Rapids

‘EL CONDOR PASA’

People had to eat and so they were in a restaurant ordering pizza. Nobody really knew Michela. Had anyone spoken to her, really spoken? Tom had made love to her the night before, but they hadn’t talked. He had talked all week to Amelia. Made love is the wrong expression. She had forced it on him. She had been brash and abrupt, acting a part that wasn’t hers. He knew he was too young to understand. You thought that was what you wanted, then it wasn’t. Now Amelia and Louise both seemed far too young for him. He was eager to confess, but didn’t know whom to speak to. He sat silent and shocked. He felt old.

On the other side of the table, it was hard for Mark not to shout his excitement with the day’s achievement. He has run a wild river. With his father present. He has overcome fear. In other circumstances there would have been a buzz of euphoria. Now high spirits were forbidden. She was definitely alive when they put her in the ambulance, Mandy insisted. The adults took refuge in the technicalities: that Clive had dragged her out of the boat so quickly was the crucial thing, even if it meant swimming the last part of the rapid himself. He had done everything possible. And her being unconscious would actually have helped, Keith thought. The buoyancy aid is designed to keep your mouth out of the water. The guys at the rafting centre had given her mouth — to — mouth as soon as they pulled her ashore. Impossible to know how long she had been without oxygen. But why did she do it? Amelia demanded guiltily. I hate you, she remembered screaming. She hadn’t acknowledged Michela’s apology. She’s so pretty, she protested. So intelligent. They all had the impression that the Italian girl was very intelligent. Never heard a foreigner that spoke English so well, Caroline gave her opinion. I thought she was a happy person, Amal muttered.

Then Adam and Vince arrived from the hospital. The Waterworld group were sitting round one long table in the Meierhof in Sand in Taufers. They had booked of course. The space was large and noisy. It was Saturday night. On the level beneath them, a burly boy with a ponytail was at work beside the pizza oven, while across the restaurant beneath tall pink curtains an improbably old musician, stiff in suit and tie, stood behind a keyboard cranking out the predictable favourites: ‘Santa Lucia’, ‘Lily Marlene’, ‘Spanish Eyes’. She’s in coma, Adam announced solemnly, but stable. Nobody understood whether this was good news or bad. Clive says we’d better leave tomorrow as planned, he added. Vince had his left hand bandaged. There was a dull pain in his hip. Get your orders in, folks, Keith told the new arrivals, or we’ll be here all night. It was ten already. Tomorrow they must drive eight hundred miles.

Vince found a place between Amal and Tom. Can I ask you a question? Adam had asked, driving him back from the hospital. They had taken Vince’s car. Adam had waited two hours and more while Vince was X — rayed and medicated. He had gone back and forth between Casualty and Intensive Care where Clive sat with a sort of furious patience in a busy corridor. As long as it’s not about money supply, Vince laughed. He was exhausted and aching. When we came running along the bank and saw you there, on that rock, and started calling you … Adam hesitated. And you didn’t reply … Yes? Maybe I’m wrong, I don’t know, I had the impression, well, I thought I saw you doing something with your hands. He stopped. I threw my wedding ring in the river, Vince told him. He stared out of the windscreen. After the day’s rain it was a softly transparent evening of deep shadow and brightly lit road signs. Steering the long bends up the valley towards Sand in Taufers, their headlights swept this way and that across the hill to the left, the trees that screened the river to the right. Vince sighed. Anyway, the answer to your question is: I don’t know why I did that. Oh. Adam waited. Then he said: I thought perhaps it had caught in a wound or something. Vince didn’t reply.

At the table, he ordered a ham and mushroom pizza. Then Mandy appeared at his shoulder. She had left her place beside Keith and walked round the table. She bent to speak in his ear. You risked your life, Vince! she said. Amal was talking across the table to Phil about a stunt kayaker who had shattered his pelvis trying to run a huge waterfall in Kenya, a hundred — foot drop. Vince was obliged to look up at the woman’s kindly face. It was criminal of her to put you in danger like that. I’m okay, he told her. An odd feverish quiet had fallen on him. He was impatient for the parenthesis of this holiday to be over, so he could know how he really felt. If Adam hadn’t insisted he eat, he would just have gone to lie in his tent and wait for tomorrow.

