by Sara Foster
He knows this route well, and tears down the track only barely aware of the orange race markers. He’s fit from fell-walking, but the exertion coupled with panic is robbing him of breath. Still, he doesn’t break his stride. He won’t stop until he finds her.
He spots a neon-jacketed official sitting on a fallen log beside the path, his phone dangling from his hand. ‘Hey!’ he shouts. ‘I’m looking for Georgia Turner. Are you a marshal? Have you seen her?’
The man starts at the sight of him, getting up quickly as Callum jogs closer. ‘I was manning checkpoint thirteen – second from last. She came through a while ago.’ He stares blankly at his phone. ‘I don’t understand why she would—’ He falters.
Callum’s senses attune to danger. ‘Why she would what?’
The marshal looks stunned. ‘I, I—’ he stutters. ‘His gaze flickers back to his phone. ‘She couldn’t – she wouldn’t.’ He catches Callum’s eye, and seems to pull himself together. His voice deepens as he says, ‘I’ve never known her to quit before.’
The words are discomforting, but Callum can’t pinpoint why. ‘You know Georgia?’
‘Of course.’ There’s a beat of hesitation. ‘I’m head of sports at Fairbridge.’
Callum frowns. ‘I thought Mack Devonish was—’
‘I’m new.’
‘Right.’
The man is just standing there, and Callum feels a surge of irritation. His mind flails, his thoughts twisting and turning. Calm down, he tells himself. Be rational. His fears are in danger of becoming unfocused rage.
‘Okay. Well, we need everyone helping to find Georgia. Georgia!’ he yells, turning a circle as he calls. ‘She wouldn’t just give up in the middle of a race. Something has happened.’ A thought occurs to him. ‘Do you know the way to the spirit road?’
‘Yes.’
‘I don’t know why she’d be up there, but it’s the path towards our house – it’s worth a look.’
The marshal nods. ‘I’ll head there now,’ and he dashes away with surprising speed.
Once he’s gone, Callum jogs along the race route – calling, listening, looking around carefully. He tries to utilise all his hours of training, to take it steady, to engage all his senses in the hunt for clues. He reconsiders the possible scenarios, but it’s as though she has vanished. Gradually, he is besieged by panic. It lays waste to all his intentions, carrying him unheeding along sections of the track, until he’s travelling in time slips, glancing back at sections of ground he doesn’t remember covering.
He wishes he had stuck with McCallister, because at least McCallister seemed to talk some sense and had a notion of how to help. He has a flashback to McCallister on the day of Hugh’s accident; the flapping, frantic man he’d first encountered. How had he ever thought he had the measure of the man from that day? Now their roles are reversed, and Callum understands what it is to be a frightened father, terrified that harm might have come to his child on the fells, unable to reach her. By all accounts Hugh is still recovering from his injuries. Now Callum truly understands Mike McCallister’s maps and initiatives to make the Lake District safer, his conscientious volunteering. It’s one long attempt to come to terms with what happened to his son, in the best way he can.
His phone rings. It’s Anya. ‘Anything?’ he asks, picking up.
‘No, listen, Callum – there’s a man up there, Leo Freeman. Don’t trust him. I think something’s been going on with him and Georgia.’
‘What? Who’s Leo Freeman?’
‘He’s the new head of sport.’
Callum’s blood turns to ice. ‘I met him already. He’s helping the search.’ He turns around and begins to run. ‘I’ll find him,’ he pants, ‘don’t worry.’
His words are interrupted by another incoming call. He looks at the screen and sees it’s Liam. He taps the buttons to switch the call. ‘I can’t talk now, I’ll call you back,’ he says, intending to hang up immediately and return to the search.
‘Stop – Cal, listen!’ Liam is shouting. ‘I’m driving to your house – Sophia’s just been on the phone to Georgia. We think Georgia’s had a run-in with the woman we’re after.’
Callum’s surroundings drop away as his mind grapples with this new information. ‘You mean she’s at home?’
‘She was heading there, but we don’t think she got inside. Sophia was talking to her when it happened. Apparently Georgia was nearly home when a woman got out of a car and approached her. Sophia said it sounded like Georgia ran, there was lots of scuffling and then she got cut off.’
