‘Walker?’
Gabi wasn’t quite sure what she was asking for– reassurance that he was okay, or for him to come back to bed.
‘The words mean exactly what they say.’ His voice was flat. ‘I will never be enough.’ The mood had darkened again and Gabi felt unsure as to how to bring him back.
Lightning streaked again and thunder clapped directly overhead. His body was like marble in the blue-white light, his head tilted skywards. She hobbled over to him, feeling his vulnerability there in the storm. She wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned her forehead against his back.
‘Like I said earlier, everyone I’ve met in Honeybridge thinks you are a good man.’ She squeezed and tried to lighten the atmosphere. ‘And you just proved yourself more than enough for me. . .’
The thunder rolled continuously now and the lightning lit the sky like static on a screen, flashing intermittently. They were right in the eye of the storm.
‘Someone died, Gabi. Because of me. So, whatever I do will never be enough. Because I didn’t save them.’
Chapter Thirty-Two
Walker
He thought he heard Gabi gasp, but if she did, it was swallowed by the thunder. He wrapped his own arms around his front, covering hers, so that he would feel if she pulled away.
Walker had never said the words out loud before. Having the tattoo done had been the recognition of the fact that whatever he did in the future and whoever he saved, it would never change the past. Someone had died because of him.
‘Was it at work?’ she asked and he shook his head, surprised to feel her arms tighten around him.
‘You can tell me, Walker,’ she said softly. ‘Seeing as we seem to be in the mood for sharing tonight. Beds, bondage, my childhood. . .’ She squeezed him again as she trailed off.
Maybe it was because she was holding him, maybe it was because he couldn’t see her face. Maybe it was because she was slightly outside his close group of friends. Perhaps it was the sheer force of the storm outside, that mirrored everything going on inside him. But suddenly, he wanted to talk. He had to let it out. He licked his lips and began.
‘I was twelve,’ he said quietly. ‘We still lived in Scotland.’
As he stared out the window, the river looked dark and fast at the end of the lawn. He fixed his eyes on the swirling water and continued.
‘Our house was on the edge of Loch Leven, overlooking St Serf’s Island. My sister and I grew up fishing and hiking and sailing. The loch was like our back garden.’
Gabi was silent. He could sense her waiting.
‘My best friend Murray lived about a mile around the water. We’d cycle to each other most days after school. One winter, it got so cold the loch froze over.’ He shivered at the memory. The vast whiteness of the frozen lake, the impossible smoothness of it, like a giant ice skating rink. How Murray had skidded his bike to a stop and ran to the edge to throw sticks and watched them slide across the top of the ice. Their cheeks were almost as red as Murray’s woollen bobble hat. Their shouts echoed across the vast expanse of space.
‘I dared us to walk out on the ice,’ Walker said. The words didn’t convey the fear and excitement of it. The way they had edged out, little by little, away from the shore. They had egged each other on, sliding their boots across the surface, testing for a creak or a crack before they put any weight on the foot. He remembered how the loch felt so different that day, the woods so silent and still with the cold, the trees black and skeletal and glinting with frost. He blinked away tears. He could still see every detail, still smell the air that stung his nose with the cold.
‘We got quite a long way out, had some crazy idea about making it all the way across the gap to St Serf’s Island.’
They’d stopped checking back to shore. Emboldened by the thrill, high on the freedom. The crack, when it happened, was louder than he’d ever imagined. It echoed across the white. There was a split second when he and Murray locked eyes. A single moment in time when they both were paralysed with fear. Then the ice under Murray’s feet gave way and he disappeared into the black water beneath. It was so quick. Walker had thrown himself to the ice, lying as flat as he could and stretching his hands and legs out wide to support his weight.
‘The ice broke and Murray went under,’ Walker said quietly. ‘And I lay on the ice and didn’t try to help him.’
It had been Walker that broke the silence. His screams plumed into white vapour in front of him; he screamed until his throat was raw. His fingertips burned where they held on to the ice. Eventually a passing hiker heard him and raised the rescue alarm. And by the time they’d got to him and dragged him back to safety, Murray was long gone.
‘They think the shock of the water probably made him take a breath. Or he got confused underwater and came up under the ice. Whatever happened, he drowned, right there beneath me.’
‘Oh my God, Walker, that is devastating,’ Gabi murmured against his skin. ‘I’m so, so sorry.’
He pressed his hands together, remembering the ice burn he’d suffered on his fingertips. He could still see Murray’s bike lying on its side on the shore. He wondered who had moved it eventually. Whether Murray’s parents had to come and wheel it away. He shuddered. Gabi rubbed his skin, as if trying to warm him up. He’d said it. The secret was out. His biggest failing.
‘We couldn’t live there any more. People were always talking about it. I felt guilty for not helping Murray. And guilty that I hadn’t died with him. We moved south and ended up in Honeybridge. I met Rosie at school and the rest is history.’ Lightning flickered, losing its power. The thunder rumbled, now sounding further away.
‘But your parents aren’t here any more?’
‘They moved back when I was eighteen, said they missed the mountains. But we still see each other when I have leave. And we talk all the time.’
