‘Look, I’ll be fine,’ insists Zoe, when Andrea and I speak to her about our worries. ‘As I said, I’m not relishing the thought of being on my own, but someone needs to stay here with Joanne and wait for the police.’
‘But we don’t know for certain that they’re coming,’ I say. ‘That’s the whole point.’
‘Yes, but I’ll lock myself in and it won’t take too long before you get to the town. Besides, I have to stay. I don’t have a choice. I can’t walk that far, not with my ankle the way it is. You need to go. Both of you.’
‘Are you sure you can’t manage the walk?’ asks Andrea.
‘Positive. We’ve been through all this. Please, just go.’
With a certain amount of reluctance, Andrea and I leave Zoe at the croft and head off down the track.
‘I hope it doesn’t rain,’ says Andrea, as we round the bend in the track and cross the stone bridge. She looks up at the clouds above. ‘Looking rather grey up there.’
‘The ground is completely saturated. It’s quite possible there’s been a landslide somewhere.’ I lengthen my stride to avoid planting my foot in a muddy puddle which stretches across the track. ‘I hope Zoe’s going to be all right on her own. I feel guilty leaving her.’
‘I know what you mean, but you heard her, she’s adamant she’ll be fine. Hopefully, this will all be over by tonight.’
‘God, I hope so.’
We trudge on in silence for a while, each of us lost in our own thoughts.
It’s Andrea who speaks first. ‘I know this is going to sound bad, and I couldn’t say it to anyone else, but I’m not as upset about Joanne as I think I should be.’
‘Really?’ I say, surprised at my friend’s honesty. Even for someone as straight-talking as Andrea, that’s some statement.
‘No. I don’t think any of us are.’
‘Speak for yourself. You don’t know what I’m thinking and feeling, or Zoe for that matter.’ Andrea’s comment irritates me but I’m uncertain if it’s because there may be an element of truth in it.
I’m not as cut up as I would have expected an almost-best-friend to be. But then maybe that’s because these are exceptional circumstances.
‘I’m only being honest,’ says Andrea.
‘It’s probably the adrenalin and the fear that’s stopping us from being upset,’ I say. ‘It will hit us later, when we’re safe in our own homes with our families.’ I think of Alfie, having to deal with another death, someone he’s grown close to, someone who has a connection to both of us. Darren’s death has been so very hard for him and now he will have to deal with another loss. And, in turn, I will have to bear the brunt of that new grief, probably in the same way I do for his grief over Darren.
Sometimes I think he almost takes pleasure in my pain, both mental and physical. I had always hoped, and still do, that he’ll grow out of his extreme behaviour as he gets older and learns, through counselling, how to deal with his emotions. At the moment, the only outlet for his emotions seems to be anger. Extreme anger. It frightens me. Not that I’d admit this to anyone else. I’m ashamed of the way he lashes out; not ashamed of him, ashamed of his behaviour. But I am ashamed of myself too. I’ve failed as a mother, in the same way I failed as a wife.
I wish I could speak to Seb. He’d know what to do. In fact, I wish I was with Seb right now. I imagine myself sitting on the sofa with him, snuggled up against his chest, his arm around me, stroking my arm with his thumb like he usually does. We’ll be watching the television and there will be a bottle of wine open. We’ll have drunk half of it by now. Both of us will be totally relaxed and at ease with each other. I will feel loved and I will be in love. And everything in the world will be all right.
A bubble of emotion rises in my throat. I swallow hard. This is not the time to go to pieces. I need to remain strong, at least until we get help. I concentrate on the road ahead.
‘You OK?’ asks Andrea.
‘Sure. Was thinking of Alfie and Seb, that’s all.’
‘How are things between those two?’
‘About the same.’
‘It will come good in the end,’ says Andrea, with a confidence I’m not convinced by.
‘Alfie can barely bring himself to talk to me, let alone Seb,’ I say. Somehow it doesn’t seem so painful talking about it as it does thinking about it. I try to rationalise my thoughts. ‘Alfie wants to move in with the Aldridges. Apparently, he and Ruby are a thing,’ I blurt out. I hadn’t meant to say anything, but ever since Alfie dropped this bombshell last week during a heated debate about spending more time at home, the notion has been patrolling the edges of my thoughts like a frustrated caged animal.
‘What? Alfie and Ruby – I don’t believe it!’
‘It was news to me too. I thought they were mates, more like brother and sister, the way they’ve always been. I had no idea it had developed into anything more.’ I don’t tell Andrea that it completely freaked me out, especially after the fallout from Ruby’s crush on Darren. I couldn’t help wondering if she was doing it on purpose, as some sort of sick revenge. Not that I said this to Alfie. I steal a look at Andrea. ‘That’s not the best bit.’
