Rapids

KATRIN HOFSTETTER

Max had hung Wally from the brim of his straw hat. The talismanic bear swung from side to side at every bend. Mandy insisted that everyone buckle up their safety belts. No exceptions! The slalom course was almost thirty miles away. People had slept badly. Caroline had cried off altogether. Don’t you think ‘sort out the men from the boys’ is a pretty sexist expression, Brian was enquiring of Clive. I mean, women don’t even get a look — in. Anyway, the boys are usually better than the men, Phil boasted. It was the drooping eyebrows that gave him such a gormless look. Oh you think so too, do you, dearie, Max cried. The minibus pulled its trailer along the Bruneck — Brixen road. Amelia and Tom had their heads bowed over the BCU’s manual of correct recovery strokes. They seemed seriously absorbed. Vince felt his stomach tight. He had had to crap twice before departing. The course has sections that are grade four, Amal told him solemnly. That means there’s only one line to take through the rapid and you have to get it right. Or kaput! The Indian boy smiled. Why do I feel so determined, Vince wondered, to be on this suicide trip tomorrow? What do I have to prove?

About four hundred yards of river had been carefully reorganised to present more or less every troublesome whitewater feature: a stopper, a hole, a couple of daunting waves, rocks in the most trying places. Being dam — fed, the water levels were fairly constant. Criss — crossing over the river was a system of wires from which perhaps forty slalom gates were suspended so that their red— or green — and — white posts were just clear of the water. But this extra subtlety, the weaving back and forth in a set course among obstacles, was for the long, slim slalom boats, the experts. All you have to do, Clive explained earnestly— but he in particular had slept little and badly— at least for the first two runs, is to show me that you can break out of the current at every single eddy on the course, then break back in again without any trouble. Okay? We go down in groups of four. At the bottom you get out and carry your boats back to the beginning again. Keith will be stalking the bank taking notes and giving advice.

Vince ran his fingers round the rim of the cockpit to check that the spraydeck was sealed. The tab was out, ready to pull. He was with Mandy, Amal and Phil. At once he sensed he would have felt safer in a group with one of the two instructors. The water rushed down, grey and gleaming, to where they sat ready on the low bank. But of course, not to be with an instructor was a compliment. The pour — overs were larger and fiercer than any they had run before. There were places where even a small mistake would lead to getting pinned against a rock. It’s years since I did something as tough as this, Mandy muttered. She was checking the strap on her helmet. Slalom courses are always a doddle, Phil said knowledgeably. They’ve taken out any sharp stuff you could hurt yourself on, haven’t they? Nobody ever gets killed. He seemed disappointed. You lead, Vince told Amal. The Indian boy launched himself from the bank.

Pointing upstream, Amal ferried from the bank to the first rock and signalled to Vince to follow. First his finger indicates the person who is the object of the message, then the place he has to arrive at. As Vince moved out, Amal was already leaving his small refuge to drop down behind the first spur. One by one the group followed. First in the eddy, then back into the flow and through a fierce stopper. Take it close to the left, Keith was shouting from the bank. He had his arm in a sling. Right against the rock! The rocks are your friends!

Vince raced down. The deceleration as you punched into the eddy, raising the bottom of the boat to the still water, was fearsome. At the third he misjudged and was pulled over by the inertia. He rolled up on the second attempt. It was freezing. The cold gripped his head. He was excited. He signalled to Mandy to follow and broke back into the current again. As the least likely to come to grief, Phil was at the back to pick up anyone who got into trouble.

Certainly beats banking, Vince told Mandy at the bottom when they’d completed the first run. Once again, the concentration required and the physical effort had cleared his mind of all pain. You looked good, Mandy said. She had taken a couple of photos from eddies. Pretty dull, Phil thought. He wanted to play in the big stopper. They heaved the boats onto their backs and trudged up to the top.

On the second run, Amal tried a ferry — glide just below the stopper. It has a hole as well! Keith warned them from the bank. It’s grabby. They are behind a spur of rock looking upstream into a fierce churn of white water beneath a drop of about three feet. A cold spume fills the air, causing small rainbows to form in the bright sunshine. The world has a glitter to it, a powerful presence. Everything is immediate. Just downstream of the white water, the surface is irregular and turbulent and there must be a point— you know this— where if you push too close to the froth, the backflow in the stopper will begin to pull you in. The boat will sink and spin in the soft, oxygenated water. But to make it over to the eddy that Amal has spotted way on the opposite bank, you can’t let yourself drift too far down. You must ride close to the stopper and its deep white hole. Amal steers his kayak out into the stream. His ability to set the angle and edge of the boat is uncanny. With no effort, he glides across.

Vince follows. He’s too vertical, pointing straight upstream. The hole begins to pull. He back — paddles, suddenly loses almost ten yards, but fights his way across with a huge expenditure of effort. Panting, relieved, he signals to Mandy to come across and join them. There’s room in the eddy for all four. They can regroup. As she looks across to him, Mandy’s face is grim and Vince guesses at once that she isn’t going to make it. The woman is hunched. Her posture betrays her nerves. She is here for the group, Vince is aware, for the companionship that expeditions like this can offer a single woman in middle age, for the photographs and fun.

Mandy’s first tentative stroke leaves the tail of the boat still anchored in the eddy. Before she’s halfway across, she’s lost at least twenty yards to the current. Barely breaking the surface, there’s a stone in the middle of the river here. She could rest the bow of her kayak behind it, take a break, decide what to do next. But she hasn’t seen. She isn’t thinking. She drifts against the stone sideways, paddling like mad. It surprises her. With the unexpected contact, the bow is shifted the other way, back to the left bank. She fights the shift, but half — heartedly. The river has got her now. Grey and bouncy, the current swirls towards a smooth black boulder by the bank where it piles up in a tense cushion before being forced back into the centre to plunge down the next drop. All this would be easy enough to negotiate if taken face on, but Mandy is pointing upstream. She is still trying to turn the boat back across the flow when the current pushes it sideways onto the boulder. Immediately she’s pinned, the underside of the kayak against the rock, the water crashing on the spray — deck.

