All That Is Lost Between Us (28 page)

I turn around and try to catch Georgia's attention. She indulges me with a flash of eye contact, and when I smile she responds with a fake echo of upturned lips before she looks away. Each time my eyes find hers I see no recognition that I am a friend, somebody who might help her. It is hard to believe that this is the same girl who would once climb on my lap and bury her face into my neck to soothe herself.
Whatever you think you see now
, I want to say to her,
that's not who I am
.

Maybe none of us knows each other as well as we presume. We spend more time apart than together. To all intents and purposes we experience life alone, so what right do we have to assume that genetics, a communal living space and an array of shared memories give us unfettered access to one another?

I consider the umpteen small pieces of myself that the kids know nothing about. The times I wagged school. My first job, sweeping the floor at a hairdresser; my second, cleaning out cages at the vet. The months I spent working as a croupier in south London. The kids seem so sure they understand me, but I have had hundreds of other lives before them. In their eyes, my memories are two-dimensional storybook tales that bear no relevance to them. And yet all those experiences were stepping stones, leading me to Callum and my children.

By the time my thoughts return to the day ahead, we have reached the school. The car park is already full, the junior races have started. Neon-jacketed officials direct us to a patch of grass, and as soon as we pull up Georgia grabs her bag and opens the door. ‘See you later,' she says. ‘There's a briefing in the sports hall, I need to go.'

‘Hang on,' I call after her, jumping out of the passenger side in an ungainly rush. She stops and turns, and I hurry across. ‘I'll come with you,' I smile, and she gives me a strange look and stomps off ahead of me. I glance back to see Callum locking the car, and jogging to catch up. Georgia sets a determined pace, and I struggle along in her wake, each of my footsteps in the long grass bringing globs of watery mud to the surface, sucking at my boots. It's nasty underfoot today – thank goodness Georgia has well-studded runners.

We reach the crowds at the top field as they begin to cheer the under-12s home. I watch the youngsters sprint down the grassy hill, their faces red, lithe bodies straining with their final efforts for places. One of the frontrunners is a girl wearing our school colours, and the excitement surges as she crosses the finish line in second place. I join the cheering, even though my heart isn't in it.

Georgia is heading for the sports hall on the western side of the field. I see Mrs Sawyer put a hand on her arm and stop to talk to her.

Before we can catch up, a voice calls, ‘Callum!'

We both turn as we hear my husband's name. A young woman with long dark hair, wearing the navy uniform of the Mountain Rescue team, is standing in front of a first-aid tent. The organisers are always mindful of safety, even though I can't recollect anything more than a sprained ankle in all the races I've attended.

To my surprise, Callum doubles back towards her. Has he forgotten that we are supposed to be shadowing Georgia? I chase after him.

The woman ignores him and addresses me. ‘You must be Mrs Turner,' she says. ‘I'm Danielle.' Her smile is as tight as her handshake. She turns to Callum. ‘I just wanted to say hello.'

‘Danielle is a much valued member of our team,' Callum says, turning to me. There's a strange edge to his voice, and he appears paler than he did a moment ago.

What can Callum be thinking, making us dawdle here? I'm trying not to be rude, but I haven't got time for these introductions now. I glance round to see that Georgia has moved on, and cannot contain my impatience. ‘I'm sorry, we need to check on our daughter before her race.
Callum
,' I hiss when he doesn't respond straightaway. ‘She's gone into the hall already, we'd better go.'

‘Wish Georgia luck from me,' Danielle calls after us.

Callum strides next to me, silent, as we move away from the tent. ‘Can you just prioritise something other than the bloody rescue team for once,' I grumble.

‘Don't start, Anya,' he growls. I glance at him. His jaw is tight, his eyes are fixed on the hall. ‘I'm going to have another word with the marshals, okay? I'll only be five minutes, you keep an eye on Georgia.'

People have begun to mill around in the lull between events. Tired, breathless children mingle with those still jittery with nerves. There are a disproportionate number of dogs in attendance, held back on leads kept close to their owners. Some are eyeing each other up, but others have already flopped to the ground, their furry bellies soaked against the grass, resigned to a long wait for attention.

