All That Is Lost Between Us (31 page)

My mobile rings loudly in the expectant hush. When I collect it from my bag I see Helene's name on the screen. As I answer the call I pray this isn't bad news – as far as we know, Sophia has been doing well since she came round yesterday.

‘Helene, how's everything going?' I ask her, moving away from the others slightly. ‘How's Sophia today?'

‘She's much brighter, thanks, although she's frustrated about the physical discomfort. Listen, Anya, where are you?'

‘We're at the school. Georgia's racing, we're waiting for her to finish.'

‘Well, listen, I'm sorry to blurt this out in the middle of all that, but Sophia and I have been talking this morning, and it turns out there's been a lot going on with my daughter lately.'

‘Really? What do you mean?' I ask, certain it couldn't be any more explosive than my suspicions about Georgia and Leo Freeman.

‘Sophia's been seeing someone. I didn't have a clue about any of it, and Georgia is unwittingly involved, I'm afraid. You'd better brace yourself, Anya. I'm sorry, but you're not going to like this at all.'

G
eorgia's head pounds in time with her feet as she scrambles up the uneven grassy slope.

Her photo couldn't be on Facebook.
It couldn't be.

And yet it was.

The world dances in front of her eyes as she tries to make sense of it. Who could have done this to her? In her mind's eye she sees Zac slipping away. But it's one thing to go snooping in her bedroom and find it, but quite another to put it online. It is such a vindictive move, and she knows her brother isn't like that. It doesn't make any sense.

Danny is not far behind. He's cross with her. She had sprung her change of heart on him as they lined up: told him she didn't want to pace him, she wanted to go hard and run alone.

‘Okay, whatever, Georgia,' he'd snapped. ‘Just do what
you
want to do. Don't worry about me.'

He had no idea what he'd just shown her. Her one precious photo, out there in the world for everyone to see – to laugh at like it was some ridiculous joke provided solely for their entertainment.

When she reaches the top there are only a couple of runners ahead of her. As the trees close in either side of her, terror compresses her thoughts. How long will it take for Leo to find out what's happened? He can't be aware of it yet, or surely he would have approached her. But now it's out there, it's only a matter of time.

Despite his rejections, Georgia's daydreams of Leo have always contained a few flickers of hope. One day he might comprehend what a difficult situation she had been in, and once his anger began to recede, perhaps some of those other, purer feelings would rise to the surface. But now she has betrayed him twice. How likely is it that she'll ever get the chance to explain?

There is no way back from this. He could lose his job because of it, or worse. What will happen if the photograph is traced to her? She will be humiliated, and he will hate her all the more.

The rain is in her eyes, and wiping them breaks her rhythm. She sees a route marker too late and stumbles while changing direction, tripping over her own feet as a boy rushes past her. The loss of momentum makes her almost slow to a walk, and she grips her sides, her body aching and weary already, her sore arm beginning to throb. She grits her teeth as she forces herself to run again, calling to mind Uncle Liam's stories of courage and endurance. They are leaving the trees behind, and ahead is a steep fell climb along a narrow, uneven dirt path that's been worn into service by countless feet. Georgia grabs handholds wherever she can, using a few large slabs to help haul her body up the gradient. The stones are slippery in her grip, it's difficult to gain purchase. It makes her more desperate to reach the top fast, and her knees buckle more than once.

Somewhere in her mind she knows she is using her energy too quickly – she should be taking it steady in this early section, not making a mad dash up the hill – but she can't stop herself. She has to keep moving, to blur her surroundings. It is only when she stops that things coalesce into what is there, and what is not.

The day is growing colder, but that suits her fine. Her breathing is ragged. There is so much adrenalin in her body that she wants to speed up to fight it, despite her mind's plea to slow down. Her leg muscles are on fire, and they're not even a third of the way through yet.
Don't give up
, she tells herself.
Keep going.

