Altitude

by Niel Bushnell

  As she wallowed in her feelings she got out of bed and washed. Automatic actions, no thought required. She found herself downstairs, cleaned, dressed, ready for today.

  The worst day.

  She didn’t want it to come. Now it was here she wanted it over as quickly as possible. Today was a mountain that she knew she had to climb. The rest of her life – for what it was worth – lay in the slopes on the other side. But it was too big to take on all by herself. She needed Abigail at her side.

  Mum was in the kitchen already. She wore her black dress, figure-hugging, cut just above the knee. She still looked good. Black suited her.

  ‘Hi,’ Mum said. It was almost a sigh, but her subtle smile comforted Tam. Without a word Tam walked over to her and wrapped her arms round her. She was taller than Mum now. Tam rested her head on Mum’s shoulder, taking comfort from the warmth of her skin, the scent of her hair, the memory of childhood.

  After a moment they parted with an exchange of smiles.

  ‘Breakfast?’ Mum asked.

  ‘No,’ Tam replied.

  Mum nodded, not pushing.

  ‘How’s Dad?’

  Mum hesitated. ‘Rough night . . .’

  ‘Can I go see him? After the—’ Tam’s throat caught. ‘After.’

  ‘Course you can, love. I’m going this afternoon. He’d love to see you.’

  I need to see him, Tam told herself. It didn’t matter how he looked, not any more. She nodded to Mum. ‘Good. We’ll go together.’

  The doorbell rang, high-pitched, cutting through the morning air. Tam opened the door and pulled Abigail in towards her without a word.

  ‘You OK?’ Abigail asked quietly.

  ‘Not really,’ Tam confessed. ‘You?’

  Abigail shrugged feebly. She looked older in black, harder, like she knew exactly what she was doing. Tam felt the opposite – younger, out of her depth, like a lost kid terrified of the world.

  Tam led Abigail to the kitchen and they sat in the quiet comfort of each other’s company, watching as Mum found things to tidy: dishes, clothes, takeaway menus. She offered them drinks, made small talk about the weather, about Abigail’s plans for college, avoiding the terrible subject that had dominated all of their lives this last ten days.

  Becca was dead. She’d killed herself and it was Tam’s fault. She’d talked to everyone about it: police, counsellors, friends, family. The hardest had been Becca’s mum. She never said it aloud, but Tam saw the cold accusation festering in her eyes. She blamed Tam for her daughter’s death, and she was right. Yet throughout all the interviews and reports and discussions no one had joined the dots from Becca’s photos to Tam. Her secret had died with her friend, and Tam was glad of that small mercy.

  Outside a dark car pulled up, its polished body reflecting the crisp sunshine through the window.

  Mum smiled. ‘Time to go.’

  Her words were like a death sentence. They were climbing that horrible unavoidable mountain. Tam stood, feeling light-headed, and found Abigail’s hand in hers. They exchanged tight smiles as they walked to the door.

  Outside, the car waited. Mum opened the door and Tam climbed inside. The three of them sat together on the back seat, Tam in the middle, her hands holding Abigail’s and Mum’s. Her mind was far away, drifting through that damned wood. She tried to think of something else but her mind kept dragging her back into the judgement of the trees.

  She looked outside at the procession of houses drifting by, those tiny boxes full of secrets. Then, unexpectedly, the wood came into view, taking Tam’s breath away. It looked vast today, a giant beast squatting at the edge of the estate, waiting to engulf them all.

  Now she was crying. Mum put her arm round her, pulling her into the warmth of her body.

  The wall of trees disappeared, replaced by the estate once more, and Tam felt her anxiety ease. But then the cemetery and the crematorium loomed ahead and the tension returned, taking hold of her entire body.

  The car pulled up outside and Tam, Abigail and Mum joined the other mourners outside. The sun warmed Tam’s face, narrowing her eyes. She saw faces she recognized there – other school friends, a few teachers, some of Becca’s family. She avoided their glances, wishing she’d brought her sunglasses to hide behind.

  Then a procession of black cars entered the cemetery and crawled towards her. Tam half hid behind Mum’s body, feeling tiny. Sweat trickled down her neck as the first car pulled up outside the entrance. Tam saw the long windows and the coffin within, strewn with flowers spelling out her friend’s name.

