by David Park
‘What happened?’
‘I just lost it. Maybe I was nervous or something.’
‘It’s been a long time – you’re out of practice.’
‘Emma, you’ll not be buying me one, then.’
‘Buying you what?’
‘One of those mugs that says “world’s greatest lover”.’
She nestled into his side and in a few minutes was asleep. He lay awake, his arm under her head until it grew numb, and then he gently eased it free.
He didn’t turn on the attic light but paused at the top of the short flight of stairs until his eyes had grown accustomed to the soft sheen of light which seeped in from the moon. The wooden floorboards were cold and smooth under his feet as he picked his way carefully through the discarded sprawl. In his rational mind he felt the incredible foolishness of the thought that now lodged there like some spore. He was neither superstitious nor religious by nature, and clung to no belief in any world other than the one he could see and touch, but the more he tried to brush the image away, the more it seemed to burst and spread through his being.
He sat on an old cane rocking chair Emma had paid too much money for in a jumble sale and stored for the day when she would repair it. Then he moved aside the two screening tea-chests and lifted the suitcase on to his knees. He felt his mind existed in some limbo world between sleep and waking. A white-winged moth trembled against the glass of the skylight. Sifting through the contents of the case, he held each object carefully before returning it to its original place. He forced himself to think of the most solid, concrete objects which existed – the document on assessment, the postcard from Reynolds, the brackish pools of water on the railway line. Anything which anchored his mind to the tangible world and blocked out the thought that had so shaken him.
At the bottom of the case he found a copy of the four-month scan. He stared at the monochrome print – fuzzy like some sonar under-water image – but the foetal shape was still recognisable. He had been a good father, had read all the books, knew that at that moment of development fingers and toes and their nails had formed and eyebrows and eyelashes were beginning to grow. It was a strange consolation now to tell himself that the embryo had been carried away in a metal dish, bagged and incinerated. Whatever life had been created through the mystery of conception had ended in that moment. There was no lost child, no wandering, frightened waif calling for his father. There was no other world than this and the only thing which had spawned this misery was his physical and mental tiredness, the stress of a new job. He sat back in the silvery light and surveyed the clutter which swelled all around him and tried to spark some warming memory from a familiar object. When he felt his calm returning he shut thecase and returned it to its place of concealment. Quietly he started to descend the steepness of the stairs, holding lightly on to the wooden rail but halfway down stopped, then retraced his steps. He stood on the cane chair and forced the skylight open, feeling the coolness of the air hit his face as the moth fluttered into the dark pathways of the night.
*
They formed an orderly but impatient queue to receive their gear from the store and then filed back outside, struggling not to drop anything. Equipped with their wet suits, hiking boots, buoyancy aids, orange waterproofs and safety helmets they balanced the piles precariously under their chins and lumbered off to the changing rooms. He followed the boys while Mrs Craig accompanied the girls. Hennessy had ensconced himself in the staff canteen and was enjoying coffee and a doughnut. He had been supposed to bring another member of staff but failed to produce one and gave no coherent explanation.
The boys squeezed themselves into the one-piece rubber wet suits with varying degrees of success. Some, suddenly finding themselves with dried and stiff outer skins, did impersonations of penguins, while others stood motionless like sticks of liquorice. He gave help where it was needed, making adjustments to trouser lengths and helmet straps and generally chivvied them on. Some were excited, engaging in competitive bravado, while others masked their nervousness with meticulous checking of laces and zips. They plied him with constant questions. How deep would the water be? Could you drown in the rock pools? Could you keep your watch on if it was waterproof? Then, when most of them were almost ready, he went to collect his own gear, pausing to look into the canteen to ask if Hennessy had got his canoeing equipment from the store.
‘My God, John, you don’t seriously think that I’m going to do a Hiawatha impersonation and get into one of those canoes? I’ll be doing my supervision from the shore.’ Taking another sip from his coffee, he winked at him. ‘Remember the dignity of the office John, now, and don’t be letting the side down, traipsing around like Jacques Cousteau.’