‘There’s more? Don’t tell me Ruby’s pregnant.’
‘No! That would be a complete nightmare,’ I say. ‘The best bit is, Joanne. She thought it was wonderful that they had each other and said that if Alfie wanted to move in with Ruby, she didn’t have a problem.’ The sadness washes over me. I stop walking and look out across the valley and the vast landscape ahead. ‘I think Joanne was punishing me. She wanted to take Alfie away from me and leave me with nothing.’
‘Why?’
I feel a tear roll down my cheek and I shake my head. ‘It doesn’t matter now. Joanne’s dead.’
Andrea comes to stand next to me and we both gaze out at the vista. ‘It’s true about Ruby and Darren, isn’t it? That’s what you mean about Joanne punishing you.’
‘Honestly, I don’t know. We did have this big showdown with Joanne and Tris about it a couple of years ago, but Darren denied it all. We believed him – all three of us. Had no reason not to.’
‘And now?’
‘Well, I can’t exactly ask him about it,’ I say, a failed attempt at humour. ‘I think maybe Joanne was never convinced and something has happened to stir it all up again. I don’t know what, but whatever it was, she was probably going to confront me with it this weekend.’
‘I didn’t mean what I said about Darren being a paedo,’ says Andrea. ‘I was just cross, spooked, you know?’
‘It’s OK,’ I say, with rather more grace than I feel. I’m so very tired, I’m finding it hard to delve too deeply into my bank of emotions. ‘Ruby was eighteen at the time, so legally an adult. Although, ethically, it’s another matter.’
‘If it’s any consolation, I don’t believe Joanne would have taken Alfie on.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘For the same reason you struggle to have a relationship with him. Don’t take this the wrong way, but Alfie has a lot of issues he needs to sort out. He’d have been too much for Joanne; she couldn’t have coped with the disruption to her nice organised life.’
I know it’s irrational and unfair of me, but I can’t help bristling at Andrea’s opinion of my son. Yes, he is struggling, but I’m the one who’s allowed to criticise him, no one else. The irony isn’t lost. I still feel massively defensive when it comes to Alfie, as any mother would. When someone else, no matter how close a friend, voices their negative thoughts, it doesn’t sit well.
‘He’s good lad,’ I say. ‘He’s not that bad.’
‘This is me you’re talking to,’ says Andrea.
Whether Andrea intends it or not, I take umbrage. ‘I suppose you think you’ve got the perfect family,’ I snap, surprising myself at the level of my anger. ‘You should look closer to home before you start criticising others.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Andrea half turns to face me. Her foot is near the edge of the track. A steep hill falls away into the valley below us.
‘Exactly what I say. Your son isn’t perfect either.’
‘You can’t brandish things like that without anything to back it up. No one’s kids are perfect, and mine isn’t that bad. At least I can comment on Alfie with some authority. You’ve told me that he’s not the easiest of kids to live with, not with the mental state he’s in. And that mark on your back, I’ll bet my last pound that was something to do with Alfie.’
‘He might have some issues but at least he doesn’t peddle drugs.’ Somewhere in the depths of my mind, I’m conscious I’m lashing out because I’m hurt by Andrea’s words. Someone once said the best form of defence is attack. I guess I’m fully embracing that philosophy.
‘Drugs? What the hell are you on about?’
Despite acknowledging my reaction, I find myself snapping: ‘Bradley. He buys weed and sells it to the kids in the sixth form. If he got caught, he’d be kicked out of school and reported to the police for drug-dealing. So, don’t think your son is any better than mine.’ The feeling of triumph and satisfaction at the shocked look on Andrea’s face is short-lived. Almost immediately I regret my outburst. It is a childish and shameful way to carry on. But it’s also too late. I can’t retract the words.
Andrea is on the attack. ‘I tell you what, Carys, you should be careful what you say. You can’t go around accusing people of being drug dealers. Besides, a bit of weed is hardly crime of the century. If it were true, that is. You know what they say about people in glass houses.’
‘Forget it. I shouldn’t have said anything.’ Realising that Andrea is now too close to the edge for my liking, I put my hand out to touch her arm. ‘Come away from the edge.’
She snatches her arm away, the momentum throwing her backwards. When she puts her foot out to regain her balance, it makes contact with nothing but thin air.
Andrea screams. Her arms flail like a windmill as she tries to reach out to me. I lunge for her but my gloves can’t get any purchase on her nylon padded jacket. The fabric slips through my fingers.
The look on Andrea’s face is one of pure terror. She falls backwards and it is all I can do to stop myself falling after her. She screams again, this time longer and louder. More fearful.
I watch her plummet down the gulley, wincing as her head narrowly avoids hitting one of the many rocks along the way. Her feet fly up in the air and her arms and legs go in different directions as she tumbles backwards over the rocky hillside, gathering speed with each somersault. Then she is thrown to the side and disappears into some bushes.
