Emotional Geology Page 8

  ‘I thought you were about thirty-five. What is it about climbers? Why do you all look like wrinkled adolescents?’

  ‘Because we are?’

  ‘I’m still a lot older than you, Calum.’

  ‘Not as much as you thought!’

  ‘A lot more than you thought.’

  ‘Does the age thing really bother you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He spreads his hands. ‘Just “Yes”? You won't be drawn into a feminist critique of ageism?’

  ‘Yes, given half a chance, I could work myself up into a good old lather about that! But now is neither the time nor the place.’

  ‘When would be?’

  ‘Calum—’

  ‘Sorry. I’m hassling you again. I’d just like to spend more time with you, that’s all. Talking. About the exhibition.’

  ‘We’d need a chaperone. The last time we sat and talked about it, I ended up groping you.’

  ‘Exactly. So I’ve decided to give you another chance, an opportunity to prove you can keep your hands to yourself.’

  ‘And if I disgrace myself again?’

  Calum sighs. ‘I dare say I’ll survive. I have a very forgiving nature.’

  Rose leans forward, grabs the Simpsons tie and pulls him towards her. ‘Do you know what is absolutely lethal about you, Calum? It isn’t the big blue eyes or the curls, it’s the way you somehow manage to convey that going to bed with you would be fun, would be... a real party.’

  ‘You know, you may have a point there. I remember once, Alison was laughing so much we fell out of bed. And I fell out of Alison.’

  ~

  ‘Thanks for lunch.’

  ‘You’re welcome. I had a really good time’

  Gavin fixes her with his eyes, unsmiling, defying her to look away. ‘I’d like to see you again.’

  ‘That’s a bit difficult.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I’m on holiday. With my daughter. She’s eleven. We’re staying with friends in Skipton.’

  ‘I live in Leeds.’

  ‘Oh...’

  ‘It’s not far.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Where is she now? Your daughter.’

  ‘My friends have taken her to York for the day. They’re doing the museum and the shops. Touristy things.’

  ‘So there’s no one at home now?’

  ‘No.’ Rose swallows, tries to keep her breathing even. ‘They won’t be back till after supper. They're taking her for a pizza.’

  Gavin lets loose his havoc-wreaking smile. ‘Very obliging, your friends.’

  ‘They wanted to give me some time to myself. I got the bus here from Skipton. This is my treat.’

  ‘I can give you a lift back. If you want.’

  ‘Now?’

  ‘Yeah, come on.’ He grabs her hand and pulls her across the road.

  ‘But - it seems a shame to go home when it’s still such a fine day.’

  Gavin wheels round. ‘There’s rain forecast for later.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah, heavy rain. High winds. A freak storm, in fact. Possibility of a blizzard, they say.’ Rose starts to laugh. ‘We should get going.’

  ‘You don’t give up easily do you?’

  ‘Get in the car.’

  On the drive back to Skipton they say very little. Rose watches Gavin’s hands on the wheel, turns occasionally to look at his sun-lit profile.

  ‘No sign of that rain.’

  ‘Any minute now...’

  She directs him to the cottage where he parks with more panache than accuracy. He gets out of the car and follows Rose to the front door. Her hand trembles as she tries to insert the key. Gavin takes it, opens the door and ushers her inside.

  They don't get as far as the bed. By the time they reach the bedroom door Gavin has removed some of Rose’s clothes and most of his own. Stumbling, he pinions her against the closed door and pushes into her hard, almost lifting her off the ground. Spread-eagled beneath him Rose remembers momentarily her first sight of Gavin on the rock face. She thinks she knew, then, exactly what was going to happen. Another rib-crushing thrust from Gavin and she yells loudly, but not in pain.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  They drive home in their separate cars, Calum with the reckless speed of the local used to empty roads, Rose with care, peering through the windscreen in the failing light for passing places. She is glad to be spared another doorstep conversation, not least because she realises she has a raging headache, the result, no doubt, of tension and the morning’s exertions.

  As she unloads the car she begins to sweat despite the freezing wind coming in off the sea. She also remembers that she meant to shop at lunchtime - supplies are low. Lunch with Calum drove such mundane thoughts - and most others - from her mind. She checks the fridge. No milk. No juice. An unopened bottle of wine. She sighs and looks in the bread-bin. A heel-end of a loaf and a packet of flapjacks. Her head is now pounding to the point of nausea. She goes up to the bathroom to look for paracetamol. There is only one left. Rose never keeps more than a handful of tablets in the house.

