Guilt Trip (8 page)

I lay in bed thinking about the night
before. How Luke had held me as I cried, the front of his T-shirt soaked with
my tears. Holding me so close until eventually, my body no longer racked by
breathy sobs and shudders, my mind entering into an almost trance-like state, I
must have fallen asleep.

I had only woken, later and alone, when Dad
came home, automatically turning the light on. And then I’d stumbled off to my
own room, falling back to sleep as soon as my head touched the pillow.

But now it was daytime. I could hear the
sounds of the market outside…the faint roar of heavy metal coming from the T-shirt
stall… a market-seller shouting out about his amazing deal on tomatoes … a bus pulling
up at the bus stop.

What time was it? I felt around for my
phone on the bedside table. 11o’clock!

I sat up. Dad would have finished breakfast
ages ago and be hanging around waiting for me. But when I checked, there were
three messages from him: the first two asking if I was up yet; the third
informing me he was off exploring and would be back by lunch.

I sighed, heading off to the bathroom. It
was probably better, Dad going off like that, really. After all, if we’d been
together, he’d only have had to spend the morning worrying about me fainting
again, and I’d have had to spend it trying to convince him that I was perfectly
fine…

Actually, I thought as I stepped under the
shower, I didn’t feel too bad today. I was lighter somehow - as if a heavy weight
had been lifted from me.

Five minutes later, having glanced at the
door to make sure it was locked, I grabbed my towel, wrapping it around me as I
moved over to the sink.

I looked at my reflection in the bathroom
mirror, studying myself.

Was it over then - my psychological
turmoil? All that built-up pressure erupting out of me. The relief of tears,
like the bursting of a dam. With that release, had I finally chased away the
madness?

But I was nervous about testing the theory.
Just in case. So, as I reached for the tap to brush my teeth, I kept my eyes
closed, willing myself not to look. Not to notice whether the déjà vu happened
or not. Whether the insanity was with me still.

Instead, I concentrated my mind on Luke. On
how he had held me. Until I could almost feel his arms around me now…

Suddenly, I opened my eyes, feeling self-conscious.
The flannel on the radiator had gone now. And the half-empty toothpaste tube. But
the tweezers were still on the little shelf above the sink. And a bottle of
peach bubbles had appeared on the side of the bath. I was still sharing this intimate
space with strangers. I still felt their eyes on me.

<><><>

By the time I was dressed, Dad was back. He
took me off to lunch in a local café overlooking the market square - an
old-fashioned place with white cloths on the tables and white lace curtains at
the window where a fly buzzed angrily, hurling itself at the glass in a bid to
escape before it joined its friend, dead on the sill. A sullen waitress took
our order: homemade quiche and a side-salad. We sat waiting, surrounded by the
hum of polite conversation, the customers’ voices hushed by the stuffy formality
of the place.

“Sorry about this,” Dad grimaced. “But we
don’t have time to go anywhere better now. I have to be getting off to the
gallery soon. Promised to be there by two.”

Tonight was the opening of the exhibition. Out
of thousands of entries, the photos had now been whittled down to the top ten
in each category, and Dad and the other judges wanted to run through them
again, before having to speak to the press and public about them tonight.

“But I’ll come back to get changed around
six,” he said. “And then we can go to the gallery together.”

Our food arrived: cardboard pastry, soggy
underneath, with a garnish of limp, undressed lettuce.

“Anyway,” Dad said, examining a mushroom
critically, “I’ve had a very successful morning. Got lots of great shots in the
Hall of Teeth.”

“You went back to the caves?”

“Yep - got my own personal guided tour. Somehow
I didn’t get to see everything properly yesterday, what with some girl fainting
and causing a right scene.”

I smiled sheepishly.

“But I took some great photos this time, so
no harm done. Anyway, how are you feeling today?”

“Fine,” I said.

“Sure?”

I nodded.

“I saw Luke this morning. He said he sent
up some food.”

“Yeah.”

“And you had a good, long lie-in?”

I nodded, and Dad looked relieved, happy that
his world seemed to be back to normal - as if yesterday’s collapse could be
mended by a cheese toastie and a sound sleep. But he obviously knew nothing
about my anxieties. My tears. Which meant that Luke hadn’t told him. So it was
our private matter. Just between us.

