All That Is Lost Between Us (27 page)

How can her words not sting like crazy, but he'll be damned if he shows it. ‘Just take the photo down, Jacinta. Pretend it never existed, or you might find I'm more twisted than you imagined.'

He grabs his bike and walks away before she can say anything else. Before she sees how upset he is. He won't give her the satisfaction of looking back.

C
loudy with isolated showers in the afternoon. Chance of a thunderstorm overnight.

You've got that right
, thinks Callum, as he reads the MET office forecast. He has come into the front lounge with his coffee so he can check his phone while Georgia finishes her breakfast. He's aware that Anya will soon be up and he's keen to avoid the frost for as long as possible.

It had been a long time since he had seen his wife so angry, but last night she had been shaking with fury. Once she'd begun to speak, the words quickly became torrents of accusation.
Why do you always put the rescue team ahead of us? Why do you never back me up in front of the kids? And why the hell are you never around any more?

She'd hit a nerve, and he'd fired back.
Why would I
want
to be here when you're like this? Why do you have to try to control everything? Why can't you cut the rest of us some slack? Don't you understand that we're not all as bloody perfect as you are?

Soon they were shouting over the top of one another. Callum had pictured the kids upstairs, listening to the whole tirade, and felt sorry and ashamed and enraged.

This morning, one sentence of hers keeps coming back to him.
We needed you here tonight, Callum.

Because when she had calmed down enough to explain, in low, breathless murmurs so Georgia wouldn't hear her, she was absolutely right. He could hardly believe what he was hearing. A stranger asleep in their daughter's bed. A woman who matched the description of the person seen loitering in the hospital corridor. Who had said vile things about Georgia. Who had threatened Anya if she called the police.

After Anya had finished, she had sat on the sofa and sobbed, while he perched on the armchair and stared at the floor. When she quietened he had glanced across to see her wiping her eyes.
She looks so tired
, he thought. He wanted to get up and go and sit next to her, to put his arm around her and pull her towards him. So why hadn't he moved?

‘We need to decide what to do,' he had said instead.

Anya nodded. ‘Do we call the police?'

‘Perhaps we should talk to Georgia first,' Callum had suggested. ‘I'll go and get her.' But when he'd got up and climbed the stairs, bracing himself for what was to come, he had found her fast asleep, clutching her phone, earphones in and music blasting so loudly that he could hear the tinny echoes of it from where he stood.

‘She's asleep. Should we wake her?' he'd asked when he went back down.

Anya had sighed. ‘No, she needs to rest. She freaked out earlier when I asked if someone had a grudge against one of them. If we tell her that a woman was waiting for her in her bed she'll spend all night awake and terrified. I can't bear it. Let's talk to her in the morning.'

He'd hesitated, aware he was about to enter a minefield. ‘So, what do we do about the race?'

Anya had inhaled, long and slow. ‘Seriously, Callum? Georgia can't race tomorrow. That woman has sought her out twice in two days.
She came into our house.
What if she comes back?'

Callum had recalled the promise he'd made to Georgia in the car. He'd thought of the sponsorship opportunity, how excited Georgia had been at the prospect. Could they really disregard their daughter's dreams because of a crazy person stalking them in the shadows? He had ventured a suggestion. ‘If we're waiting until the morning anyway, couldn't we let her have a go? If this woman comes back, we have no choice – we phone the police. But for now, the doors and windows are locked, the curtains are drawn, and I'll keep vigil tonight, I promise. We won't let Georgia out of our sight until after the race, and once it's done we sit her down straightaway and get to the bottom of this.'

‘She's traumatised, Cal.' Anya's voice had risen. She had swallowed, then said quietly, ‘She won't cope with it.'

‘Are you sure about that? Because it seems to me that the race is the only thing keeping her going. She's trained so hard all year. The sponsorship opportunity might never happen again. She's seventeen – nearly eighteen. I don't think we can decide this for her.'

‘Well, I don't know if
I
can—' Anya had stopped suddenly, turned away from him, sighed and closed her eyes. ‘You say we won't let her out of our sight, but you're forgetting that she'll be racing over the fells.'

