Guilt Trip (10 page)

When my
destination finally came into view, it looked more like a campsite than
anything else: a few tents belonging to the people in charge, a couple of off-road
vehicles, and lots of people hanging around.

I spotted
Dad waving me over, and headed towards him.

Once I
drew closer, I could see the Cauldron itself - a large gaping hole in the
ground over one edge of which a small stream flowed. Next to the hole some
machinery had been erected. This was the winch, which was already in operation,
taking people down one by one into the vast pothole below.

I joined
Dad who was standing around like everyone else, discussing the colour of the
sky, hoping rain wasn’t too imminent.

When Luke
turned up, he checked that everyone was present and then supervised the doling
out of coffee and slabs of fruitcake which had been driven up by Land Rover
from the pub. But not once did he look my way.

Snack
over, Dad and I wandered upstream, clambering about on the rocks and looking at
the view. We had loads of time to spare as Dad had arranged to go down last so
that he could take his time with his photography.

After a
little while we came to two corrugated metal sheets which had been secured
across the water by metal poles, like a temporary wall.

“That
must be the dam,” Dad said, pointing out how, though some of the water was
still getting through, making its way to the Cauldron, most of it was flowing
off in a different direction.

One of
the guides came up behind us and had a look.

“Just
keeping an eye on it,” he told us. “Making sure it’s all holding up after last
night’s rain. You wouldn’t want to try a descent with all that crashing round
you.”

As time
wore on, the morning grew even darker, huge clouds amassing in the skies above
us. It was quieter now, many people heading off as soon as they’d ascended from
the pothole, keen to get back to the pub before the rain started.

Finally, it
was our turn. Dad signalled for me to go before him, but I shook my head.

“No. You first,”
I said, looking at the sky. “Just in case it starts to rain and they call a
halt to the day. It’d be awful if you missed out after waiting all this time.”

Dad didn’t
put up much of a fuss, desperate to get down inside the ground. I watched him collecting
his camera equipment, which had been driven up with the food from the pub. Then,
fastening his hardhat, he walked down the gantry, put on a climbing harness and
attached himself to various safety ropes with metal carabiner clips. Not for
him the winch.
He
was going to abseil
down, so that he could get closer to the cave walls and could stop whenever he
found something interesting. Once he was securely fastened on, he began to walk
backwards over the edge, pulling a silly face at me as he lowered himself into
the darkness below.

As he
disappeared from view, I looked back up at the sky. It had started to spit now.
Good. You see, I’d lied to Dad: I wasn’t really worried that it might rain; I
was
hoping
that it
would
. I
wanted
the winch to be turned off, the rest of the day cancelled,
and everyone sent home.

But it
wasn’t simply nerves about being suspended one hundred metres in the air over a
sheer drop. It was more than that. This was the first challenge since my trip
to Hell’s Mouth. My fainting fit. And I was terrified of what might happen. No
matter how big, the Cauldron was still an underground cavern. Somewhere to feel
trapped and enclosed. Somewhere where the sound of the water falling would echo
and magnify around me. And then what would happen? What voices might I hear? What
visions might I see?

Looking
up, I spotted Luke wandering off upstream. He’d been busy all morning helping
the potholing club with various tasks. He seemed to be in his element here, and
was obviously good friends with the team. As I watched him walking away, I
wished I could put the clocks back. Erase time. Go back to our afternoon
playing crazy golf. When he still liked me.

I touched
my necklace, fingering the amethyst drop, remembering how he’d bought it to
comfort me in times of emotional upset. How ironic.

But now
the signal came that Dad had finished his descent, so the entranceway to the
pothole was once again free. It was raining a little more now, not heavily, but
enough for the guides to have a quick discussion about whether to abort this
last ride. I stood on the steps, hoping they would, but then the guy on the
gantry smiled and beckoned me over.

“Just
time for one more,” he said. “Wouldn’t want you to come all this way for
nothing.” He handed me a hardhat with a light at the front, making sure that I
tightened the strap properly, then pointed to the little seat surrounded by a
metal frame - like a cage. I sat down nervously and he lowered a metal bar in
front of me, clipping me in.