‘Andrea! Andrea!’ I shout. ‘Can you hear me? Are you OK?’ It’s a ridiculous question; how can she possibly be OK after a fall like that?
I peer into the gulley. I might be able to get down there, but I’m not sure I’ll be able to scramble up again. Not without a rope and some chocks to wedge between the rocks for anchor points. The last thing I want is for both of us to be stuck down there. I call to Andrea again.
This time I hear a faint groan.
‘Carys …’
The voice is weak but at least she is alive. ‘Are you hurt?’
‘I can’t move. I think I’ve broken my ankle.’
‘OK, erm …’ My mind goes blank and it takes a moment before I can think straight. ‘I’m going to head to the croft, get some rope and something to make a brace with for your leg.’ I listen for a response. ‘Andrea? Can you hear me?’
‘Yes! Hurry up, my ankle is killing me.’
Before I leave, I look around for something to mark the spot where Andrea is. It might be difficult to remember the exact place when I return. I sprint over to the edge of the forest on the other side of the track and scan the area for a branch large enough to stick in the ground.
Eventually I find something suitable and push the stake into the rain-softened edge. To make certain I don’t miss this marker when I come back, I pull out the foil blanket from my rucksack and use my penknife to rip off a length, which I fasten around the stick.
Happy that I’ll be able to find the spot again, I shout reassurances down to Andrea before setting off at a run in the direction of the croft. I check my watch and estimate how long we had been walking and guess it will probably take me ten to fifteen minutes to get back. I’m used to cross-country running, but in hiking boots it’s proving more taxing.
It’s actually twelve minutes by the time I reach the croft. I’m about to hammer on the door when I realise it’s ajar. I stop in my tracks, my hand stilled in mid-air. Zoe said she was going to lock the door. It was a condition of us leaving her here. I listen for any sound of life. I can hear angry voices coming from inside. One female and one male.
My heart hammers against my breastbone from the nervous energy coursing inside me. I push the door open and step on to the coir mat, the bristles folding under my weight. I can hear clearly now.
At first I think I must be imagining things. It’s definitely Zoe’s voice but the male voice sounds remarkably like Tris. As I listen more, I realise it is.
‘Why didn’t you stop them?’ he’s asking.
‘I couldn’t. Carys was adamant she was going. Andrea too. I thought if I at least stayed here—’
‘Where did they say they were going?’
‘I can’t remember the name, but it’s a town about fifteen miles away. Joanne pointed it out to Carys when we were up at Arrow’s Head.’
‘Gormston.’ Tris lets out a sigh. ‘What to do now?’
I can hear Zoe sniff. ‘I’m sorry,’ she says.
‘Hey, sweetheart, it’s OK. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. It’s just the idea of those two going walkabout – it’s dangerous.’
There’s a pause in the conversation and I lean into the hallway further, not wanting to step on to the tile floor in case they hear me. I can see them through the crack in the doorframe. Tris has his arms around Zoe, comforting her. I watch as she looks up at him and then they kiss. A full-on kiss.
I manage to hold in my breath of surprise. So it’s true. Zoe and Tris are having an affair. Joanne was right.
Lost in my thoughts, I nearly miss the pinging sound that comes from the living room. It sounds like a text message alert. I watch Tris and Zoe pull apart and then Tris take a mobile phone from his pocket. I’m confused. This is supposed to be a not-spot for mobile phones. I curse Joanne under my breath for lying to us. Tris swipes at the screen and reads the message. He pauses and then leans in to whisper something in Zoe’s ear. Whatever he’s told her, it’s unnerved her. She looks over to the door, a worried expression on her face. I dip out of sight.
Then Tris is coming out into the hallway. I don’t have time to dive outside. I have to think fast.
‘Oh my God, Tris!’ I say, injecting as much surprise as possible into my voice. I close the front door behind me. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Carys! You’re back. Thank goodness,’ he says, coming towards me and giving me a hug. ‘Zoe was telling me about your crazy idea about walking off to get help.’
He ushers me into the living room. I look at Zoe, who is standing in front of the fireplace now, her hands clasped together and her eyes darting from me and then to Tris. Has she told him about Joanne? He’s not exactly acting like a grief-stricken husband. Despite the fact he’s obviously been having an affair, he must surely have had some feelings for Joanne.
‘Carys, are you OK?’ says Zoe, suddenly springing into life. She limps towards me, takes my arm and leads me to the sofa. ‘Tris has only just got here.’
I look up at Tris. ‘What are you doing here? I didn’t know you were coming.’
‘It seems I’ve caught everyone by surprise,’ he says. ‘Zoe wasn’t expecting me either, but Joanne asked me to come. We arranged it all beforehand.’
