by Sara Foster
Her dad pats her shoulder. ‘Of course I will. You’ve got nothing to be sorry about.’ He pauses. ‘How much did you see last night? Did you notice the colour of the car, or get a look at the number plates?’
Georgia shakes her head. ‘No. It’s infuriating, but it all happened so fast. The car was light-coloured, I think, but when I turned around I was dazzled by headlights, and then we were all on the ground and it was gone.’
Her dad nods, looking thoughtful. When she doesn’t say any more he indicates her clothes. ‘Are you sure you want to go to school?’
Georgia nods emphatically. In fact, she isn’t at all sure she wants to go to school today, but the thought of hanging around at home with nothing to do feels a whole lot worse.
‘Shall I give you a lift on my way, then? I’ll see if Zac wants one too.’
‘Yes please – but Zac’s gone already.’ She holds out the note.
Her dad takes it. She watches one of his eyebrows twitch as he reads it.
It’s hard to stand still; every time Georgia stops moving her head feels full of sloshing water, making her dizzy. She wants to get away before her mother can intervene. ‘Can we get going?’
‘Right-o. I’ll go and get dressed.’ And he disappears up the stairs.
Georgia had meant to ask if her mother was awake, but he is gone too quickly. She finishes making her toast and takes it upstairs to eat in her room so she can try to avoid any more conversations. One bite and she feels sick; there’s no way she can eat it. She grabs her school bag and picks up the plate, listening to her mum and dad murmuring in the next room. She suspects they are talking about her, but their voices are too soft to make out. As she heads back towards the stairs, her parents’ door swings open and her father appears, still speaking over his shoulder. ‘For Christ’s sake, Anya, just give her some space, will you. She can always come home.’ He sees Georgia on the stairs and his demeanour shifts. ‘You ready?’
She nods.
‘Come on, then.’
He follows her downstairs and she heads into the kitchen, throwing her uneaten toast in the bin and putting the plate in the sink. In the hallway, her father is collecting his keys from the bowl on the side table and pulling his coat off the hook. As he opens the door she hears footsteps padding quickly along the upstairs landing, but neither of them stops. Georgia pulls the door shut and is halfway along the path when it reopens, and her mum shouts her name.
Reluctantly, she turns around. Her mother stands on the doorstep, her hair sticking up at all angles, hugging her dressing-gown tight around her body, her feet bare. ‘I really don’t think you should go to school, love.’
Georgia stares her down, sure she can see traces of annoyance in her mother’s face, though she is trying to convert them to sympathy.
‘You could stay here and watch a movie or something. I could bring you some comfort food at lunchtime – the biggest slab of chocolate I can find.’
Georgia isn’t sure why she wants to object when part of her thinks that sounds really good, yet she is already shaking her head. ‘I’ll be fine. Like Dad said, I can always come home later.’ She makes an effort to keep her voice steady and neutral, knowing instinctively that her mother will hone in on any sign of weakness to back up her argument. When will her mother understand that she isn’t a child any more?
Her mother takes a long, hard look at her. ‘Well, I’ll be there shortly. If you change your mind, come and find me, okay?’ Her hands stray to her hips as they always do when she is trying to make a point. ‘My mobile will be on all day.’
They hold one another’s gaze. As usual, Georgia can see her mother trying to figure her out, wondering how much she dare say. And as always happens, Georgia summons her most impassive expression before she turns away, determined not to let her mother read her or break her down. Nowadays there are things she doesn’t ever want her mother to know.
6
CALLUM
Georgia is quiet as they drive. Callum takes his time, hoping she might begin to talk, but the distance between home and school is so short that they are there in less than ten minutes.
‘Thanks, Dad.’ She leans over and kisses him on the cheek, then climbs out of the car.
‘Phone me if you need anything,’ he calls after her. ‘Don’t stay here if you don’t want to.’