Vince is watching all this from the safety of his eddy on the opposite bank, thirty yards upstream. He sees the woman try to brace her paddle against the oncoming water to keep her head up. He has a picture of the blue helmet, the orange paddle — blade. But it’s only a fraction of a second before she’s down. Now she will pull out and swim. She doesn’t. Arm in a sling, Keith is scrambling down the bank. But there are thick brambles between himself and the rock. He can’t get to it. Mandy is still under. Amal! Vince looks round. The boy is locked away from the stream by Vince’s boat. Vince looks for Phil. Incredibly, he is fooling around in the hole. He’s let his kayak be sucked in and is throwing the boat this way and that, tail up, tail down, in the spongy water. He hasn’t seen anything. He can hear no screams.

Amal is trying to force a way round Vince to the stream, but now Vince breaks in himself. He will get to her first. In one stroke he’s in the quick of it. The power of the current tosses the boat round. It’s a matter of seconds. He is bearing straight down on Mandy’s boat, still pinned upside down against the rock. The bank is to the right, the next rapid to the left. I have no idea how to do this, Vince thinks.

Keith is shouting something, but Vince can’t hear, can’t listen. Instead of fighting the pull of the current onto the rock, Vince speeds towards it, as if to spear Mandy’s boat as he goes down. Lean into it! Keith is yelling. Vince pays no attention. Just before he hits the submerged boat, he lets go the paddle with his right hand and throws his body towards the rock to grab the bow — handle of the boat. His arm is wrenched violently, but the boat shifts. It’s free. Dragged over, Vince thrusts his hand down on the bow of Mandy’s boat to bounce up and prevent himself from capsizing. Now he’s spun backward and dropping into the rapid. He’s just got both hands back on his paddle when he hits a stopper sideways and goes down. This time he rolls up without thinking, as if rolling in white water were the easiest thing in the world. Mandy is swimming. Keith has already got a line to her. Amal is chasing the upturned boat down the river. Exhausted, mentally more than physically, Vince pulls over to the bank.

The deck just wouldn’t pop, Mandy is repeating. There’s a note of hysteria in her voice. She is stumbling up on the rocks. Her body is shaking. The water was so powerful, it wouldn’t pop. I couldn’t get out. I was drowning. Thought I might have to take a swim there, Keith laughs. Stitches or no stitches. Then the woman insists on embracing Vince. You saved my life. Nonsense! Later they worked out that the whole crisis had lasted no more than twenty seconds. Nursing the pain in his shoulder, Vince understood he had booked himself a place on tomorrow’s trip.

The chair — lift begins a mile or so above Sand in Taufers. It took them up in threesomes, their feet dangling a few yards above the tall pines either side, the cables humming and clicking above them, the air cooling around their faces, the valley falling away dramatically behind. The kids giggled and took photos of each other. Amelia was quiet beside Tom. Max dangled Wally below his seat on a string amid shrieks of fake horror. Somebody had begun to sing ‘Inky Pinky Parlez — Vous’.

At the top, a large timber — built hostelry, flying the vertical red and white banner of the Tyrol, sits in a wide meadow hemmed in on three sides by even steeper slopes leading up to a ridge at almost nine thousand feet. But the youngsters really don’t want to walk. The sun has a sharper, brighter quality here. They could buy Cokes at the hostel, fool around and sunbathe. Since Bri can only hobble, we’ve all decided to keep him company, Max laughed. Keith and Mandy had stayed behind, to explore Bruneck, they said. The woman had needed a rest. So for the walk up to the glacier there were just Vince, Amal, Adam, Clive and Michela. Adam tried to persuade his son to join them. Risking nothing, the boy had survived the slalom course well enough. He doesn’t want to, Vince said softly. It was clear there was something going on between him and Louise. Adam insisted. It would do everybody good to stretch their legs after being cramped in the boat. Mark didn’t even reply now. He turned and ran after the others.

Then no sooner had the walkers set off up a path that zigzagged steeply through walls of flint, than Clive suddenly stopped to apologise to Adam. Michela didn’t expect it. The party was brought to a halt on the narrow path. I shouldn’t have hit you. A clouded look came over his handsome face. Dead right, you shouldn’t, Adam agreed. Then the instructor said, Forget it, but grudgingly, Michela thought. They climbed in single file up the steep slope under bright afternoon sunshine, and as they walked and she watched Clive’s strong legs in short trousers and his powerful back bending to the slope, she began to feel angry. You shouldn’t be apologising, she began to speak to him in her mind. He isn’t worth it. And you shouldn’t be wasting time, doing stupid, touristy things, taking groups up mountainsides. The kayaking was a mistake, she told herself now. If we aren’t to be happy together, what point is there in arranging these trips? She was thinking in English. What point for a man like Clive? Suddenly she understood that he must do something serious. That’s why he has never married. He is preparing himself. Michela knew that Clive had lived with two or three other women before her. He couldn’t marry because he must do something important. It’s crazy for him to lead ungrateful people up a mountain, when they just want to hang around at the rifugio and flirt and sunbathe. He must do something that changes the world. Yes. Oh, but it made her so furious that he could break off their relationship, he could stop making love, just like that, before there was really any need, and that he could do it without missing her body at all, without any sense of loss. Why did I have to find a saint? she complained. I’m his last temptation. You’re a saint, Clive. The voice in her head was louder now. So what are you waiting for? she demanded of him. It sounded like a scream. Whatever it is you have to do, do it!