  She swallows the single paracetamol with a glass of water and five minutes later she is sick. Getting into bed she resigns herself to misery. Just before she falls into a fitful sleep she realises that if she’d brought the phone upstairs she could have rung Shona or Calum, or even a doctor.

  ~

  On Thursday morning Calum is running late and swears when the phone goes.

  ‘Calum, it’s Shona.’

  ‘I can give you two minutes, Shona. Short ones. What’s up?’

  ‘Och, nothing, probably. I just wondered, was Rose okay yesterday at school?’

  ‘Aye, the kids loved her and I think she had a good time.’

  ‘No, I mean afterwards.’

  ‘We had lunch at The Stepping Stone, then we went our separate ways. Is anything wrong?’

  ‘I don’t suppose so, it’s just that she’s not answering her phone. And there was no answer last night either. She and I were going to have a session peeling tatties for the Burns Supper. I was ringing to check she’d remembered. It’s awful dreich this morning - she surely wouldn’t be out walking?’

  ‘I’ll call in on my way to school.’

  ‘That’d be grand, Calum. I expect her phone isn’t working. But if it isn’t, she needs to know. I’d send Aly but that boy’s such a noodle - as well try to talk to a post! And I daren’t leave the wee ones. Donald’s away out just now and I don't know when he’ll be back.’

  ‘No bother, Shona. I'll give you a ring if there’s a problem.’

  ~

  Calum knocks loudly on Rose’s front door and listens for an answering shout. There is no reply, so he goes in. The house is dark and cold. He lays a hand on the stove. It has been out for some time.

  ‘Rose... It’s me, Calum. Are you upstairs?’

  Not waiting for an answer he takes the stairs two at a time.

  ~

  ‘Rose, it’s me... Gavin.’

  Rose opens her eyes and squints. ‘Fuck off, Gavin. Who the hell let you in?’

  ‘I’ve brought you some flowers.’ He lays a large bouquet of white roses on the hospital bed. A nurse materialises and whisks them away. ‘What beautiful flowers, Mrs. Leonard! Shall we put them in a vase?’ Rose ignores her.

  Gavin sits awkwardly on a chair by the bed and says nothing.

  Rose looks away. ‘White roses, Gavin. How very tactful! You could hardly turn up with red, could you? Did Megan tell you what to buy? Where is Megan?’

  ‘Staying with a friend. Katie Ferguson... Rose, I never meant for you to—’

  ‘Shut up, Gavin! Whatever you want to say, I don’t want to hear it. I realise it’s not your fault I walked through a bloody glass door.’

  Rose looks at him properly for the first time and sees a two-day growth of beard frosting his face, now as pale as his hair. She is confused. A few hours ago they were in bed together and he was clean-shaven, she was sure of it.
There are dark circles under his eyes and he looks thinner, shrunken somehow, his broad shoulders drooping.

  ‘How long have I been in here?’

  ‘Three days.’

  ‘Jesus!’

  ‘You’ve been heavily sedated. I tried to see you earlier but they said there was no point.’

  ‘Too bloody right. I want you to leave now, Gavin. Get your stuff out of my house and leave. And get someone to fix the broken glass. The sitting-room will be full of snow by now.’

  ‘I’ve done all that. I’ve cleaned up. I just came to say - I’m sorry and... goodbye.’ Gavin has tears in his eyes. Rose is appalled. She has never seen Gavin cry, Gavin who receives news of the grisly deaths of former climbing partners with stoic calm, with little more than a nod.

  ‘Gavin, don’t. Please... I can’t bear it.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Rose.’ He lays his head down on the bed and buries his face in the blankets. She stares at the untidy tufts of blond hair and the fair down on the nape of his tanned neck. Her hand hovers then settles gently. She slides her fingers over his neck, inside his collar and rests them on the enlarged shoulder muscles, touching his warm, smooth skin for what she knows, with absolute certainty, is the last time.

  ‘Goodbye, Gavin. Thank you for dealing with all the mess. You’re well rid of me, you know. A bloody liability.’ She withdraws her hand as she sees the cheerful nurse returning with Gavin’s bouquet arranged in a vase. ‘Go now, Gavin. Now.’