<><><>

Lunch over, Dad went off to the gallery. It
was still cold, the sky dark, bruised, threatening rain. A storm waiting to
happen. So, nothing better to do, I made my way back to the pub.

As I crossed through reception, Luke
appeared.

“Hi,” he said, running a hand through his
hair.

Immediately I felt self-conscious. This man
had seen me show real, raw emotion. He had held me as I wept. Even as I fell
asleep.

“Hi,” I said shyly.

“All alone?”

“Yeah - Dad had to go the gallery.”

He looked at me thoughtfully, his eyes
staring into mine. “So - what are you up to then?”

I shrugged my shoulders.

“Fancy going somewhere? Before the rain
starts?”

I shrugged again, but smiled, excitement
bubbling up inside me.

“So …maybe avoiding caves and confined
spaces…” he said playfully, “maybe try out some adventure activities? A bit of
abseiling? Or we could take the motorbike up into the fells, do some hiking, taking
in a freshwater tarn?”

He stopped and looked at me carefully. “Or
maybe - maybe we could do something completely different. Go on - what would
you
really like to do?”

I hesitated. I wanted to choose something
that had nothing to do with geology for once. Something that all the other
tourists did. But something that we would both enjoy.

And then I remembered how he’d moved in
close to me as we’d played darts together. His hand touching mine... His
whisper tickling my ear…

“How about crazy golf?” I said.

<><><>

“So you’ve never played this before?” Luke
shook his head in disbelief, aiming his golf-ball at a clown’s gaping mouth and
missing.

“No. Dad likes photographing geology,” I
said. “Full stop.”

He shook his head. “Never mind all that. A
family’s got to play crazy golf - at least once. It’s like an unwritten law
isn’t it?”

“Try telling that to Dad.” I wacked the
ball up a long slope, but all too soon it lost momentum, slowing down until it
stopped altogether and then rolling straight back to me.

We’d come here, to a nearby town, by
motorbike. My first ever ride on one, it had been thrilling sitting there, my arms
wrapped round Luke’s waist, clinging on as we roared down country lanes.

And now we were playing my first ever round
of crazy golf. Predictably, I was terrible at it. But as it turned out, so was Luke.
And so, instead of taking it seriously, we were soon sabotaging each other’s
game, nudging each other during shots and both cheating outrageously. And so, despite
the weather, we were having fun.

And, all my shyness finally banished, I
loved it.

After mini-golf, despite the temperature, Luke
bought us some ice creams and we sat on a low wall, side by side, under a
glowering sky, happily watching the world go by on the busy high street.

Then we spent some time messing about,
getting silly with the merchandise outside a souvenir shop, trying on hideous
plastic sunglasses and sunhats.

And then we wandered inside to warm up.

It was the usual kind of thing: bouncy
balls, toy fishing nets, paper-weights, sticks of candy rock, jars of old-fashioned
sweets, various maps, enormous pencils, cheap, plastic compasses. A jumble of
stuff
.

But amongst all the tack, my eye was caught
by something on a shelf to the right of the door: a row of teddy bears in different
sickly colours, each with a corresponding fruit stamp. Green with a lime;
yellow with a banana; blue with blueberries.

And there it was: a pink teddy bear with a
strawberry on its paw. Exactly like the one I’d imagined so clearly at the Changing
Well. Holding my breath, I reached out a trembling hand … and touched it.

Nothing. Not a thing. Not one unusual
emotion. Just the sensation of soft, furry material. I laughed with relief.

At the noise, Luke looked over.

At first he seemed surprised. Maybe he hadn’t
thought of me as the teddy bear type, I thought. But, seeing me laugh, he
shrugged. “You girls and your cuddly toys,” he chuckled. “Go on, let me buy it
for you.”

“No!” Hurriedly I took my hand away from
the bear.

“Go on,” he urged me, reaching into his
pocket for his wallet.

“No!” I started to walk away, but he picked
up the bear and followed me.

“Go on, let me.”

“No!” The word came out more abruptly than
I’d intended. I didn’t mean to snap, but I was horribly embarrassed. First of
all, I
wasn’t
a teddy bear sort of
girl, and didn’t want to be seen as one. Especially over
this
bear - the very same type which, at the Changing Well, had plunged
me into the depths of terror.

But I was also worried that he might think I
was
hinting
for a gift. He’d already
insisted on paying for the crazy golf and the ice creams. And now this. It was way
too much.

