Pandoras box, p.20
Pandora's Box, page 20
‘I wonder that you noticed the two of us,’ I tell him, trying to mask my disappointment. ‘We’re not local, as you know, we’re staying with Maggie. We only arrived yesterday, in fact, and we weren’t at the shopping centre for long, just picking up some provisions.’ Did we stand out that much, Shelley and I? I tried to recall if we’d had an argument at all…Shelley is a great one for being stubborn in public places and kicking up a scene in a teenagery sort of way. I didn’t think we had.
‘It was your daughter I noticed first.’ Now it’s Frank’s turn to sound embarrassed. ‘Something about her…she had a certain look on her face.’ He looks at the road. ‘She must have reminded me of someone, I guess.’
‘Shelley did?’ I stop to redo the laces on Maggie’s boots, lingering over them to give him time to answer me. ‘Who?’
Frank doesn’t answer me. He just stands there, waiting patiently for me to finish with my laces. ‘You have a daughter?’ I probe, unable to stop myself.
He shakes his head. ‘Can you hear that?’ he says at last.
I listen, crouching down still over my boots. There is the breeze rustling through the sea-grasses and the faint, faraway shouts of children on the shore. The sea; waves gently breaking, rolling back down. There is the drone of one or two cars on the road above the beach. The calling of some gulls.
I look at him. Frank puts his hand to his ear, cocks his head to one side.
‘Listen,’ he coaxes me, and I listen again. Does he mean the birds? Somewhere close by, the high tinny sound of a young bird calls out repeatedly to its parents. That must be them, the two birds circling close to the cliff’s edge, just by where we are walking. ‘They must have their nest close by.’ Frank drops onto his hands and knees then and peers round over the edge; it looks like a pretty sheer drop from where I’m standing. ‘Ah, I thought so. The little fella has fallen out.’
‘Fallen out?’ I edge a bit closer but it looks like a long way down and I immediately want to step back. ‘Where?’
‘There’s a little ledge there, just under the precipice, can you see it?’
‘I’ll take your word for it.’
‘If I could just get close enough I could slide him back into the nest. He’s going to fall, otherwise. His wings aren’t well-developed enough yet to fly, poor little critter.’
‘How are you going to get close enough?’ There is no way, I think now, peering over at the ledge he’s just referred to, that he can get near enough without putting himself at great risk. The cliff-face juts out and over, proud of the cliff, which makes it all the more difficult a task.
‘There’s a foothold there, right there, do you see?’ He isn’t actually talking to me any more; he is intently calculating how he is going to get that bird back.
‘Frank, please, I really don’t think you should…’ But he’s already walking a little further back the way we’ve come, judging the angle, trying to get a better view of it.
‘There’s a clump of grass on the left, and a space big enough for me to stand,’ he is saying.
‘Not exactly big enough to stand,’ I correct him. ‘You might get a toe-hold…’
‘A toe-hold is all I need, then.’ He slides his backpack off his shoulders and I watch it slump to the ground. Above us the parent-birds are still calling, still fretting. He glances at them, a sheen of sweat beginning to appear on his forehead, and I feel a horrible band of fear constrict around my chest.
‘Please don’t do it.’ My voice is hoarse. But I can’t exactly throw myself on him and beg him not to take the risk. ‘If you fall,’ I say, ‘it is an awfully long way down.’
‘I know,’ he tells me steadily, ‘I’m just going to have to make sure that I don’t, aren’t I?’
I step back then, my arms folded across my chest. I’m not going to be able to stop him, no matter what I say. But I don’t have to stand here and watch him, either. There must be hundreds of baby birds falling out of their nests every day, I think; what bad luck that we have to chance upon one in such a precarious position. What bad luck that the first guy I’ve met in years who really engages my interest…has to have such misplaced hero tendencies. ‘Look, I’m sorry; I really can’t bear to watch you do this. Can’t we wait and get a rope or something? Wouldn’t that make more sense?’
‘I don’t think we’ve got time. He’s edging over to the ledge even as we speak.’
