by Robin Byron
‘Easy, there was a tree nearer the pond – on the other side of the fence – it had a low branch a couple of feet off the ground.’
‘I think you’re now remembering from your later childhood, Chérie.’
Marianne shook her head. ‘No, I was there. I know it. I must have been in the water with Ryan. How else could I have got so wet?’ Her mother was silent and Marianne knew that this was what she believed as well. ‘You never told the O’Connells, did you? That I had come in wet and crying and what you later suspected?’
Her mother shook her head.
‘Did you even tell Papa?’
‘I told him something but not everything.’
‘You buried the whole thing.’
‘In a way we both did. You never spoke about it. I thought that perhaps you had suffered some sort of trauma – normally you would jabber away but you didn’t speak a word for the rest of the day. Later you seemed to have forgotten about it – nature’s healing amnesia – and that’s how I left it. Whatever happened – and we will never know – was best left like that: unknown and unknowable.’
‘Maman, I was there – in the water with him – I know it.’
‘Now there you go, Marianne. That’s exactly why I never wanted to tell you, because now your imagination is taking over. You will think you remember things which actually you don’t.’ It was then that her mother articulated a thought which was lodged in the back of Marianne’s mind but which she hadn’t quite had the courage to confront. ‘I don’t think you could have fallen through the ice with Ryan because, if you had, I don’t see how you would have got out.’
How did I get out? It was a question which haunted Marianne throughout that summer and beyond. If I was in the water – and I’m sure that I was – why didn’t I drown too. In the following days Marianne tried to ask more questions but her mother had clammed up. ‘I have told you everything I know – and I can see already that it was a mistake.’
Marianne tried to put the whole episode from her mind and concentrate on being strong for her mother and doing what she could for her father in the last days of his life. She also tried her best to ensure Callum had a good time, taking him camping in the mountains and on swimming trips to the lake. Her days were busy enough, as she watched the long, drawn-out trauma of the ending of her father’s life; but at night, when she wasn’t thinking of her father, and wondering whether there wasn’t an easier way for a life to end, she would sometimes see that face again and then the same question would come back to her: how did I get out?
Part II
And the commencement of atonement is
The sense of its necessity.
16
Spring, 2033
Nearly forty years had passed since her mother’s revelations about her early childhood in Vermont, and if now, in her eighties, Marianne sometimes struggled to remember familiar names, her memory of the drowning boy had expanded and intensified; what had been once merely a haunting face, had become a distinct narrative – still fragmentary and still mysterious – but with a conclusion she could not avoid. Although objections could be made as to the reliability of her memory – and she was critical enough to make these to herself – such objections did nothing to lessen the clarity of the images which continued to float into her consciousness when she least expected.
While the mystery of the dead boy continued to haunt her, a different mystery had been resolved in a more straightforward way. Her mother’s diaries had finally revealed the identity of her biological father – at least by way of his nationality and a letter of the alphabet. It was this information which she had just disclosed to Callum, and to her disappointment he appeared less interested than she had expected. Still, she thought, for someone who never even knew his own father, information about his great-grandfather must seem very remote.
It was the beginning of the Easter school holidays and Callum and Helen were making another trip to Australia. Callum had driven up on his own to see Marianne and say goodbye. Without Helen beside him he had been unusually frank about some of the problems in his life. While in England he had been trying to keep his architectural practice in Melbourne ticking over. This had now reached a tipping point. One of his two associates had already left and with little new work coming in he would have to make the other one redundant. The business would have to close, with significant debts to pay off.
Callum bent down to kiss his mother on the cheek. ‘Don’t get up,’ he said, ‘I’ll let myself out. And don’t forget Leah will be coming on Tuesday.’
Marianne smiled. ‘I’m not likely to forget. I’ll ask Anna to pick her up from the station. And one of these days I would like to see my other grand-daughter again.’
‘Well, I’m hoping she might come over this summer.’
Marianne wished her son a safe trip and listened to the front door close before getting up from her armchair and walking over to her desk. Opening her laptop, she logged on to her bank account and her separate mortgage account. She was also draining money faster than she could afford. Interest on the equity release scheme was ratcheting up the debt. Even with the separate flat rented out, the house was still costing her too much. Anna’s salary was a luxury she could barely afford but she couldn’t contemplate doing without her. Then there was the money she had loaned to Anna and her boyfriend so that he could start his own restaurant. That had not been an entirely altruistic gesture, she acknowledged to herself. Finally, there were Leah’s school fees. It had been an impulsive gesture to offer to pay for private schooling for Leah – and one which she certainly couldn’t afford. Still, only one more term to pay.
Despite her own difficulties, she wanted to help Callum; it seemed suddenly a matter of great urgency, and she sat staring at her screen trying to imagine a way this might be done while the light faded around her.
