Rapids (21 page)

Vince? This was more than a whisper. A voice called him softly. He was sitting bolt upright, knees drawn towards him. The zip squeaked. Vince, can I talk a bit?

Clive! How is she? What’s the news? In the dark light Clive’s bearded face showed surprise: I thought you were talking to someone. Waiting for Louise, Vince said. She must be out with Mark. All these youngsters, in love! Clive managed a faint smile. I need to talk a moment. I’ve got a favour to ask. I’ll get up, Vince said. There’s no room in here. Come to the chalet, Clive told him. He would put on a coffee.

The fly—sheet was soaked in dew. Vince headed for the bathroom first. The fluorescent light greeted him like an old friend. He wanted to burst out laughing. What a volatile state! If I only could. He was thinking of the rapid. Then, heading for the chalet, it was with a sense of wonder that he remembered taking the same path only yesterday, to spy on their erotic happiness. Perhaps my own marriage wasn’t so bad, he thought. He and Gloria had always shared the same bed.

Clive was making coffee on a gas ring. It’s a pretty big favour, he warned. He busied himself with the flame and the percolator, then began moving rapidly around the room gathering various bits and pieces. Leaning against the bed was an open backpack.

Vince sat on a stool by a counter along the wall. It was odd, he thought, how cluttered and at the same time impersonal the room was. There are no pictures or ornaments. It was all kit and tackle and clothes and papers. Ask away, he said. Clive went back to the coffee, shook out the dregs from two cups, brought a mug to Vince, then stood facing him. I want you to hold the fort here for a few days, while I’m away.

At once Vince felt alert; some animal intuition told him he was in danger. Standing before him, feet squarely planted, steaming mug held in both hands, Clive was searching for his eyes. His own were intense and persuasive, brightly blue. The thick beard and the strong tanned forearms thrusting from rolled—up denim sleeves made such a man of him. He didn’t seem tired at all. I have to leave in a couple of hours, he explained. For Berlin. I should be back on Thursday. Meantime, someone will have to stay here to be near Michela and visit her and so on. I thought, with you having your own car, you’d be best placed to do that. I’ve got to drive down to Bolzano, to the airport.

Immediately Vince said: Really, I’m afraid I must be back at work Monday. I’ve already been away too long.

Clive ran his tongue over his lips, half smiling, still looking directly into the older man’s eyes. He drank from his mug, then set it down on the counter, turned abruptly, crouched beside a small chest of drawers and began pulling out underwear. Vince’s mind is racing. How is she? he asked.

Clive pushed the clothing into his backpack. She’s going to be okay, I think. The scans suggest she’ll be out of the coma any moment. It isn’t deep. So they say. He spoke without emotion, then got down on the floor to straighten out the sleeping bag and roll it up. You can stay here in the chalet. It’s rented for the whole summer. I’ll show you where everything is.

Vince watched the man, his efficiency and hurry. He gave the impression of someone who has heard an urgent flood warning and is moving fast to get out, someone used to flood warnings. Or again of a soldier preparing his kit before action. There was a lithe quality to the man’s rapidity, a sureness and presumption that was seductive; and Vince was reminded how, during the walk to the glacier, he had looked up and seen Clive climbing quickly through the stones and the girl doggedly following. Exactly the man I’m not, Vince thought. The man who attracts women. He was half aware now that he had been thinking this all week, since the moment Clive had stood and leaned across the table to slap Adam’s face. Clive completely dominated Adam today on the river, he thought. In the end he won him over. Or at least wore him out. He won over the whole group. Only his will brought us safely down. Don’t you think, Vince said at last, that you should be beside her when she wakes up.

No. Clive didn’t turn to Vince, but had started collecting things and laying them on the table now: keys, a torch, a map. Actually, I’m the last person who should be there.

But …

She can tell you about it, Clive said. I’m not going to explain. I said at the hospital that her uncle would be arriving in the morning.

Her uncle?

Clive finally turned and grinned. That’s you. Look: these are the essentials for living here. The long key is for the door, the small one for the padlock on the gas cylinder under the window outside.

I imagine you’ve told her mother.

No.

But that’s the first …

Next to myself, her mother is the other worst person for Michela at the moment.

Vince tried to be judicious. In so far, he said, as an attempted suicide is always a cry for help, don’t you think the person, or people cried to should be the ones to respond? Again he saw the girl turn her boat to look back across the water, to her lover.