Now Mandy was bending to push a kiss on his cheek. I’m so glad you’re okay, she said. It was disturbing to see the brightness in her small brown eyes, the smile on her weathered cheeks. She was wearing lipstick. A toast to Vince! She stood up and raised her glass. Most improved paddler! Louise shouted: You’re a hero, Dad. The whole table yelled, To Vince! Adam’s cheers were particularly loud. The admirable Vince! Then Keith was explaining that a coma was normal in these circumstances: a sort of defence mechanism, actually: It only gets dangerous if it lasts more than about forty — eight hours. Vince’s pizza appeared. I’ll cut it for you, Amal offered. Mandy was taking a photo. The amazing thing is that there were no fractures. Once again Vince met his daughter’s warm eyes across the table. Her hand and Mark’s were touching. Thank you everybody, he said vaguely.

The others had already finished their first course, and were ordering sweets. As Vince bowed his head to his plate, the noise level rose around him. Under the influence of a couple of beers, the long table was breaking up into a series of conversations shouted across each other. Subdued concern about what had happened to Michela dissolved into a last — evening excitement. When all was said and done, the Italian girl was not one of their group. Nobody was missing her. Yeah, she just chucked away her helmet! Mark was repeating to Louise. And, like, we’re all staring, thinking, Wait a minute …

Clive always had a negative effect on his women, Mandy was telling Adam. She spoke harshly, almost angrily. Both Adam and Keith seemed uncomfortable. Remember Deborah, she demanded, who used to teach two — star preparation? The group leader muttered something about not being one to throw the first stone. Then in response to a question from Amal, he announced: Ten sharp tomorrow morning, everybody. That means tents and gear all packed and the trailer hooked up and ready to roll. Otherwise we won’t make our ferry. So much for Wally protecting us, Caroline was complaining. It’s hardly his fault, poor little thing— Amelia pulled the creature from out of her T — shirt— if people go trying to get themselves killed. Is it? The pretty girl was beside Brian, but darting occasional glances at Tom. I feel a bit guilty, she confided.

Slowly chewing his pizza, Vince’s mind drifted. He began to notice the restaurant. It was a large room with space for a hundred and more. The walls were a light varnished pine, the upholstery pink and flowery, the tablecloths red with white flowers in white vases, white candles, and everywhere there were ornaments and trophies dangling from the ceiling, hanging on the walls, perched on ledges and along the backs of the long sofa — benches that divided the tables.

How bright the room is! Vince was suddenly aware. On different lengths of wire, scores of plastic lampshades were designed to look like pieces of old — fashioned parchment stitched together. To the right of their group, suspended on three taut pieces of twine, were a dozen carved wooden hearts. There were aluminium tubes in the form of elongated bells, wooden cats and dogs and squirrels and fish, all hanging from the varnished cross — beams and swinging very slowly in the smoky draughts of opening and closing doors. A stuffed owl raised its grey wings on the wall behind Brian’s head. An eel was pinned in a coil beside the red and white banner of the Tyrol.

Meanwhile, the ancient musician, dressed, Vince now understood, like an undertaker, was picking out ‘El Condor Pasa’. His moustached face, that so much resembled the photos of the old men on the tombs in the little churchyard on the hill, was completely impassive. The computerised keyboard added the accompaniment. I’d rather be a hamma sandwich, Max had begun humming, than an escargot! Spearing two bread rolls, he made his knife and fork dance together on a dirty plate. A deer with shabby antlers gazed across the bright glassware. The Chicken Song, Caroline cried, let’s ask the bloke to play the Chicken Song! The fat girl burst into uncontrollable giggles. A stuffed fox bared his teeth. It is too much, Vince whispered.

Rather be a banana than a … a … Phil was tone deaf. Oh shut up! Tom told him. Than a what, may I ask? Max wanted to know. A dildo? Brian suggested. Oh do leave off. Tom seemed livid. He turned to Vince and asked in a low voice: Have you any idea why she did it? There was an explosion of laughter from a group of men drinking schnapps. Obviously locals, they sat with their dark — red cheeks and heavy moustaches mirrored in the shiny black slabs of the windows. The curtains hadn’t been drawn. Never had Vince been so struck by life’s coloured density.