“Fold you
arms across your chest, love, so you don’t bash your elbows going through the
trap door,” he said. And then he pulled a lever and the floor underneath me
slid to one side to reveal the depths below.

I looked
down. Its name fitted it perfectly: it was exactly like looking into a dark cauldron,
its content black and unfathomable, the misty cloud of spray from the waterfall
bubbling up like the smoke from hell.

And then
I began to descend.

At first I
was travelling through the round funnel of the pothole - like the neck of a
bottle - daylight still able to reach here, allowing ferns and wild plants to
grow from the walls. But the lower I went, the darker it became until the walls
were bare of all vegetation, just cold wet limestone, glistening in the light
from my hardhat.

Though
the waterfall, which flowed to my right, was a fraction of its real capacity,
its echoing noise was still loud. I gripped the metal bar in front of me,
gritting my teeth, waiting for the ride to be over. Willing myself to keep in
control of the situation. Forcing myself to stay alert, in the here and now,
and not allow my mind to slip back in time, to the accident.

And it
seemed to work, for I was still in the present as the funnel widened out and I
emerged into a huge cavern lit by dim, artificial lighting. I heard a voice
calling out and looked past my dangling legs to see a small figure a hundred metres
below me: Dad.

I shut my
eyes, wishing I hadn’t looked down. The height was dizzying. I felt vulnerable,
hanging here on my thin, metal seat.

And then
something happened. A cry of horror. A sudden violent rocking of my cage. And a
torrent of icy water thundered down from above, completely engulfing me,
filling my eyes and mouth, and sending me lunging wildly down under its
pounding force.

And then
suddenly the cage stopped falling, jolting to a stop as the winch’s emergency
break-action kicked in. But now I was trapped inside the waterfall, bouncing
from pillar to post like a strange metal puppet dancing on its string.

“Help me…!”
The scream filled my head as the water filled my mouth, but whether it was my
mother’s or my own I couldn’t tell.

<><><>

I was
semi-conscious by the time they managed to winch me back up to the surface. And
there was Luke, standing on the gantry, anxiously waiting for me. Unfastening
me from my metal prison, he took me into his arms.

“Come on,
sweetheart,” he said. “It’s all over now.”

And then
the darkness took me.

<><><>

I was later
told that Luke had saved my life. Taking his turn at checking the water levels as
the rain started, he was there to witness the dam break, the pressure of so
much water pressing against the corrugated metal sheet finally dislodging one
of the poles holding it in position. If he hadn’t been there, and if he hadn’t
had the skill to mend it quickly, the water would have kept on crashing down on
me, filling my mouth and nose. And, like Mum, I could have drowned.

It was
early evening, in hospital, and I was finally awake, and though battered and
bruised, deemed fit enough to have visitors. Dad was sitting on the edge of the
bed, filling me in on the details of the accident.

Poor Dad.
He’d witnessed the whole thing from below, his daughter literally hanging in
the balance between life and death, while he was powerless to do anything at
all, but watch.

“I could
have lost you, Mel!” he wept by my bedside, as he had wept once before.

I reached
out a feeble hand. “It’s okay,” I whispered, my voice hoarse and painful from all
that choking, “I’m still here.”

But Dad
could not be consoled, one accident blurring into the other, so that his heart
was bursting with relief for a daughter saved, and fresh grief for a wife who had
died almost a year ago.

But then
there was a discreet cough from outside the curtain, and Luke came in, running
his hand through his hair, apologising for interrupting us.

“Not at
all,” said Dad, hurriedly wiping his eyes and then shaking Luke’s hand warmly. “If
it wasn’t for you…”

“How are
you doing?” he asked me, his expression anxious.

“I’m
okay…” I croaked, “thanks to you…” I gave him a shy smile: “My knight in
shining armour.”

Luke rolled
his eyes and laughed.

