Gabi drummed her fingers against the armrest in the back, watching the countryside flash by, not caring about the money at all– she could easily afford it– but wishing they could go faster, get there sooner. But to be fair, if she had been driving herself, she would have been stopped for speeding already.
If her suspicions were right and she found Walker at the loch, the first thing she was going to do was apologise. For all the things she’d said and the way she’d treated him. Every time she closed her eyes she relived the wounded shock in his eyes, the physical impact her words had had on him. Guilt stabbed like a thousand tiny pins in her chest.
It was an unusual and uncomfortable feeling, and she had plenty of time to examine it as they headed north. She’d rarely felt guilt in her life, but maybe that was because she was normally on her own. Gabi didn’t have to consider other people’s feelings or reactions when she did her job– excellently of course. She had no one to answer to at home. She didn’t let anyone down because she didn’t have anyone around who relied on her. And yet she’d felt guilty twice in the last few days in Honeybridge. First, with Rosie– and that had been easily solved with an apple crumble– and now, with Walker. This time, she feared it might not be as easily resolved.
He had not deserved what she’d said to him. Gabi could see now that everything Walker had done for her was the good, decent thing. Isabella had said it was how he showed people he cared about them. He’d caught her, carried her, cared for her and she’d thrown it back at him in anger.
The driver offered her a sherbet lemon as they crossed the border, but the taste in her mouth was bitter enough already. She knew she wouldn’t be able to stomach anything until she’d found Walker.
She watched the motorway turn to mountain roads and forced herself to focus on doing the right thing when she got there. First, she should apologise to Walker– for everything. Second, they should talk more about how he felt. Third, she would bring him home. The more she thought about it, she realised that the only thing she wanted to do was put her arms around Walker and hold him tight.
Her phone rang and made her jump, but it was just an excited voicemail message from her agent, following up on her interview.
‘You obviously did a great job on the interview. The film people are very keen to proceed. They are checking references and will be back in contact as soon as possible.’
Gabi sighed. However exciting that sounded, it was not the person she was waiting to hear from.
Chapter Forty-Four
Walker
Walker rubbed his hands together, a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach as he paused on the ice. Why had he dared them to do it? It had started off as fun, but now his feet wouldn’t move any more. He checked back at the shore. He was too far out. He bit his lip as he watched Murray sliding ahead and then he shouted, ‘Murray, this is a bad idea, let’s go back.’
Walker’s young voice echoed strangely off the ice and into the blank sky. The loch had never scared him before, but it was scaring him now. Murray laughed and carried on.
Walker shouted again. ‘Murray!’
‘You go back if you want!’ Murray shouted over his shoulder. ‘I want to see if I can get to the island.’
Walker was torn. Desperate to get off the ice but not wanting to leave his friend, not wanting to go back to land on his own and look afraid. Not wanting to go forward and be with Murray just because he was being a daredevil. But Murray was always taking risks: always riding his bike without touching the handlebars, or jumping off the swing when he’d reached the highest point. He always went higher or further or faster than Walker. Always. Walker didn’t normally mind, but this time it was dangerous. He watched Murray edging towards the island and knew it was a wrong move.
‘Murray!’ he shouted, one last time. ‘It’s not safe. Let’s go in.’
Murray turned and grinned at him. His cheeks were red with the cold.
‘It’s solid!’ he shouted back and, to demonstrate, he jumped on the spot, his two feet landing soundly on the ice with a thump. ‘See?’ He gave Walker a thumbs up, but Walker shook his head, already decided he was heading for shore. He didn’t care if Murray called him a chicken. He had a bad feeling about this.
He heard Murray as he walked away, whistling tunelessly, a sure sign of bravado. Walker knew that he was loving the thrill of it. The crack stopped the whistling dead. There was a microsecond of silence and then a half-shout of shock from Murray, and they both turned instantly to look at each other, their eyes locking as the ice split beneath Murray’s feet and he plunged through. Walker threw himself horizontal on the ice, spreading his weight, staring at the place where Murray had been. There was no splashing, or thrashing. Walker shouted his name, expecting him to burst from the water, shaking icy droplets from his hair. ‘Just joking!’ he’d shout. ‘Just kidding with you!’ But there was nothing. Walker shouted again, and again, his voice pluming in the chill of the air, until there was nothing but the sound of his hoarse crying and a shout from a passing hiker.
Walker was jolted from his memories by a line of geese honking as they flew overhead, in perfect formation. He realised at that exact second what had been missing from all his dreams and his nightmares. The only noise he ever recalled was the sound of the ice cracking. The shock of that one sound rang terrifyingly through his dreams, whenever he closed his eyes.
There had been details he’d forgotten, or blocked out: the whisper of the wind through the trees on shore; Murray’s whistling; his own words of warning.
The realisation rocked his memory of the day. He’d tried to warn Murray. He’d done his best to get him to come back.
His mind had been so focused on the horror of what had happened, it had lost some of the details. Pieces that slotted together to show a different side, paint a slightly different picture of what happened to those two boys on the ice. He might not have physically saved Murray, but he had tried to stop anything bad happening to him in the first place.
He hadn’t let him die. He had tried to make sure he lived.
This awareness changed everything. Walker felt the swell of grief in his chest, the prick of tears in his eyes. Murray, his childhood friend, had died because he was a daredevil. It was one of the reasons that Walker had loved him, had loved being his friend. For the fun, the thrill, the adventures they shared; the rope swings, the bike jumps, the ghost stories after dark. And it was that character trait that had led to his death, not Walker. He felt the tears running down his cheeks, and finally felt ready to leave the past behind. He leaned over the edge of the boat and trailed his hand into the water where he’d lost his friend, finally saying goodbye to him. It was all so long ago.
He was pulled from his thoughts again, this time by a shout from the bank. A voice he recognised yelling his name, followed by a long, piercing whistle. He lifted his head to see the last person he ever expected: Gabriella Tucci, her crutches abandoned on the floor as she waved both arms above her head.
‘Walker!’ she yelled. ‘Come back! Please!’
She waved again frantically. It only took him a few seconds to organise his oars and then he turned away from the past and rowed towards the bank.
Things got even more surprising when he climbed out of the boat and she threw her arms around his neck, holding him so that there wasn’t a breath between them.
