Adam stood there for several minutes, trying to imagine being trapped in a car as it plummeted off the road at night. For a few seconds it would have been airborne, a deceptive sense of defying gravity before the jolting crash as it hit the ground.
He started to climb down. It was even steeper than it looked from the road and the thick layer of pine needles on the ground was slippery underfoot. After a couple of minutes he paused and peered back towards the road. It seemed like a long way. He started down again, but as he found a foothold and reached towards a low branch for support he started to slide. The branch whipped through his fingers as he scrabbled for purchase, his weight precariously balanced. He saw a vision of himself tumbling head over heels in a headlong plunge to his certain destruction. What a stupid way to go, he thought, and then instinctively leaned his weight backwards to try and slow his inevitable fall. He dug his heels in and reached out for handholds as he flew past. They whipped through his fingers and lacerated his palms. He bumped and slid over roots and rocks and thin branches whipped across his face. The ground tore at his nails and it felt as if he was picking up speed with every moment. The world became a blur of green and brown. Rocks pounded his kidneys and fear welled up in his throat. It occurred to him that he could easily plummet onwards for hundreds of feet until eventually he smashed his skull. At almost that instant the ground began to level and he felt himself slowing down. He renewed his efforts to control his fall until finally his heels dug into the soft ground and then with a jarring thump he collided with a half-rotten stump. A sharp pain knifed through his knee and made him yelp with surprised agony.
He sat up slowly and probed the old injury, wincing at each stab of pain. Looking back towards the road he saw that he hadn’t fallen as far as he’d thought. The premonitions of death had been premature, though when he tried to stand he had to hang onto a tree for support. He tested his weight, relieved to find that his leg wasn’t broken. He’d expected blood and torn tissue, but when he examined his knee the old scars were intact.
He’d ended up where the ground briefly flattened before falling away again in a gentler slope. Shards of glass among the pine needles and the odd piece of debris proved this was also where the car had come to a stop. A large tree where it had finally come to rest bore faded blue paint marks, and when he poked around in the undergrowth he found a sock and a pair of broken silver-rimmed spectacles, from which one lens was missing.
He sat down with his back resting against the tree, his knee throbbing painfully. There was something poignant about the glasses, he thought, perhaps because they symbolized a kind of vulnerability. He turned them over in his hands. It was quiet. Sunlight filtered through the trees except where it beamed down in slanting shafts through the gloom. It was cool and dim, a kind of permanent forest twilight. He wasn’t sure why he’d wanted to come here. It wasn’t so much in the hope of finding something the police had missed, but maybe because he was looking for a sense of feeling. He tried to imagine the last few moments of the accident. The headlights piercing the night, then illuminating the trees below as the car tipped nose forward. The sudden scream of the engine as the wheels spun without resistance. The three people trapped inside would have been disoriented, flung about as the car hit the ground and rolled. He imagined their cries of terror and pain as flesh met unyielding metal, as the doors popped open and the two boys in the back were flung out to their deaths.
And afterwards, there would have been silence. Perhaps the ping of metal from the cooling engine. Maybe an unconscious groan from Ben as he slowly bled to death, his friends already staring sightless into the night sky.
Why had Ben been driving that night? Despite everything his sister had said the evidence was clear. Perhaps the question he ought to be asking himself, Adam thought, was what could have made Ben act in a manner that was so out of character? Had it in fact been the combination of alcohol and his medication distorting his judgement? It was possible. But then why had he been drinking in the first place? His mind wandered. What had they known? Where had they been the night they were killed, and where were they going? Had they found proof that would have exposed corruption in the council and stopped the development?
Lots of questions, and amid them all he kept seeing David’s face. He had lobbied the planning committee. Personally he had a lot to lose. The other night at dinner he had lost his temper, and he’d been drinking heavily. He had a drinker’s face and also the shadowed eyes of the insomniac. A man troubled by his conscience perhaps?