She hits the top of the fell, where the view should open out before her, but up here it's foggy, and she is shrouded by mist. She fights through the dense air; her joints grind in pain, each breath is a freezing burn.

She digs in. As she flies along, she becomes curiously weightless and dizzy; she can hardly feel her feet hit the ground. This is not so much a run as a chase – she needs the finish line, she needs this to be over. She tries to keep her eyes on the only runner ahead of her, a pair of heels kicking up dirt now and again where the fog subsides. She doesn't look back, because there will be nothing to see except white haze, but somewhere within that obscurity her competitors are all trying to run her down.

This stretch goes on forever, this narrow, muddy track, until she fears she might have lost her way. She swallows her panic, but her urgency is all for safety rather than first place. Exhaustion begins to sap her will to win; her mother was right, she shouldn't be doing this. It's almost a relief when she hears the hammering footsteps, and people begin to overtake her. A group passes by with Danny among them, and he doesn't glance around. She has the strangest sensation of treadmilling next to them. She wants to scream at them not to leave her behind.

Her vision blurs and she can no longer feel different parts of her body – she is one mass of tearing, striving pain.

Every now and again they have passed marshals wearing fluorescent vests, holding two-ways and marking off numbers. She longs to see the next one; if she can't finish the race, then at least she can wait with them. She tells herself that all she has to do is reach someone who will help her get down from here. She doesn't give a toss about a medal or a sponsorship any more.

The fog is dissipating, and her eyes strain beyond its edges. And then she sees him. She hadn't realised he was going to be one of the marshals, and the sight of him is confusing. A hallucination. She daren't catch his eye, in case he knows what she's done.

‘Dig in, Georgia, you can still catch them!' Leo yells, which are pretty much the first words he's said to her all term. She glances at him and he looks quickly down at his clipboard as though disturbed by the sight of her. He waves her on. ‘Just keep going,' she hears him add, as he claps her on at the point she is closest to him.

He sounds exactly like the old head of sport had last year. He is pragmatic, not livid. He hasn't seen the photo.

Yet.

She doesn't know what she had expected him to say, but he is simply a teacher encouraging his student. Nothing more.

Even out here, when they are alone for a few seconds.

In the past days and weeks, she had imagined that today would be her moment to shine; to prove her strength to him, to show him what he is missing. She had envisaged him applauding her over the finish line, congratulating her afterwards, the opportunities they would have to talk. She's had a taste of everything they could be together and she can't believe it's gone. It was real, she knows it – too real for him to switch it off just like that. She understands he has been angry, but she had thought that surely it couldn't last forever.

But at the sound of his voice, finally, she gets it. She has been trapped in a fantasy. The gulf between them is too wide to ever be bridged.

Don't fall apart
, she tells herself. Her will triumphs over her wailing body, and she lengthens her stride, feeling his eyes on her back.

She can't help herself: she looks around, but the fog has swallowed him already. She wonders if she imagined him. She gulps in air, swiping at her face to clear the tears, desperate to hold it together.

He has locked himself away from her, and there's nothing she can do.

Everything is pointless.

The next marker appears and the course turns downhill. Almost immediately, the fog begins to dissolve.

How can she have been caught in a silly daydream for so long? Why had she taken that photograph? It hasn't ever been a talisman, it is toxic. And now it's out there. Her secrets are floating forever beyond her reach, and she is in so much trouble.

She is such a fool.

A-fool-a-fool-a-fool
chants her brain, running in rhythm with her feet as she charges mindlessly down the hill, vicious thoughts snapping at her heels. It is a sensation she has become used to these past few months – she is falling, her mind and her body tumbling away from her, intangible things inside her swirling like dead leaves in a storm. But this time the sensation is speeding up, as though the trajectory she has taken since summer has steepened, and now she fears that in the end she will drop away into nothing at all.

He never really cared for me. And soon he'll despise me, when he realises what I've done.