Clive pulled the cord tight to close his backpack. In that case people would only have to threaten to kill themselves to get exactly what they want, wouldn’t they? There’s still some food in the fridge, by the way, milk and cheese and stuff.

Vince drained his coffee. I’ll tell Mandy, he said. She can use my car. I’ll go back with the minibus.

Clive stopped. As if making a considerable concession, he interrupted his packing and came to sit at the counter on the other stool. He was very close now. He pulled a tin of rolling tobacco from his pocket. Again Vince was aware of the shape and power of the forearms lying on the counter as they rolled the cigarette. The fingers were thick but nimble.

Mandy won’t do it, Clive said, nor will Keith, because they are
in loco parentis
as far as the younger kids are concerned. And Adam is the wrong person.

We’ll see, Vince replied. I don’t know the terms of their contract, but I can’t see why one of them couldn’t stay. Like I said, I can leave my car. Actually, Adam seems perfectly suitable to me, if he can get the time off work.

Clive lit his cigarette, narrowed his eyes. Listen, I’ve been thinking about this all evening. Again he was searching for eye contact. I’d rather it was you, Vince.

Vince laughed. Clive, he said softly. He adopted the voice of the older wiser man addressing an over—enthusiastic employee. Clive, listen, I’m a bank director. I have just taken my longest holiday in ten years. I am expected back in the hot seat on Monday morning. There will be hundreds, literally hundreds, of e—mails to answer, reports to consider, a team of accountants awaiting my instructions. I have responsibilities, Clive. The person who has to stay here, with his girlfriend, is you.

Clive smoked. It is towards three in the morning. Around them the camp is quite silent, so that they can almost feel its silence and darkness tugging at them. I pulled her out of the water, he said. And now I’m going to do what she expects me to do. I have my responsibilities too.

Like shouting at a demonstration? I can’t imagine in her present state Michela cares too much about that.

I’ve got something important to do, Clive said evenly. She will tell you. Otherwise I wouldn’t be going. They both sat on their stools by the counter with the room’s one dim light reflecting in the thin glass of the window beside them. Vince could hear the other man’s breathing, then the whine of a mosquito. Both smiled. Vince waved his hand.

That was quite a river today, Clive said after a moment. You enjoyed it.

Vince nodded. But he was not a man people could just push around. All my old professional self is coming out, he realised. Getting to my position in life is not just a question of a way with figures.

Clive was studying him. At the beginning of the week, you’d never have been able to do it.

No, Vince admitted. No, it felt good today.

You’ve learned a lot.

Vince waited.

And it’s not just a question of the proper BCU strokes, is it? In a certain sense, it’s not even to do with paddling.

No, Vince agreed. It’s not just a question of paddling.

It has to do with the spirit, Clive said, breathing smoke. He hurried on. There’s no point in denying that, is there? So why be afraid of the word?

It’s to do with the personality, Vince said carefully. That’s for sure.

Clive told him: So, you keep an eye on Michela, then you can go out on the river again if you like. Go and ask at the rafting club; they’ll give you a guide. There’s always someone.

Vince laughed with exasperation. But I told you, I have a job.

Clive again blew out a ring of smoke. I chose you, he said, because the sheer fact is, that you want to stay. Don’t you?

No, I don’t. I’d be letting people down.

Crap. Clive checked his watch. He stroked his beard. Isn’t it a bit ironic, he began again, that a guy who supposedly has so much power and influence and money, a guy at the top of his career, isn’t even free to take an extra few days off when he wants? He’s in such a straitjacket, serving multinationals and the like.

Vince sighed. Clive, listen, to do anything, or become anyone, you have to get involved with a group, don’t you? You have to accept a yoke, something that allows you to gear into the world. Otherwise you’re just a loose cannon. Even in the kind of politics that you are in, you have to be part of a group. You can’t go and demonstrate on your own. You wouldn’t achieve anything. I chose the bank ages ago and I’m committed. Then he added: It’s like a marriage.

Clive immediately took a deep breath and raised his eyebrows. Vince himself wondered why he had said this. The other man sensed his confusion. It’s only four days, he said. At most you lose a week. If you’re really so important, they’ll wait. If you’re not, who cares anyway?

Now Vince thought: that’s actually true. Suddenly he wondered why he was resisting so much.

I should be back Thursday, Clive said softly. Towards evening.

What do you mean, should be?