Damn it, then! I think. Just leave the thing. Don’t do this. For an instant I turn my back on him, feeling a sick fear in the pit of my stomach, knowing that I can’t stop him, angry at him for making me feel this way. Doesn’t he have any consideration for my feelings? I’ve got this thing about heights. I can’t bear anyone I care about being near a dangerous drop, it just makes me ill.
Of course he can’t possibly know what my feelings are, I grudgingly admit to myself after a bit. We are just polite strangers who have barely learned each other’s names as far as he is concerned. I keep my back to him for as long as I can bear. All is very quiet behind me. Even the parent-birds have gone quiet. They must have flown off. See, even they aren’t that bothered, I think tensely. They aren’t going to put their lives at risk.
I look at my watch, tracing the second hand as it sweeps around the dial. I will wait two…no, three minutes before I go back and look. Maybe I should wait five? How long will it take? If I wait too long might I miss it if Frank falls and then risk a delay of precious minutes when I could have been getting help?
This isn’t fair. I’m supposed to be having time off this morning. I’m supposed to be free from all responsibilities and troubles for these few precious hours.
I just won’t think about him, that’s all. He’ll probably be fine, maybe he does this kind of thing all the time, maybe he is a fireman or an athlete or a stunt coordinator?
Down on the beach the three kids have been joined by another two and their dads have joined them. They are planning on making a sandcastle that looks—by the proportions of the lines they have drawn on the shore—as if it might take up every grain of sand on the beach. The mothers are chatting and laughing and they keep looking up in my direction. I want to lose myself in the detail, take my mind off what Frank is up to, so I notice how the women are wearing almost identical beach-wraps, and pretty pink bathing suits underneath them. They must be the kind of friends who go shopping together, arm in arm, scouring the same boutiques for pretty, coordinating clothes. Maybe they are sisters?
That makes me think about Lily, of course. I suddenly become aware of a tightness in my stomach. Okay, maybe Shelley is right. Maybe I am nervous about meeting up with my sister again after three years. I look at the women and try to imagine myself and Lily, down on that same beach later on, laughing and chatting and pointing at the things that catch our interest. I can’t do it. All I can manage is the two of us as children, me with my big green net, scrambling over the rock pools, and Lily sitting delicately on the edge of a mossy boulder, her arms flung backwards like some Hollywood starlet, her face tilted up towards the sun.
I know that we won’t be coming to this beach together, of course. That is just a pretty fantasy to take my mind off Frank dangling off the cliff edge just a few feet away from me…
No, my darling sister Lily would doubtless not move herself more than two feet away from the hotel swimming pool if she could help it. And Lily and I never went anywhere in matching clothes, then or now. I wish! Her couture is a little beyond my pocket. Maybe the heavy lump that feels like a bag of sand in my stomach is about Lily, and not Frank, after all.
I can see the women, even though they are so far away, their bodies facing towards me, arms folded across their chests. They call their loved ones and then the children all start pointing.
They are looking at Frank, of course! I force myself to look at my watch. It has been six minutes already. If I don’t go back to him now I feel as if I am going to burst.
‘Frank?’ I call to him but the breeze lifts my voice and takes it away somewhere else. I have to go back to the cliff edge. ‘Are you all right, Frank?’
‘I’m nearly there now.’
‘Can you come up now please, Frank, you’re giving me a heart attack.’
A moment later his left hand appears, waving, over the top. Just what his feet are being supported on, I can’t begin to guess.
At first I think he is just letting me know he is still here, but then I see he is scrabbling about blindly, looking for a clump of grass or a crevice to get a hand-hold on.
I kneel on the dry sand at the top of the cliff. It is peppered with tiny pebbles that sink into my knees painfully but they don’t matter. All I can focus on is his hand. I take in his palm, which looks broad and strong; dependable. I take in the short, close-bitten nails and I wonder what it is that has troubled him so, that he should bite them down to the quick like that. I take in the tiny bleached hairs on the backs of his square fingers. And then, without even wanting to, I notice that he wears no ring on his third finger.
‘Frank?’ I call out softly. ‘Frank?’ His fingers suddenly reach, outstretched, towards me.
