled it out. I suppose I was very lucky he missed my windpipe. And indeed the jugular vein.’
He turns round. His lower back is mottled in shades of pink and plum, patterned with pale, shiny, vertical striations, as if his flesh has been grated. ‘This is where I slid down fifty feet of scree in a T-shirt while rock-climbing in the Cuillins, 1985. And if you think this looks bad, you should have seen the T-shirt.’
He turns to face Rose again, then looks down at his genitals.
‘Oh, aye... This one I call the d-i-y vasectomy.’ He points to a scar in his groin, a dark, crater-like hole. ‘This is where my ice-axe went in after I’d failed to anchor myself with it during an avalanche. That was Everest, 1995. And finally,’ He points down at the floor. ‘Note the feet. A strange sort of purplish-grey colour. Not very attractive. You’ll have a name no doubt for this particular shade, Rose - would that be puce? You’ll note, too, the absence of several toes on my right foot. All the result of severe frostbite, also on Everest. Bonny, aren’t I? And those,’ he hisses, narrowing his eyes, ‘Those are just the scars you can see, Rose! In here,’ he jabs at his temple with a forefinger, ‘There are more scars - deeper, uglier scars than any you see on my body!’
He begins to recite, his eyes glittering. ‘Al Stevens and Hamish McKenzie - pals of mine since Primary One! - swept to their deaths by an avalanche, Everest, 1995. I was lucky. I got away with the groin puncture... Hugh Davies, a brilliant climber and even more brilliant poet. Died of pulmonary oedema, Mount Aconcagua, 1996. Jim Henderson - och, my mate Jimmy, may he rest in peace! Died of head injuries as the result of a fall, despite the fact that for once the poor wee bastard was wearing a helmet! That would have been the Matterhorn, 1997. Last but certainly not least, Chris McIntyre, who also died in 1997 - Christ, that was a bad year!’ Calum bows his head and fights for control of his voice. He continues, his chest heaving. ‘Chris died of exposure and multiple injuries climbing with me in the Alps - another stupid, pointless, accidental death - one which was, incidentally, entirely my fault!’
He shivers violently and looks down at his naked body as if suddenly surprised. He picks up his jeans and drags them on furiously. ‘So you see, Rose, if you would just step outside your own fucking head for a few moments, you’d see you’re not the only one with scars. In any case the worst ones, the most disfiguring are never visible to the naked eye.’ He zips up his fly. ‘I can probably live with yours. Can you live with mine?’
Rose is silent a long while. ‘I had no idea.’
‘Och, hell - why would you?’
‘I’ve been very selfish.’
He sits down beside her. ‘Not selfish, Rose, just self-absorbed. You just want your pain to stop. Believe me, I understand that! I thought I could help you stop it. I thought you could help stop mine.’ He picks up his jumper from the floor and pulls it on. ‘Will you share the last of the whisky?’
‘No, thanks.’
Calum empties the remains of the bottle into his glass. He doesn’t drink but stares down into the liquid, swirling it round and round. ‘After the first couple of deaths I carried on climbing, as if nothing had happened. Told myself it’s what they would have wanted, Al and Hamish. Did it for them.’ He raises his glass. ‘For the lads! And up there, there was no past. No future. Only the present moment. But things changed slowly... with the other deaths. The past, the deaths took over. I wasn’t climbing alone. The corpses, the ghosts - Hamish, Al, Hugh, Jim and Chris - they all came with me.’ He shakes his head. ‘In the end I started to feel like a bloody corpse myself. A walking corpse. Not dead exactly, but not quite alive. Then I realised I didn’t really care... if I survived, I mean. That each time I went out on the mountain, I was looking to meet death half way. So I stopped climbing. Got back into teaching. Did a lot of writing. Even got some published. It was a life of sorts... I didn’t expect to feel anything ever again. Didn’t want to. Till I met you. And - to my utter amazement - something came back to life. You, Rose - you surprised me. Constantly! I just couldn’t figure you out. Just when I thought I’d got you sussed, you’d go and do something wild and unpredictable. You got under my guard. There I was, just trying to be friendly, doing my Mr. Nice Guy stuff —’
‘Indiscriminate generosity.’
‘Aye. Then I’d see you looking at me, in that scared, kind of defiant way - Megan does it too, you’re very alike in some ways - and it’s like, my cover’s completely blown, I’m looking at myself, at how I really am, not how I pretend to be. It sounds really corny, but you brought me back to life. Made me want something... Somebody. I thought - hoped - that maybe I’d done the same for you.’
‘You have, Calum.’
‘I’m glad about that.’ He takes her hand. ‘I offered you my friendship. I’m offering you - for what it's worth - my body and, for Christ’s sake, Rose, I think I’m offering you love. It must be love because I don’t think I can cope any more with the meagre amounts of your time and affection that you’re prepared to mete out to me as a friend. I want more. I need more. And I suppose I’m saying if there’s no more to be had, then... I'd rather go back to having nothing.’