I catch a glimpse of long, dark hair among the spectators and my heart jumps. I strain to see more but the woman disappears, and when I wind through people to find her again, there seem to be half a dozen women with loose brown hair standing around chatting. I tell myself to calm down, and march through the crowd until I am standing outside the open doors of the sports hall, surveying the huddles of teenagers who are listening to the final words from their coaches. Not far away, I see Georgia and Danny sitting together against a wall, concentrating as Mr Freeman goes through the various aspects of the course. I find myself listening too, imagining all that Georgia will encounter, and only once he wishes them luck and there is movement everywhere do I focus my attention back on Georgia. Danny stands in front of her and pulls her up, and the next moment I'm shocked to see my daughter involved in a very public PDA, as the kids call it – her mouth locked with Danny's. I'm not sure what takes me most by surprise – the fact this seems so unlike Georgia, or that she had seemed so dismissive, almost derisory, of Danny yesterday. Teenagers change their minds every minute, I tell myself, but it does nothing for my confusion.

She can't have seen me walk in, surely. I haven't yet experienced Georgia with a boyfriend, and I'd always hoped to be the kind of mum she could be open with – but now I find myself full of good old-fashioned embarrassment. I suppose it makes a change, since I'm usually the one making Georgia cringe. I try to imagine her reaction if she saw me kissing Callum like this, and almost splutter at the thought of it.

Mr Freeman is still standing close by, watching them. Mortified, I step across to try to distract him. I'm about to ask him if he's enjoying the day – fell-running is a school tradition he may not have experienced before, since he only joined us this term – but he doesn't even realise I am there. He is staring at Georgia with the strangest expression.

When I follow his gaze I see that while my daughter's lips stay locked on Danny's, her eyes stray to find Freeman's. The look that briefly passes between them is full of raw and unadulterated
knowledge
. My worries begin to swirl, a roulette ball whirling faster and faster. A series of events click into place. In seconds, a dreadful idea spins round and round in front of me, locked in, and I cannot do a thing to change it.

D
anny takes Georgia by surprise with the kiss. She realises he is just continuing where they left off last night, but with everything else going on she had almost forgotten it had happened. And they have never kissed in public before. This is a declaration, a claim on her, and although she's excited her eyes cannot help but stray.

She sees him watching. Her pulse races; her blood burns. She wants to run across and tell him that this doesn't mean a thing, if only he would look at her like he used to.

She kisses Danny harder.

She locks eyes with Leo. And remembers.

•  •  •

On their run back from Loughrigg Tarn, the rain had picked up. Georgia had increased her speed as the dusty track quickly dissolved into muddy slime, aware of Leo close behind her.

She hadn't even heard him fall. She had just become aware that he was no longer with her, and turned to see him sitting on the ground some distance away, clutching his ankle.

She had jogged back and knelt down beside him. ‘What happened? Are you okay?'

‘I hit a rock awkwardly and slipped.' He grimaced as he got to his feet. ‘It should be fine, I'll walk it off in a minute.'

They set off down the muddy slope again, Georgia hovering next to him, beginning to shiver now she wasn't generating heat from running.

Leo was obviously limping.

‘Here, why don't you lean on me?' she suggested. ‘How does it feel now?'

He put an arm around her shoulder. ‘Not so good. Shit,' he said, hobbling over to a rock and sitting on it, re-examining his ankle. ‘This is all I need. Not a good start to a new job.'

‘Will it matter?'

His laugh was derisive. ‘It might to the kids at Fairbridge. Not sure they want their new head of sport showing up with an injury.'

As Georgia had processed his words, a burn had begun around her collarbone, spreading outwards until her whole body was aflame. She had sat there, her hands clutching her knees, oblivious to the rain until he said, ‘We should try to keep moving before we get too cold.' Until he said, ‘Georgia?'

His voice calling her name had reconnected her to their surroundings. She got up, helped him to stand. She felt colder all the time; her legs were shaking. She said nothing. In each place their bodies touched she felt her silence as betrayal.