The thought buckles her knees, causes her to stagger and put one hand against a tree trunk to stop herself from hitting the ground. She straightens quickly, but as she sprints on she knows she is getting ever closer to the edge of the wood, to where the crowds are watching and waiting. Has Zac said anything to her parents? Or have they seen the photo – are they speculating too? Can she bear the disappointment in their eyes?

She can see the other girl in front of her. Perhaps it wouldn't take much to beat her, since the downhill is Georgia's specialty. But she cannot face it now. Not the crowd cheering her down the final embankment, nor pretending to be triumphant when her heart is breaking. Everywhere she turns she will wonder who has seen that photo; who knows her innermost secrets. She cannot do this. She has to escape.

With just a few minutes to go, she diverts abruptly from the course, leaving behind the white flags, the crowds, the chance of one more victory, one more record, one final school medal to add to her collection. She bids goodbye to her sponsorship deal, and she chooses the woodland track that leads to the spirit road. She takes the path towards home.

T
hey had planned to stay by the marshals' tent, but Anya has been gone for ages. She had moved away while talking to Helene, hurrying towards the sports hall out of the rain, pressing her phone to her ear.

Callum has been left unanchored. He surveys the rain sheeting across the hillside. He glances towards the lights and shelter of the hall. People crowd the doorway. Many peer from under waterproof hoods despite being undercover, their minds gone running with their children.

Jimmy Davenport has been as good as his word. They have heard from all but two of the marshals. Georgia is doing well, and she is almost back within sight. Where the hell is Anya?

He glances across to Zac, to find him shivering. He shouldn't be standing there like that, with only his hoodie, jeans and trainers as scant protection from the elements. Callum is about to ask him why on earth he hadn't gone inside when the rain began, but the words slam into one another, piling up in his throat, refusing, for once, to turn his concern into a rebuke.

‘They'll be coming down the hill soon. Let's go and fetch your mother out here or she'll miss it.'

Zac nods. Silently, they trudge towards the hall. People make way for them, no doubt keen to avoid contact with their soaking clothes. When Callum spots Anya she is still on the phone. She has moved to a corner, her hand pressed to her mouth, listening intently. Her demeanour makes Callum uncomfortable, and he keeps his distance, Zac loitering beside him.

Callum watches his wife, thinking back to the moment he had wrapped his arms around her. At first it had seemed odd to stand like that; they were a middle-aged couple grown unused to showing affection in public. Then he'd felt her lean in to him. It was a good sign, he hopes it's an indication of what is to come.

Anya is waving her hands around now and repeatedly clutching her forehead as though she can't believe what she's hearing. She looks appalled. Callum studies her – he can't recall seeing her green waterproof jacket before, or those trendy-looking wellingtons. And her hair seems to be tinted red – is he imagining that, or has she coloured it?

‘Has your mum dyed her hair?' he blurts to Zac.

Zac frowns. ‘How should I know?'

‘It looks redder to me.'

‘I suppose.'

Zac seems so pale and preoccupied that Callum is distracted from thoughts of Anya. ‘Are you all right?'

Zac shrugs. ‘Sure.'

Callum isn't convinced, but he's not one to push the kids when they don't want to talk. Perhaps that's why he suffers less than Anya. Her desperation to help tends to override her ability to hang back.

The parents around them have formed groups, laughing and joking with one another as their anoraks and umbrellas drip onto the shiny floor. He knows a few of them to say hello to, but he's never been for a beer with any of these dads, not even after volunteering for some of the school climbing excursions. Yet Anya must know at least a few of them. Perhaps that's why she's hiding in the corner on the phone, so she can speak in private.

Finally, Anya comes stalking across, putting her phone back in her bag. ‘Bloody Sophia,' she says, running a hand through her hair. ‘You won't believe what she's done.'

Callum gestures towards the door. ‘Come on, we need to get back out there or we'll miss the finish. Georgia's doing well, she's only got two marshals left to pass.' To his surprise, Anya isn't buoyed by this news. ‘What's wrong?'