You see, the young man confided, something strange happened last night. He looked around to check that none of the others were listening. Without a flicker of expression, the keyboard player switched to ‘Sweet Little Sixteen’. He was seventy if he was a day. A condom than a bog roll, Phil howled. Kids! Adam said sharply. It was really weird, Tom insisted. Vince tried to pay attention. You mean you and Michela, I suppose? he asked. The young man’s soft eyes were full of anxiety. Did everybody see? Pretty much, Vince said. I feel bad, came Mandy’s voice over the buzz, us going away without even saying goodbye to her! At moments it seemed to Vince he might just fade into all the bright surroundings. Perhaps this is the effect of shock. The earnest Tom was looking hard at him: I mean, it’s so strange her doing that with me and then the next day, well …You see? He’s pleased with himself, Vince realised. He’s dying to tell someone. Trying to close the conversation, he said: She must have been going through a crisis, you know, and whatever happened with you was just part of it. But Tom became more intimate and agitated. You don’t think it’s in any way, I mean, at all, my fault?

Vince drained his beer. A sense of irritation helped him to focus: You certainly ruined Amelia’s holiday, he said abruptly, though actually the girl had her head down beside Brian’s now over a plate of profiteroles they were sharing. The really strange thing, you see, Tom lowered his voice even further, is that she didn’t say a word. You know. Nothing! I felt so stupid. This wasn’t in fact quite true. Over and over Michela had kept repeating something in Italian, fierce words that meant nothing to Tom, as if he wasn’t really there. I mean, if she’d said she was depressed or something …

Kids! Kayakers!

It was Keith’s voice. Standing up, the group leader banged a spoon on the table, then lowered the volume a little when other people in the restaurant looked round. A tampon than a loo — brush, someone whispered. Kids! Keith sighed. Bright with emotion, his eager, glassy eyes looked round the table. Tonight was supposed to be a big celebration, of course. And normally, as you know, I’d have asked everyone to sum up what you thought of the holiday and we could have voted the Wally of the Day and so on. Adam! muttered a voice. Keith half smiled. But that doesn’t really seem appropriate, does it? With what has happened. Now he got silence. In fact— the speaker bit a lip— the truth is we all deserve the Wally award today. Yes. He scratched his beard. The whole point about Wally, when we invented him, was that he goes to someone who’s been careless. They have to protect Wally for the day, and that, that protecting, I mean, that not being careless, is what protects us all. We remember we have to look out for each other. I’m sure those of you who did the upper Aurino today will have seen how important that is. Instead, the fact is that we’ve all been incredibly careless, because nobody realised that one person among us, okay, not really part of our group, but still certainly with us, one person was feeling bad, very bad. To the point that she tried to kill herself, and, doing that, like it or not, she selfishly put the lives of two other members of the group in danger. Clive and above all Vince.

Following the old musician’s arbitrary repertoire, the keyboards had launched into ‘A Whiter Shade of Pale’. The schnapps drinkers were roaring. Yet it seemed to Vince, as at certain moments on the river, that there was a deafening silence around the table as Keith delivered this layman’s sermon, at once inescapably true, but embarrassing too, and somehow pointless.

And when you go home now, Keith continued, and inevitably you talk about this, to your mums or dads, or whoever, obviously I want you to make sure they understand that this wasn’t, strictly speaking, a kayaking accident. That’s important. In nearly twenty years of activities, Waterworld have never lost anyone in a kayaking accident. We’ve never even been close. You all know how many precautions we take.

Looking up from an inspection of his bandage, Vince found Adam staring at him diagonally along the table. And his eyes were saying: Today anything could have happened. He has his mobile, Vince saw, lying on the table before him. He’s in touch with his crippled wife. But getting it right on the water, Keith finished lamely, doesn’t let us off looking out for each other in other areas of life. Dead right, Mandy said. She too looked at Vince. Which is the lesson I’d like you all to take away from this trip. Mark, Vince realised now, had his hand on Louise’s leg beneath the table. The boy’s face was radiant.