Rose nods. ‘I understand that.’
‘Will you no' give yourself another chance, Rose? You deserve it. And you do feel something for me.’
‘Yes, I do. I feel a lot for you, Calum. And I do believe you wouldn’t treat me as badly as Gavin did.’
‘You know, maybe Gavin was no hero, but he wasn’t a complete bastard either, not according to Megan. He saw you through some bad times, she says. So he screwed around...’ Calum shrugs. ‘There’s not many men would say no to sex if it was offered on a plate and they thought they could get away with it.’
‘You would say no.’
He laughs ruefully. ‘You think so? Aye, maybe. Tonight I said no, but I didn’t when I was married to Alison.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘When Alison and I split up I was in love with another woman. Her best friend. We’d been having an affair for months.’
‘No, I meant, what did you mean when you said “Tonight I said no.”?’
He smiles. ‘I’m telling tales out of school now. Boasting. See what you’ve reduced me to?’
Rose is sitting up straight, alert. ‘Calum, what did you mean?’
‘When I saw her home earlier your daughter offered me a very special birthday present. I was flattered - she's an attractive girl - but I said no. I hope I didn’t hurt her feelings too much.’
‘Did you tell her why you said no?’
‘You mean, “Sorry, hen - I fancy your mother”? No. I thought that would be adding insult to injury.’ He drains his glass. ‘Odd, isn't it? Must be something genetic.’
‘What?’
‘You two. You seem to share the same taste in men.’
‘Yes.’ Rose stares vacantly. ‘We do... We did.’
Calum stiffens. He puts his glass down carefully. ‘Gavin?’ Rose does not move or reply. ‘Gavin and Megan?’
‘Yes.’
‘Jesus Christ Almighty... How old was she?’
‘Seventeen.’
‘Shit!’
‘I was going to tell you, Calum. I wanted to. But then Megan sent me that wretched letter inviting herself here. How was I supposed to tell you after that?’
‘How could he do that to you? How could Megan?’
‘Oh, I didn’t really blame her, not once I’d stopped climbing the walls. She was a child really. I don’t suppose she had any idea what the fall-out would be. And once Gavin turned the laser-beam of his charm on you, any woman was lost! Oh, she wasn’t the first he’d betrayed me with, but I made sure she was the last.’
‘How did you find out?’
‘Gavin told me.’
‘The gobshite! Why, in God’s name?’
‘He was drunk. Aggressive.’ She closes her eyes. ‘Oh, it was all so sordid.’
‘Tell me, Rose. If you can bear to.’
‘He’d come back from some foreign expedition, conquered another peak, made another bloody first ascent, I don’t remember which. He was drunk, naturally. He’d been out with the lads celebrating and - well, he couldn’t get it up basically. I hadn’t seen him for six weeks and I was tired and fed up. I suppose I wasn’t very tactful... I said something about his drinking and he took it very badly, really over-reacted. Gavin liked to think of himself as a bit of a stud and I think h
e was rattled. I realised afterwards it might have been guilt making him impotent - screwing mother and daughter in the same bed... Anyway it all turned very nasty. He started to abuse me, called me “bloody insatiable” - which I thought was a bit much under the circumstances.’ Rose takes a deep breath. ‘I got out of bed, completely turned off, but by then Gavin was getting into his stride. Getting it up finally, I suspect... But I’d had enough. I said something stupid, said I wouldn’t sleep with him if he was the last man on earth - oh, really original and not the slightest bit true because I loved him and he knew it. He held me - had always held me - in the palm of his hand. But at that moment he wanted to hurt me. So he told me. Made some sick joke of it - “like mother, like daughter”. I didn’t believe him at first. I laughed. I thought he was just trying to upset me, frighten me. So he went into detail, hideous detail, about what they’d done and where they’d done it. He was way, way out of order... Did you leave any whisky?’
‘No, I’m sorry. Don’t say any more if you—’
‘No, I want to tell you.’ Rose swallows. ‘Gavin said he couldn’t resist the temptation to sleep with Megan because it seemed like incest, but it actually wasn’t, so it was okay.’
‘He was one hell of a sick bastard.’
‘And she had offered apparently. More than once. Or so he said.’
‘So it was a double betrayal.’
‘Yes. He’d known Megan since she was eleven. She’d grown up with him during her teenage years. She had no memory of her father and Gavin wasn’t around often enough to be a real father-figure to her. I always thought he seemed more like an older brother or an uncle. They got on brilliantly. But he was the nearest she ever came to having a dad, the bastard.’
Calum considers. ‘I’d have killed him - and smiled while I did it.’
‘It did cross my mind. I think if there’d been a gun or a knife on the bedside table, or if I’d thought I was strong enough to strangle him, I’d have done it. But I would have had to go downstairs to the kitchen to get a knife. And I couldn’t move. I tried... I tried to walk away from him but I couldn’t. I just stood there, weeping, listening to all the poison... And I didn’t know if I was crying for her or for me.’
Emotional Geology Page 18