by Tim Parks
Keith was looking relaxed. Perhaps it was a relief not to have to paddle. Debrief, he shouted. Tomorrow’s the last day. Some of you are going to run a very serious river, let’s hear from the river leaders who the chosen victims will be. The others will be rerunning the stretch from the campsite down to Geiss and getting in some much—needed practice. After which we’ll eat in a restaurant since it’s the last night.
The last announcement caused much excitement. Shush everyone! Adam’s got the list, Clive said quietly. We decided it together. Standing up by the door of the kitchen tent, Adam announced: First, I want to thank Amal, who has offered to play river leader for those who won’t be going on the upper Aurino. Chicken! Phil yelled. He’s scared! Shut up, idiot. So, if we can be serious a moment, folks, the participants will be— and Adam read: Clive, leader. Myself deputy. Then: Vince, Amelia, Michela, Max, Brian, Mark and Phil. Max, Brian and Phil will be assessed for their four—star paddler.
There was a surprised silence. Vince tried to catch his daughter’s eye. It wasn’t clear to him why she had been excluded. They were in the clearing between the tents. The girl had her head bent knotting a red scarf round her neck. What about me? Tom asked. I’m sorry, Adam said, but we can’t take people who don’t get their roll at least ninety per cent of the time. But I never turn over, Tom said. Keith cut in brightly. We have to accept the river leader’s decisions. Mark’s going and Tom isn’t? Amelia protested. That’s crazy. Clive said, Mark rolled up twice this morning in white water. If Tom doesn’t go, then neither do I, Amelia said. Adjourn to the bar, Max was already shouting. Drinks! With Brian’s foot still killing him, the lame boy had to lean on his friend as they made off between the guy—lines.
In their cabin, Michela was determined to get things straight. Why did you tell that story? Clive was cross—legged on his sleeping bag, rolling himself a cigarette. It wasn’t a story. Want a smoke? You don’t know anyone from the rafting centre. He admitted this was true. I went alone, he said. He tossed the tobacco to her. But I couldn’t tell them that, because of all their strict rules. I mustn’t seem irresponsible. Otherwise we’ll have people like Phil chucking himself down there.
You’re lying, she said. You just wanted to show off after making a fool of yourself in this thing with Adam. You’re weird, she went on quickly. Really weird. It’s not normal just to tell me we’re not making love, then imagine we can go on as before. You’re crazy sleeping on the floor. It’s stupid. And I meant it today, you know, when I said I couldn’t go on like this. I meant it.
Clive lit his cigarette. He seemed to be waiting until she had finished. The tobacco was damp and didn’t draw well. I wasn’t lying, Micky. He puffed. He seemed calm. Before Milan, remember when you went ahead to ask your mother if she could lend us something? That’s when I did it. I ran it alone. Three times actually on three consecutive days. It’s not that difficult. I did worse in New Zealand.
She stared at him. So why didn’t you tell me?
He shrugged his shoulders. Why should I?
But this is even weirder. You go and do something completely suicidal and you don’t even tell me. Her hands were shaking with the lighter. He used an old paraffin thing from at least twenty years ago.
It’s suicidal to smoke, he said.
Yeah, I set myself alight and die. It’s different, and you know it.
I didn’t want you to worry about me, he said. You had worries enough with your mother. They gazed at each other across the cabin. The space was lit with a naked, 40—watt bulb. He was cross—legged, swaying slowly backward and forward, smiling softly. He seemed to have regained all the confidence, the slightly mystical impenetrability that had been threatened that evening with Adam. She was on the bed. It’s clear she isn’t a real smoker. She rolls cigarettes because she is with Clive. I go kayaking because I’m with Clive, she thought. She knew that. I say a thousand things Clive says. I share his opinions. Seeing the shake of her hand, she felt her closeness to her mother. It had been a disastrous visit. My hopeless, hopeless mother. I hope you understood, she finally asked, what I meant when I said you must do something serious. Did you? I think you owe it to me.