To close on a more cheerful note, though, Keith’s voice suddenly reverted to its ordinary authoritative jollity, I want to extend my warmest congratulations to Max, Phil and Brian who’ve all earned their four — star awards with flying colours. And special congratulations to Max, who, from what I’ve been told, scored top marks for group awareness and river rescues. Well done, Max! Mandy started to clap. He’s a he — man! Brian shouted into the general applause. A jolly good fellow! To everyone’s surprise, young Max, with lemon shirt and green cravat, had tears in his eyes.

I’ll drive you, Mandy told Vince at the door. You can’t hold a steering wheel with your hand like that. In the restaurant’s small car park the others were piling into the minibus. Two or three couples had decided on a last romantic walk. In the car, the small woman adjusted the driving seat, ran her hands quickly and practically over the controls, found the headlights. Actually, I was just thinking, you’re going to need someone to drive you tomorrow too. It’s over eight hundred miles. When Vince began to object, she said. After all, we live so near each other, don’t we? At the end, I can drop my stuff off at my place, drive you home and just walk back. Again Vince protested that he thought he would be okay by tomorrow. Most of the journey would be motorway with just one hand on the wheel. Mandy didn’t appear to have heard. Louise’ll be wanting to travel in the bus with Mark, I bet, she chuckled. We can have some adult conversation at last. You get fed up with all of this group and kiddie stuff after a week.

The car was creeping along the few hundred yards to the campsite. Mandy braked for a rabbit and almost came to a standstill. When Vince said nothing, she asked: Was it really terrifying? I imagine you’re still jittery. I keep seeing myself in that pin yesterday, you know, trapped down there and the deck not wanting to pop. Yes, Vince said vaguely, then he asked: You know when I started at Waterworld, what was it, two years ago? Yes? Mandy turned into the dirt track of the campsite. Well, a couple of months later, I mean just after I’d started lessons, you probably won’t remember, Gloria stopped. She’d been canoeing about ten years, then she stopped right after persuading me to start. I mean, she really made an effort to persuade me. The exercise would do me good, etc. But then she gave it up. So then it was just me, and Louise too. We were in a beginners’ course. Saturday afternoon. So? Mandy asked. So, I just wondered, Vince sighed, I wondered if you knew why she did that. I mean why she stopped right then?

They had turned off the track to park on their pitch behind the kitchen tent. Even towards midnight there were still some small children playing in the fluorescent light by the bathrooms. Is this my starter for a thousand pounds? Mandy asked. They sat a moment in the stillness of the car. In the distance someone was playing an accordion. Oh, it doesn’t matter, he said and he made to get out. Mandy put a hand on his arm. Why did she say she stopped? To concentrate on her tennis, Vince said. She went to the tennis club. Well, that sounds fair enough. But then, Vince insisted, then she booked herself on this trip, didn’t she? And on the Ardêche trip last year. She only stopped as far as the Saturday afternoons in the estuary were concerned. When I went.

Mandy ran a hand through her hair. She turned to him and smiled. The shadowy space was quiet and intimate. Why are you asking me this, Vince? You were on that trip too, weren’t you, he said, in France? I always go on the Ardêche trip, she told him. It’s my job. And? The woman breathed deeply. Her lips had puckered into a shrewd smile. She leaned across the car, put her hand round his neck and drew the widower towards her. When he neither resisted nor responded, she shifted her mouth to his ear and whispered warmly: Saturday afternoon is just training time, but trips are trips. She pulled back from him, leaving just a hand on his shoulder. N’est — ce pas? Her eyes were smiling.