  Becca’s in there.

  Tam felt her legs go weak and she gripped Mum’s arm tighter.

  Becca’s mum appeared as the coffin was taken from the car. She glanced at Tam, just for a second, but Tam was sure she was going to scream at her for killing her daughter. The urge to escape was almost overwhelming. Tam looked up at the empty sky, not a cloud in sight, and thought how easy it would be to fly away from here, to embrace that giant blue nothing, to be free of the ground with all of its problems.

  But she couldn’t. She refused to try. Never again, she swore to herself. The joy of freedom wasn’t worth all this. The price was just too high.

  ‘C’mon,’ Mum said with a gentle tug of her hand, and together they entered the cool sanctuary of the crematorium.

  FORTY-TWO

  Abigail returned home, exhausted. The funeral had taken more out of her than she had expected, and she wished she’d agreed for her mum to go with her.

  As she walked towards her house Abigail pictured the warm bath she was going to run for herself, a long soak to wash away the grime of today. But as she opened the door she heard voices raised in argument.

  Dad was here.

  Abigail froze, the door open in her hand.

  ‘Is that you, Abigail?’ her mum called to her.

  Damn. ‘Yeah, hi.’

  Before she had taken her shoes off her mum was there. ‘You should have called. I’d have picked you up.’

  ‘It’s not far.’ Abigail glanced over her mum’s shoulder. ‘He’s here?’

  Abigail’s mum nodded stiffly. She folded her arms as she returned to the living room.

  ‘Hello, honey.’ Her dad stood up, grinning as Abigail entered. ‘How are you?’

  ‘What’s he doing here?’ Abigail whispered to her mum, blanking her dad. ‘He’s not supposed to come here.’

  Her mum smiled apologetically. ‘He’s just—’

  ‘It’s OK,’ her dad soothed, his arms held up. ‘I’m not stopping. I just wanted to see you. I know today is a rough one so I just wanted to check on you . . . on both of you.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Abigail said crisply. She refused to look at him. ‘You can go now.’

  ‘Abigail,’ her mum said. ‘Don’t be rude.’

  ‘He’s not supposed to come here,’ Abigail replied. Her heart pounded. Normally she fell behind her mum, followed her example and did as she was told. But not today, not any more. She wasn’t going to give him power. She turned to face him and said, ‘You should leave.’

  Her dad’s hands became fists, then he took a breath and sat down, his palms resting on his knees. ‘I’ll go in a moment, I promise.’ His voice was controlled and calm. ‘It’s just . . . I haven’t seen you in ages and—’

  ‘Whose fault is that?’ Abigail demanded, putting herself in between her parents. She stood over her dad, her eyes glaring at him. ‘You did this. You spoilt it all.’

  ‘Abigail, don’t . . .’ her mum pleaded pathetically.

  ‘No, Mum, I’m sick of you two screwing up this family . . . getting back together then splitting up again.’

  ‘I know, and I’m sorry.’ Her dad’s eyes moistened. ‘I don’t want to argue. I know this is all my fault. I’ve ruined our family, no one else, just me. But I’m getting help and I think I’m getting better.’

  ‘Too late, Dad.’ It took all of her strength to hold back her emotions. ‘You’ve said all this before. Mum might fall fo
r it but I’m not, not any more.’ Abigail gasped for air, shocked at her own resolve.

  Her dad nodded solemnly. ‘You’re right, Abigail, but I love you and I wanted to say this anyway.’

  Abigail felt herself wavering. She knew if he didn’t go soon she’d crumble and let him back in again. This was what her mum used to do, and she’d stood by and let her. But it wouldn’t make things better, she knew that. ‘Dad, I love you too, but that’s not enough, is it? You love us but you hurt us.’

  ‘I don’t mean to. And I’m getting better, really I am.’

  Abigail couldn’t look at her mum. If she did she’d see the hurt in her eyes and cave in. No, she had to stay strong, for both of them. She summoned up all of her remaining strength and said, ‘Just say what you want to say then leave, please.’

  ‘Right . . . yeah, of course, sorry.’ Her dad licked his lips, floundering. ‘Well . . . I just want to say that I’m sorry for all of the pain I’ve put you both through. I know I can never make it right again but I hope that . . . maybe . . . in time we can, you know, talk again.’