Adam began to get a sense that there was something here, something right in front of his eyes that was crucial to his understanding of what had happened that night, and he hoped that if he waited long enough it would be revealed. But whatever it was eluded him. There was only the gloomy twilight world beneath the pines, a few splinters of glass and a broken pair of glasses.
In the end he got painfully to his feet and started to make his way back to the road.
The climb was slow and painful. He was forced to practically crawl, putting most of his weight on his good knee. Every few minutes he paused and when he peered towards the road it seemed he’d made no progress at all. By the time he’d reached halfway he was sweating and dazed with pain. Once again he looked up, and this time he realized with a start that there was a figure standing up there, silhouetted by the light behind.
The figure didn’t move, and it occurred to Adam that he hadn’t been seen. ‘Hello,’ he shouted. ‘I’m hurt. Do you have a rope?’ His voice seemed to be muffled, swallowed by the trees around him. There was no response, so he tried again. ‘Can you hear me up there?’
He waited, then raised an arm and waved, but he already knew the gesture was futile. Whoever was there remained eerily still, watching him. Adam experienced a tiny prick of unease. Suddenly without having said a word or made a gesture, the figure turned and vanished. Adam waited for him to come back but when he didn’t he wasn’t surprised. Then he heard a sound he couldn’t identify, two sharp cracks a few seconds apart, followed perhaps twenty seconds afterwards by the sound of an engine. In a few moments it faded and was gone.
It took him another forty minutes to finally emerge onto the road and when he hobbled over to his Porsche he stared at the smashed headlights, understanding now what the sound he’d heard was. His first reaction was anger at the senseless vandalism, but as he thought about it he decided that perhaps it wasn’t senseless. He looked again at the headlights. The intended message took on an ominous tone.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Adam gave a couple of quick blasts on the horn to announce his arrival. The door opened and as Angela came out of the house she noticed the broken headlights.
‘Sorry, I can’t get out,’ he said, and leaned over to open the door.
‘What happened?’ she said, when she got in.
‘Somebody trying to tell me something, I think.’
‘Tell you what?’
‘That I’m not welcome perhaps.’ He explained what had happened earlier. ‘I suppose it could have been worse. I’ve been thinking about it. There was something about the way whoever was up there just stood watching me. I get the feeling he was thinking about doing more than smashing up my lights.’
Angela stared at him as she struggled to make sense of what he was saying. ‘Why would anyone do that? What were you doing up there anyway?’
‘I wanted to see for myself where the accident happened. As to why, I don’t know yet.’ He told her briefly about his visit to the protest camp, and also about Janice Munroe’s suspicions of council corruption, though he didn’t mention David’s name.
‘I can’t believe this,’ she said. ‘You’re saying that those lads had some kind of proof of all this?’
‘I’m saying it’s a theory, nothing more. I think they were probably asking questions and nosing around. Did you know a bunch of people armed with clubs went to the camp one night and started beating people up?’
‘Yes, of course. It was terrible.’
>
‘Maybe whoever attacked the camp was trying to scare them off. Ben’s sister said she thought he’d been threatened. Maybe somebody was worried about what they’d find out.’
Angela thought about what he was saying. ‘And you think all of this had something to do with the accident?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe.’
‘My God.’ She shook her head in disbelief. ‘Adam, are you sure about this? I mean it seems so, I don’t know, unreal I suppose. Things like this don’t happen around here. At least they never used to.’
‘But now?’ he asked, picking up on the inference.
She looked troubled. ‘The development has changed people. Or maybe it’s brought out what was already there. I’ve heard people say that they should just send in the bulldozers and if the protesters don’t move that’s their problem. When the camp was attacked some people were saying whoever it was didn’t go far enough. What scares me is the hate you hear in their voices. They really mean it. And now this.’
‘Like I said, it’s just a theory.’
‘But what about what happened to your car? That’s more than a theory. Have you been to the police?’