Again, I look at Zoe. She’s very nervous and goes to speak but changes her mind. I look at Tris. ‘Has Zoe told you …?’ I leave the sentence unfinished. If he knows, then I don’t need to say any more.
Tris dips his head and spreads his thumb and forefinger across his eyes. I watch him draw a deep breath and then let it out slowly. He continues to look down and gives a nod. ‘Yes. Zoe just told me.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ I say. I stand and go to move towards him, but change my mind. This feels so awkward. I remember immediately after Darren had died, all I wanted was to be held and take comfort from caring human contact, but Tris appears to have got himself under control.
And then I remember why I’m here: Andrea is lying injured down a gorge. But before I can say anything, Zoe pre-empts me.
‘What are you doing back? Where’s Andrea?’
‘There’s been an accident. Andrea’s fallen down a hillside and hurt herself. She thinks she’s broken her ankle.’
‘Oh, no! Not her too. Well, mine’s not broken, but you know what I mean.’ Zoe grimaces in the direction of her foot.
I dismiss the passing thought that Zoe doesn’t seem too bothered about her injury; I’m more worried about Andrea right now. ‘I need a rope so I can abseil down to her and try to get her out of there.’
‘Whereabouts is she?’ asks Zoe. ‘You haven’t been gone that long.’
‘About fifteen minutes down the track. I’ve put a marker there so I’ll know where to find her.’ The panic and urgency that was momentarily on hold returns. ‘There’s a climbing rope. I saw it yesterday.’ I am in mid-turn when I stop and look at Tris. ‘Wait a minute. How did you get here? By car? You can drive us down there.’
It’s at this point I realise I can’t recall seeing a car outside when I ran up the track to the croft. I look out of the window and then at Tris. He’s stopped crying now and fixes me with a gaze I can’t read.
All my senses heighten at once. A primeval instinct tells me that I am surrounded by danger. I clench my fists as a sense of fight or flight takes hold. I don’t understand my physical reactions; my brain isn’t up to speed with my senses.
‘The car’s parked down the track,’ says Tris. ‘There was a landslide. I walked the last bit.’
‘Oh, right.’ I can’t see how this can be true. If he’d walked up the track, then Andrea and I would have seen him. I edge a few steps in the direction of the door. ‘Well … er … I’ll get the rope and we can rescue Andrea.’
I’ve never felt a silence so stifling and oppressive. The air pressure in the room is suffocating.
‘Good idea,’ says Tris. ‘You get the rope from outside.’
The blood pumps a little faster through my veins. He knows where the rope is. Or is it a random guess? I fight to appear calm and hope any anxiety Tris might detect in me will be passed off as distress over Andrea. ‘I’m worried about Andrea,’ I say, in a bid to reinforce this idea. I look at Zoe. ‘Want to give me a hand?’ I will Zoe to take the hint and come outside with me. There’s something going on that I’m missing. The atmosphere in the room intensifies even more as I wait, for what seems like an age, for Zoe to answer.
‘She can’t,’ says Tris, placing a hand on her shoulder. ‘She’s got a bad ankle, remember?’
Zoe’s eyes widen and although I know she is trying to tell me something, I can’t read her expression. She attempts to mouth a word at me. I can’t be sure what she’s trying to say. Run? Is she telling me to run?
Fear peaks within me and my skin feels clammy. Another glance at Zoe and this time there is no mistaking the silent words she mouths.
Get help.
‘It’s OK, I can manage,’ I say. Without waiting for a response, I cross the hallway and head through the dining room into the kitchen, pushing the internal door closed behind me.
The walkie-talkie is on the worktop and I swipe it up without breaking stride. Hurrying out of the unlocked door, I step out on to the patio and turn on the power. The handset crackles into life. I don’t waste any time transmitting a message.
‘Hello? I need to speak to the park ranger. Are you there?’ I’m met with silence. Going over to where I’d thrown the rope, I pull it out with my free hand. All the time trying to get a response from the park ranger. ‘Hello. Please? Anybody?’
The rope pools at my feet and I stoop to gather it up. As I stand, I happen to look down the garden and spy the wheel of a pushbike sticking out from behind the shed.
I know for certain the bike wasn’t there before. An image of the tyre print in the mud flashes in front of me.
‘Hello. Can anyone hear me?’ I speak desperately into the handset for a third time.
And then I hear the unmistakable Scottish accent of the park ranger, except he is not on the other end of the handset, he is right behind me. A feeling of relief floods through me. It must be the ranger’s bike. He’s come to see if we’re OK.
I turn and my hand falls limply to my side. Tris is standing there. A small smile of amusement playing on his lips. ‘Aye, I can hear you,’ he says. ‘Over.’