In reply, she turns to give him a brief wave, but then keeps walking. Callum waits, watching her stride up the hill. Despite all he had said to Anya, suddenly this feels like the wrong decision. He can’t bring himself to turn the car around and drive away. He wants to get out and call after her, to keep her close to him. That’s Anya’s tactic, he reminds himself, and it obviously doesn’t work. Georgia is almost an adult now. He is determined to respect her decision.
Georgia reaches the security gates and stops to scan her card ID, then moves beyond sight. Fairbridge takes no chances with their students’ safety, but it always makes Callum morose, watching the kids disappear behind those barriers, locked away from the world. It is so different from his experience of secondary school, catching the bus there and back, exploring the fields and town at lunchtime. But back then the whole world was a playground, filled with heady excitement. He had never thought of life as dangerous until he had children. He hadn’t expected that parenthood would come coupled with an amorphous sensation of helplessness, of controls that lay permanently just beyond his grasp.
How can he be the father of such a grown-up young woman? He will never forget the first time he held Georgia, her body fitting snug against his palms as she screwed up her face under the harsh hospital lights, already indignant at the intrusion of the world. He could well recall those fierce promises he made on that night, to that baby he can still see faintly in the solemn girl he’s just said goodbye to. He is afraid he has failed to live up to them.
He can still see Anya that night too. She had looked radiant, despite the fourteen-hour labour she had endured. His blotchy, wrinkled child and tired wife made mockery of the manufactured beauty that was touted wherever he turned. He couldn’t tear his gaze from either of them.
Remembering, the emotions rise to unsettle him. They had been happy for such a long time, before the problems took hold. In the early days when he and Anya were first married they had regularly hiked over the mountains, to secret spots that Callum knew, initially carrying picnics with them, and later taking baby Georgia perched in a rucksack on Callum’s shoulders, her chubby hands clutching fistfuls of hair. They had only stopped exploring so far afield after Zac came along, by which time Georgia was too big to carry but too small to walk far. Their excursions became picnics in the park as they snatched time between naps and the endless chores of the day. He’d told himself that it wouldn’t be forever, but now it seemed he’d got that wrong. Anya had never intimated that she missed their rambles. Was that because she didn’t, or had she chosen not to complain?
Whichever it was, at that point her attention had slowly shifted from him towards the children. She was endlessly preoccupied with their needs – and the children fulfilled her in a way he couldn’t compete with. So, rather than giving in to jealousy, he had looked around at what he might do for himself, and there was Dave from Mountain Rescue encouraging him along. Dave had told him about the team’s commitment to the job, the crazy hours, and that it didn’t always make for an easy family life, but Callum had done the right thing and discussed all that with Anya before signing up. She liked the idea – she wanted him to have hobbies, she’d said. He had only gone ahead after checking he had her full support.
So, over the past ten years, while he has spent all his free time on the fells, every spare moment of Anya’s life has involved packing lunches, helping with homework, taxiing kids to out-of-school activities, and being an endless source of emotional support. They had each found roles that fulfilled them, and to begin with, everything worked. Anya had seemed pleased that Callum had something to keep him occupied – perhaps he was one less thing to think about.
The times they could relax together began to thin out, and she always apologised about being too tired to make love. One day the TV arrived in their bedroom, and then they would find themselves watching it until they fell asleep. Their lovemaking drifted to special occasions, and then tailed off even further.
It had been a long, slow drift into apathy, not a sudden downslide. Perhaps that was why neither of them had acknowledged they were heading into dangerous territory, a place where it was too easy to make too little effort. Perhaps neither of them had looked far enough ahead to predict what life would be like in another ten years, when all the kids wanted was for their parents to leave them alone.
He glances at himself in the rear-view mirror, seeing a middle-aged man’s face overlaying his own. The creases and lines multiply faster every year now, only his eyes unchanging as the skin bunches and folds around them.
What are you doing, Cal? he asks this stranger in the mirror. How has it come to this?
He brings his hands to his face to find they are shaking. Last night, while his family was in crisis, he had been on his own path of destruction. He has let them all down, and they have no idea.