He seemed to relish the distance that had been established between them. Swaying, he pressed his lips firmly together. Yeah, I understood. He tapped the thin ash of the roll—up into his cupped hand. But I’ve been thinking the same thing myself, for years. Obviously, I have to do something serious.
So what are you going to do? Not just these stupid demonstrations. They do nothing. Or are you just going to start hitting idiots like Adam?
Why are you so aggressive? he asked.
If you don’t understand that then you’re really stupid!
The demonstrations are important, he said calmly. It’s important the world is constantly reminded that there are people who care. You know that. Over the years I think they have a cumulative effect. More than people admit. But, I am thinking of something bigger.
Like what?
I’m working on it.
Like paddling down a grade—five river on your own and getting your spine smashed. You’ll be a photograph on a wet rock. What good is that going to do anyone?
They stared at each other. There was a soft look in his eyes. Suddenly she feels sure that he loves her. Somehow this is worse. He loves her but it makes no difference. You said we would live together and have children. I believed you.
He held her gaze. I meant it, Micky, but this isn’t the world for us. Leave be, now.
What world, then, she demanded. When will there be a world for us? This is the only one we’ve got.
Clive was silent.
She stood up and went to pull on her shoes by the door. You’re weird, she said. I’m going to go out and fuck someone else. Okay?
He sat still, watching and smoking.
I said, okay?
Go.
She walked through the campsite. I’ve lost control now, she decided. Good. At least something would happen. Her mind was feverish. Everywhere there was barbecuing or the clatter of washing—up, or singing, the hum and rhythm of people at ease and pleased with themselves at the end of another day away from home. A curse on them! A young man and woman were arm in arm on the ground by a gas stove. Under her breath Michela began to mutter in Italian. Maledizione! Siate maledetti e stramaledetti!
The scene at the bar was the same as on all the other evenings: the second—rate band with their rhythm machine, the desultory karaoke. At a couple of tables pulled together, Adam and Vince and Mandy were sitting with Tom, Amelia, Caroline, Phil, Brian and Max. Overdoing the English accent, Michela asked, Anybody need topping up? What are you having? She stood behind them, wallet in hand. She has so little money. The kids clamoured for beers and Adam and Mandy tried to deter them. I told your parents no. Let’s say you didn’t see, Phil protested. You thought it was apple juice. We disobeyed you. Like, we’re impossible, aren’t we? Unmanageable.
The tall girl turned to the bar. Vince saw at once that she was excited. Tom stood politely to help her. Michela slipped an arm around his and smiled straight into his eyes. At the bar she switched to Italian and ordered eight beers and a gin and tonic for Max. It was more than she had spent all week. Sounds lovely when you speak Italian, Tom told her. Again she smiled warmly. Want me to teach you a few words, Tommy? Hardly that much time now, he said stolidly. I’m not even going to be with you tomorrow, which is a bit of a bugger. The nights are long, she said coolly. She was purposeful. For a moment she put a hand round his waist. Tom seemed unable to respond. Le notti, she repeated, sono lunghe. Think you can repeat that? Lunghissime.
Back at the table the Italian girl squeezed in between Tom and Brian. Amelia was on Tom’s other side. The children grabbed their beers. Adam was sending messages again. My wife, he explained. Text messages had been the bedridden woman’s salvation. Is Clive not coming out this evening? Amelia enquired. The girl has smelt danger. Mandy was talking to Vince about her son’s motorcycling obsess
ion. Single parents should form a club, she said, for mutual support. Michela had downed her beer in a gulp. I don’t know what Clive’s up to. She looked dazed. Why? Amelia didn’t reply. Phil and Caroline were sharing a cigarette. Hope it rains, the fat girl was giggling. She clearly has a problem with chapped lips. Oh not the mad bell—ringer again! Max laughed. Brian leaned across the table towards Amelia: You know you look like you’ve got three tits. He was referring to Wally. Except the one in the middle is the biggest! Phil shouted. He slapped a hand on the table and laughed. Shut up! Amelia was on the brink of tears. She was chewing a strand of hair. Michela now had a leg pressed against Tom’s. Anyone could see.