  ‘I’ve—’ Abigail glanced at her mum. ‘We’ve got nothing to say to you. Please leave.’

  Her dad nodded, shock and resignation on his face, and he stood up slowly. ‘OK, well, that’s what I wanted to say. I’ll go now.’

  He stepped closer to her, wanting to embrace, but Abigail stepped back and turned her face away. She couldn’t let him back in, not even just a little. If she did they’d end up back in the same self-destructive cycle all over again. The cycle had to be broken.

  Her dad turned to face her mum. ‘You’re gonna let her talk to me like that?’

  Mum reddened, flustered, then said, ‘She’s right, Bryan. It’s for the best. For all of us. Just go, please.’

  Pride welled up inside Abigail and she took her mum’s hand.

  ‘Right,’ her dad replied, shocked. He stared at both of them, blinking quickly, then said, ‘Bye then.’

  Abigail listened as he went to the door, waited until she heard it close, then she took in a deep breath, feeling her knees buckle. She turned to find her mum and they held each other. Just the two of them, keeping each other up. That was the future now. It was as if a long-brooding storm had passed overhead. She smiled at her mum, allowing herself to hope for a better tomorrow.

  FORTY-THREE

  ‘Don’t expect too much from him, he’s very weak.’

  Tam glanced at Mum, trying to decipher meaning in her tired eyes. ‘I’m not expecting anything,’ Tam said, sounding more defensive than she intended.

  ‘It’s just, you haven’t seen him for a while,’ Mum explained.

  Tam looked away. ‘It’s not been that long.’

  ‘I didn’t mean it as an accusation, love. I’m just saying he’s weak. He’s lost weight since you—’

  Tam cut her off. ‘OK, Mum, I get it.’

  They continued in silence. The bus chugged along the road towards the hospital. Behind them two old women complained to each other about the delayed service, about the weather, about the bloody foreigners, about the council, about their husbands, about dog walkers and their fouling, barking pets. They never seemed to tire of things to moan about. Was this what getting old meant? Moaning more? Living less? Tam shuddered, wishing she’d remembered to bring her earbuds. She buried her attention in her phone, at the stream of pictures and status updates. Becca was dead, but nothing stopped, nothing changed. Did her death mean anything? She switched her phone off and put it away.

  The bus turned into the hospital and they got off, joining the procession of visitors entering the shabby grey building. The place had a smell that Tam hated, a mix of cleaning products and death. It seemed to cling to her clothes whenever she came here. As they entered the lift she felt the familiar sense of dread overwhelm her, drowning any excitement she had for seeing Dad.

  The lift rattled upwards. It stopped at the first floor and a porter dragged a bed and its patient into the space, pushing the other passengers up to the walls. The doors closed in slow motion and Tam felt a wave of claustrophobia grow inside her. She watched the lift panel, willing it to get to the next floor. With a slow discordant ping the doors opened and the porter pushed the bed out. Tam smiled with relief, and she realized Mum was watching her. She offered her hand and Tam took it. Somehow, that gave her comfort and her tension eased.

  When the doors opened at the fourth floor the lift was almost empty – just Tam, Mum and two others. She gripped Mum’s hand as she led her towards Dad’s ward, past his empty bed.

  ‘They moved him yesterday,’ Mum explained. ‘I told you.’

  ‘Did you?’ Tam asked, doubting her memory.

  ‘Mm-hum.’

  They passed through a set of double doors and Mum used a wall dispenser to clean her hands. Tam followed her example, rubbing the gel between her fingers. Ahead the lighting was dimmed, and there was a sense of stillness, as if the ward was trapped between heartbeats.

  Tam hesitated, the uncertainty of what was waiting for her freezing her feet to the floor.

  ‘It’s OK,’ Mum reassured her. She took Tam’s hand again and led her towards a small room on the left. The space was dark, a sliver of light edging the blinds at the window. The soft yellow glow of a lamp pulled the bed out of the gloom. Machines cluttered either side of the bed, their wires snaking towards the pale old man resting under the sheets.

  They were in the wrong room, surely. Then Tam locked eyes with the grey face in the bed and she recognized the shadow of Dad surviving at the back of those bloodshot eyes. She almost burst into tears right there. She choked back her emotions, forcing them down.