They climbed slowly, in silence, but in her mind the noise is loud and angry. Why had he apologised? You have a cause, a goal, the voice insisted. She couldn’t stop it. She doesn’t want him to have doubts. Do something then! If we are not going to love again, at least let me be proud of you. Let me admire you. She stumbled. She put a hand down. How gritty and unrelenting the ground was. She felt dizzy. I haven’t been sleeping enough. Above them the slope was a mass of ugly shards. Only far away did it make sense, the peaks ranged in line after line, quivering in the slow convection of the sunny afternoon. There are so many mountains, and so empty. Michela loves them for their emptiness. She loves the miniature look of distant villages in the valley bottom, the thin threads of plunging streams, this placing yourself far away in utter emptiness to look back and down on it all. From way below came the clang of the cowbell: the beasts, the herd. Why had he humiliated himself like that? Why was he so knotted and tense and thwarted? Clive! She could have helped him. She wanted him to be free. When they stopped at a vantage point, she said out loud: I don’t think I can get through the whole summer like this.

She was speaking to Clive, but quite loudly. She feels exhausted. I really can’t, she said. The voice was matter — of — fact. It echoed in her head. The others didn’t understand. Vince put it down to some momentary slip in English, some conversation he had missed. The climb had been long and steep. He is panting. The panorama was extraordinary. Drink? He offered her his bottle. But people were already moving again. As they walked, Vince was constantly aware of her girlish body swaying after Clive’s, the man’s powerful tread, her feminine lightness and flexibility. It was strange to be so attracted to a couple like this, to be so conscious of their bodies, of femininity and masculinity, their togetherness. He had seen the girl catching her man’s eye. Were Gloria and I ever like that? He wanted to tell them that he approved. He imagined them twining together in love. His interest disturbs him. I approve of their loving and their politics, he thought. Two people cleaving to each other, and caring about the world too. You approve because your own life is so empty. But he did not feel unhappy this afternoon. Being near them, the taciturn man, the urgent girl, seemed to cheer him.

Then after only ten more minutes Amal asked for another stop. I’m getting a headache, he said. Pressure, Adam told him. At this point when I climbed it two years ago, we were already on the ice, Clive said. All around them, the ground was arid flint. Again Michela said out loud, I won’t get through the whole summer like this. Again no one responded. She said it in such a strangely detached way. Slim and tall against the sky, it was as if she wasn’t quite among them. Or she is just complaining about the path. Look at this, Amal said. On a plaque nailed into the rock there was an oval photograph of a young woman’s face. Vince went close to read. Katrin Hofstetter: 19.1.1979—31.8.1999. The face was bright and the woman’s long blonde hair had been brushed forward to fall on her shoulder. Actually, that’s about the fourth of those, Adam said. First woman though.

Eventually, they reached the snow and began to walk around the horseshoe of the ridge, so as to descend behind the hostelry. They were on top of the world here. Only far to the north, in Austria, were there taller peaks with larger glaciers. When the ice is gone, Clive explained to Vince, but he evidently wanted Adam to hear, you won’t get that slow storage and release of water you get at the moment. It’ll either be bone — dry, or, after it rains, you’ll get great surges ripping down the slopes and flooding the valleys out. Obviously, the less snow there is, the more the temperature goes up and the more the glacier melts, so there’s a built — in acceleration to it all.

Standing on the crusty grey ice, Vince turned to look in all directions at the phenomenon of the Alps. It was curious how something could be at once awesome and vulnerable. Your instinct was to shiver at the majesty, yet you were being told you had destroyed it. Amal asked if anything could actually be done. Only if the whole world changes its lifestyle, Clive remarked, and drastically. Then Adam said: A hawk, look. Apparently he has decided not to argue. Below them a large bird was slipping across the air — stream that rose from the valley. Same principle as a ferry — glide, the Indian boy said. See how he sets the angle and lets the wind squeeze him sideways. Standing right on the edge, where the ridge fell away into the valley beyond, Michela had taken Clive’s hand. The couple stood together looking out over an ocean of empty air. The drop is dizzying. The hawk closed its wings and went down like a stone. Clive slipped an arm round her waist. How can I ever go back to the bank? Vince wondered.

Then Michela said: You must do something serious, Clive. She squeezed his hand hard. He turned and found her face flushed with the sun and the glare from the ice. Her eyes were melting in the bright light. Not just demonstrations, she told him. He was staring at her. They were standing on the edge. One forward step and they would be gone right out of things. Had he understood? We have to move, Clive announced. Or we’ll be late. This is where the path turns down. Careful not to slip now.

Where are you taking us? someone shouted. Driving back to Sand in Taufers, the minibus had turned off the road down a dirt track. Suddenly the river was beside them, swirling through a deep gully. We’re going to look at the get — out point for those of you who are on the trip tomorrow. Clive had his solemn, almost religious expression. When he speaks, Michela thought, it’s as if he knew vastly more than anyone else could imagine. He hasn’t told me anything.

The bank was steep but easy enough to get down. Basically, Clive pointed upstream, when you come under the bridge, there, where the road crosses, you have about two hundred yards more to paddle, and you’re looking for the long flat spur on your right, here, below us. Everybody crowded round. Doddle, Phil said. As ever, he gave the impression of being let down. Yes, it’s easy, Clive said. Oh, check out the marker someone’s tied on the tree there. A few yards upstream, a long ribbon of orange plastic dangled from the drooping branch of a spruce. And now, Clive said, let me show you what would happen if by chance you fell asleep and drifted a few yards further down.

The dirt track turned abruptly away from the river and up the mountainside through stands of larch. Leaving it, they scrambled down a steep narrow path through brushwood and saplings. This was the gorge that made such a dramatic backdrop to the castle of Sand in Taufers as seen from the campsite. You can see why Long John Silver stuck to oceangoing craft, Brian complained. His club foot slipped. He had hurt himself. Max and Mark stayed to help. Vince grabbed a thin branch and leaned out over the water. Narrowing, the river tumbled rapidly in jumps of five, six and even ten feet, swirling between boulders and rushing against smooth walls of rock.

