Rain Continued
In the shelter of the porch, Cleo read Conrad’s text out loud. ‘“Sorry to bail but don’t have right kit for rain and my head hurts bracket brandy exclamation mark. Will get taxi to next hotel and C U tonight.”’
Michael glanced at Marnie, who was pointedly adjusting the zips and buttons of her waterproofs. ‘So much for sports psychology.’
‘What a wimp,’ said Cleo, directing the words at the room above, where presumably Conrad slept on. ‘Never mind. We can still do this!’
‘Yes! Yes, let’s … go for it!’ said Marnie, standing straight, shoulders back. But no one moved and still the water cascaded from the porch roof. It was like standing behind a waterfall and even Michael felt wary. A linear walk with a steep climb and a tricky descent, no way to abandon or shorten the route. He looked at Anthony, peering wide-eyed from his hood, and thought of those action movies, where frightened kids are urged to cross fraying rope bridges. ‘Okay, here’s the plan. We’ll set off and if it’s grim you can just keep going around the other side of the lake and be back here in an hour, dry off, get a taxi with Conrad. What do you think?’ Anthony looked reassured and they all settled their rucksacks and stepped out.
He’d slept badly, kept awake initially by the sound of Conrad’s seduction music and muffled flirting. Even through the wall, he recognised the cadence of Marnie’s jokes and part of him had wanted to lean in to hear, while the teacher instinctively wanted to confiscate any booze and vapes. Conrad was quieter, constantly changing the music as if changing subject until a sudden silence made Michael wonder, Oh, God, are they kissing now? If they started having sex, he’d have to cough or stuff his ears, but then Marnie’s voice was back and soon he heard her footsteps in the corridor. He felt a strange kind of relief, which he chose not to examine, drifting off until the rain woke him at four.
And still the rain fell. The trick to walking in heavy rain is to keep a straight back, because no one ever stayed dry by hunching their shoulders. Stride on defiantly. Soon the patter on his hood became a kind of white noise and he found himself approaching a fugue state – was that the phrase? – free from the churn of his thoughts. This happened sometimes on his solitary walks, on a Northumbrian beach or deep in a forest as the light faded, times where he might find a temporary peace of mind. In these moments, it was as if he were walking within some transparent bubble, like the clear jelly around the black dot in frogspawn. Then there were those other times, on some featureless fell, feet and fingers numb, profoundly alone, panic rising with miles to go, where he felt like a fugitive.
For the moment at least he was content in this little private world, checking now and then that his companions had not fallen too far behind, and after an hour the head of the lake was in sight. They squelched gingerly across a flood plain, a fine spot for a picnic but currently barely land at all, then gathered at a bridge where the river joined the lake, their shoulders hunched, faces pinched.
‘So do you want to carry on or—?’
‘Turn back,’ shouted Anthony.
‘Obviously we’re turning back,’ said Cleo.
‘I think that’s a good idea,’ said Michael. ‘Basically, you follow this path—’
‘I’m staying with you,’ said Marnie, ‘if that’s okay.’
‘Really?’ said Michael. Was she serious?
Cleo laughed. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. It’s vile!’
‘I didn’t come all this way to sit in a hotel room. How far’s the next hotel?’
‘Twelve miles but—’
‘Well, three miles an hour, we’ll be there for lunch.’
‘But the other side of a mountain, so …’
Marnie faltered, then blew the drop from the end of her nose. ‘I’ve got boots. Let’s … go for it!’
‘Great. Great,’ he said, and felt his dream of solitude collapse. It was easy to walk ahead of three people, much harder with just one. Cleo and Anthony were already heading off, dreaming of hot baths and dry socks, her arm tight around her son’s shoulders as if squeezing the water from him. Michael and Marnie watched for a moment, then turned to look at each other through the tunnel of their hoods.
‘You’re sure?’ he said.
‘The sooner we start,’ she said, ‘the sooner we finish. Let’s get it over with,’ which, he thought, was not the point of walking at all.