‘No. I don’t think there’s any point. I couldn’t give them a good description so there’s not much they could do.’ He didn’t add that he didn’t have a lot of confidence in the local police. ‘Anyway, let’s forget about it for now. What about lunch?’ He looked at his watch. He’d arrived an hour late and it was almost two.
Angela was distracted, still mulling over what he’d told her. ‘I was going to suggest going to a place in Alston. It’s a bit of a drive though, over the fells towards Hexham.’
‘Will it be open by the time we get there?’
‘It’s open all day I think.’
He knew the road, and the idea of driving over the fells with Angela appealed to him. From what he remembered of Alston it was a nice little town, built on a steep hill with partly cobbled streets. He turned around and headed towards the square and from there he took the road south. At the bridge they passed a group of four people walking into town. One of them had a shaven head and wore shapeless dungarees, another was dressed in an old-fashioned dress that trailed along the ground. She smiled and waved as they went past.
‘Protesters,’ Angela commented.
‘When I was up there I got the impression they’re quite a mixed bunch,’ Adam said. ‘Overall they struck me as pretty harmless.’
‘You wouldn’t think so the way some people react,’ Angela said. ‘Some of the shops in town refuse to serve them.’
‘So, the general feeling is more against them than for them.’
‘You heard David the other night. People are worried about their jobs and businesses. Without the development a lot of people are going to find it hard.’
‘What would happen, really, in David’s case?’ he asked.
‘It would put the sawmill out of business.’
‘But you’d be alright. I mean I know the sawmill means a lot to David, but you’ve got this American publishing deal haven’t you?’
‘I haven’t told David about that yet.’ Angela stared ahead out of the window for a while. ‘It’s not just the sawmill. It’s the town, everything here. David has never wanted anything else.’
‘And you, Angela, what about you?’
She glanced at him. ‘I don’t know.’
‘I remember once you said you’d like to see Paris.’
She looked astonished. ‘Did I?’
‘Have you ever been?’
She laughed. ‘No.’
‘That’s a shame.’
‘What about you, Adam, have you travelled much? You always seemed to want to get away. You had plans, you always knew where you were going.’
‘Well, I wasn’t born here. And I’ve travelled a bit. Even to Paris.’
‘Is it as beautiful as everybody says? It can’t be.’
‘I think it depends who you’re with. It’s a city for lovers they say and I can see why. I think you’d like it.’
She smiled uncertainly, as if there was a vague inference in his comment. He hadn’t meant there to be. At least he didn’t think so. But then maybe he had. He glanced across at her. She was beautiful, he thought. Truly beautiful in a natural, unselfconscious sense. They lapsed into silence and drove the rest of the way without speaking much, though Adam felt their silence was a comfortable one. Once or twice he caught her eye and she smiled. Green fields and stone walls bordered the road, with the fells rising on one side in stark profile against a glorious autumn sky. At Edenhall they turned east and rapidly climbed above the valley. The landscape changed quickly. Fields and trees gave way to open windswept vistas that had a kind of stark, empty beauty of their own. The clutter of towns and the populated lowland fell behind, and a feeling of space overtook them. The sky seemed to expand overhead.
At Alston they drove halfway up the steep cobbled main street and walked back down past the butcher’s and greengrocer’s to a little pub opposite the library. There were only a handful of other customers and the smells coming from the kitchen promised better than average food.
They sat at a table by the window, where Adam was glad to be able to take the weight off his leg. He’d been limping badly, and now his knee was aching. It was like somebody had taken up residence with a saw. A dull blade gnawing at the bone.
‘Are you alright?’ Angela asked, seeing him wince as he sat down.
‘I think I twisted it or something when I fell earlier.’
‘Does it bother you much normally?’ she asked hesitantly.
‘It comes and goes.’
She regarded him steadily from her wide blue eyes. ‘Do you think about it much, Adam? What happened I mean?’
He wasn’t surprised by her question. In fact it was inevitable that they would talk about the past. Perhaps especially because they’d so assiduously avoided any mention of it over dinner, which maybe had been due to David’s presence.