Clive stopped on a patch of mud and waited for the others to catch up. X — treme! Amelia breathed. They were looking down into a boil of water as the main stream went over a ledge to crash and froth around a huge dark rock just visible in a torment of backwash. This, Clive said, is grade five, verging on six. Give us the BCU definition, Amal. In his high — pitched voice, the boy sang: Only one line to follow, as with grade four— but harder to find and more technical to negotiate. Failure to follow line is seriously life — threatening. He seemed pleased with himself. Ambulance waiting at the bottom sort of thing, Louise said. Hearse more like it, Amelia added. Wicked! Phil approved. He was excited. Wally says this is nothing to Niagara, Max remarked. He was holding the bear to his ear, as if they were whispering together.

Mark stepped back. It’s not do — able, though, is it? he asked. He looked worried. I mean, like, I don’t see how anyone could get through that. They’d never try. Adam had been gazing with folded arms. Now he invited his son to come and stand beside him. He squatted down, pointed: Punch through the stopper to the right of the rock. There’s just room, okay? You use the hole behind to brake and turn, but without falling into it. Then a determined ferry over to the far side, spin just before the bank and take the next drop where that tongue of water shoots through the debris down into the next pool.

They all considered this hair — raising manoeuvre. Vince tried to imagine the effect of gravity in the drops, the power of the water. Perhaps it was possible. Is this the hardest bit, then? Tom enquired. To look down with more safety, Amelia had put an arm round his strong waist. It was curious how she was both the gawky schoolgirl and the society snob. Louise, Vince thought, has a coarser, franker energy. Let’s go and look, Michela said. She seemed to have cheered up. The sheer energy of the river was a source of pleasure.

They worked their way down a further hundred yards, scrabbling on stones and mud, occasionally pushing through the wet grass to the edge of the gully from which a soft spray drifted upward with the impact of water falling onto stone below. Immediately you looked down, the eye was captured by a kaleidoscopic shifting of dark — green and brown rock, white foam and blue transparent pools.

Fun to be had with the log there, Adam said. He was shaking his head. Life hath many exits, quoted Max. You just don’t have to hit the bloody thing, do you, Phil said boldly. Hard to avoid, Amal thought. A thick tree trunk was wedged between boulders right below a pour — over. Unless you’re mad enough to run river — left, that is. They were all relishing this contemplation of dangers they would never undertake. The water boomed. Almost belligerently, Mark again demanded: But nobody’s ever done it, have they? Sure they have, Clive replied. He had a smile on his face. There’s almost nothing people haven’t done. The boy wasn’t satisfied. He pushed back the hair that fell on his eyes. But, like, someone you know, you’ve seen them?

I’ve done it, Clive said.

Wow! The announcement caused excited reaction. Michela looked at her man sharply. I mean Wow, wow, and triple wow! Louise said. When you went to visit your mother, Clive whispered quickly. Michela couldn’t take it in. Why would he lie like this?

How many of you? Adam asked. The kids were all shaking their heads. Respect! Re — spect!

Two local guys, Clive said. From the rafting centre.

But you don’t know any local guys, Michela thought.

In the Pyranha? Amal enquired. Wouldn’t you need something with more volume?

And you fixed throw — lines and things? Adam asked.

No, no support on the bank, Clive said. They told me the line to follow and we went for it. River — left to avoid the log. The gap is just big enough.

You’re mad, Mark declared.

I could do it, Phil said. Bet you I could do it, if someone would let me.

And you never capsized?

Everybody was looking at Clive’s bearded face, the pioneer ponytail. She loves him, Vince thought again, catching Michela’s gaze.

Sure I did. Three times, Clive said. See that rock there? Downstream of the pour — over, it’s invisible as you approach. I came crashing over the ledge, see, and speared it. Bang on. Boat went vertical and I was down. Vince asked: How on earth did you come up? They were looking at a storming torrent of water plunging through boulders.

I’ve no idea, Clive told him.

The Slobs had cooked curry. Everybody had picked up a bit of colour in the afternoon sun up on the mountain. If you never eat what’s on your plate, Mandy asked Phil, whence do you draw your sustenance, my boy? My what? Supply of Mars bars in his tent, Brian said. He must have about a hundred. Caroline kept setting off the hamster to general groans. It worries me to say, that I’ve never felt this way. Was that what you were saying to yourself, Max asked Mandy, when you were pinned underwater on the slalom course? The hamster never tired of his song. He beat his drum and waved his microphone. I was saying to myself, Mandy laughed: I think I love life, but this is what death is made of. Oh, it wasn’t even a close shave, Keith protested. You could have taken a photo or two, under water. Wally had been ceremoniously handed over to Amelia, who had dropped a shoe coming down on the ski — lift. It’s his fault, the girl cried, poking Tom. The young man grinned with embarrassment. She did it on purpose, Caroline scoffed, so’s she’d have to lean on him, like, walking back to the car park. Slander! Amelia shrieked. She hung the red — scarfed little effigy round her neck and pushed it down inside her T — shirt between the small breasts. Let’s see if anyone dares to steal it there! I consider that an invitation, Brian cried. Please, Adam said. Kids!

Keith was looking relaxed. Perhaps it was a relief not to have to paddle. Debrief, he shouted. Tomorrow’s the last day. Some of you are going to run a very serious river, let’s hear from the river leaders who the chosen victims will be. The others will be rerunning the stretch from the campsite down to Geiss and getting in some much — needed practice. After which we’ll eat in a restaurant since it’s the last night.

The last announcement caused much excitement. Shush everyone! Adam’s got the list, Clive said quietly. We decided it together. Standing up by the door of the kitchen tent, Adam announced: First, I want to thank Amal, who has offered to play river leader for those who won’t be going on the upper Aurino. Chicken! Phil yelled. He’s scared! Shut up, idiot. So, if we can be serious a moment, folks, the participants will be— and Adam read: Clive, leader. Myself deputy. Then: Vince, Amelia, Michela, Max, Brian, Mark and Phil. Max, Brian and Phil will be assessed for their four — star paddler.