The return flight is Thursday. The next group arrives on the Saturday. He added, If it’s really like a marriage, your job, a wife waits, doesn’t she? You’re not betraying anyone, are you?

Vince stared.

You’re not that kind of person, Clive said. Nor am I for that matter. The cigarette was down to a soggy butt drenched in tar. Clive dropped it in his mug and wiped his hands on his jeans. It really is important that I go.

If I’m going to stay, Vince said, you could at least tell me what’s going on between you and Michela, why you think she did it, how I’m supposed to behave.

Smiling broadly, Clive jumped to his feet. Thanks, he said. For just a moment, he took Vince’s arm and squeezed it. The grip was powerful, but somehow furtive too, an end, not a deepening of intimacy. I was forgetting. I must give you her health card. Any expenses— sometimes they have a charge for scans and things— keep track and I’ll pay when I get back.

Clive!

She can tell you, he said. His voice was petulant now.

You’re scared, Vince said quietly. If I am going to stay, you can do me the favour of telling me why you think she did it.

I’m not scared. Clive spoke abruptly. And I’m not going to tell you anything.

Why wouldn’t you tell me, if you weren’t scared?

Because it’s none of your business! And believe me if I was scared I’d tell you right away. Anything I’m scared of I do at once.

If I stay, it becomes my business, Vince said.

All at once, Clive seemed quite beside himself. He turned. Vince was still sitting, quiet and curved, on the stool by the counter. Are you going to hit me now? he asked.

Clive must have seen himself in the window behind Vince’s head. He stepped back. Sorry, it’s been a hell of a day, he said. I took a few knocks myself. Listen, Vince— he seemed to be thinking quickly, shrewdly— it’s been a big shock for me, Micky doing that. You know? It’s painful to think about. He pursed his lips, ran his tongue behind them. In the end, what can I say, it’s just a banal break—up, men and women, you know, different thoughts about the future. The sheer fact is, we were more together for the politics than anything else. Just a regular break—up.

That’s not true, Vince said. Anyone can see you two are in love. Both of you. The way you look at each other, the way you keep touching.

Clive had his lips set. A glazed look has come over his eyes. Think what you like, but I have to go.

Vince sighed. Show me the keys and things, he said.

Outside, the night had finally grown chill. He used the bathroom again, then walked back to his tent. Louise still hasn’t returned. Lying down, without even bothering to take jeans and sweater off, Vince tried to decide if he was pleased with this turn of events. Louise would be happy to sit beside Mark in the minibus. I have escaped Mandy, he thought. In the end, he had been lying awake waiting for something to happen, for some improbable transformation. The sparrow rather than the snail. Stupid words. You
want
to stay, Clive said. Do I? As before an exam in the distant past, or the night before his wedding for that matter, he had been keeping himself awake to avoid entering the gorge, the moment when all choice was gone. I’m a chubby chicken waiting for the chop! So now you’ve delayed it a few days, he told himself, a week. Big deal. I haven’t thought about Michela at all, he realised. I certainly didn’t jump at staying because of Michela. Unless Clive had guessed something about that moment when he and she had been together under the waterfall. How long was it? Thirty seconds. A minute? Why did I shout those things? You’re not betraying anyone, Clive said. He asked me because he senses I like her, perhaps. It was odd how strong and fragile the bearded man was. I chose you! As if he was Jesus after disciples. No, it was hardly, Vince thought, because of that kiss, that brushing of lips, that I threw away my wedding ring. Last place on earth, she had said of the waterfall. Now Vince remembered the photo of the girl who’d died up on the glacier. What was her name? Suddenly the obvious occurred to him. He jumped to his feet, crawled out of the tent, slipped on his sandals. His car was parked beyond the kitchen tent, beneath a tree. Sure enough, there they were. He peeped through a steamy back window. Only for a second. The seats were down and he could just make out their heads poking from beneath the old blanket he kept in the boot. It was pointless to wake them now. They’re not in love, he thought. They had wound down a window an inch to breathe. Should he wake Adam? The sound of a Jeep starting over by the chalets was star—tlingly loud. Headlights moved up the track, turning the tents to blue and orange transparencies. Clive escaping. No, I’ll pretend I don’t know. He waited until the noise had faded and the hushed flow of the river rushed back into the silence from beyond the trees. It was all a pleasure, he decided, going back to his tent. Gloria would have been furious.