Callum had thought for a while. ‘How about I call Jimmy Davenport – I know he's one of the officials tomorrow – and see if we can get all the marshals watching out for her. They can keep tabs on her all the way round.'

Anya hadn't answered for a while. ‘It's a start,' she had acquiesced eventually, but she'd still looked unhappy.

‘I think I should phone Liam, though, and tell him what's happened. Sophia's involved too, and although this woman seems to be fixated on Georgia, we can't be too careful.'

‘Surely if we're going to do that we may as well call the police.'

‘Let me see what he says first,' Callum had replied, moving through to the kitchen to call his brother.

It had taken half an hour to get hold of Liam, and another hour to talk through what had happened, the extent of the threat to the girls, and what they should do in the morning. Callum wasn't sure what his brother would say about Georgia's run, but Liam had agreed she should give it a go if she felt up to it. Liam was as excited as the rest of them about the sponsorship deal and the opportunities it might bring. In the meantime he would talk to his colleagues, and have someone ready to interview Georgia again afterwards.

After texting Jimmy and explaining the need to keep a close eye on Georgia during the race, Callum had gone back to report everything to Anya, but he found she had disappeared to bed. He had followed, hoping they had reached a tentative truce. He hadn't slept until dawn. He had spent the night listening for every strange noise, heading downstairs twice to double-check the locks. He'd used the restless hours to go over everything. He prayed they were making the right call.

Now he flicks an eye over the remainder of the forecast. The wind will pick up later – it's a day to be wary of. It never paid to lose your guard in the Lake District, since it has its own microclimate. While one hill is bathed in sunshine, there might be mist and squalls on another across the valley.

He always checks the weather early, because it can be a good indicator of a quiet or busy day for the rescue team. But right now he is imagining his little girl running along the fells. It's something she has done many times before, and yet he will be so grateful to see her cross that finish line. He can't wait to bring her home tired and safe, hopefully with a medal in her pocket.

Considering all that Georgia has been through over the past few days, he fears he and Anya have made a poor support team. Last night, at least they had laid their resentments out in the open. Perhaps it's progress. If he knows what she's thinking, he doesn't have to fear it.

Whether they can put things right is another question. However, today he is determined to present a united front for their daughter. It pains him that it's all they have to give for now: a façade for their kids, with a mess gathered behind it. And yet, what has he done lately to support his wife as they edge closer to the prospect of an empty nest? Nothing, that's what. And that galls him. However, even as he acknowledges this, Callum isn't sure what to do now. Anya doesn't give him time to talk. She seems to blame him for everything. If he takes a moment to think something through, she treats his silence as an insult and responds accordingly.

He has a feeling they are in for a very long day.

He checks the time and is surprised to find it is eight-thirty already. Georgia's event isn't for another couple of hours, but there is a briefing half an hour beforehand, and everyone still needs to get dressed.

He makes his way upstairs and finds Anya asleep, curled tightly beneath the covers. He looks around. While each child's personality bursts out of their rooms, with their posters and belongings and bits everywhere, their bedroom is so banal and bare that it could belong to one of the countless B&Bs throughout the county.
We need to change that
, he thinks.
We need to start focusing on ourselves again
.

His mobile chimes. It is a text from Jimmy, and instantly he feels better. He sits on the bed next to his wife. ‘Anya,' he whispers, tentatively putting a hand on her shoulder. ‘We have to get ready – it's gone half-eight. I've heard from the marshals. They're going to keep an eye on Georgia.'

In response she rolls onto her back, rubbing her eyes. ‘Half-eight? Really?' Her fingers pinch the bridge of her nose. ‘I felt as though I drifted in and out of sleep all night; I'm exhausted.'

‘Shall I make you a coffee?' He gets up and heads for the door.

‘Thanks. Are the kids up?'

‘I haven't seen Zac – he's my next port of call,' Callum replies, leaving the room and strolling along the landing.

‘Zac?' He knocks and waits outside his son's room. ‘Zac?'