There was a surprised silence. Vince tried to catch his daughter’s eye. It wasn’t clear to him why she had been excluded. They were in the clearing between the tents. The girl had her head bent knotting a red scarf round her neck. What about me? Tom asked. I’m sorry, Adam said, but we can’t take people who don’t get their roll at least ninety per cent of the time. But I never turn over, Tom said. Keith cut in brightly. We have to accept the river leader’s decisions. Mark’s going and Tom isn’t? Amelia protested. That’s crazy. Clive said, Mark rolled up twice this morning in white water. If Tom doesn’t go, then neither do I, Amelia said. Adjourn to the bar, Max was already shouting. Drinks! With Brian’s foot still killing him, the lame boy had to lean on his friend as they made off between the guy — lines.

In their cabin, Michela was determined to get things straight. Why did you tell that story? Clive was cross — legged on his sleeping bag, rolling himself a cigarette. It wasn’t a story. Want a smoke? You don’t know anyone from the rafting centre. He admitted this was true. I went alone, he said. He tossed the tobacco to her. But I couldn’t tell them that, because of all their strict rules. I mustn’t seem irresponsible. Otherwise we’ll have people like Phil chucking himself down there.

You’re lying, she said. You just wanted to show off after making a fool of yourself in this thing with Adam. You’re weird, she went on quickly. Really weird. It’s not normal just to tell me we’re not making love, then imagine we can go on as before. You’re crazy sleeping on the floor. It’s stupid. And I meant it today, you know, when I said I couldn’t go on like this. I meant it.

Clive lit his cigarette. He seemed to be waiting until she had finished. The tobacco was damp and didn’t draw well. I wasn’t lying, Micky. He puffed. He seemed calm. Before Milan, remember when you went ahead to ask your mother if she could lend us something? That’s when I did it. I ran it alone. Three times actually on three consecutive days. It’s not that difficult. I did worse in New Zealand.

She stared at him. So why didn’t you tell me?

He shrugged his shoulders. Why should I?

But this is even weirder. You go and do something completely suicidal and you don’t even tell me. Her hands were shaking with the lighter. He used an old paraffin thing from at least twenty years ago.

It’s suicidal to smoke, he said.

Yeah, I set myself alight and die. It’s different, and you know it.

I didn’t want you to worry about me, he said. You had worries enough with your mother. They gazed at each other across the cabin. The space was lit with a naked, 40—watt bulb. He was cross — legged, swaying slowly backward and forward, smiling softly. He seemed to have regained all the confidence, the slightly mystical impenetrability that had been threatened that evening with Adam. She was on the bed. It’s clear she isn’t a real smoker. She rolls cigarettes because she is with Clive. I go kayaking because I’m with Clive, she thought. She knew that. I say a thousand things Clive says. I share his opinions. Seeing the shake of her hand, she felt her closeness to her mother. It had been a disastrous visit. My hopeless, hopeless mother. I hope you understood, she finally asked, what I meant when I said you must do something serious. Did you? I think you owe it to me.

He seemed to relish the distance that had been established between them. Swaying, he pressed his lips firmly together. Yeah, I understood. He tapped the thin ash of the roll — up into his cupped hand. But I’ve been thinking the same thing myself, for years. Obviously, I have to do something serious.

So what are you going to do? Not just these stupid demonstrations. They do nothing. Or are you just going to start hitting idiots like Adam?

Why are you so aggressive? he asked.

If you don’t understand that then you’re really stupid!

The demonstrations are important, he said calmly. It’s important the world is constantly reminded that there are people who care. You know that. Over the years I think they have a cumulative effect. More than people admit. But, I am thinking of something bigger.

Like what?

I’m working on it.

Like paddling down a grade — five river on your own and getting your spine smashed. You’ll be a photograph on a wet rock. What good is that going to do anyone?

They stared at each other. There was a soft look in his eyes. Suddenly she feels sure that he loves her. Somehow this is worse. He loves her but it makes no difference. You said we would live together and have children. I believed you.

He held her gaze. I meant it, Micky, but this isn’t the world for us. Leave be, now.

What world, then, she demanded. When will there be a world for us? This is the only one we’ve got.

Clive was silent.

She stood up and went to pull on her shoes by the door. You’re weird, she said. I’m going to go out and fuck someone else. Okay?

He sat still, watching and smoking.

I said, okay?

Go.

She walked through the campsite. I’ve lost control now, she decided. Good. At least something would happen. Her mind was feverish. Everywhere there was barbecuing or the clatter of washing — up, or singing, the hum and rhythm of people at ease and pleased with themselves at the end of another day away from home. A curse on them! A young man and woman were arm in arm on the ground by a gas stove. Under her breath Michela began to mutter in Italian. Maledizione! Siate maledetti e stramaledetti!

The scene at the bar was the same as on all the other evenings: the second — rate band with their rhythm machine, the desultory karaoke. At a couple of tables pulled together, Adam and Vince and Mandy were sitting with Tom, Amelia, Caroline, Phil, Brian and Max. Overdoing the English accent, Michela asked, Anybody need topping up? What are you having? She stood behind them, wallet in hand. She has so little money. The kids clamoured for beers and Adam and Mandy tried to deter them. I told your parents no. Let’s say you didn’t see, Phil protested. You thought it was apple juice. We disobeyed you. Like, we’re impossible, aren’t we? Unmanageable.