Callum is already sprinting back to the field, phone still to his ear.
‘You’re sure about this?’
‘Cal, Sophia was hysterical. I’m running red lights. Get home now.’
‘Where are you?’
‘Only ten minutes from Lancaster, but I’m moving fast and I’ll call a squaddie too. How soon can you get there?’
‘I’m on my way.’
As he speeds down the hill, Anya sees him coming. Her steps quicken as she senses his urgency. ‘She’s at home,’ he calls as he gets closer, unwilling to stop. ‘She’s spoken to Sophia, but she may have met our trespasser. She could be on her way back here now.’ He sees her jaw drop but he can’t stop. ‘Stay put in case she turns up this end. I’ll call you when I find her.’
He is sucking air noisily by the time he reaches the vehicle. He slams it into gear and takes the most direct route out, reversing over the grass. The tyres squeal as the car swings around and he floors the accelerator. Liam is too far away, and god knows how long the squad car will take. This is all on Callum.
There is only one road up to Fellmere, and he tackles it like a rally race, the back end of the car swinging wildly round the corners. As he turns into the quiet lane he sees a white car parked just beyond his house, but there is no one around. He pulls onto the driveway and jogs to the front door, fumbling with the key. Door open, he runs into the hallway, shouting ‘Georgia! Georgia!’ as he goes. There is no energy to the house, he’s sure she isn’t here, but he dashes upstairs and checks all the bedrooms anyway.
He is inspecting his own room when he glances through the window, as a woman with long, dark hair emerges from the woods, hugging herself, hurrying back towards the parked white car.
In seconds he is back down the stairs and out onto the path, fresh adrenalin pumping through his arms and legs. ‘Hey!’ he shouts as she passes by the front garden.
Her expression transforms as she sees him. She throws him a look of terror before she sprints to her car.
Callum rushes down the driveway, catching up with her as she reaches for the door handle. He launches himself at her, the force of his tackle knocking her over. They hit the ground hard, his body crushing hers, winding him. At the same time he hears a crack and she screams, and when he moves off her she gets to her hands and knees, dabbing at her bloody nose.
‘Where the hell is my daughter?’ he roars, as she scrabbles backwards away from him. He gets to his feet, towering over her. ‘Hey!’ he yells. ‘Answer me.’
Her back meets the low stone wall of their front garden. She stares at him, breathing fast, her body trembling. ‘She ran into the woods. I only wanted to talk to her, but she disappeared.’
‘What the hell have you done?’ Callum lunges forward, intending to pull her up. Somehow he will force her to tell him the full truth, but before he can get any further he is grabbed from behind and hauled away.
‘Step back, sir, or I’ll have to cuff you,’ a voice says, so close to his ear that warm breath prickles his skin.
He is still being held as another uniformed officer stalks in front of him and offers a hand to the girl, pulling her up. The middle-aged policeman looks between them. ‘Who’s going to explain what is going on here?’
‘My daughter is missing,’ Callum pants. ‘I think she’s lost in the woods. Please, let go of me, I need to find her. Where the hell is she?’ he bellows at the woman once again.
She’s changing in front of him, her confidence returning now his arms are pinioned behind him and she has the upper hand. She marches up until her face is right next to his.
‘Your daughter is a whore.’
She steps back with a vile smirk, and he is wrenching himself free from the officers. He has almost reached her when he is rugby tackled again. It takes two of them to hold him down, and when they pull him up he feels the steely metal of handcuffs snapping onto his wrists, unforgiving against his skin. As he is dragged across to the squad car, he yells, ‘Don’t let her go! Call my brother, Liam Turner – for fuck’s sake, someone find my daughter.’ They leave him slumped against the vehicle and return to talk to the woman, who is crying and wailing and dabbing at her bloody nose. He catches sight of himself in his own front window, his clothes dishevelled, his hair sticking on end, one of his wellingtons missing. He spots it abandoned next to the white car, the thick rubber sagging into itself now its purpose has disappeared. He considers his reflection, discomfited by the stranger who stares back. Then his gaze strays towards the woods, and he knows that somewhere in that maze his daughter needs him. He swings around to the police officers and begins to shout and plead all over again.
