All That Is Lost Between Us (9 page)

‘I don't know much about your marriage,' Danielle continues softly, ‘but I know that there are the blokes who are happy to race off home as soon as we get back to the depot, and there are the ones who hang around a bit longer. And then there's you.' She doesn't break eye contact as she talks, but she gets up and sits on his lap, her legs straddling him while her hands find his own. She moves them up to her face, kisses them gently and then slides them down her neck and over her collarbone, until they are resting on her breasts. He can feel the hardened tips of her nipples beneath the soft fabric, and he sees her bite her lip. There is no escape, she can feel him responding, even though he doesn't want to. He lingers a fraction longer than he should, but then he breaks eye contact, pulls his hands away. Undaunted, she begins to undo the top button of her pyjama top, and he grabs hold of her wrists a little more forcefully than he intended.

‘Danielle,' he says, while she tries to wriggle out of his grip. ‘Danielle,' he says louder, ‘stop it. You're better than this.'

She freezes at those words. She climbs off him, goes to sit on the chair opposite, and to his alarm she puts her hands over her face and begins to cry.

His instinct is to move across to comfort her, but he stops himself. ‘Danielle,' he tries, ‘this is exactly why nothing else can happen. I don't want you to feel like this. I'm not the right bloke for you, we both know that. I should have been stronger. I'm sorry.'

He realises he's not doing any good by being here. He stands up, and Danielle reacts to the movement, looking up at him, her face pink and tear-streaked.

‘That's it, then, is it, Callum? All these months, and then last night – for
this
?'

She spits the last word at him and he recoils, finally realising how different their perspectives are. While Callum saw the flirtation as inconsequential and last night as an aberration, Danielle has taken part in a long, slow build-up to a night that was only the beginning of something bigger.

He had hoped he could come here and resolve everything, but a part of him had known it wouldn't turn out like that. It's why fear has carved a cold chasm along his spine. He suddenly longs for solitude; he wants to escape to the fells, to stand at a summit and breathe in the peace and space of that quiet, benign other world. Standing at the highest peak of a mountain never fails to sweep him up into a precious place beyond time and troubles. When there was only clear, fresh air above him and so much of life was hidden in the valleys, it was easy to watch his troubles slide away down the hunched, broad backs of those giant slopes like the smallest of pebbles. Perhaps there he might figure out what, if anything, he could do. Being here is only making it worse.

He checks his watch. He should go to the hospital and support Liam, forget his own troubles for a while.

‘I'm sorry,' he says again, the word sounding idiotic rather than meaningful now, thanks to overuse. ‘I have to go. My brother's waiting for me.'

He heads through the living-room doorway, quickening his pace for the exit, for somewhere the air might be easier to breathe, when he hears her voice behind him. ‘I think I'm in love with you, Callum.'

His hand is on the door handle. He is almost out, he's so tempted just to keep going, but those words make him feel terrible.

He turns around. She is standing there, desperation on her face as she waits for his response. He takes a long, slow breath. ‘Whoever you think you love, it isn't me, I can promise you that. You'll find someone far better.'

She marches up to him and he thinks she is going to slap him, but instead she spits words into his face. ‘One day you'll stop lying to yourself. This isn't over yet, Callum, whatever you think. We've come too far for that now.'

Her words leave behind a sting of horror, because he realises he doesn't really know this girl at all. And suddenly he is afraid of what she might do next.

B
y the time I am dressed, the evidence of my family consists of a trail of crumbs across the kitchen table, a couple of dirty mugs and an empty box of cereal. I had hoped I might at least have Zac's company, but he's left a note saying he's riding his bike to school. I didn't even hear him go – it must have been early, and that's so unlike him it's a worry. Usually he sleeps like he's hibernating, and doesn't surface until someone has yelled at him at least half a dozen times to turn off the snooze button.