Back in France, she is sitting with her sister Claire on a swing sofa at Les Trois Cheminées, watching Callum across the lawn on the other side of the garden. He is attempting to make a drawing of the house in his careful, methodical way. He is seventeen, and whereas at that age Izzy was slim, agile, sharply opinionated, and often confrontational, Callum is the opposite. Although certainly not fat, he has a solid build and walks with a slightly rolling gait. His face has a fleshy appearance and his eyes – though technically blue – are much paler than Izzy’s, with tinges of yellow and muddy green. Lacking the physical grace of his mother, he gives the impression of having a rather precise and fussy air; famously tidy to the point of obsession, he contradicts the stereotype of the messy teenager with which Marianne became familiar from years of picking up after her daughter. What worries Marianne is that – unlike Izzy, who was never short of friends, both male and female – Callum often seems almost to relish a solitary existence.
Les Trois Cheminées, so called after its three prominent chimney stacks, is Claire and Peter’s farmhouse in the Auvergne. A tranquil spot, not far from the fast-flowing Allier river. Heavy clouds are beginning to roll up the valley and a warm wind tugs at the awning over their seat. The forecast thunderstorm may well be on its way. Marianne notices that Callum has stopped drawing and is now hunched over his mobile phone.
‘I’m afraid there is no signal here,’ says Claire.
‘He doesn’t need a signal,’ Marianne says. ‘He’ll only be playing a game.’
‘I’m worried Callum’s a bit on his own here. Bernard seems to think Callum is too young to bother with, but I’ll speak to Juliette when she’s back from her nature walk. She needs to look after him – he’s a guest here after all.’
It’s the Saturday at the end of their first week at the house. Juliette, a botany student, has decided to go for a walk and Callum has volunteered to go with her. Marianne is both amused and delighted that Callum has taken to following Juliette around like an obedient spaniel. Having had to cope with her daughter’s boyfriends from the age of thirteen, she
has watched closely for signs of Callum’s interest in the opposite sex – but has detected none. She has, on the other hand, observed some traits – a dismissive, almost contemptuous attitude towards girls, which causes her some concern. Perhaps I am worrying unnecessarily, she thinks, as she sees Juliette and Callum head off together. Is it wrong of me to hope that she might seduce him this holiday? Do all mothers think like this about their sons? She doubts, however, that it is likely to happen. Juliette, a gentle and well-mannered girl of twenty, tolerates Callum. She does not look like a sexual predator.
The plan for the day involves an expedition to the historic town of Le Puy en Velay. Peter and Bernard have gone off early while Marianne and Claire have agreed to stay behind until Juliette and Callum get back from their walk; they will all then meet in Le Puy for lunch. Juliette has promised to be back by noon.
By the time it gets to 12.45 Claire has lost patience. ‘I have tried to call her but it’s highly unlikely they will have signal wherever they are.’ She scribbles a note saying there is cheese and pâté in the fridge, leaves the key in the usual place, and together with Marianne they set off for Le Puy. ‘I know what Juliette’s like once she gets into plant mode; she forgets about everything else,’ says Claire.
‘Well, Callum certainly won’t do anything to hurry her.’
‘No, I don’t suppose that he will.’
It is not the first time that Marianne has visited Le Puy en Velay and as they approach the town she sees again the colossal statue of the Virgin and Child high on the Rocher Corneille, incongruously pink in the midday sun. With his hand raised in blessing, the Christ Child seems to turn away from the other startling pinnacle of rock, where the tenth century chapel of Saint Michel d’Aiguilhe perches precariously above the town. Visiting Puy, a place steeped in religious tradition and famous as a starting point for pilgrimages to Santiago de Compostela, elicits in Marianne a surprising sense of wistfulness, almost of regret. Despite her intellectual atheism, somewhere inside her there lurks a yearning for the certainties of her Catholic upbringing – when a Hail Mary, repeated enough times, could expunge wrongdoing and confession could wash away all sins. How satisfying it must be, she thinks, to be able to walk the St James’s Way and know that you could reduce your own or someone else’s time in purgatory. What greater sense of purpose could there be in life?
‘When we stop I’ll call the house to see if those two are back yet,’ says Claire. ‘I don’t suppose they’ll mind being on their own.’
Marianne smiles to herself at the thought of Callum and Juliette spending the day together – though within minutes, as if delivering a sharp slap across her face as reward for her presumption, the day proves to be anything but the romantic tryst for which she has secretly been hoping.
As they drive into Puy, looking for somewhere to park, Claire’s phone rings. ‘Hello? Hello… Peter…? What? A snake? Are you serious? Oh Christ… yes… Langeac. OK… we’ll turn around… OK… at the hospital – we’ll meet you there.’
‘What’s happened?’ asks Marianne, seized by a sudden panic for her son.
‘Juliette’s been bitten by a snake – poor child. She’s quite allergic to stings and bites so this won’t be doing her any good.’
Marianne immediately tries to suppress the shameful sense of relief that it is Juliette, not Callum, who has been bitten.
‘Are they dangerous – snakes around here?’ she asks.
‘Can be.’
‘How did they get to the hospital?’
‘Apparently, Callum carried Juliette to the road and flagged down a car; thank God he was with her.’
Marianne observes Claire; she is driving fast but she does not seem unduly worried. ‘Do you need me to look at the map?’ she asks.
‘No, I think I’m OK.’