He smiled and left him lighting up his pipe. Hennessy’s apathy couldn’t diminish his own excitement. The outdoor pursuits centre had split their day into two activities – bouldering and canoeing. The two schools had been mixed and divided into two groups with a roughly equal mix of boys and girls in each. He was accompanying the group which was spending the morning bouldering, while Mrs Craig was going with the canoeing party. The centre provided experienced instructors and it was a nice break to stand back and watch someone else do all the work. As the instructor played lightly on the dangerous aspect and the need to follow instructions carefully, they listened to him intently, their faces almost unrecognisable under the helmets plumped like bowls on their heads.
A mini-bus drove them the short distance along the coast and they scampered down the path to the sea where one of the many rivers flowed down from the Mournes. Their first activity involved lying on their backs in a narrow little gully, folding their arms across their chests and simply letting the water carry them down into the pool below. Standing in the rock pool at the bottom of the chute the instructor shepherded each child across to dry land. The more adventurous of the children clamoured to go first, pushing with their heels to kick-start their momentum, while others hung back, needing more encouragement. Jacqueline was in this latter group and she and two other girls were obviously nervous about it all, but the instructor coaxed them gently until each one had completed the task and splashed into the rock pool with a mixture of relief and pride.
He felt a little nervous himself as he lay on his back in the narrow fissure and for a few seconds wondered if Hennessy hadn’t been right after all. Water and swimming weren’t his strong points and he was suddenly aware of the opportunities the morning presented for making a fool of himself in front of his own pupils. The gully felt too narrow for him and he remembered the instructor’s warning to keep elbows well tucked in. He felt like a corpse in a coffin and as he looked up at the sky he could hear the encouraging cries of the children. At first he felt as if he was stuck, but then he arched his back and levered his body forward with his heels until the water was shooting him forward like a torpedo in a tube. Then, with a splash and an involuntary cry of shock, he was briefly immersed in coldness before bobbing and spluttering to the surface. He swam a few metres to the rocks on the other side and as he pulled himself out children slapped his back in congratulations. Water ran out of him like a tap but there was no time to feel sorry for himself as the group set off walking up the river, short legs stretching and hopping from boulder to boulder while he brought up the rear, encouraging stragglers and wondering what new challenge was waiting for them.
The stream was replenished by recent rain and the water gushed about them with white flurries cascading over rocks in a throaty sluice of sound. They walked in Indian file, each child stepping on the stones selected by the person in front, a caravanserai of orange waterproofs and blue helmets. His boots were hurting him – he’d had to take a size smaller than he usually wore – and for a brief moment he almost wished that Vance had taken up his invitation instead of declining it with something that almost approached a joke. Out of mischief he’d offered Mrs Haslett the opportunity to come, knowing how well she enjoyed playing the role of someone who faced a challenge fearlessly, then enjoyed wa
tching her squirm her way out of it. Mrs Craig had been enthusiastic and jumped at the opportunity. She had a relaxed, capable manner with children which he admired and led him to wonder if there were a way he might get her to teach further up the school. But for the moment at least, he turned his full concentration to surviving his next confrontation with stone and water. The instructor made it look easy, clinging to the handholds across a face of rock with practised ease and making the sideways crab-like movements with a minimum of strain. When he had completed it he turned to give final instructions and to warn, ‘If you’re going to fall, just let go. Don’t try to hold on, just fall back into the water.’
It proved more difficult than it looked and the first half-dozen children fell backwards into the water to a malicious cheer from the spectators. The footholds and crevices were not obvious and as he stood awaiting his turn he regretted not paying closer attention. The instructor squatting on the rock overhead talked the next few children through the crossing and after they completed it without slipping, they too turned to encourage the others across. The rock’s surface became more slippery now as it was splashed with more water and the dampness of the clothing which had passed over it.