Adam stood up and offered to go and fill Michela’s glass. As soon as he set off for the bar, Tom began to talk excitedly. Can anybody really understand why I’m not going tomorrow and Mark is? The young man has a pretty dimple in his chin, a square jaw, high cheekbones. He is handsome, virile and vulnerable. Because Adam’s his dad, Phil said, puffing on his cigarette. Kids! Mandy intervened. The instructors know best on these matters. They can’t take any risks. I’m not a kid, Tom protested. In his ear, Michela whispered, You can say that again. Vince saw her lips move. Her eyes are too shiny. Mark doesn’t even want to go himself, Caroline remarked. He just does it for his dad. Actually, Tom, Max leaned across the table, the real reason for your exclusion is, Mandy’s got the hots for you. She wants to have you all to herself tomorrow. Oh for God’s sake, Max! Mandy was laughing. Then just as Adam returned with the beer, Amelia pushed back her chair. The girl was so abrupt it fell over. Without stopping to right it, she turned and hurried away across the empty dance area. What’s wrong? Melly! Brian dragged himself up and began to hobble after her. Ow! He had to hop. Max got up after him. There was a vigorous flounce to Amelia’s backside as she crossed the brightly lit space. Tom half stood. Michela put a hand on his arm. I’d better go and see what’s going on, Mandy said.
In just a few confused moments, Vince found himself at the table with just Adam, Phil and Caroline. From the corner of an eye he was aware of Michela and Tom standing together on the far side of the dance floor where the bright light of the terrace and the dark of the field beyond seemed to fizz together. The band leader was introducing the next song with weary cheerfulness. What was all that in aid of? Adam asked. His phone beeped the arrival of another message. Vince was conscious of a desire to watch, to follow them even.
Amelia got upset, Caroline explained, because Brian said something shitty about her being flat—chested. Adam frowned over his message. All the more beer for us! Phil cried. Theatrically surreptitious, he began to pour from Amelia’s glass into his own and Caroline’s. The girl had the coarse, hearty look of someone who couldn’t be enjoying themselves more. I thought you were Amelia’s best friend, Vince said. Speaking, he realised that these were almost the first words he had addressed to Caroline. So? the girl asked. I was just surprised to see the others rush away after her and you stay put. Her men! Caroline said archly. She doesn’t need me. Brian’s got a crush, Phil explained. Hopeless case.
Adam was shaking his head. Can’t keep up with you youngsters, he complained. Vince asked if the message was serious. Adam began to explain that his wife tended to get a little hysterical when she knew they were going to run a difficult river. Why d’you tell her, then? Caroline demanded. Phil drained his own beer and reached for Brian’s. I didn’t, Mark did, Adam said. The idiot! He seemed to enjoy shaking his head at the perversity of the world. That was what was so great about Gloria, he turned suddenly, enthusiastically, to Vince. Like, nothing fazed her, you know, whatever river …
Now Vince pushed back his chair. Need a pee, he announced. He walked across the dance floor and around behind the bar, very conscious of the slight unsteadiness that three beers can bring on. I won’t sleep well tonight, he knew. I must be on form for tomorrow. Instead of going into the loo, he crossed the track beyond the entrance to the site and walked into the pine trees beyond. This is where they must have come.
The ground sloped steeply down towards the river bank. The trees were scrawnier here, but closer together. Vince stopped. The cushion of pine needles beneath his feet created an impression of silence, though he could still hear the beat of music from the bar. It was as though the distant sound actually increased the silence in the wood. When the path became too dark to follow he stopped and listened. I am completely disorientated. He stood still. The drink made him sway. This week has rubbed out my ordinary life. It was amazing how dark it could be, black even, and so near to where he had been in bright light and company. It has rubbed out the pain, but all the things that made sense too. Gloria was never fazed, Adam said.