In his tent, Vince let the flood carry on over him. I don’t know where they are, he told Adam when the man came to enquire after his son. It was almost one o’clock and the river was still flowing over and over him. Is it really carrying me back to London, he wondered, back to the City, the service flat, the empty fridge? Where else? A man gets tied up to the ground. Was that how the song went? Lying in the dark, he was intensely aware of waiting. He could feel a strange momentum. The thoughts flow by and I am waiting, he told himself. Why should I live in a service flat and keep a house that is empty? I’m not waiting for Louise. There are so many decisions to be taken. Louise wouldn’t live with him again. Gloria would be furious, he thought, to know that their daughter was out late at night with a boy, and him, Vince, doing nothing about it. No, it was a different kind of vigil, lying quite still in the fresh evening as the river rushed over him. I tossed away her ring, he muttered. It’s just a holiday flirtation, he assured Adam when the man again came to enquire. The more worried the other father was, the more Vince would show he was relaxed. It’s the kind of thing people do on a trip, Adam, you know, he said lightly. It’s two o’clock, the chinless man grumbled. They’re too young for this kind of thing. Apparently not, Vince laughed, and he asked, any sign of Clive getting back? But how amusing, he reflected, that Adam shared this anxious trait with Gloria. I didn’t toss it away in anger, he told himself when he was alone again. He tried to hold on to some image of her: of Gloria at breakfast, Gloria humming ‘El Condor Pasa’, one of her old favourites, Gloria back from tennis, her face flushed. The flood carried him on. Away, I’d rather go away! He remembered her humming that. I was too self conscious, he suddenly thought, the day I scattered the ashes. Too conscious of the ceremony of it, eager for feelings I didn’t really have. The grit had clung to his damp fingers and blown in his eyes in the estuary wind. Whereas the ring thing was just the opposite. I did it naturally. And now someone in his own little kayak group is going to die! First the Italian girl said, I’m so sorry, almost as if she had known, and then she comes to me to announce her death. Why to me? Because Tom wasn’t at hand perhaps? Tom hadn’t been chosen for the trip. Or because I waited for her under the waterfall. She knew I was waiting. I was the careless one who should have understood that message. But I had to concentrate on my paddling. I was terrified. Now he saw Michaela’s strange expression again as she sat, beautifully straight — backed, in her boat, arms by her side, eyes shut— she leans that pretty head, the long neck, to the left and begins to keel over into the muddy water.

Vince sat up. What is this vigil for? He must sleep. I have eight hundred miles to drive tomorrow. He must find some way of not being alone in the car with Mandy. And Monday, the City, the fray. Mandy wants a ménage, he thought: the service flat during the week and her house with my kid and her two at the weekend. A man gets tied up to the ground. Stupid song! He shook his head, listened in the dark. There are always people chattering in campsites, distant pleasures and dramas. Quite possibly my daughter is having first sex this evening, Vince thought. She seems so adult. I asked not to go, she had said. She didn’t need the thrill of fear. She was quite happy with herself without going on a dangerous river expedition. Am I waiting to hear if Michela is okay? he wondered, a young woman I hardly know, with naive political views and a cripplingly dysfunctional background. She had been quite rude two days ago in the hospital waiting room. But this afternoon she put her lips against mine under the waterfall. What long eyelashes she has! And dark eyes. A man, Vince thought, whose invalid wife was always in and out of hospital, could surely be forgiven a little love affair with the diligent nurse who played tennis so well. El condor pasa.A bird of prey. Perhaps they never made it to the tennis courts. Mum was the soul of the party, Louise wept. I wouldn’t throw the first stone, Keith said. It was as if, all of a sudden, outside the tent, the mountain air was full of whispered conversations. How many photographs there were on all these paths of people who had died in falls and accidents! It would have been Gloria made the move, Vince thought. She was the hawk. It seemed he was overhearing snatches, debris of old conversations carried on the flood. Perhaps one day I will feel I was mad to imagine this. Mandy, he told himself soberly, most likely had an affair with Keith, but then wasn’t able to stop him going back to his wife. Keith wasn’t a widower. Somebody laughed low in the distance. It sounded like mockery. Monday I’ll be at my desk, Vince told himself for the thousandth time. Would his secretary notice the absence of the ring? Will people say, Ay, ay? What is this vigil for then, if I know what the future is; my office, my desk; if my daughter is beyond me, if I missed the moment when I could have been helpful to Michela. Again he saw the elegant neck bend towards the water. A swan. She was a swan. She gave herself to the water. Here and gone. She had turned the boat so she was facing back to Clive, to her man. She was punishing him. Then there was the downward rush of the stream. With extraordinary vividness, Vince was in it again. He was shooting down into the rapid. He felt the acceleration of the plunge. I want to do it again, he realised. If I could. That rapid, those impossible manoeuvres. The speed and wrenching when he dug in his paddle, the icy foam and the slam of the rock on his helmet and the wild slewing and turning to the limit of control and beyond. I want to do that again, Gloria. Gloria. Oh Gloria, I want to do it again!