  Gavin gets up, smears his hands across his eyes, turns and walks out of the ward without looking back. Rose watches him go, fixing him for ever in her mind - the cocky, spring-heeled walk that even grief and exhaustion cannot quite suppress.

  The nurse presents the vase at Rose’s bedside. ‘There! Don’t they look lovely, Mrs. Leonard?’

  ‘It’s Ms. Leonard and no, they don’t. They look like a bloody funeral arrangement. Throw them away - I’m still alive! More’s the pity...’

  ~

  Rose’s bedroom door is open. Calum knocks and enters. The bedside light is on and he sees that, despite the cold, she is bathed in sweat, her tawny hair plastered to her forehead. She has kicked back the duvet and a voluminous Victorian nightdress clings to her body. As Calum bends and rearranges the bedclothes, Rose opens her eyes and peers into the semi-darkness.

  ‘Gavin?’

  ‘Calum. You’re ill, Rose. Will I fetch Dr. Kerr?’

  She tries to sit up but falls back on the pillows, whimpering. ‘Who let you in?’

  ‘Your door wasn’t locked. I knocked and called up, but you were asleep.’

  Her eyes close again. ‘You can get in but you can’t get out... Everything's locked. Everything! The doors. The cupboards... Even the sewing-boxes. You can have a needle, but not scissors...’ She throws her head from side to side. ‘I’m thirsty... Gavin, get me a drink... Where's Megan?’

  Calum lays a hand on her forehead. ‘Rose, I’m going to get you something to drink and then I’m going to ring Dr. Kerr.’

  ‘No! No more doctors!’

  ‘Rose, you’re running a high temperature and you’re delirious. You need a doctor.’

  Rose grabs his hand and begins to weep. ‘Gavin, don’t go! Don’t leave me! Please don’t leave me!’

  Calum sits on the bed. He cups her face in his hands and stares into her half-closed eyes. ‘Gavin isn’t here, Rose. It’s Calum. Listen to me - I’m going downstairs to get you some water, then I’m coming back up with the phone and I’m going to ring Shona, then the doc - okay?’

  Rose is asleep again. Calum looks at his watch, swears and runs downstairs.

  ~

  He opens the front door to Shona who arrives bearing milk, fruit juice, Lem-sip and a half-bottle of whisky. Calum raises an eyebrow at the whisky. ‘Och, it’s one less for Donald to drink,’ Shona says, flapping her hand.

  ‘Shona, I’ve got to go. I’ve rung the surgery and they say it’s probably ’flu, in which case there’s not much they can do. Dr. Kerr says he’ll try and drop by later. She’s to have plenty of fluids and keep warm. Not too warm, mind. I’ve lit the stove - keep an eye on it.’

  ‘Aye, but I can’t stay all morning - I’m doing the playgroup run.’

  ‘I’ll be back at lunchtime. I’ve a free period after lunch. I’ve got time to get here and back if I drive fast.’

  Shona snorts. ‘When did you ever drive any other way?’

  ‘Where are the weans now?’

  ‘Jean’s looking after Fergus. Aly’s taken the others for the bus. They’ve strict instructions to hold his hand.’

  ‘Poor Aly... I've got to go, Shona.’

  ‘I’ll manage fine. Away wi’ ye!’

  ‘You’ll find her a wee bit delirious, maybe. She'll probably blether on about Gavin.’

  ‘Who’s Gavin?’

  ‘The bastard she’s in love with.’

  ~

  ‘There’s a man in the kitchen.’

  ‘Mmmn?...’ Rose sits up in bed. ‘Sorry, Megan - what did you say?’

  ‘I said there’s a man in our kitchen. He’s making himself breakfast.’

  ‘Oh...Yes, I know. He’s - a friend. He’s called Gavin. He lives in Yorkshire. You know - where we went for our holiday with Penny and John.’

  ‘Why is he here?’

  ‘He’s come to see us.’

  ‘But I don't know him.’

  ‘Well, he’s come to see me. And to do some climbing. That’s his hobby. He’s meeting some friends in Glencoe tomorrow.’

  Despite herself, Megan is impressed. ‘Has he climbed Mount Everest?’