Then Dad
sat back down on the side of my bed. “I’m just telling her what happened,” he
explained to Luke, who hovered by my feet, listening. “Well - by the time
they’d managed to winch me up you’d already been carried to a tent, stripped of
your wet things and wrapped in a blanket -”

“Stripped?”
I looked past Dad at Luke, standing behind him. He widened his eyes at me in
mock-horror. I giggled.

“Yes -
otherwise you might have got hypothermia,” Dad tutted at me, oblivious of Luke’s
expression. “And then the air rescue people came and whisked you off here.”

“So how
long will I be in here, then?” I asked.

“Oh, just
overnight. Just so they can keep an eye on you. You should be back with us
tomorrow. In fact… I’ll just…” Dad had spotted a nurse walking down the
corridor and hurried off to ask her about what time he should collect me.

Left
alone, Luke and I were silent for a moment.

I looked
at him, the laughter suddenly gone, remembering him waiting anxiously for me on
the gantry, the overwhelming feeling of relief I’d experienced when he’d taken
me into his arms.

Tears began
to well up.

“I’m
sorry,” I sniffed, as they rolled, unchecked, down the sides of my face into my
hair, “… about everything.”

He looked
at me quizzically.

“I mean…
about … you know… the drinking… and then on the walk…”

“Don’t
worry about it,” he said, coming forward to sit next to me, clearly anxious that
I didn’t distress myself.

He
reached out, taking my hand, and squeezing it in both of his. Then he lifted it
to his mouth and pressed it against his lips. “That’s all in the past now. All
done with. I just thank God you’re still alive.”

Skidding.

Plunging.

Down, into
the black water.

“Help
me!” The scream rings out, a desperate cry, but whose it is I can no longer
tell.

I look up
at the open window to find him. And there he is: my saviour. Luke.

But the
frame somehow changes from a car window to a gaping limestone-edged hole. Luke
is looking down into it, his arm extended.

 
I smile, reaching up to him. But there is
something in his hand. He lifts it up to show me. A silver necklace, which
divides into strands at the end. As the music starts, he pulls one of them. My
arm moves. He pulls another. My leg moves. And so he begins to pull each strand
in a pattern until I am whirling to the music, dancing, as drops of refreshing
water rain down on me.

It was late
afternoon when I finally woke up, my stomach growling with hunger.

The night
before, in hospital, thanks to all the painkillers they’d pumped into me, I’d
had my first dreamless sleep in ten months. And yet I’d still felt tired the
morning after. And by the time I’d been discharged and Dad had driven me back
to the pub, I was yawning again.

So,
instead of feeding me lunch, Dad had insisted on marching me straight to my
room, tucking me up in bed and sitting by me, reading his geology books, while
I drifted off to sleep. And to dream.

 
He wasn’t here now though. I checked my
phone for a message, but it needed charging.

Tutting,
I shoved on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt and headed off to the bathroom to use
the loo and clean my teeth, too hungry to care about the inevitable déjà vu.

Back in
my room I sat in front of the mirror. My hair was a complete mess after all the
water yesterday and then a day in bed. But I was too famished to waste time washing
it now. I’d just put it up in a ponytail.

Ignoring
the poster when its reflection appeared, I reached to select a hair bobble. But
when I turned back to the mirror, I froze.

It was my
hair. Just a flash really. A momentary image in the glass. But in that split
second, it appeared to be a shade darker.

Dark hair
with thick, purple stripes.

Shivering,
I jammed my feet into my shoes and left the room as quickly as possible, not
even bothering with make-up, and shoving my hair into the bobble as I ran.

What was
going on? None of it made any sense to me. But then, who’s to say the
outpourings of a broken mind
should
make sense? Maybe, if I slipped any further into insanity, I’d start to see a kaleidoscope
of unrelated images. A whole technicoloured dreamscape.

I raced
down to Dad’s room, but, pausing before his door, I swallowed, pulling myself
together. I couldn’t let him see me like this: his daughter, descending into
madness. Especially now that my recent accident had opened up old wounds so
that they were even more raw and painful for him. So, as I knocked on his door,
I pulled my face into its usual fake smile.