Today he will try to set things right – even though he already suspects that will be impossible. He takes a deep breath, but before driving off, he digs his mobile from his pocket and calls his brother.
‘She’s been sedated since they operated on her leg,’ Liam says as soon as he answers, his voice a strange rasp, as though something hard has lodged in his throat and he is struggling to speak through it. ‘We just have to wait, see what the day brings.’
‘I’m on my way,’ Callum tells him. ‘But there’s something I need to do first.’
‘Right-o,’ Liam replies. Callum is debating what words of strength he can offer when he realises Liam has already hung up.
He drives away from school and back through Ambleside, before taking a turn down a quiet country road. He glances frequently in the rear-view mirror, aware that his behaviour is bordering on neurotic but unable to stop himself. As he travels, the road gradually narrows, while the view widens to a gentle sweep of hillside, clusters of trees with their leaves already dipped in the flaming hues of autumn. At one point he meets an unexpected traffic jam, which turns out to be the result of two oversized timber trucks taking up most of the road. Once he finally gets beyond that, most of the sights are so familiar he barely registers them, but he does notice that Dave McCready has finally moved his old broken-down tractor from the field in front of his house, and that someone has driven into the sign marking the turn-off for Claife Station, a popular tourist track. He is tempted to stop and try to figure out how to fix it, but really that’s just a delaying tactic. Because he’s getting close now, and his growing disquiet can no longer be ignored.
Finally, he reaches the outskirts of the bustling little village of Hawkshead and parks in front of a small cottage. There is no hiding the fact he is there – the Land Rover stands out like a beacon to anyone who knows him. Every instinct tells him just to restart the engine and keep driving, but he also knows that if he doesn’t face this straightaway it is only going to get worse. Whoever spots him will likely think he is on official rescue unit business, but nevertheless, he pulls the collar of his jacket high and walks quickly up the path with his head down, knocking on the door and seeing a curtain twitch a few moments later.
When she answers, she appears pleased to see him. She is still in her pyjamas, her hair hanging loose instead of tied back, as it usually is for rescues. Her smooth bare face reminds him of the age gap between them, and he grimaces.
He had been drawn to her from the start – but only in terms of a general awareness that she was attractive. There were only five women in their rescue division, and the others were much older. All the men at the station had at least noticed Danielle, whether they were married or not. When she first began her training she had quickly slotted into the team – she was a hard worker when she needed to be, often quiet, but always able to keep up with the teasing that everyone used to counteract the more serious side of the job.
He hadn’t registered her interest in him at all, until she began making excuses to spend time in his company. Other people spotted it as well – there had been one or two playful remarks thrown their way, but nothing too confronting – just part of the general camaraderie between them all. There could often be a bit of banter about a good-looking woman, but it never went too far. The blokes at the station might joke about their wives – some called their missus ‘the boss’, some made rueful comments about the state of their sex lives – but they were all acknowledging the compromises, the sacrifices that came from settling. They might enjoy a look elsewhere, but as far as Callum knows not one of them has strayed. They seem resigned, if not content, with the status quo – hell, Callum had been too. At no time had he been looking for an affair, even though he knew there were problems in his marriage. He was accustomed to the awkward silences and miscommunications at home – he didn’t like it, but he had filled his days so that he didn’t have too much time to think about it. The events of last night had taken him by surprise, and this morning he feels close to having an out-of-body experience. Who the hell are you? he asks himself as he stands in the doorway. Because this is not who you thought you were at all.
You didn’t have sex with her, he reassures himself, as though that made it somehow acceptable to let a woman half-undress in front of him, let her kiss him, let her touch him, and let himself respond. As though his breath hadn’t been shallow at the thrill of it. As though he hadn’t been hard with desire.
Yet still, because she had made all the moves, part of him is crying foul, trying to wriggle away from the blame, recasting himself as merely a surprised victim of Danielle’s assertiveness. But while he hadn’t started it, he hadn’t stopped it either. He had made a choice.