  ‘No, but he wants to. He’s saving up his money to go. Expeditions to Everest are very expensive apparently. Thousands of pounds.’

  ‘Did he stay here last night?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Megan’s lip curls. ‘So he’s your boyfriend, then?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so.’

  The child is silent for a moment, considering.

  ‘He’s not very tall.’

  Rose laughs. ‘No, but neither am I, so it doesn’t bother me. He’s very nice. I think you’ll like him when you get to know him.’

  ‘Did he sleep in your bed?’

  Rose looks down and smoothes the duvet, blushing. ‘Yes, he did, as a matter of fact.’ She looks up at her daughter, asks nervously ‘Does that bother you, Megan?’

  Megan considers, then heaves a long-suffering sigh of theatrical proportions. ‘No, not really.’ She pads towards the bedroom door, then turns back suddenly. ‘But if he stays again, could you please ask him to put the loo-seat down when he’s finished. I got up to pee in the middle of the night and I nearly fell down the toilet.’

  When, a few moments later Gavin arrives with a breakfast tray, he finds Rose alone, with the duvet over her head, convulsed with silent laughter.

  ~

  There is a knock at the front door. Rose struggles to sit up. She hears footsteps climb the stairs, then Calum’s head appears round the door.

  ‘Calum! What are you doing here?’ Her voice is faint and she is breathing heavily. ‘Did you know I was ill?

  ‘Aye, Shona told me. She was looking after you earlier.’

  ‘Yes, I think I remember. Was it you who called the doctor?’

  ‘Sorry, but you were in a pretty bad way earlier. You were delirious, so I overruled you and called him anyway.’

  ‘Delirious? Oh, God - what was I saying?’

  ‘Och, rubbish mostly. Well, nothing I could make any sense of anyway.’

  Rose looks relieved. Calum fishes in a carrier bag. ‘I’ve brought you some invalid stuff - Lucozade, some grapes and a box of tissues. No flowers, I’m afraid. Not that easy to come by in the Western Isles in January.’

  ‘You are sweet. Thank you. But you shouldn’t hang around, you know. I think I’m over the worst, but I might still be infectious.’

  ‘I’ll take my chances. Are you wanting anything to eat?’ Rose shakes her head. ‘Then do you mind if
I sit and eat my lunch?’

  ‘Of course not! Pull up that chair.’

  As he pulls a chair over to Rose’s bedside Calum glances around the light, orderly bedroom. There are small pieces of china and bric-a-brac on shelves, paintings and prints on the white walls and a faded Victorian sampler, but no photographs. A side-table in front of the window is crowded with pot-plants and a faint scent of pot-pourri emanates from a lid-less Chinese teapot. Calum sits and admires the intricate patchwork quilt on Rose’s bed. ‘Is that an antique?’

  ‘No, it’s one of mine.’

  ‘You made it?’

  ‘Yes. Years ago.’

  ‘There must be hundreds of pieces.’

  ‘Probably near enough a thousand. The pieces are quite small. I call it my penance quilt.’

  ‘That sounds like a story,’ Calum says, unwrapping his sandwiches. ‘I like stories.’

  ‘Yes, but it’s not one I’m proud of.’

  ‘Shameful stories? Even better. Confess, child.’

  Rose smiles wanly. ‘I had one of my manic attacks... before my condition was sorted out with medication. It was what they refer to as a “major episode”. Sounds like a cliffhanger in a long-running serial, doesn’t it? I chopped up a load of clothes with my dressmaking shears. I made a very thorough job of it and cut them into tiny pieces. I was beside myself.’

  ‘What provoked the attack?’

  She looks away, avoiding his eyes. ‘Oh, I was angry with Gavin I suppose.’

  ‘Was it his clothes you shredded?’

  ‘No. Mine.’

  ‘That’s a pity. So you made all the pieces into a quilt.’

  ‘Yes. I hate waste!’ Rose sighs. ‘I think I was more upset about what I’d done to the clothes than what I’d done to myself.’

  Calum stops chewing and swallows. ‘Was that when you—?’

  ‘Yes. With my shears. I’m still alive because I’m a lazy cow and I don’t keep my shears as sharp as I should, so they didn’t cut very deep. And I cut across my arms instead of along them, so the damage was superficial. But it was very messy.’