He tries a few more times, then pushes the door open. Zac's blankets have been dumped in an untidy heap on his bed, and the floor is littered with dirty clothes, but there is no sign of him.

He goes back to Anya. ‘Zac isn't in his room.'

‘What?' Anya sits up in a rush and reaches for her phone, sending it clattering to the floor. ‘Oh god, why is it so hard to keep track of the kids?'

Callum retrieves it for her. ‘Don't panic, I think he's sent you a message.' He hands it over and she checks the screen.

‘He's gone to meet a friend, says he'll see us at school.'

‘Really? Why didn't he tell us, today of all days?' Callum tuts. He heads towards the stairs again to make Anya's coffee, when Georgia comes rushing out of her room.

‘Did you take my phone?'

Callum holds his hands up. ‘Not me.'

‘It was right there, charging,' she says, opening her bedroom door and pointing at her small bedside table.

‘I'm sorry, Georgia, I didn't take it.'

‘Zac must have it, the little sod.' She marches towards his room.

‘Hey, hang on a second. Zac's gone out somewhere. Are you sure it hasn't fallen off the table?'

He backtracks, about to help her search her room, but she blocks his way. ‘Dad, don't – I've looked already and it's not here. Besides, I know where I left it. What the hell has Zac taken it for? He knows I need it for the race.'

‘Call him,' Callum suggests, holding out his own mobile. He watches as Georgia presses the phone to her ear, shifting constantly on the spot as she waits.

‘He's not picking up,' she says a short time later, handing the phone back. ‘Idiot.'

‘Georgia, stop judging him without letting him explain. He told Mum he'll see us at the race, okay? We can sort this out then.'

‘So, I can just take one of your phones any time I like, can I?' Georgia sighs so loudly he almost expects her to stamp her foot as well, like she had when she was a toddler.

She's just nervous about the race
, he tells himself.

He hears Anya's words last night.
She won't cope with it
. Feels a frisson of fear in his gut.

She looks close to tears.

‘What's wrong, Gee Gee?'

‘Nothing.'

It used to be easy to tell when the kids were lying, but slowly, of course, they have become better at covering their tracks. However, there are still small tells, and Georgia has just displayed a few of them – cutting him off too quickly, turning away so he can't see her face.

What is it that Georgia has to hide?

A
s we head to the car, I am stressing about Zac's disappearance, Georgia is ranting about her stolen phone, and Callum is rechecking bags and keys and house security in a rapid onset of OCD. The chances of any of us hanging on to our sanity for the entire day are not looking good.

‘Ready?' asks Callum once we're in the car. He glances across at me, turns to Georgia, we both nod, and he starts the engine.

Once we are moving, no one says a word.

I daren't look at Callum. After our decision last night, we are co-conspirators, but I don't feel comfortable with it at all. Until the race is done, it's safest to keep quiet.

Why is it so easy to become disconnected from those we love the most? I know we are not the only family like this – the lines of our lives running parallel, the strive and struggle for moments of connection – yet such knowledge leaves me none the wiser as to how to make it work.

I recall Callum's heated words last night. I don't recognise myself in the judgemental control freak he described. Is he wrong, or could I have lost touch with my own behaviour?

I catch myself out. Black-and-white thinking is such a common psychological trait, and easy to spot. The problems lie with each of us; just as the answers do. I'm jolted by these thoughts. Where Callum is concerned, how much have I stopped thinking in colour?

What else am I missing here? Setting aside Georgia's problems, what the hell is going on with Zac? Does Georgia know? Sadly, my maternal sixth sense has never extended to being able to prise information out of my kids. All I have to fall back on are the bonds that have been there since I carried each one of them inside me, their little limbs a twisting tangle that rippled and distorted my belly. These bonds might stretch but they'll never break, so whenever I falter I remind myself that, first and foremost, the kids need me strong. That's the best way I can build a protective shell around myself and keep going. But there's a delicate balance between an outer layer that's too hard or too fragile. It's easy to lose sight of myself in the midst of it all.