He understands why men his age are enticed by younger women: he can still remember dipping his hands into the inverted question marks of Danielle’s waist, and the taut skin around her neck where his lips had met the sweetness of her skin. But as a married man, these memories are the kind that sour fast, and reliving those moments of weakness brings bitterness to his tongue and sets off an angry itch to his skin that he is desperate to relieve.
The station had been deserted by the time it had happened, so at least he is sure no one had seen them. Earlier in the evening the police had been in touch with the unit about a walker who hadn’t reported in to his hotel, and Callum had sent out an alert to the team. However, by the time people began arriving at the rescue station, the missing man had been found drinking in one of the local pubs, having forgotten to let anyone know he was back. Most went home again straightaway, but Danielle had stayed to do a stocktake of some of the equipment. Callum had gone to help her, and Les Pickering, the rescue team coordinator, had looked in on them at one point. At the time, Callum hadn’t noticed anything remiss, but now he replayed the memory it seemed as though Les had given him a strange look – and he had closed the door quickly. Had Les sensed something was going on, even before things got physical?
Callum cannot stop thinking in confessional clichés this morning. I didn’t mean it to happen. I didn’t want to hurt anyone. And it will never happen again, because in the cold light of day . . . Oh yes, the reality of daylight is stark and frigid and leaves nowhere to hide.
He has been lost in these thoughts as Danielle stands in front of him without a word. When he comes back to his surroundings he is forced to speak first. ‘I was hoping I’d catch you before you headed to work. Can I come in?’
She moves aside so he can get past, and he hovers in the hallway until she has closed the door. ‘I’ve come to apologise,’ he says, feeling as though he is reciting formal lines from some well-known rule book of transgression. ‘It – we – last night – I’m so sorry, it should never have happened.’
All pleasure vanishes from Danielle’s face. She folds her arms and her look runs right through him. �
�Why am I not surprised? You’d better come in.’
He follows her into the lounge room. He has never been here before and the interior is surprisingly old-fashioned. Her furniture belongs in a charity shop, but then he couldn’t imagine outdoorsy Danielle browsing through the home catalogues. Still, somehow this place feels far cosier than his sister-in-law’s carefully laid out Laura Ashley interior. Or his own practically furnished home, for that matter.
‘Take a seat, then,’ she gestures to the sofa. ‘Do you want a coffee?’
He perches uncomfortably on the edge of a cushion, unsettled by her formal civility. His mind flashes back to her excited, uneven breaths as she straddled him less than twelve hours ago. He’s aware of stirrings in his groin. He feels like a teenager.
‘I don’t think I should stay.’ He wants to stand up but he can’t bring himself to, yet. ‘Like I said, I just needed to tell you that I’m sorry. Last night, it was a mistake . . .’
‘A mistake.’ She repeats the words so quietly that he is unsure he heard them. She takes the seat opposite him, and stares at the floor.
An uncomfortable tangle of emotions begins to rise in him – embarrassment, confusion and fear. ‘Please help me out, Danielle. You know what I’m saying.’
She catches his eye and whatever she reads there spurs her into action. She comes and kneels in front of him, putting her hands on his knees. He looks down at her touch, studies her soft, smooth skin, so different to his rough weather-beaten fingers. ‘Callum, this is your guilt talking. Whatever it is that we’ve started, it’s been building up between us for months. Or are you going to lie now, and tell me differently?’
Callum can’t meet her eye.
‘I heard about the accident,’ Danielle says, the change of tack surprising him. ‘I’m so glad that Georgia’s okay. She is okay, isn’t she?’
‘Yes, she’s fine . . . well, kind of. The thing is, Dani, there’s just far too much wrong with this scenario . . .’ He waves his hands between them, trying to think of ways he might persuade her to draw a line under this indiscretion on amicable terms. ‘I’m way too old for you.’ He holds a hand up, forestalling her objections, ‘And what happened last night was beyond selfish on my part. I let everybody down, most of all myself. I’m not about to live two separate lives; I just can’t do it. This has to stop now, I’m sorry.’