Vince? This was more than a whisper. A voice called him softly. He was sitting bolt upright, knees drawn towards him. The zip squeaked. Vince, can I talk a bit?

Clive! How is she? What’s the news? In the dark light Clive’s bearded face showed surprise: I thought you were talking to someone. Waiting for Louise, Vince said. She must be out with Mark. All these youngsters, in love! Clive managed a faint smile. I need to talk a moment. I’ve got a favour to ask. I’ll get up, Vince said. There’s no room in here. Come to the chalet, Clive told him. He would put on a coffee.

The fly — sheet was soaked in dew. Vince headed for the bathroom first. The fluorescent light greeted him like an old friend. He wanted to burst out laughing. What a volatile state! If I only could. He was thinking of the rapid. Then, heading for the chalet, it was with a sense of wonder that he remembered taking the same path only yesterday, to spy on their erotic happiness. Perhaps my own marriage wasn’t so bad, he thought. He and Gloria had always shared the same bed.

Clive was making coffee on a gas ring. It’s a pretty big favour, he warned. He busied himself with the flame and the percolator, then began moving rapidly around the room gathering various bits and pieces. Leaning against the bed was an open backpack.

Vince sat on a stool by a counter along the wall. It was odd, he thought, how cluttered and at the same time impersonal the room was. There are no pictures or ornaments. It was all kit and tackle and clothes and papers. Ask away, he said. Clive went back to the coffee, shook out the dregs from two cups, brought a mug to Vince, then stood facing him. I want you to hold the fort here for a few days, while I’m away.

At once Vince felt alert; some animal intuition told him he was in danger. Standing before him, feet squarely planted, steaming mug held in both hands, Clive was searching for his eyes. His own were intense and persuasive, brightly blue. The thick beard and the strong tanned forearms thrusting from rolled — up denim sleeves made such a man of him. He didn’t seem tired at all. I have to leave in a couple of hours, he explained. For Berlin. I should be back on Thursday. Meantime, someone will have to stay here to be near Michela and visit her and so on. I thought, with you having your own car, you’d be best placed to do that. I’ve got to drive down to Bolzano, to the airport.

Immediately Vince said: Really, I’m afraid I must be back at work Monday. I’ve already been away too long.

Clive ran his tongue over his lips, half smiling, still looking directly into the older man’s eyes. He drank from his mug, then set it down on the counter, turned abruptly, crouched beside a small chest of drawers and began pulling out underwear. Vince’s mind is racing. How is she? he asked.

Clive pushed the clothing into his backpack. She’s going to be okay, I think. The scans suggest she’ll be out of the coma any moment. It isn’t deep. So they say. He spoke without emotion, then got down on the floor to straighten out the sleeping bag and roll it up. You can stay here in the chalet. It’s rented for the whole summer. I’ll show you where everything is.

Vince watched the man, his efficiency and hurry. He gave the impression of someone who has heard an urgent flood warning and is moving fast to get out, someone used to flood warnings. Or again of a soldier preparing his kit before action. There was a lithe quality to the man’s rapidity, a sureness and presumption that was seductive; and Vince was reminded how, during the walk to the glacier, he had looked up and seen Clive climbing quickly through the stones and the girl doggedly following. Exactly the man I’m not, Vince thought. The man who attracts women. He was half aware now that he had been thinking this all week, since the moment Clive had stood and leaned across the table to slap Adam’s face. Clive completely dominated Adam today on the river, he thought. In the end he won him over. Or at least wore him out. He won over the whole group. Only his will brought us safely down. Don’t you think, Vince said at last, that you should be beside her when she wakes up.

No. Clive didn’t turn to Vince, but had started collecting things and laying them on the table now: keys, a torch, a map. Actually, I’m the last person who should be there.

But …

She can tell you about it, Clive said. I’m not going to explain. I said at the hospital that her uncle would be arriving in the morning.

Her uncle?

Clive finally turned and grinned. That’s you. Look: these are the essentials for living here. The long key is for the door, the small one for the padlock on the gas cylinder under the window outside.

I imagine you’ve told her mother.

No.

But that’s the first …

Next to myself, her mother is the other worst person for Michela at the moment.

Vince tried to be judicious. In so far, he said, as an attempted suicide is always a cry for help, don’t you think the person, or people cried to should be the ones to respond? Again he saw the girl turn her boat to look back across the water, to her lover.