Soon it was Jacqueline’s turn but he could see the hesitancy in her movements as she got closer to the narrow ridge which was the starting point. It pleased him to hear the other girls shouting encouragement but she was crouching lower and lower as she glanced down at the water and he could tell that she wasn’t going to attempt it. As she squatted on a rock and looked towards him he told her it was all right and, in a desire to divert attention from her failure, stepped on to the ridge. It felt impossibly narrow under his feet, more like a slight seam than any kind of ledge. He clung to the face, his hands feeling the smoothness of stone for a grip, and then from the group cheering him came the chant, ‘Fall in! Fall in!’ He suspected the instructor was leading it and in his momentary distraction he was over-stretching, his hand was holding nothing but lichen and he was falling backwards into space. The feeling was curiously pleasant until he smacked the water, felt it rush into his ears and the mouth which he had foolishly left open.
He threatened them all with double homework for a year but as the group set off again upstream Jacqueline’s head was down and she trudged through water rather than stretch to stones. He tried to raise her spirits by making a joke of his own failure but she did not respond as they engaged in a further sequence of activities and instead crouched like a mollusc on the rocks, watching but not participating, hugging a shiver of misery. He let her be – there were other children who needed his attention. He couldn’t give himself exclusively to her. They reached the final activity before lunch and it was the simplest but the most intimidating – clambering a great egg-shaped rock and then jumping off into the deep pool some few metres below. From a distance it didn’t seem a particularly great height but when standing on the rock itself with the noise of the white-tipped water tumbling into the pool from upstream, the black sharpness of the rocks on either side gave it a feeling of danger which only the most confident children were able to overcome. The instructor left it entirely without persuasion to the children themselves and only a handful attempted it. Despite his own fears there was no escape for him and the group urged him to the top of the rock. He stood looking over what had suddenly taken on the characteristics of a precipice above a maelstrom of angry water, and he felt distinctly uneasy. He didn’t like heights and despite the chorused urging from the children couldn’t bring himself to jump. He tried to talk himself into it, knew he would regret it later if he didn’t complete it, but each time he drew closer to the edge something stronger pulled him back. He listened to himself make a joke about his age, then waved the white flag, and as they gathered up the group in readiness for the trek back to the bus he was aware of the little ripple of disappointment in him.
‘Sir, Sir, look!’
They all turned round to stare at Jacqueline standing on top of the rock. Some of the poppers had opened on her coat and the bottom of it flapped open like the folded corner of a page. She wasn’t looking at them but staring down into the water as if looking into a mirror, held motionless by her own reflection. One of the boys beside him started to shout something but he stopped him and they stood silently looking up at her. The instructor started to move back on to the rocks but he clutched the sleeve of his jacket and pulled him back. She was shuffling forward to the edge, taking tiny stiff steps like some automaton. His mouth could taste again his own fear as he had stood there and he was frightened for her, but something else made him hold on to the instructor’s coat. She was right at the edge now and in the silence they could hear the pitch and plunge of the rushing water as it spilled over the rocks and lathered into the pool. And then she was jumping, her orange coat opening like wings on an insect as she disappeared below the surface of the water before bobbing up again like a blue topped cork. Now everyone was rushing to the pool’s edge and the instructor was wading through the water and pulling her out like a minnow on the end of a line. Kids were patting her on the back as water dripped out of her and she was shivering a little, but her face betrayed no emotion or elation, and as they made their way down the narrow path she trailed a rivulet of water in her wake.
Hennessy was already finishing a bowl of stew when they arrived back at the centre. Mrs Craig and the rest of the children sat in the canteen eating their packed lunches but he had obviously inveigled a hot meal from the kitchen. He had a shower and joined them. The canoeing had gone well with plenty of games and capsizing to keep everyone entertained. The children were obviously having a good time and already friendships were being formed between children in the two schools.
‘Well, we got a good day for it,’ Hennessy said as he took his first puff from his pipe. ‘This girl here’s an Olympian rower!’
‘Get away with you, Liam – you must’ve missed me falling out of the canoe.’
‘Aye, well, it was nippy enough standing about so I took a bit of a stroll round the lake to get the blood circulating.’