37
GEORGIA
Georgia doesn’t move for a while. She’s trying to process what has just happened; to keep calm despite the blood. Eventually, she pulls herself up and heads gingerly back onto the track, clutching at whatever she can for support. Everything is slimy and slippery from the rain. As soon as she has taken a few steps she dry-retches and searches for a place to sit down again. There are plenty of leaf-litters that look comfortable but before she selects one she pats it down for rocks.
She tucks herself between the trees and tries to calm down. She can’t bear this awful pounding at the base of her skull. She doesn’t want to touch it again. She’s frightened – her hairline is warm with sticky blood. Perhaps if she lies still for a moment, she thinks, gently easing herself down so she’s on her side, her right cheek pressed against soft wet leaves, breathing in earth and a combination of fresh and rotting vegetation.
She is so cold and wet that she’s merging with the ground, no idea where her skin ends and the leaves begin. She had better move in a second, but she’s exhausted; perhaps she should have a little rest and get her energy up. She allows weariness to take over – anything not to exacerbate the throbbing.
She’s sure she hears her father calling her name, but he sounds so far away. It only happens once – perhaps she imagined it. Her mind drifts as she waits, hoping to hear it again, but when it comes his voice is different – coarser.
‘Dad, I’m here,’ she calls weakly, ‘over here.’
Scraping footsteps get closer and closer, until at last they are so loud she knows he has found her. She would like to open her eyes, make an effort to show her appreciation, but she is so bloody tired.
‘Georgia, Georgia, what have you done?’ And it’s not her father at all, but Leo kneeling in front of her, shaking her awake.
‘Why are you here?’ she asks, confused. Is he angry with her? She cowers from him.
‘You didn’t finish the race, Georgia. Everyone’s looking for you. Your parents are frantic.’
Of course. How strange that she had forgotten the race. It seems such a long time ago.
She is curled into a foetal ball, and he tries to unfold her and pull her up. As he grabs her arms he finally notices the blood. ‘What’s this?’ He sounds confused as he rubs at her wrists and she realises that he thinks she might have harmed herself.
She tries to explain. ‘I walked home. A girl chased me. I hit my head.’ Was that what had happened? It doesn’t sound quite right. Has she missed something?
‘You hit your head?’
‘At the back. On a rock.’ She lifts an arm and gestures weakly at the spot. He moves around and squats on his haunches and she knows he sees it because she hears his deep intake of breath, but he says nothing.
He is behind her. What is he doing? She jumps as he puts his hand on her shoulder. His fingers dig into the side of her neck. He presses hard against the wound on her head. She screams.
Then the pressure is gone. He is in front of her again. He is holding a wad of tissues covered in blood. She retches.
‘Can you walk?’ He tries to help her up, but her legs are rubbery and she leans on him so heavily that he’s almost lifting her off the ground. She doesn’t feel right at all, her head is floating inches above her body. Perhaps this is a dream. If so, she demands of her subconscious, could you make him a bit more understanding, more forgiving.
‘Leo,’ she tries to say, but it comes out Lo, and then she remembers she’s not supposed to call him by this name any more, so she shuts up.
‘My head,’ she attempts, which emerges as Med. She puts one floppy puppety hand up to swipe at the base of her neck, and at last he reads her meaning. He pauses, then scoops her into his arms. ‘Come on, let’s go.’
He carries her as though she weighs nothing at all. Every thump of his feet makes her head pound harder. She bites her lip, trying not to cry out. He smells clean and fresh but there’s muskiness in there too, a hint of something more primal.
‘Hang on,’ he mutters after a while, and lays her down on a large boulder. The world is spinning but she sees the big oak tree pass by and guesses that she’s lying on the coffin stone. Wispy lights dance in her vision, as though the spirits are gathering to watch this unexpected procession. Leo is leaning over her, his face dark, his jacket smeared with blood. In a haze, she wonders about this weird lightheaded pull that seems to lull her towards unconsciousness. Is it the beginnings of a change into something more ephemeral than flesh and bone? She is too tired to feel afraid. She just wants this journey to end.