They had struggled back to the park, gaining attention from everyone they passed – walkers with their faces hidden by thick anoraks twisting awkwardly to stare, each gaze an accusation, as though they could all read the fresh secret she carried.

In hindsight, she had wondered if things would have been different if she had told him straightaway. There were a thousand moments she could have confessed the truth. On that track, the second he mentioned Fairbridge. Or when they reached the car park and realised Leo wouldn't be able to drive himself home. Instead, she let him climb into her car and gave him a lift. She had parked outside a small restaurant at the southern end of town and helped him through the nondescript red door next to it, and up the stairs into his first-floor flat. Even as she knew she shouldn't be there she asked him what he needed and collected ice from the freezer, trying not to absorb the surroundings, a trespasser into a life she shouldn't be part of.

As he lay on the sofa she couldn't bear it any more. She had lied, told him she had a shift that afternoon, apologised and said she should get back. When she was about to leave he had said, ‘Georgia,' and beckoned her closer, and when he could reach her hand he had pulled her to him and kissed her and said, ‘Thank you. I'll see you soon.'

For an instant it was Georgia and Leo again, and nothing and no one else. She had a short-lived swell of hope. Was there any way, despite what she had learned, that they could keep themselves separate from the rest of the world?

Once she was home, the day had passed in a jumble of realities. The emotions when she replayed Leo kissing her at the lake. The confusion she felt when she imagined him at school, taking a class, with Georgia surrounded by her friends. She saw the faces of Sophia and Bethany and Danny and Eddie Miles laughing hysterically at the thought of Georgia and a teacher out on a date. She relived Leo pulling her close and kissing her, and his obliviousness to the true scenario they had found themselves in made her feel sick.

She didn't sleep. The next morning he sent her a text. His ankle was much better. Could he cook her a meal to say thank you for looking after him? Tonight?

She would go and tell him, she decided. She didn't know why she dressed up for the occasion, choosing a silk top and short skirt and adding a few sprays of Dolce & Gabbana, as though she were heading out on a proper date. Or why she concealed her outfit under her coat as she told her parents she was heading for Bethany's house, and might be late. Perhaps if she could just get to know him a little bit better, spend extra time with him. If she could be certain he was as in love with her as she already was with him – well, then surely they would plot together how to keep their secret rather than let it tear them apart. She was about to turn eighteen, not under age, and they had got to know each other in complete innocence, hadn't they?

In order to think like this she had to shut out everybody else. There wasn't space for imagining her parents' reactions, or Sophia's, or Zac's, or people at school. At home she found it near impossible to escape a succession of imaginary chiding voices, but as she made her way to Leo's flat it began to feel like only the two of them mattered.

He didn't seem to worry that she was quiet over dinner. He talked a lot instead, telling her about himself, his family in Dorset, his first job in London where he'd been promoted year after year. How proud he was to have been head of department by the age of twenty-six. All things she knew she shouldn't be hearing. All things she was desperate to know.

He was older than she had thought. But now she was here, she didn't care. The seafood was delicious, and the wine had relaxed her. By the time they moved to the sofa she had begun to smile more, to laugh as they remembered the state of themselves by the time they got down from Loughrigg, to tell him about her own running ambitions – carefully, of course, since every piece of information had to be weighed now, so the secret didn't come out accidentally, only when she was ready. When they were in so deep that it wouldn't matter.

And then she was topless and his hands were running over her breasts and his warm breath came in bursts on her skin. She'd had one other brief sexual experience, but it had been nothing like this. Leo pulled off his T-shirt, and his gaze ran over her with such lust that she shivered and pressed her palms against his chest as he lifted her onto a desk in the corner of the room, next to a window that looked down from the flat onto the street below. Her skirt was up round her hips as he buried his face in her neck and she glanced between a crack in the curtains to see a bus pulling up beneath them, tyres sloshing in the rain. Reds and yellows and whites blurred and bounced off every soaked shop window and pavestone as the lights of town refracted in the rain water. Some boys fell off the bus and cut through the puddles towards a laneway, jostling in a friendly way with their shoulders hunched. She felt separated from it all by much more than a pane of glass. It was so easy to forget everything else, and to believe that this was all that mattered.