But I instantly regretted my outburst when
I saw his face fall. He’d been so lovely to me after my breakdown the night
before, spending time with me, encouraging me out of my shell, getting to know the
real me. And what had I done in return? I’d practically shouted at him. I felt
terrible.

“Sorry - it’s just…” But I didn’t know how
to continue.

Luke didn’t press me. “Well, maybe
something else then?” he offered gently.

I looked around hurriedly, but the shop was
full of rubbish. I didn’t want him to waste his money on any of it. But then I
spotted a glass counter displaying jewellery featuring natural gems. I wandered
over to take a look. And
there
was a silver
necklace with a small drop of purple crystal. It was beautiful. And only about
the same price as the teddy bear.

“Pretty isn’t it?” The shopkeeper noticed
me looking. “Amethyst. Supposed to be comforting; helps calm and sooth you
apparently, in times of emotional upset.” She sniffed her disapproval of such New
Age drivel. “If you believe in that sort of thing.”

Luke and I looked at each other. A gift to
comfort me in times of emotional upset? It was perfect.

“We’ll take it,” he said.

Outside the shop, the sky had darkened
dramatically. Luke took the necklace out of its cellophane wrapper and
unclasped it. “Come on, then,” he said, holding it up.

I pulled up the back of my hair and turned
so that he could put it round my neck. It took him a little while getting the
fiddly clasp fastened, every accidental brush of his fingers against my skin
sending tiny shivers and prickles darting across my neck and shoulders, so that
it was a struggle to stand still.

When it was finally done, I looked at my reflection
in the shop window.

“Thanks, Luke” I said, really moved. “It’s
gorgeous.” I turned, reaching up to kiss his cheek but he was just turning his
head to look at me, and I mistimed it, almost kissing his mouth by mistake. I pulled
away, feeling myself blushing furiously, but he gave me one of his secret winks.

Then the first few drops of rain spat down
from the sky and we hurried back to the bike.

I looked at the collection of dresses
strewn across my bed. Hmm…

I was already late for Dad’s opening party
at the gallery. So late that he’d left without me, barking at me to follow him as
soon as I was ready. But still, I hesitated.

None of my clothes were really suitable;
after all, formal adult gatherings weren’t exactly regular events on my social
calendar. And clothes shopping here in the market had been a complete disaster.

However, when I’d packed my bag at home, I
had actually grabbed a few of Mum’s old things, stuffing them in with my own, just
in case. And now I examined them as they lay on the bed.

Mum had been quite small and slim. Attractive,
I guess. And stylish. But still I hesitated. I’d never worn her clothes before.

But it was obvious which one I should
choose. It was practically calling out to me, really. Begging to be worn. A cute
little purple halter-neck: it would be perfect with my new necklace. I tried it
on, pulling the ties tight so that it fitted me.

I examined myself in the mirror, piling my
hair on top of my head so that my necklace was more noticeable, remembering the
feel of Luke’s fingers on my skin as I did so. Yes. It looked good.

Now. Time to put on my new make-up - the
pearlescent shadow and the dark glittery liner, shading it out to the edges to
make my eyes seem bigger. Yes - that was right. That’s how Paula, the woman at
the stall, had done it. I rooted about in my make-up bag and found my extra
length mascara, moving in close to the mirror to apply it carefully. I smiled
to myself as I worked. I looked so much older. Mum would have gone spare.

And then, I noticed a dark shape in the
reflection, above my head. I glanced up at it nervously. No! Not again! Please!

The poster was back.

But why? I didn’t understand…

Trembling, my hand automatically reached
for the tiny amethyst drop suspended from its silver chain.

So - my journey into insanity wasn’t over
yet. I’d been stupid ever to think it was. But when I’d touched that pink bear
in the shop, and it had had no effect on me, it had given me hope. Hope that
I’d got everything out of my system when I’d wept on Luke. That the climax was
over. That the madness was gone.

But I guess I’d been fooling myself. Like
Dad, I’d imagined that all my problems could just conveniently vanish over
night. How naïve. How pathetic. Obviously, you couldn’t erase months of
psychological turmoil with one good cry.

With a heavy heart, I returned to my make-up.
I had to get a move on. Couldn’t let Dad down.

But as I applied my last stroke of mascara,
something made me cry out and pull back from the mirror.

My eye had looked at me.