It struck him that Hennessy’s walk had probably led directly to the canteen and the morning paper but it didn’t really matter when the instructors were so experienced and in such tight control of the situation. Still puffing his pipe, he excused himself and went off to find one of his pupils who still owed the money for the trip.
‘He’s a bit of a character, Fiona.’
‘He certainly is, but I don’t think there’s any harm in him, though I have to say the wink he keeps giving me suggests he’d be open for another form of mutual understanding.’
‘I wouldn’t worry yourself too much – I think Liam’s just a bit of a talker. You wink back and he’ll probably run a mile.’
They both laughed and chatted about how the different children were getting on and he told her about Jacqueline’s jump and described his own failure. Then she took one more sip of her coffee and left for a moment to hurry the girls in the changing room. A morning spent in mountain water and the hot shower he’d just enjoyed had left him feeling clean and relaxed. It seemed a pity to have to spoil it by getting changed again and then mess about in some canoe which would probably be too small for his legs and he decided to take a leaf out of Hennessy’s book and supervise from the shore. Anyway, he’d brought a camera with him and it would be a good chance to take some photographs. He was loading a new film when she returned and sat down again.
‘Girls all right?’ he asked, threading the film.
‘They’re fine, each regaling the other with tales of daring and disaster. True to form of course, Kelly Truesdale has lost her towel. Jacqueline’s jump is also getting a fair old re-telling and the height is growing by the minute.’ She sipped her coffee and looked across at him. ‘Did she bang her arm this morning?’
He stopped working with the camera and looked up. ‘No, I don’t think so, has she hurt it?’
‘She hasn’t said anything but she’s a lot of bruising on her upper arm.
I noticed it when she was getting changed.’
‘Kids get bruises, Fiona.’
‘I know that – it just caught my eye. Thinking about it now though, it hasn’t been done today.’
‘Did you ask her about it?’
‘I didn’t get much sense out of her. I think she said something about falling off a gate. I don’t think she wanted to talk about it.’
‘Do you think I should look at it, ask her about it?’
‘I don’t know, I suppose it’d do no harm. She’s still in her swimsuit. If you wait outside the changing rooms I’ll send her out with a message – a safety helmet or something.’
They crossed the path to the changing facilities where the group going bouldering were already queuing up to get into the mini-bus. A few seconds later Jacqueline came out in her swimsuit and bare feet. She was wearing the Celtic cross round her neck. She handed him a blue helmet without speaking or looking into his face then turned away. He called after her.
‘Jacqueline, that was a very brave jump this morning – I couldn’t do it.’
A yellow and blue flecked patina curled like a bracelet round her upper arm.
‘My goodness that’s a right bruise you have on your arm. How did you get it?’
She fingered the cross around her neck and placed one of her feet on top of the other. He smoothed flat a strand of her hair. ‘I fell off a gate.’
He wished she would look him in the eye.
‘A gate on the farm at home?’
She nodded her head and then before he could think of what to say she turned away again and re-entered the changing rooms. He stood for a second, staring at the wet prints of her feet.
*
It was the wife of the local doctor on the phone. He had been warned about her but this was his first encounter. It wasn’t going well. She was querying the value of a day spent in outdoor pursuits at a time when she felt preparing for the transfer tests would have been the priority. Despite his best efforts to reassure her she persisted in her entrenched position and it was soon apparent that she had conferred with Vance – it was even possible that he had put her up to the call as she spoke of the good job he did within the existing constraints on his time and how she was sure the fewer interruptions he had, the better the results would be in June. He let her ramble on as gradually he gave up any hope of a rational discussion. Outside his window he could see the trees smouldering into autumn colour. Eventually she ran out of steam and he thanked her for her call and said how useful it was to get feedback from parents, and then in a moment of impulsive malice, said that if she was so concerned her son would be excused any future school outings and could stay in school to receive personal attention from Mr Vance. As she struggled for a reply he excused himself to deal with an imaginary emergency and put the receiver down.