‘Could you give me a hand, Rachel?’ He must be in trouble.
Instinctively, I grab hold of him. His palm is not sticky with sweat where I grip it, but cool and firm, responsive to my touch.
‘I don’t think I can haul you up,’ I croak. He’s twice the size of me and, even with lifting Shelley and wheeling her around so much, I’m not that strong.
‘You don’t have to, Rachel.’ I marvel that his voice can remain so sure and level. ‘Just anchor your feet in the sand as best you can and push your weight backwards. I’ll do the rest.’
I do as he says, digging the heels of the walking boots into the soil on the cliff edge as far as they will go.
It can only be a moment. No more than a moment, and yet the whole world seems to stand still, not breathing. I cannot hear them any more, the people on the beach. I can’t hear the children who have been laughing and playing, or the waves that have been rolling onto the shore. There is just this gap in time while I hold on to his hand in terror, knowing full well I can never pull him up and wondering how on earth this can end. Maybe the people on the beach, or the coastguard, they’ll see he’s in trouble and they’ll come? I can feel him tugging on my hand as he searches for a way to haul himself back up. How crazy is this? All just for one tiny bird who might decide to do the whole thing all over again as soon as we walk away!
I could walk away from the bird, but there is no way I am going to leave Frank now until he gets back up. Even if my feet are sliding on that dusty sand towards the edge. I’ll never let him go; I’ll go over with him first.
‘Oh god, Frank, Frank, I don’t think I can do this.’ I can feel tears of desperation rolling down my cheeks.
From my faraway place I can just make out his voice, calling me. ‘I’m up. I’m nearly at the top.’ His arms are straining, pulling himself over.
He is lithe, and once he finds the hand-hold he needs, he is over the top instantly.
I wipe the wetness off my face. I am sweating profusely, shaking, even. God, I want to go home!
Frank just stands there for a second, then he hugs me tightly, a big bear-hug. ‘I’m so sorry, Rachel. I didn’t mean to scare you like that. That was so thoughtless.’
‘You didn’t know.’ I’m trying to laugh it off, though I am still shaking. ‘You couldn’t have guessed what a wuss I am when it comes to heights.’ He is still holding on to me, gently, like a concerned friend might; he has his arms around my shoulders, his fingers just under the hair at the nape of my neck. He can’t guess what effect his touch is having on me just at this moment, either. And I don’t want him to. I inch myself back out of his reach, ever so slowly, and he drops his arms in response. I hang my head then, coward that I am, because I don’t want him to see what is going on inside me. It’s all too sudden. You can’t develop feelings like that for a person in the short space of time that I have known this man. It isn’t possible. No, it just isn’t. It’s the drama of what just occurred, the life and death scenario, the fragility of our existence.
He is a genuine, friendly guy, that is all. Sol would have hugged me like that, under similar circumstances. There really is nothing to it. Only I know, if I am honest, that I wouldn’t respond to Sol in the same way. Not in a million years.
Far away on the beach the sandcastle families suddenly give up a loud cheer, breaking the awkward moment between us. He turns to wave at them for a minute, grinning in acknowledgement, and then he turns back to me. ‘Sorry if I scared you, Rachel. I couldn’t just leave it there. I’m sorry.’
He dusts himself down then, bends to pick up his canvas bag and pulls out a bottle of water.
‘Have some water, you’ve had a shock.’
‘No, thanks.’ I shake my head. ‘I mean, yes, I will, but please, you go first. That must have taken some guts.’ I glance back over the cliff edge. ‘Is he all right?’
‘He’s back where he’s meant to be. With his parents.’ Frank ignores my suggestion that he should drink first and places his water bottle in my hands. I wet my lips gratefully.
‘Thanks, Frank.’ I laugh shortly, trying to get my composure back because he is still looking at me in a way that sends my pulse racing. ‘You handled that like a pro. Do you rescue people for a living?’
‘Not as a rule.’
‘What do you do then?’
‘I run my own production company.’
‘Oh,’ I say, ‘you make films?’