Vince breathed deeply. What a powerful smell there was, of freshly cut wood and dung and smoke. He took a step, caught his foot, lurched. Even staying vertical is a hard thing when the darkness is so complete. Then he heard a little cry and a giggle. Vince was electrified. They had come here. But why did I follow? What do these shenanigans mean to you? He was swaying on his feet. He didn’t know which way to tread. A fifty—year—old widower with a big job in the City? Should I tell Clive? Now there was a sharp intake of breath, followed at once by a quiet whimper, and this time a boy’s laugh. I’m so, so sorry. Get out of here! Vince began to move. He stumbled. Gloria was never fazed. Which was the way back? Twigs cracked. Shit! In a second’s stillness he was aware of low voices. Then someone else was banging through the undergrowth. It’s a dream. The noise was so loud. I must go the other way. Just as he turned, a bright light flashed up from very low. He was on the edge of a steep bank. The torchlight swung towards him through the trees. There was a cry. Vince ran away from it, up the slope.
Back in the tent he went through his bedtime routine with great deliberation. The branches had scratched the back of his hand, the side of his neck. Don’t think anything, he kept repeating, don’t think till your mind is calm. He slipped off his socks and put them in his shoes under the fly—sheet. But now there were rapid footsteps. Dad! No sooner had he stretched out on his sleeping bag than a torch shone in. Louise dived into the tent. Dad, weirdest thing happened. Just now. God! She plunged on her stomach. Turn that thing off, he complained. You’re blinding me. Really frightening! Tell me. Vince began to pay attention. Are you okay? I was with Mark, you know. I guessed, Vince said. Oh, he’s all right. We were just kissing a bit, in the trees behind the bar. The other side of the track where it goes down to the river. Kissing? Oh, nothing heavy, Dad, come on! When this pervert comes along trying to spy on us. Really! Like, he was only a yard or two away. I mean, he could have been a serial killer or something. It was like a horror movie. I pretty well wet myself.
Vince lay back on his sleeping bag. Did you see him? Mark did. He turned on the torch and made a dash, saw the bloke running away. Some old guy. Anorak type. Wasn’t it a bit dark, Vince asked, to be fooling around in the woods? He knew what he had heard there. No, there’s plenty of light when you get used to it, she said. Oh God, the phone, she announced then. The torch came on again and in the glow Vince watched his daughter’s face as she rummaged in her rucksack. There was a healthy blush on her cheeks. Strands of blonde hair fell over her eyes. Where did I hide the damn thing? There. Sure enough, just a few moments after she turned it on there came the beep of a message arriving, followed by a low giggle, the sound of a thumb on the keypad. Vince said: You have a boyfriend back home, don’t you? That’s what all these messages are about.
None of your business, she laughed. Then she said. Course I’ve got a boyfriend. What do you think?
Only that you’re two—timing him, obviously.
What a funny expression.
I don’t know what the current word is.
And so?
Well, it’s not altogether nice, is it?
Altogether?
It’s not nice.
I’m enjoying it.
Louise, I’m trying to talk seriously for once! By the way, your clothes smell of cigarettes.
He’ll never know, she said.
And Mark?
I told him.
And he doesn’t mind?
Dad, it’s a holiday! Everybody does this on holiday. It’s what they’re for. And even if you don’t, everybody imagines you do.
I thought it was a community experience.
She giggled. More like an orgy sometimes. But I mean, Phil and Caroline, Amelia and Tom, it’ll all be over when they’re home. You can’t believe Tom doesn’t have a girlfriend, can you? At college. A fab—looking bloke like that.
Was it you smoking or Mark?
She said, Mark.
I’ll try to believe you.
She leaned over and kissed him. You’re a treasure, Dad. Then he knew she had been smoking. Do your teeth, he said.
When she came back from the bathroom, he asked:
And what if I did the same thing?
How do you mean?
Went kissing in the woods.
Dad!
Because we’re on holiday.
But you wouldn’t, would you?
He didn’t answer this. She was right, he wouldn’t. The air quickly grew warm in the tent when the two of them were together. The smoke on her sweater gave it a stale smell. They were so near each other inside here, father and daughter, and outside there was so much space and air, a tinkle of distant voices, occasional footsteps across the breezy dark in the flat of the valley beneath the mountains towering in their emptiness, trickling with the water that tomorrow would rush them down the river. Go to sleep, Vince told himself, you need sleep.