The tall girl turned to the bar. Vince saw at once that she was excited. Tom stood politely to help her. Michela slipped an arm around his and smiled straight into his eyes. At the bar she switched to Italian and ordered eight beers and a gin and tonic for Max. It was more than she had spent all week. Sounds lovely when you speak Italian, Tom told her. Again she smiled warmly. Want me to teach you a few words, Tommy? Hardly that much time now, he said stolidly. I’m not even going to be with you tomorrow, which is a bit of a bugger. The nights are long, she said coolly. She was purposeful. For a moment she put a hand round his waist. Tom seemed unable to respond. Le notti, she repeated, sono lunghe. Think you can repeat that? Lunghissime.

Back at the table the Italian girl squeezed in between Tom and Brian. Amelia was on Tom’s other side. The children grabbed their beers. Adam was sending messages again. My wife, he explained. Text messages had been the bedridden woman’s salvation. Is Clive not coming out this evening? Amelia enquired. The girl has smelt danger. Mandy was talking to Vince about her son’s motorcycling obsession. Single parents should form a club, she said, for mutual support. Michela had downed her beer in a gulp. I don’t know what Clive’s up to. She looked dazed. Why? Amelia didn’t reply. Phil and Caroline were sharing a cigarette. Hope it rains, the fat girl was giggling. She clearly has a problem with chapped lips. Oh not the mad bell — ringer again! Max laughed. Brian leaned across the table towards Amelia: You know you look like you’ve got three tits. He was referring to Wally. Except the one in the middle is the biggest! Phil shouted. He slapped a hand on the table and laughed. Shut up! Amelia was on the brink of tears. She was chewing a strand of hair. Michela now had a leg pressed against Tom’s. Anyone could see.

Adam stood up and offered to go and fill Michela’s glass. As soon as he set off for the bar, Tom began to talk excitedly. Can anybody really understand why I’m not going tomorrow and Mark is? The young man has a pretty dimple in his chin, a square jaw, high cheekbones. He is handsome, virile and vulnerable. Because Adam’s his dad, Phil said, puffing on his cigarette. Kids! Mandy intervened. The instructors know best on these matters. They can’t take any risks. I’m not a kid, Tom protested. In his ear, Michela whispered, You can say that again. Vince saw her lips move. Her eyes are too shiny. Mark doesn’t even want to go himself, Caroline remarked. He just does it for his dad. Actually, Tom, Max leaned across the table, the real reason for your exclusion is, Mandy’s got the hots for you. She wants to have you all to herself tomorrow. Oh for God’s sake, Max! Mandy was laughing. Then just as Adam returned with the beer, Amelia pushed back her chair. The girl was so abrupt it fell over. Without stopping to right it, she turned and hurried away across the empty dance area. What’s wrong? Melly! Brian dragged himself up and began to hobble after her. Ow! He had to hop. Max got up after him. There was a vigorous flounce to Amelia’s backside as she crossed the brightly lit space. Tom half stood. Michela put a hand on his arm. I’d better go and see what’s going on, Mandy said.

In just a few confused moments, Vince found himself at the table with just Adam, Phil and Caroline. From the corner of an eye he was aware of Michela and Tom standing together on the far side of the dance floor where the bright light of the terrace and the dark of the field beyond seemed to fizz together. The band leader was introducing the next song with weary cheerfulness. What was all that in aid of? Adam asked. His phone beeped the arrival of another message. Vince was conscious of a desire to watch, to follow them even.

Amelia got upset, Caroline explained, because Brian said something shitty about her being flat — chested. Adam frowned over his message. All the more beer for us! Phil cried. Theatrically surreptitious, he began to pour from Amelia’s glass into his own and Caroline’s. The girl had the coarse, hearty look of someone who couldn’t be enjoying themselves more. I thought you were Amelia’s best friend, Vince said. Speaking, he realised that these were almost the first words he had addressed to Caroline. So? the girl asked. I was just surprised to see the others rush away after her and you stay put. Her men! Caroline said archly. She doesn’t need me. Brian’s got a crush, Phil explained. Hopeless case.

Adam was shaking his head. Can’t keep up with you youngsters, he complained. Vince asked if the message was serious. Adam began to explain that his wife tended to get a little hysterical when she knew they were going to run a difficult river. Why d’you tell her, then? Caroline demanded. Phil drained his own beer and reached for Brian’s. I didn’t, Mark did, Adam said. The idiot! He seemed to enjoy shaking his head at the perversity of the world. That was what was so great about Gloria, he turned suddenly, enthusiastically, to Vince. Like, nothing fazed her, you know, whatever river …

Now Vince pushed back his chair. Need a pee, he announced. He walked across the dance floor and around behind the bar, very conscious of the slight unsteadiness that three beers can bring on. I won’t sleep well tonight, he knew. I must be on form for tomorrow. Instead of going into the loo, he crossed the track beyond the entrance to the site and walked into the pine trees beyond. This is where they must have come.

The ground sloped steeply down towards the river bank. The trees were scrawnier here, but closer together. Vince stopped. The cushion of pine needles beneath his feet created an impression of silence, though he could still hear the beat of music from the bar. It was as though the distant sound actually increased the silence in the wood. When the path became too dark to follow he stopped and listened. I am completely disorientated. He stood still. The drink made him sway. This week has rubbed out my ordinary life. It was amazing how dark it could be, black even, and so near to where he had been in bright light and company. It has rubbed out the pain, but all the things that made sense too. Gloria was never fazed, Adam said.

Vince breathed deeply. What a powerful smell there was, of freshly cut wood and dung and smoke. He took a step, caught his foot, lurched. Even staying vertical is a hard thing when the darkness is so complete. Then he heard a little cry and a giggle. Vince was electrified. They had come here. But why did I follow? What do these shenanigans mean to you? He was swaying on his feet. He didn’t know which way to tread. A fifty — year — old widower with a big job in the City? Should I tell Clive? Now there was a sharp intake of breath, followed at once by a quiet whimper, and this time a boy’s laugh. I’m so, so sorry. Get out of here! Vince began to move. He stumbled. Gloria was never fazed. Which was the way back? Twigs cracked. Shit! In a second’s stillness he was aware of low voices. Then someone else was banging through the undergrowth. It’s a dream. The noise was so loud. I must go the other way. Just as he turned, a bright light flashed up from very low. He was on the edge of a steep bank. The torchlight swung towards him through the trees. There was a cry. Vince ran away from it, up the slope.