‘Documentaries, mainly, though we’ve been moving into the docudrama arena lately.’
‘Ah.’ I hand him back the water bottle. ‘Is that what your connection with Maggie is?’ I am back interrogating him, I just can’t help myself. I know that is what I am doing even though I am trying to make it sound like casual conversation.
‘No,’ he says at last. ‘My association with Maggie is personal.’
‘I see.’ I want to add, ‘and it’s clearly a state secret exactly what that personal association is because you’ve done everything but tell me…’ but I resist the temptation. Any more along those lines and he will surely rumble that my own interest is far stronger than it should be.
‘So, anyway, you were telling me about Shelley,’ I prompt him. ‘You were telling me that she reminded you of someone and that’s why you remembered seeing us out shopping yesterday?’
Frank shakes his head, then looks away before looking back at me with those oh-so-direct eyes.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you, Rachel. I shouldn’t have mentioned anything.’
Why should I feel embarrassed? He isn’t being very clear. ‘What do you mean?’ I persist.
‘She looked…sad, I guess. She looked spaced-out and scared and somehow very sad.’
‘You’re an observant man,’ I tell him. We are on safer ground here. I can talk about my daughter for hours. ’I think Shelley is sad. We used to come down here when she was a child. She could walk then. It must have brought back memories for her. It was her idea to come here, though, for her fifteenth birthday.
‘What happened to her?’ Frank’s voice has gone very low. He is listening intently. He has dusted himself down and picked up his bag again. We saunter along together in silence for a bit while I try to figure out how to explain it all to him.
‘Did she have an accident? A car crash?’
‘No, not that. It was something that just developed. A motor neurone disease that apparently has a genetic basis. It’s so rare they haven’t even decided what to call it yet! Some people develop worse symptoms than others. Some people can carry the gene and never develop anything at all. It depends on other genetic factors, it seems. In the most severe cases it is fatal. Shelley is depressed. Her closest friend, Miriam, who was diagnosed around the same time, passed away a year ago. And it isn’t just that she’s lost her closest friend. The end wasn’t pretty. Miriam had a really hard time of it. I think that’s scared my daughter witless because we’ve always been told that Shelley has a worse form of the disease; Miriam’s was supposed to be quite mild by comparison.’
‘I’m so sorry.’ He turns his head away from me for a moment, and I could swear he wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. When he looks back at me again he seems more distant, though, as if something has closed down in him. One minute he is an open door I am about to walk through; the next moment he just shuts me off.
‘Look, it’s ten o’clock.’ He glances at his watch. ‘You said something to Maggie about having to get back for Shelley? I mean, I wouldn’t want to keep you from this time you’re supposed to be spending with your daughter…’
‘Well,’ I hesitate, ‘I’m sure we’ve got plenty of time yet.’ I should ring her, I suppose. Heck, Shelley’s the one I’m supposed to be here for. But I haven’t felt so free in such a long time. And I haven’t been in the company of a man who looks at me the way Frank does, for even longer…
‘It’ll take at least half an hour to get back to the car park,’ he tells me. ‘Then you’ve got to drive back through town.’
‘If you think we should be getting back…?’ I offer. Maybe he’s had enough of me. I wasn’t exactly stalwart a moment ago when he rescued that bird.
‘It might be best, Rachel. I’m not much company at the moment and I don’t think…well, maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.’
‘The walk?’ I look at him brightly. I have no intention of showing him what I am feeling.
‘Us walking. You and me. I’ve got a lot of heavy things going on at the moment and I can’t be myself. So it isn’t fair. Do you understand?’
‘Nope,’ I tell him. ‘Well, I understand that you’re saying we should both get back and you’ve got a lot on your mind, and you don’t really want to talk about any of it…’
‘That’s pretty much all you need to understand, Rachel.’
‘Okay then. I get it.’ I don’t get it. I don’t get any of it at all. I don’t understand what is going on with him—though I know I have no right to that information either—and I don’t understand why he affects me the way he does. Or why he is so tender and caring one moment and the next he is being so distant that he can’t get rid of me quick enough.