Leo has one hand on her, holding her steady, and in the other is his phone. ‘I’ve found her,’ he says. ‘You need to call an ambulance quickly. I’m almost at the field.’
When he attempts to carry her again she tries to resist, fighting him off. ‘I can’t,’ she wails, breaking down in tears. ‘It hurts.’ But he hauls her up anyway, encouraging her to put her arms around his neck, but she’s too weak, she can feel herself slipping, and his steps are slowing, she can tell he is struggling. He sets her down again briefly and scoops her up so she’s cradled in his arms, staring at the tips of the trees as they point beyond the sky, counting silver stars that seem to be sailing down from heaven.
She drifts into weird daydreams. Her family, Danny, Leo, Sophia, Bethany – they are all jumbled up where they shouldn’t be: her parents at school in uniform; Sophia running through the woods; Danny driving a car at her; Leo in her bed at home. Every now and again she comes back to herself in Leo’s arms, panicking, gasping for air, and each time she sees they have made a little more ground.
He sets her down and picks her up again, supporting her legs around his waist, so she is wrapped against him, their bodies pressed hard together like that other time, that better time, the one that’s faded into a dream. ‘Don’t go, Leo,’ she begs him. ‘Don’t leave me again.’
Is it one of her hallucinations, or is he whispering into her ear, his voice breaking. ‘I’m so sorry, Georgia. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.’
38
ANYA
I have long since reached the limits of my patience. I am monitoring the search effort as I pace in circles, my fingers hovering on the phone, willing it to ring.
When it finally does, it’s Liam’s name on the screen.
‘Has Georgia turned up there?’ he asks.
‘No.’
‘I’m at your house,’ he says. ‘Don’t panic, but Callum’s been arrested.’
‘What?’ I shriek. I know people are watching me, but I don’t care. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’
‘That woman was here when he got back. He tackled her and it got a bit ugly – don’t worry, it’ll all be fine.’
My confusion has taken a turn
towards delirium. ‘But what about Georgia?’ I gabble.
‘I’m heading into the woods now – Callum asked me to walk through to the school. He thinks I’ll find her on the way.’
‘Don’t walk, Liam, run!’ I shout. ‘Call me as soon as you have her.’
As I say this, Chris Jessop is rushing towards me. One glance at her face and I am clutching the phone to my chest, tipping over the final precipice of terror. ‘Leo Freeman just called. He’s found her, he’s bringing her back now, and he asked us to call an ambulance.’ Her face is ashen. Before I can react she adds, ‘It’s already done.’
‘Why the ambulance?’ I whisper. I can hardly speak, there is so much fear coursing through me.
‘I don’t know.’
I look up the hill. There is a figure staggering against the tree line, carrying someone in his arms. I begin to run.
I’m not the only one. The first-aid team are already halfway up the hill, much faster than I’m capable of moving, their equipment banging against their sides. Danny is sprinting ahead. Beside me Zac scrabbles up the incline too, using his hands to help gain speed.
As I get closer I see it’s Leo Freeman, and Georgia is limp in his arms. ‘Tell Callum we’ve got her,’ I shout into the phone, my voice breaking, unsure if Liam is still there. Then I drop the phone and let out a scream, charging up this never-ending hill as fast as I can.
39
GEORGIA
Just as she thinks they are never going to stop moving, and this pounding in her head will never cease, she begins to hear voices calling in the distance. She knows that they have to go towards them, she longs to be warm and safe, but she will not let go of him again. As Leo slows down and the commotion gets louder, she finds a strength she thought had gone and clings to him with everything she’s got, her fingernails digging into his neck, telling him fiercely not to let her go, not to leave her. The trees above them disappear, rain fires freezing arrows into her eyes, and he stops and loosens his grip on her, passing her over to someone else. He strokes her hair once, then squeezes her hand, and she doesn’t break his gaze, because in his face, before he turns away, she finds things she feared were lost forever.