Back in the tent he went through his bedtime routine with great deliberation. The branches had scratched the back of his hand, the side of his neck. Don’t think anything, he kept repeating, don’t think till your mind is calm. He slipped off his socks and put them in his shoes under the fly — sheet. But now there were rapid footsteps. Dad! No sooner had he stretched out on his sleeping bag than a torch shone in. Louise dived into the tent. Dad, weirdest thing happened. Just now. God! She plunged on her stomach. Turn that thing off, he complained. You’re blinding me. Really frightening! Tell me. Vince began to pay attention. Are you okay? I was with Mark, you know. I guessed, Vince said. Oh, he’s all right. We were just kissing a bit, in the trees behind the bar. The other side of the track where it goes down to the river. Kissing? Oh, nothing heavy, Dad, come on! When this pervert comes along trying to spy on us. Really! Like, he was only a yard or two away. I mean, he could have been a serial killer or something. It was like a horror movie. I pretty well wet myself.

Vince lay back on his sleeping bag. Did you see him? Mark did. He turned on the torch and made a dash, saw the bloke running away. Some old guy. Anorak type. Wasn’t it a bit dark, Vince asked, to be fooling around in the woods? He knew what he had heard there. No, there’s plenty of light when you get used to it, she said. Oh God, the phone, she announced then. The torch came on again and in the glow Vince watched his daughter’s face as she rummaged in her rucksack. There was a healthy blush on her cheeks. Strands of blonde hair fell over her eyes. Where did I hide the damn thing? There. Sure enough, just a few moments after she turned it on there came the beep of a message arriving, followed by a low giggle, the sound of a thumb on the keypad. Vince said: You have a boyfriend back home, don’t you? That’s what all these messages are about.

None of your business, she laughed. Then she said. Course I’ve got a boyfriend. What do you think?

Only that you’re two — timing him, obviously.

What a funny expression.

I don’t know what the current word is.

And so?

Well, it’s not altogether nice, is it?

Altogether?

It’s not nice.

I’m enjoying it.

Louise, I’m trying to talk seriously for once! By the way, your clothes smell of cigarettes.

He’ll never know, she said.

And Mark?

I told him.

And he doesn’t mind?

Dad, it’s a holiday! Everybody does this on holiday. It’s what they’re for. And even if you don’t, everybody imagines you do.

I thought it was a community experience.

She giggled. More like an orgy sometimes. But I mean, Phil and Caroline, Amelia and Tom, it’ll all be over when they’re home. You can’t believe Tom doesn’t have a girlfriend, can you? At college. A fab — looking bloke like that.

Was it you smoking or Mark?

She said, Mark.

I’ll try to believe you.

She leaned over and kissed him. You’re a treasure, Dad. Then he knew she had been smoking. Do your teeth, he said.

When she came back from the bathroom, he asked:

And what if I did the same thing?

How do you mean?

Went kissing in the woods.

Dad!

Because we’re on holiday.

But you wouldn’t, would you?

He didn’t answer this. She was right, he wouldn’t. The air quickly grew warm in the tent when the two of them were together. The smoke on her sweater gave it a stale smell. They were so near each other inside here, father and daughter, and outside there was so much space and air, a tinkle of distant voices, occasional footsteps across the breezy dark in the flat of the valley beneath the mountains towering in their emptiness, trickling with the water that tomorrow would rush them down the river. Go to sleep, Vince told himself, you need sleep.

Then she began to giggle again. Who with anyway? Mandy?

What?

You kissing in the woods.

Mandy? Vince was surprised. Actually, I got the feeling that Mandy had something going with Keith. Don’t they?

Oh that was yonks back, Louise objected. I remember Mum telling me. It’s been over at least two years. She’s been following you all over the place. She even got you to rescue her!

Oh come on. You don’t get yourself nearly killed just to have me bang into your boat.

Don’t underestimate a woman! Louise cried. The girl was full of confidence.

Vince thought about this. Mum came on a lot of these holidays, didn’t she? he asked. And you went with her on that one in France. Right. That Ardêche thing. How was she?

What do you mean?

Vince was conscious that this was their longest conversation for months, if not years. There was a different kind of intimacy in the air. As if between equals.

I don’t know. Adam was saying how Mum was never fazed. I wondered what he meant. He seems to have liked her a lot.

After a short silence, Louise sighed: Mum was like, the soul of the party. She was everywhere. On the Ardêche she organised this really nutty midnight descent of the river with candles and everything and we were supposed to be Indians. We wore headbands and feathers. But that was open canoes, she added. The water was easy.

I’m afraid, Vince said, that I don’t find Mandy very attractive.

For some reason the two of them began to laugh. His daughter turned towards him and reached out. You’re so predictable, Dad! Then she said, You’re hand’s bleeding. Just a scratch, he said. He drew back. Against a tree on that path by the rapids. And he went on: You like living at Uncle Jasper’s, don’t you?

It’s okay, the girl said.

He didn’t pursue it.

And you really don’t mind not going on the big trip tomorrow?

Dad, I asked not to go. I get scared when it’s too wild.

This surprised him. You seem so sure of yourself. Don’t you want the challenge?

No. She was frank. She laughed. I don’t need challenges like that. I don’t want cuts and bruises. Mark’s wetting himself. He doesn’t really want to go either, except to show his dad. Then she added: You’ll enjoy it though.

If I don’t kill myself, Vince said.