I had woken with a burst of adrenalin, determined to get Georgia to talk to me properly today. I'd planned to let both children stay home from school if they wanted to, not expecting they would set off before me without any discussion. I can't quite believe they are all carrying on as though nothing has happened, but there's no time to indulge my frustration. There's little I can do except follow them.

I eat two pieces of toast as fast as I can, and then head out the front door. I climb into the knackered old car parked on the lane, and at first it refuses to start. By the time it chugs into life I am struggling to contain my irritation at the events of the morning so far. I decide that I'd rather walk anyway – my family might be good at disregarding me, but I'm damned sure this car isn't going to get away with doing as it pleases and screwing with my day. Moments later I am striding towards the woodland path. It's only fifteen minutes to walk to school, and it'll clear my head.

As soon as I'm surrounded by trees I feel calmer. Unlike Callum, whose family have lived in the area for generations, I cannot claim to have the waters of the Lake District running through my blood. I stayed only because I met Callum and fell in love. Nevertheless, I'm proud to live within this immense landscape of craggy peaks and green valleys, and a stroll through the open countryside is a blessing if my soul is troubled. Often I am so absorbed in my work and my children that I become disconnected from the natural beauty around us. Unlike the tourists who have carved out some free time to meander through the countryside, my life keeps me close to town. However, this morning I choose to relish the solitude while I can – breathing deeply and letting the faint, mingled scents of earth and wood and leaves reach the deepest roots of my being. When I first moved here I would walk the fells on rainy afternoons and feel as though I was lost inside a Turner painting – stumbling through history, being offered a small glimpse of eternity within this enduring piece of earth. It's remarkably different to the place I grew up: a modest town house in Kensington, which became an inheritance that still pays the kids' school fees. My parents were retired culture-vultures who needed a trip to the theatre at least once a week to feel sane, and never quite understood why I'd absconded to the countryside. They kept their visits short. Only when my dad passed away from a heart attack did my mother seem to find some solace in staying with us. Perhaps she would have become a more regular visitor, but she was already sick with cancer and it had claimed her within the year. Even though she has been gone for twelve years and the kids barely remember her, I miss her more than ever. I try to imagine, as I often do, what she might say if she were here. If she didn't have some words of wisdom she always told me to trust my instincts. A conversation with Mum would ground me and bring things back into perspective. Perhaps that's why, without her, I often feel a little less steady on my feet.

I'm so deep in thought that when the path divides I take the longer route that will lead me to the road first, rather than going directly along the woodland path towards school. I try not to see this as a delaying exercise, but in truth I have never been so apprehensive about work as I am today. It's understandable, I tell myself, when your child and your niece have been involved in a traumatic incident, and you are the one charged with counselling the kids.

Most of the time I love my job. I've worked at Fairbridge for nearly ten years and there is still a personal challenge to be found in most days. The majority of the children who attend the school come from wealthy backgrounds, and the naive might think this means their problems are lessened. Fairbridge students are fortunate in one way, sure, but when parents pay the kind of fees that the school commands, there's added pressure to produce corresponding results. Money doesn't stop parents from splitting up, or families falling out, or loved ones passing away. Add to all that the crises of isolation and self-confidence that are pretty much universal among teenagers, and there's plenty for me to do.

Fairbridge employs me for three days a week, and I leave the other days free for the occasional private client and the more general chores of life. It's my doing that Georgia and Zac are pupils at the school, because I insisted on using the inheritance from my parents. It caused friction between Callum and me in the early days, because Callum went to the local schools down the road and thought Fairbridge was above our station. However, I think it's safe to say that I've been proved right in the long term. While Zac shines in the academic world, Georgia has also excelled within the strong sports focus, and it's here that Callum has found his niche as a parent too. Not many schools offer mountain climbing and orienteering as part of their syllabus, and Callum's name is to be found at the top of any parent-volunteer form that goes around.

I feel myself tense as I remember Callum's harsh tone this morning, the accusation clear behind his words. He thinks I cosset the children, but surely today is different? Surely he understands something of trauma considering all the rescues he undertakes? Does he oppose me just to rile me, I wonder. I remind myself that he loves Georgia as much as I do. We just have different ideas about negotiating our way through a crisis.