But I
needn’t have bothered: Dad wasn’t in his room. Maybe he’d gone downstairs for a
late lunch or something. I hesitated, not really wanting to venture into the
bar looking such a mess; but soon enough my hunger won out again, and I headed
off to find him.

But he
wasn’t downstairs either. In fact the place was empty.

‘Looking
for your Dad?” Luke appeared behind the bar.

I smiled
self-consciously, cursing myself for not making more of an effort with my
appearance after all. But then Luke had already seen me like this when he
visited me in hospital. When he’d sat at my bedside, grasping my hand and
thanking God that I’d survived.

“He went
off with his camera somewhere while you were sleeping,” he shrugged. “But he
said he wouldn’t be long.”

I lingered
in the doorway, unsure what to do next.

“How are
you feeling now?” he asked.

“Okay,” I
shrugged. “A bit hungry.”

“Well
then, you’ve come to the right place,” he said. “Fancy a sandwich? Honey-cured
ham? Roast beef? Ploughman’s?”

“You
choose,” I smiled, relieved, moving further into the room and sitting down on a
stool at the end of the bar.

Luke picked
up the remote control and put on some music to keep me company while he went off
to the kitchen, and five minutes later I was tucking into a ham sandwich and a
mug of tea while Luke pottered around me, shining glasses and wiping down
surfaces ready for the early evening customers.

The music
was mostly middle of the road hits with a few old rock songs thrown in for good
measure - the type of stuff that everyone knows and no one can take offense at.
I started humming along, singing the odd line.

Then a
song I really liked came on, and, seeing me singing, Luke stuck his hand out,
asking me to dance. Suddenly gauche, I refused. I mean, I didn’t know how to
dance. Not like that.

“Is it
the bruises?” he asked anxiously.

“No, no -
I’m fine,” I assured him.

“So
dance,” he said, holding his hand out to me again, urging me to get up.

And so, finally,
I took his hand and we danced, a nervous, clumsy, make-it-up-as-you-go-along
sort of dance, like people do at weddings, where we came together and apart and
then he span me round and round under his arm. Like dancing with your Dad.

But then
the music changed and a faster song came on, something more edgy with a stronger
beat. Luke left go of my hand, so I returned to my seat, but actually he was
just reaching for the remote control to turn the volume up. Then he stood,
dramatically tall and straight, raising his eyebrow and extending his arm out slowly
to me, in an exaggerated way. Giggling, I took it, at which he immediately
yanked me in to him, clasping me tight, leading me in a ridiculous tango-like step
down the room.

And even though
it was ludicrous and comical, it set my heart racing. We were so close. So
together. As one. And even though I squealed that he would drop me, in truth I
surrendered myself completely to Luke’s control, to his strong arms as they
moved me, steered me, and flung me back in the customary tango manner.

But as we
continued up and down the room, the mood gradually became more serious, more
intense. Staring into each other’s eyes, the laughter died away on our lips.

And then,
without warning, he began to spin me away from him, winding me back in at the
last moment, sharply, like the crack of a whip, pulling me in tight, our eyes locked.

It was
exhilarating. Thrilling. Electricity coursed through my whole body.

And so we
came to the final dip, Luke tipping me backwards suddenly as the music ended,
and then bringing me back up - oh so slowly - towards him, until we were
standing facing each other in the silent bar with nobody but the foxes and their
small glass eyes to see us.

Time
stood still. The noise from the market outside seemed to fade away. It was as
if we were in our own bubble, shut off from the rest of the world.

Very
gently, he reached out and moved a stray lock of hair from my face, tucking it
behind my ear. And, without taking his eye from me, his hand lightly traced the
curve of my face down to my chin. Studying my eyes to make sure that I was okay
with this, he gently tilted my chin up ever so slightly as his lips moved
towards mine.

But then,
suddenly, the bubble burst and we were standing apart, like strangers, in the
middle of the floor, as a group of four or five people bustled noisily into the
bar. And Luke was welcoming them in and taking their drinks orders as I stood
there in a daze.