Clive pulled the cord tight to close his backpack. In that case people would only have to threaten to kill themselves to get exactly what they want, wouldn’t they? There’s still some food in the fridge, by the way, milk and cheese and stuff.

Vince drained his coffee. I’ll tell Mandy, he said. She can use my car. I’ll go back with the minibus.

Clive stopped. As if making a considerable concession, he interrupted his packing and came to sit at the counter on the other stool. He was very close now. He pulled a tin of rolling tobacco from his pocket. Again Vince was aware of the shape and power of the forearms lying on the counter as they rolled the cigarette. The fingers were thick but nimble.

Mandy won’t do it, Clive said, nor will Keith, because they are in loco parentis as far as the younger kids are concerned. And Adam is the wrong person.

We’ll see, Vince replied. I don’t know the terms of their contract, but I can’t see why one of them couldn’t stay. Like I said, I can leave my car. Actually, Adam seems perfectly suitable to me, if he can get the time off work.

Clive lit his cigarette, narrowed his eyes. Listen, I’ve been thinking about this all evening. Again he was searching for eye contact. I’d rather it was you, Vince.

Vince laughed. Clive, he said softly. He adopted the voice of the older wiser man addressing an over — enthusiastic employee. Clive, listen, I’m a bank director. I have just taken my longest holiday in ten years. I am expected back in the hot seat on Monday morning. There will be hundreds, literally hundreds, of e — mails to answer, reports to consider, a team of accountants awaiting my instructions. I have responsibilities, Clive. The person who has to stay here, with his girlfriend, is you.

Clive smoked. It is towards three in the morning. Around them the camp is quite silent, so that they can almost feel its silence and darkness tugging at them. I pulled her out of the water, he said. And now I’m going to do what she expects me to do. I have my responsibilities too.

Like shouting at a demonstration? I can’t imagine in her present state Michela cares too much about that.

I’ve got something important to do, Clive said evenly. She will tell you. Otherwise I wouldn’t be going. They both sat on their stools by the counter with the room’s one dim light reflecting in the thin glass of the window beside them. Vince could hear the other man’s breathing, then the whine of a mosquito. Both smiled. Vince waved his hand.

That was quite a river today, Clive said after a moment. You enjoyed it.

Vince nodded. But he was not a man people could just push around. All my old professional self is coming out, he realised. Getting to my position in life is not just a question of a way with figures.

Clive was studying him. At the beginning of the week, you’d never have been able to do it.

No, Vince admitted. No, it felt good today.

You’ve learned a lot.

Vince waited.

And it’s not just a question of the proper BCU strokes, is it? In a certain sense, it’s not even to do with paddling.

No, Vince agreed. It’s not just a question of paddling.

It has to do with the spirit, Clive said, breathing smoke. He hurried on. There’s no point in denying that, is there? So why be afraid of the word?

It’s to do with the personality, Vince said carefully. That’s for sure.

Clive told him: So, you keep an eye on Michela, then you can go out on the river again if you like. Go and ask at the rafting club; they’ll give you a guide. There’s always someone.

Vince laughed with exasperation. But I told you, I have a job.

Clive again blew out a ring of smoke. I chose you, he said, because the sheer fact is, that you want to stay. Don’t you?

No, I don’t. I’d be letting people down.

Crap. Clive checked his watch. He stroked his beard. Isn’t it a bit ironic, he began again, that a guy who supposedly has so much power and influence and money, a guy at the top of his career, isn’t even free to take an extra few days off when he wants? He’s in such a straitjacket, serving multinationals and the like.

Vince sighed. Clive, listen, to do anything, or become anyone, you have to get involved with a group, don’t you? You have to accept a yoke, something that allows you to gear into the world. Otherwise you’re just a loose cannon. Even in the kind of politics that you are in, you have to be part of a group. You can’t go and demonstrate on your own. You wouldn’t achieve anything. I chose the bank ages ago and I’m committed. Then he added: It’s like a marriage.

Clive immediately took a deep breath and raised his eyebrows. Vince himself wondered why he had said this. The other man sensed his confusion. It’s only four days, he said. At most you lose a week. If you’re really so important, they’ll wait. If you’re not, who cares anyway?