‘Do you mean the accident?’ he asked. ‘Not really.’
‘What about afterwards?’
‘You mean us?’ he said, with a prick of malice, which he regretted almost immediately.
‘Yes.’
‘Sometimes.’ He thought of Louise, and the way she had resembled Angela, though now he could see it was in type only. So many of the women he had been out with over the years shared common characteristics. Blonde, sometimes blue-eyed. Jesus, what would that psychologist he and Louise had been seeing have made of that?
Angela dropped her gaze for a moment. ‘It’s funny isn’t it?’ she said, when she looked up again. ‘I mean, it was such a long time ago, but in a way it feels like yesterday. I’ve always felt badly about the way things ended. You knew about David and I didn’t you? That day when we went for a walk in the wood and you told me you were leaving for university?’
‘Yes,’ he admitted.
‘How long had you known?’
‘I’m not sure. I suppose I sensed something before the accident. The way you used to look at each other. Then when you started visiting the hospital together it was sort of obvious.’
‘I knew you did. I wanted to tell you but it seemed such a lousy thing to even think with you in hospital. You know, nothing ever happened between us.’
‘It was a long time ago, Angela. It doesn’t matter any more.’
‘It does to me. I’ve always regretted not telling you that. Even though I knew you’d guessed, I wanted you to know that we hadn’t done anything about the way we felt. I mean, I felt bad enough just thinking it, knowing. We both did. I’ve always hoped you didn’t hate me, Adam. I suppose even that’s selfish isn’t it?’
‘I didn’t hate you,’ he said. ‘And I don’t think you were selfish.’
‘What did you feel then?’
‘I don’t know if I remember exactly. Hurt I suppose. My ego took a bit of a battering.’ He smiled, hoping he had managed to conceal what he was really thinking. How could he tell h
er he’d never really forgotten her? She was the first girl he had ever loved, and the emotions were far more powerful because their relationship had ended before familiarity bred pragmatism. Idealized through distance. He recognized this, but it didn’t change anything. Maybe she was the only woman he’d ever loved in a way, because how could he have really loved any of the others if he had even subconsciously compared them with her. Or because he’d always felt their relationship was unfinished and as such he’d held back. He knew it was this as much as Meg Coucesco which had fuelled his self-destructive work habits.
He saw that her brow was furrowed slightly as she looked at him, as if she sensed something of his thoughts.
‘What about David?’ she asked. ‘How did you feel about him?’
‘Like anyone whose friend just stole his girl,’ he said. ‘I struck him off my Christmas card list.’
She smiled, but he knew she must have picked up on the underlying bitterness in his voice.
‘He really did feel badly, Adam. That’s why he stopped going to see you. He just didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t face you.’
‘Look, Angela, it really doesn’t matter. Like I said, it was all a long time ago.’ He picked up his empty glass. ‘Another?’
He thought she would say something else. Try again to persuade him how badly David had felt. Poor David. She didn’t know it all. She didn’t know the half of it. She didn’t know that he’d always suspected that David had meant to shoot him. Perhaps he hadn’t planned it. In fact he was certain he hadn’t. But David had known better than to shoot at something before he’d properly identified it. She didn’t know the things David was capable of. She didn’t know about Meg.
Over lunch they kept to strictly neutral topics, but they couldn’t escape an air of tension that had developed between them. Or perhaps it wasn’t tension, more a slight unease. As they started back towards Castleton, Adam thought about the question she’d asked him earlier, about how he’d felt about David. There was an occasion when they were at school that stuck in his mind. The results of an early set of exams Adam had sat had been posted on the school notice board. He’d achieved the highest score in the school, but his achievement had been eclipsed by the school rugby team, captained by David, beating Penrith in the inter-school league final. During assembly the Head had heaped praise on the team, and the exam results, which might ordinarily have gotten a mention, were forgotten. In the hall afterwards he and David were walking to class when a junior had asked David for his autograph.
Lost Summer Page 17