We have different ideas about so much, nowadays.

I push my discomfort aside and concentrate on absorbing my surroundings, knowing that in a few hundred metres I'll be off the stony path and onto the road. I like the freshness of September mornings – the clear, crisp air has a tinge of sweetness to it that will fade over the next six or so weeks. Autumn is my favourite season, even more than the promise of springtime. There is a peacefulness to it, a sense of inevitability as the leaves begin to brown and fall from the trees. The striving of spring has gone, along with the glory of summer, and life is busy buckling down for winter. It's the season of preparation and reflection, of acknowledging what has come to pass and accepting what hasn't.

As I emerge from the woodland path, Julia Johnson from the bakery beeps her car horn at me and waves as she drives by. When you have lived somewhere for twenty years it's pretty much impossible to take a walk without coming across someone you know – or having them spot you and tell you a few days later. Sometimes it feels strange that although I know so many people I don't feel I have many close friends here. Perhaps I've lost the time for those connections, while working and taking care of the kids. Helene and I joke about going away for a cheap girls' holiday to Greece, but we've never pursued it. I wonder what it would be like if we did, and what we would have in common without our husbands and children around.

As soon as I think of Helene I begin to worry about Sophia again. As I walk I find my mobile and try Helene's number, but she still doesn't pick up. Instead I text Callum and ask him to let me know how things are when he reaches the hospital. I am distracted enough to cause a motorist to open his window and berate me for walking too close to the kerb. It shocks me to my senses – how can I be so absentminded after what I witnessed last night?

I don't enjoy the final steep trek up the school driveway, and I'm huffing loudly by the time I reach the school. I buzz myself in through the gate and head for the staffroom in the main building, but I am intercepted by Mrs O'Neil, one of the administrators, who looks at me in concern.

‘I hope you're okay today, Mrs Turner. Mrs Jessop asked me to watch out for you. Can you pop into her office for a second?'

‘Thanks, Mrs O'Neil,' I reply. I'm used to these formalised ways of talking to each other while the children might be in earshot, even though it has always amused Callum no end. Years ago he had begun to call me Mrs Turner at home to tease me, which made the children laugh. I try to think of the last time he did that, but it was so long ago I can't remember.

I head for Chris Jessop's office and knock on the door. I can never come here without thinking of the previous head teacher, Roger Atkinson, and wondering how he's going – he and his wife have been staying with relatives near the Royal Lancaster while he undergoes chemotherapy, and nobody seems to have recent news of him.

As soon as she opens the door, I see that Mrs Jessop appears flustered today. She is an excellent manager and a brilliant educator, but she hasn't got the easy rapport with the students that some of the other teachers have. She waves me in. ‘Sit down, sit down. Are you okay? Sophia's parents called me an hour ago. I wasn't sure you would be coming in.'

‘I'm fine. Besides, being here means I can keep an eye on Georgia, since she insisted on carrying on as normal.'

‘She's here as well, is she?' Chris looks worried. ‘And how is she?'

‘Bearing up well under the circumstances.'

‘Okay, then. We will all have to keep a close eye on her. I've called in an extra counsellor, but can you stay close to your office during break periods and lunch so you're available for the children? I will also hold a general assembly this morning, to let the students know where they can get support, and I'd appreciate your attendance. I'll talk about Sophia too, of course. What a nightmare. How much could Georgia tell you about what happened?'

I try to gather my thoughts into a coherent explanation. ‘The car came out of nowhere and bowled them all over before they knew what was going on. Danny Atherton saved Georgia by lifting her clear at the last second, otherwise she might well be in a similar state to Sophia. I don't think it's sunk in, to be honest. Can you make sure that all Georgia's teachers tell her she can go home at any time? She still wants to run in the school championships tomorrow too, which I am strongly against, but I don't want to upset her any further right now.'