  Mum stepped between them and kissed Dad on the forehead. She turned to Tam, encouraging her to greet her dad, but she couldn’t do it. Her feet refused to work. She couldn’t get any closer, let alone touch that skin. Fear and repulsion kept her there, a trembling statue.

  A low gurgling noise came from the bed. Mum shushed Dad, tapping his arm, avoiding the needle in the back of his hand.

  ‘Just rest,’ she said to him. ‘Don’t try to speak. Tam’s here to see you.’ Mum turned to her, waiting, expecting.

  Tam lifted her foot, managed to touch the cold metal of the end of the bed. She gripped it, taking a breath, trying to smile, failing.

  ‘Hi, Dad,’ she managed, unable to say anything else.

  The ghost in the bed made a faint noise.

  Tam knew today was going to be bad, but never this bad. She’d hoped that coming to see Dad would have lifted her spirits – she needed him today – but this was too much to bear. Her emotions overwhelmed her. She had to get away from here, out of this tiny room, out of the hospital, away from him.

  She turned for the door and ran, not stopping when Mum shouted her back, not waiting for the lift, bounding down the stairs two at a time, sprinting out the main entrance, running until there was sky overhead, an embrace of blue and grey that calmed her troubled mind.

  FORTY-FOUR

  Tam ran. She didn’t plan or think. She just ran.

  She wanted to text Abigail, to call her, to meet her, but she just kept on running, ignoring the rings and pings coming from her phone.

  Tam ran, hardly surprised when she came upon the wood once more. She hadn’t been back since they’d found Becca. She hated it now; it had taken far more than it had ever given.

  The metal fencing lined the edge, snaking towards two Portakabins and a silent digger. The builders were getting ready to flatten the wood. Good, she thought to herself. Tear it down, concrete over it and forget it was ever here.

  She looked at the warning signs on the fence:

  NO ENTRY. TRESPASSERS WILL BE PROSECUTED

  The gap in the fence had been dealt with, the panels secured to each other, barring her way. Tam glanced down to the Portakabins, checking she was unseen, then she scaled the fence and fell to the other side. She rolled down the bank, coating her clothes in the damp grass. She slipped into the cover of the trees
, allowing herself to be lost in their shadow. She caught her breath there, touching the damp trunk of one of the giant monsters. Its gnarled bark came away in her hand, revealing dozens of woodlice beneath. They fell to the earth, scrambling for cover, writhing on their backs with their legs clawing at the air like tiny clockwork devices. Two landed on her hand, their antennae twitching in front of them. Tam shook them off, dropping the bark to the floor.

  This place, this stinking, damp, infested place.

  ‘I hope they burn you all,’ she muttered to the trees.

  She weaved through the wet foliage until she found the path, letting it guide her into the centre of this place.

  Why she had come here she wasn’t sure, not yet. There was an urge to be here, like a calling deep within her, something she couldn’t resist. Was it the wood itself? Was it summoning her here one last time?

  ‘Fuck you!’ Tam shouted at the trees.

  Birds scattered. For a moment the leaves rustled, then all was still and deathly silent. No cars, no noise from the estate, no living thing, it seemed. Yet she felt like there were dozens of eyes upon her, waiting to see what she might do next.

  ‘I should have brought matches,’ she cursed.

  Her feet moved along the path, replaying the old routes, taking her back towards the narrow track that led to the bridge.

  She almost missed it. The trees and ivy and leaves had gorged on the summer storms, putting on new growth that hid the metal structure from the casual eye. But the trickle of the choked stream gave it away. Tam saw the bridge ahead of her, cowering behind fresh yellow-green growth.

  She stepped onto the old wooden planks, wallowing in the creaking and groaning as she walked to the middle. The bridge didn’t want her there, neither did the wood.

  ‘Well, tough shit!’ she called. ‘I’m here, whether you like it or not.’

  The trickle of the water faded away, leaving only Tam’s thoughts to fill the air. She looked at the wood laid out in front of her and wondered again why she had come here. Was it to remember Becca? No, that wasn’t it. Becca had hated it here. Becca had died here. The memory of Becca endured in the streets of the estate, in the litter-filled back alleys behind the shops, in the path to school where they first tried a cigarette. That was Becca’s domain, not here.