In a few moments the girl was asleep. Vince couldn’t. He lay on his back, trying not to wake her by moving too much. How quickly he had swung from near panic to an easy chat about difficult things. He couldn’t remember a moment when he had felt less in control of his life, more subject to the flow of volatile emotions. Now there was just tomorrow’s river run, then Sunday the drive home, and Monday he would be back in the bank: the busy bright foyer, the lift, the fourth floor, the coffee machine, fluorescent lighting, e — mails, meetings, phone — calls. Before the week was out, they would begin final preparation of the balance sheets. He would be anchored again, not by the breathing of someone beside him in the dark of the tent, but by the exhausting routine. The world would close in. August was the moment to finalise the foreign accounts. There would be pressure to present things other than as they were. And even if you don’t, he heard his daughter’s laugh, everybody imagines you do. Cheat. But actually Vince didn’t. He never has. I never fudged a single figure. My career, he knew, has been based more on absolute probity and solid common sense than any genius. You’ll never get rich, Gloria would tease. He can hear her voice. But we are rich compared with most others, he told her. She said she loved him for this. There was a condescending note. Vincent Marshall, incapable of guile, she laughed. But we are rich, Gloria, he insisted. The top five per cent. Isn’t that enough? You don’t have to stay at the hospital, you know, he always told her, if you don’t want to.

Suddenly Vince was back in a particular weekend, in the rather empty comfort of their sitting room. Again, Gloria had been telling him he must take up a sport. They were speaking across the polished dinner table. It was stressful, she said— she’d just finished a week of nights in Intensive Care— to watch people dying all the time. That’s why she needed to do so many physical things. You don’t have to work, he told her. You could be a woman of leisure. Me? She had laughed. She put a hand on his: Come on, come down to the club tomorrow. Why don’t you? You’ll feel better if you get your blood moving. How can they? she asked a little later when there was some documentary on aid workers in the Third World. The television showed a boy picking maggots from his scalp. They were sitting together on the sofa, but without touching. About half our bad loans are to Third World countries, Vince remembered now. He lay in the tent listening to his daughter’s breathing. How pleased with herself the girl was, to have kissed one boy while texting another. She felt alive. Then at last a real question presented itself: When was the last time Gloria and I made love together?

Vince sat up, slipped out of his sleeping bag, unzipped the tent, set off for the bathroom. I’m better integrated with the photo — electric cells of the toilet — flushing system than I was with my wife. Coming back he could see the light in their chalet was on. There are eight chalets arranged either side of a central track. Vince stopped. A blind had been pulled down but there were chinks shining through. Theirs was the last in the near row. What had happened this evening, he wondered, with Michela? With Tom? It was strange.

He checked his watch, turned left into the track between the chalets, skirted round the last building at the end. The window on the far side showed chinks of light too. None of your business, Dad, Louise said. What is my business? Vince asked. I was away week in week out doing my business, in London, then home Saturday and Sunday and Gloria obsessed by the idea I must be stressed, I must take up a sport. What was it all about? Cautiously, Vince took a step or two beyond the track towards the chalet. I am a widower with a job that makes me co — responsible, with others, for the management of billions of pounds. Gloria betrayed me, Vince decided. My daughter hardly recognises my authority. I can’t tell her anything about smoking or sex. Continents away, people die like flies, as a result of our carelessness, perhaps. Or our prudent decisions, our need to balance books. It’s none of your business. Vince stood in the dark on the edge of the campsite. I’m just a man, he suddenly thought. For some reason the words were reassuring.

In the safety of the shadow on the further side of the chalet he approached the window. The room is empty, he saw. Where are they? He frowned, then something moved and he realised there was a figure on the floor. Stretched out on a blue sleeping bag, wearing a pair of glasses hung round his neck on a string, Clive was studying a stack of papers in a folder. Invoices perhaps. Why wasn’t he on the bed? Vince watched. Clive was underlining things, circling figures. He turned back and forth among the papers, handsome forehead frowning. It was odd.

Then the bearded face looked up, alert. The sound of footsteps set Vince’s heart racing. He crouched low. Someone is coming along the track, walking quickly. The door squeaked. He didn’t dare stand up yet. A pervert, Louise protested. An anorak type. Yet Vince felt sure it was his business. He heard their voices, low, flat, couldn’t make out their words. He listened. They weren’t arguing, but there was no warmth either. It is my business. For years I paid no attention. I let things slide. I was an excellent bank director. He waited a little longer then stood. Clive had rolled on his stomach, head sideways on a pillow of folded clothes. For just a second Michela crossed Vince’s line of vision. She is naked. Her hand stretched out and the light was gone. He saw a pale blur re — cross the cabin and stretch out on the bed.

I thought they were lovers, Vince repeated to himself as he hurried back to the tent. You are a fool! You understand nothing. Gloria never walked around naked. She always put on her nightdress before removing bra and pants. I paid no attention to her. She was never fazed. Perhaps Adam honestly only meant: by river trips. She wasn’t fazed by rapids and pour — overs. I saw the girl’s sex, he thought. Perhaps Gloria honestly only meant, she needed her sports if she was to watch people dying every day, if she was to look after the invalid wives of canoe — club friends. Why had she stopped the Saturday outings, then, as soon as he started?

Poor Gloria! Stretching out beside his daughter again, Vince prepared himself for a night of insomnia. His muscles are aching after all these days on the water. This churn of thought, he sensed, the evening’s sounds and images, they wouldn’t release him. Suddenly to know you are dying like that! he remembered, to feel your body changing, you’re head filling with blood. She had rushed to the phone. She had apologised. I’m so, so sorry, Vince. He listened to the words again and again. The minutes passed. Perhaps she had only meant: I’m sorry I’m dying. He let the thoughts flow on. Let them flow. I won’t fight them. She hadn’t meant that. I don’t feel unhappy, he decided. He had seen the girl’s lithe body, her dark sex. It’s strange. He didn’t feel depressed or guilty at all.