I don’t mean I’d stared at myself. I mean, the
reflection of one of my eyes, independently and of its own accord, had suddenly
swivelled away from looking at my lashes, and stared right at me.

It only lasted for a second - over,
literally, in the blink of an eye. So I guess it could simply have been in my
imagination. But the shock it gave me was real enough. Because it wasn’t one of
my eyes.

It was blue. Like Mum’s.

It was raining quite heavily as I ran along
to the gallery just past the market square, but it hadn’t put the guests off. The
party seemed to be in full swing.

Someone at the door made a fuss that I’d
forgotten my invitation, but Dad quickly took command.

“At last,” he cried. “Where’ve you been?” Taking
a leaflet from the flustered door staff, he handed it to me.

And then he got a proper look at me and gasped.
“Melissa,” he whispered, wiping the corner of his eye, “you look beautiful.” I
beamed with pride under his admiring gaze. “Just like your mum.”

Having placed my dripping umbrella in a pot
by the door, he took me by the hand and led me inside.

“Welcome to
Forces of Nature
,” he declared grandly. “Remember, every photo here
has been taken with that title in mind. However, different photographers have
interpreted the title in different ways. That’s what makes these finalists so
exciting.”

We now joined a group of people made up of
the organisers and the other judges. They were all very pleasant to me, but
soon returned to their in-depth academic discussions about photography, which
pretty much excluded me from their conversation, so I just stood there, smiling
vacantly.

“Harry!” Dad suddenly launched himself across
the room to greet another colleague, leaving me standing with virtual strangers.
I smiled at them, pretending that everything was fine and moved slowly away.

I helped myself to a drink from a tray held
by a passing waitress. Wine. Urgh! But at least sipping it now and again gave
me something to do, making me look more at ease, as if I was happy to roam
about on my own.

The gallery was one big room, all clinical white,
with lots of bright, modern lighting, and divided up by big, white panels so
that people could wander into different sections, their walls lined with huge
photographs. I looked up at those nearest to me: a moody shot of a snowdrop,
and a black-and-white of a tree with huge, tangled roots. Both beautiful
pictures, but I didn’t really see how they could be called
forces of nature
. I consulted my leaflet: ‘a delicate snowdrop
pushing its way up through the cold, hard snow’; ‘a solitary tree in a harsh
rocky landscape, its roots twisting and boring down into the dry Earth’. Okay -
I’d got it now - two
forces of nature
struggling to survive in hostile conditions.

I examined the next pair: an expanse of shining
green ivy clambering all over an abandoned old shed, a cluster of purple-black
berries dangling in the foreground; and then an extreme macro close-up of
something bright green and barbed - viciously spiked. I checked my pamphlet: okay
- so the ivy berries were poisonous and the green thing was a stinging nettle, and
both plants were considered invasive weeds - so I guessed these photos
represented dangerous
forces of nature
.

 
I moved off again. By now the place was
even fuller. I helped myself to another glass of wine and strolled into a
different section, away from ‘plants’ and towards ‘places’.

“Don’t you look nice, love.”

I turned to find a woman squeezed into a
very low-cut dress standing in a haze of sickly perfume. It was Paula, the
woman from the make-up stall.

“Thanks,” I said, laughing and batting my
eyes to show her how I’d applied her eye make-up.

 
“Fancy seeing you here.”

“Yeah, well,” I shrugged. “My Dad’s
involved with the judging, so…”

“Really? Wow.” She smiled at me. “So - are
you staying round here then?”

“Yes - at the Fox and Hound.”

“Really?” Paula’s tone had changed. She
stared at me for a second.

There was an awkward silence.

“So has Luke seen you?” she said warily.

“Luke? The landlord?” I said. “Of course. Why?”

“And how is he? I mean, is he okay?”

“Sorry?”

But Paula had already turned away from me,
distracted by someone tapping her on the shoulder. It was clear from the noise
and the air kissing that her friends had finally arrived.

Alone again, I took another drink, thinking
about what Paula had said.

 
“Melissa!”

Dad beckoned me into the crowd around him. He
was discussing the merits of a photo with another group. He directed our
attention to the scene before us: a row of beautiful stalactites and
stalagmites which had joined together to form slender columns, like the pipes
of an organ, viewed as the golden evening sunlight shone through the entrance
of the cave.

“Hi there.” I felt a slight tingle at the
back of my neck and turned to find Luke standing behind me.