He must
have heard them coming, but I hadn’t, too lost in the moment. In the kiss. The
kiss that never was. The
almost
kiss.

Reluctantly,
I sat back down at the bar while he poured his customers their drinks. Then he brought
me a juice and himself a beer and came and stood opposite me, the bar between
us. He was only a few feet away from me, a safe, respectable distance, but it
might as well have been a million miles. But I guessed that was the way it had
to be, in public, what with our age difference and everything.

“I should
go,” I said, unwillingly, grimacing when I spotted myself in the mirror behind
him. No make-up, hair shoved into a ponytail, crumpled old T-shirt.

“No, stay.
You look pretty,” he whispered. “Cute.”

I
giggled.

But then
another customer arrived, so he had to leave me again.

I watched
him as he served the man, chatting amicably as always; and then he left through
the door behind the bar. But he was soon back, with a local newspaper and a pen,
which he placed on the bar in front of me.

The
crossword? He wanted to do the crossword?

We had
just shared my most romantic moment ever - almost kissing - and now he wanted
to do the daily crossword?

I looked
at him, aghast, but he just smiled; so, feeling a little silly, I picked up the
pen and read out the first clue.

“Let me
see…” Luke leaned over the bar towards me, his face coming teasingly close to
mine. And then I realised. He didn’t want to do the puzzle at all. It was just an
excuse to be near me.

And so it
continued. Now and again Luke had to go off to serve someone, but he always
returned, leaning in again as if studying the clues, his face - and lips -
tantalisingly close to mine. And each time, I tingled anew at his nearness, with
deliciously agonising anticipation, wondering when we would get the opportunity
to finish that kiss.

But it
was because of this extreme closeness, our heads almost touching, that he happened
to hear me absentmindedly humming to myself.

“Stop
it!” he hissed, his expression suddenly dark with fury. “What do you think
you’re doing?”

“What?” I
was totally taken aback.

“
You
know…” He looked at me as if I was
his enemy, taking a step backwards, away from me, so that a chasm seemed to
open between us.

“What?” I
couldn’t understand why he was suddenly acting this way.

“That song,”
he snarled, just low enough not to be overheard.

“
What
song?”

“That
song you were humming.”

“
What
song?” I hadn’t even realised that
I
had been
humming.

“Why were
you humming that song?”

“What
song?” I repeated.

“Just…” He
shut his eyes for a second as if to calm himself down, and then he reached over
the bar and quickly squeezed my hand. “Just… don’t, okay?”

I looked
at him, tears stinging my eyes. His anger had been so sudden, erupting out of
nowhere. Everything between us destroyed in an instant.

But at my
expression, his stern face dissolved into concern. “Sorry, Mel,” he whispered,
shaking his head at himself. “It’s not your fault. It was just…”

 
But then a customer called over to him and
he went off, leaving me with no idea about what had just happened.

“Melissa?”
Dad was back, and surprised to see me up and about. He kissed me on the top of
my head. “Hi, honeybee,” he said, batting my ponytail playfully and smiling at
me. “You look like you did when you were twelve.”

“Thanks,
Dad!” I rolled my eyes, hoping he wouldn’t notice that anything was wrong.

“No - I
mean - you look cute,” he said.

“Anyway,”
he placed his camera equipment on the bar, and signalled to Luke for a drink,
“how are you feeling?”

“I’m
okay,” I said. “A few aches and pains - that’s all.”

“Good,”
he said, “because I need to know you’ll be alright if I go out tonight.”

“Dad!” I
couldn’t believe he was leaving me again. We were supposed to be spending time
together.

“But it’s
Sunday: the Spiritualist meeting,” he said. “I have to go. Especially now...”

“But
why?”

“Because
I have to that’s all,” he said. He fiddled with a coaster on the bar in front
of him. “Because I need to.”

Poor Dad.
The agony of loss was all too real to me right then, and it suddenly struck me with
full force just how much he must be going through.

I patted
his hand. “You go and see her,” I said, gently. “I’ll be alright.”