Twenty minutes later, when they are still some way from Langeac, Claire’s phone rings again. Marianne holds out her hand ready to take the phone – rather preferring Claire to keep both hands on the steering wheel – but Claire grabs the phone and presses it to her ear. ‘Peter… Christ… where are you…? What? Bad? How bad…? Brioude? Alright, we’ll head up there. She’s going to be alright, isn’t she? Asp…? Callum did… God… Oh God… We’re on our way.’ Putting the phone down, she turns to Marianne: ‘Christ, they’re taking her by ambulance to Brioude. It seems they haven’t got the right anti-venom in Langeac.’ This time there was real fear in Claire’s voice. ‘It was an asp viper – the most dangerous type of viper – and she’s having a bad reaction.’
Silently, Marianne presses her hands together and says a prayer – a fervent prayer to expunge the guilt of her own relief that Callum is not in danger, and to beg that non-existent deity to save Juliette.
‘How do they know what kind of snake it was?’ she asks.
‘Your son photographed it with his mobile. Can you believe it? Fucking genius, that boy – you underrate him.’
As the car hurtles north, Marianne shoots discreet glances at her sister. Her usually relaxed features are transposed into a rigid mask; the tendons of her neck tight as the strings of a violin, a damp patch glistening on her cheek below the sunglasses. Marianne searches for something reassuring to say.
‘At least she’s in an ambulance now.’
Claire nods. After a long silence she mutters again, as if to herself, ‘Thank God he was with her.’
Forty-eight hours later, when Juliette is no longer in danger and the events of that day have been pieced together, there is no shortage of praise for Callum’s role in the saga. ‘I was trying to reach a type of rock-rose I hadn’t seen before,’ says Juliette to her mother, ‘and I stepped backwards onto the snake. While I was like, screaming in shock, Callum took a photo of the snake.
‘And Mum… Mum, he carried me – piggybacked me – for nearly two miles to the road. And he only put me down once in all that time. They said at the hospital that if I had had to walk – which I don’t think I could have done anyway – the poison would have spread around my body and I would probably be dead now. And he was so sweet, Mum. I mean, I was in total fucking agony and screaming and crying with my whole leg swelling up in a really gross way and I was beginning to feel I couldn’t breathe and he just kept on telling me to stay calm. The only thing he was worried about was not speaking French. “Just in case you lose consciousness,” he said, “give me the words for snakebite and hospital.”’
The night before they are due to leave, Marianne is having dinner with Claire and Peter while the others have gone to town to have a drink – Juliette’s first drink since she has been released from hospital.
‘You know, Marianne,’ Claire says to her, ‘it’s as if Callum had been trained for that event. He did everything right: photographed the snake, carried Juliette to the road – which was an amazing feat of strength and endurance. He flagged down the first car and persuaded the driver to take her to the hospital. Remarkable.’
‘What’s more,’ says Peter, ‘Juliette told me that she hadn’t a clue how to get to the nearest road but Callum somehow seemed to know. When I asked him about it he told me that he had been looking at the big Michelin map which we have on the wall. He said that he liked maps.’
‘That’s true,’ says Marianne, ‘and he’s always had an extraordinarily good sense of direction.’
‘All I can say,’ says Peter, ‘is that you don’t need to worry about that boy. Steady under fire – that’s what I’d call it; a pretty useful quality in life.’
It is impossible for Marianne not to feel pride and gratitude that Callum has acquitted himself so well and that the snakebite saga has not turned into the tragedy it could so easily have been. He may not have had a romantic adventure, she thinks, but he has clearly grown in stature this holiday, bathed, as he has been, in the gratitude of Claire’s family.
When the time comes to say goodbye, Juliette gives Callum a long hug and a kiss.
‘If you decide to check out the uni at Edinburgh,’ she says, ‘make sure you come and see me.’
What a pity their ages are not reversed, Marianne thinks. They are really quite well suited.
‘So Leah is coming to stay tomorrow – I must buy food,’ shouted Anna through the open kitchen door.
‘Yes, I’m going to help her revise for her A-levels.’
‘She’s a lucky girl – to have you help her,’ said Anna, bringing a cup of coffee to Marianne’s desk.
Marianne sipped her coffee and thought again about Callum and the snake saga. There had always been something dutiful, almost heroic, about Callum and yet sometimes his response disappointed her. What she had discovered in the diaries about her father – which she had found so extraordinary that she hadn’t known whether to laugh or cry – had not elicited the expected response. A remarkable coincidence, he had acknowledged, though without appearing much interested.
Now that I’ve told Callum I can tell Anna, she thought, and she smiled as she watched Anna carry a plate into the kitchen and then come back to wipe the table. When Anna noticed she was being watched so carefully – almost, it seemed, obsessively – she smiled back, but with a look of puzzlement hovering around her eyes.
‘Sometimes you look at me in strange way.’
‘Do I? It’s just that I’m feeling happy today. You make me happy.’
‘I do? That’s nice – but I don’t know how.’
She had made the discovery a few weeks earlier but had kept it to herself. At first her mother’s diary had seemed to confirm what she had always suspected – that her biological father had been a German soldier. Referred to only as ‘V’, it had seemed a brief but genuine love affair with a young soldier billeted at their house. Then she had come across the critical passages. She checked them, read them again and then sat back and laughed out loud.