“You’re looking beautiful,” he said,
gallantly.

I smiled and took another gulp of my drink.

Dad was still analysing the photograph for
his rapt audience. “See how the camera captures a very
gentle, mellow
light,” he said pointing to the sun’s soft rays,
“echoing the slow, gradual wearing away and building up of the limestone by
another force of nature: water. This is a subtle force - slow and steady - exerting
its will over time.”

Luke fingered the amethyst drop at my
throat. “Looks good,” he said. “Much better than a teddy bear.”

The group moved on to the next photo, Luke
and I following, lingering on the outskirts, chatting.

“The exhibition seems to be going well,” he
said.

I nodded.

“Your Dad knows his stuff, doesn’t he? He’s
got the crowd mesmerised.”

I glanced proudly at Dad charming the
group, drawing them into his love of geological photography.

I took another sip from my glass.

“You drinking wine?” Luke asked, eyebrows
raised. “Does your Dad know?”

Rolling my eyes dramatically, I tutted at
him for being so boring. But he didn’t notice, too busy looking around for a
waitress who failed to materialise.

Then, spotting a small bar on the other
side of the room, he went off to get himself a beer.

I didn’t want to look as if I was hanging
about, waiting for him to return, so, as Dad led his group off, I followed them.

But then I saw Paula and her friends
pushing through the crowd, coming in the other direction. It looked like they
were leaving. In a moment she would have pushed her way past me and be gone. But
I needed to talk to her. To hear her confirm something I had already begun to suspect
from her previous conversation. And so, as soon as I caught her eye, with no
time for subtleties, I dived straight in.

“Paula…” I began. “You know what you were
talking about…”

“Sorry?”

“About the girl. The one I look like.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that, love,” she
said. “That was nothing. Just forget I said anything.”

But I couldn’t. Something inside me made me
continue. I had to know. “How much do I resemble her?”

“Well, to be honest, you don’t look like
her at all, really, now I come to think about it” she said. “For a start, she was
into all that grungy stuff - you know, the thick black eyeliner and all that.” She
waved her hand as if sweeping the whole conversation aside. “So, like I say, just
forget about it.”

She began to move off, but I carried on
regardless. “But you said I reminded you of her,” I urged, “in the market.”

“Well, yes,” she said, pausing again, her
smile fading a little, slightly put out that I wouldn’t drop the subject. “But
not facially. Just an expression I caught in your eyes for a moment. Nothing
really.”

She tried to move off again, her friends
looking back, wondering at the delay but I rudely pressed on. “But I look
enough like her to make you worry about Luke?”

She turned back to me, her face troubled at
my persistence. “Look, love. Just forget it. I’m sorry - I shouldn’t have said
anything in front of you. It’s not something you want to chat about -
especially round Luke. It could really upset him.”

“Because she and her mother were such close
friends of his family,” I prompted. “Is that it?”

Paula looked at me, hesitating. “Well, yes…”
she began, “But there’s more to it than that.” Laying her hand on my arm, she
lowered her voice, speaking confidentially.

“Poor man - I don’t suppose he’s ever
really got over it. How could he? You see, Billie - that was her name, the girl
who died - Billie was his girlfriend.”

And then squeezing my arm and pulling a
sympathetic face for Luke’s sad story, she hurried off to her friends.

<><><>

I wandered off, moving automatically, too
deep in thought to care where I was heading now.

I’d been right. The girl - Billie - had
been Luke’s girlfriend. No wonder he’d been so angry with me for casually
gossiping about her death.

I gulped down the rest of my wine and
reached for another.

By now, I had entered the ‘creatures’
section. I glanced briefly at the nearest photographs. On one side a spider sat
at the centre of its dew-glistened web. On the other, a slick, green frog
caught a dragonfly on its long sticky tongue. Ahead, a proud stag, its antlers
wide and strong called out, its breath condensing in the cold morning air.

But my mind was busy thinking about
something else. A bitter, poisonous thought. A crushing thought.

Paula had been worried about Luke seeing me
hadn’t she - because she thought I somehow resembled Billie.

So - was that why he liked me? Liked
hanging out with me? Is that what our ‘connection’ was based on: that I looked a
bit like his dead girlfriend?

I thought back to the first time he’d seen
me, when he’d looked into my eyes and I’d seen a sudden flash of recognition.