Now Vince thought: that’s actually true. Suddenly he wondered why he was resisting so much.

I should be back Thursday, Clive said softly. Towards evening.

What do you mean, should be?

The return flight is Thursday. The next group arrives on the Saturday. He added, If it’s really like a marriage, your job, a wife waits, doesn’t she? You’re not betraying anyone, are you?

Vince stared.

You’re not that kind of person, Clive said. Nor am I for that matter. The cigarette was down to a soggy butt drenched in tar. Clive dropped it in his mug and wiped his hands on his jeans. It really is important that I go.

If I’m going to stay, Vince said, you could at least tell me what’s going on between you and Michela, why you think she did it, how I’m supposed to behave.

Smiling broadly, Clive jumped to his feet. Thanks, he said. For just a moment, he took Vince’s arm and squeezed it. The grip was powerful, but somehow furtive too, an end, not a deepening of intimacy. I was forgetting. I must give you her health card. Any expenses— sometimes they have a charge for scans and things— keep track and I’ll pay when I get back.

Clive!

She can tell you, he said. His voice was petulant now.

You’re scared, Vince said quietly. If I am going to stay, you can do me the favour of telling me why you think she did it.

I’m not scared. Clive spoke abruptly. And I’m not going to tell you anything.

Why wouldn’t you tell me, if you weren’t scared?

Because it’s none of your business! And believe me if I was scared I’d tell you right away. Anything I’m scared of I do at once.

If I stay, it becomes my business, Vince said.

All at once, Clive seemed quite beside himself. He turned. Vince was still sitting, quiet and curved, on the stool by the counter. Are you going to hit me now? he asked.

Clive must have seen himself in the window behind Vince’s head. He stepped back. Sorry, it’s been a hell of a day, he said. I took a few knocks myself. Listen, Vince— he seemed to be thinking quickly, shrewdly— it’s been a big shock for me, Micky doing that. You know? It’s painful to think about. He pursed his lips, ran his tongue behind them. In the end, what can I say, it’s just a banal break — up, men and women, you know, different thoughts about the future. The sheer fact is, we were more together for the politics than anything else. Just a regular break — up.

That’s not true, Vince said. Anyone can see you two are in love. Both of you. The way you look at each other, the way you keep touching.

Clive had his lips set. A glazed look has come over his eyes. Think what you like, but I have to go.

Vince sighed. Show me the keys and things, he said.

Outside, the night had finally grown chill. He used the bathroom again, then walked back to his tent. Louise still hasn’t returned. Lying down, without even bothering to take jeans and sweater off, Vince tried to decide if he was pleased with this turn of events. Louise would be happy to sit beside Mark in the minibus. I have escaped Mandy, he thought. In the end, he had been lying awake waiting for something to happen, for some improbable transformation. The sparrow rather than the snail. Stupid words. You want to stay, Clive said. Do I? As before an exam in the distant past, or the night before his wedding for that matter, he had been keeping himself awake to avoid entering the gorge, the moment when all choice was gone. I’m a chubby chicken waiting for the chop! So now you’ve delayed it a few days, he told himself, a week. Big deal. I haven’t thought about Michela at all, he realised. I certainly didn’t jump at staying because of Michela. Unless Clive had guessed something about that moment when he and she had been together under the waterfall. How long was it? Thirty seconds. A minute? Why did I shout those things? You’re not betraying anyone, Clive said. He asked me because he senses I like her, perhaps. It was odd how strong and fragile the bearded man was. I chose you! As if he was Jesus after disciples. No, it was hardly, Vince thought, because of that kiss, that brushing of lips, that I threw away my wedding ring. Last place on earth, she had said of the waterfall. Now Vince remembered the photo of the girl who’d died up on the glacier. What was her name? Suddenly the obvious occurred to him. He jumped to his feet, crawled out of the tent, slipped on his sandals. His car was parked beyond the kitchen tent, beneath a tree. Sure enough, there they were. He peeped through a steamy back window. Only for a second. The seats were down and he could just make out their heads poking from beneath the old blanket he kept in the boot. It was pointless to wake them now. They’re not in love, he thought. They had wound down a window an inch to breathe. Should he wake Adam? The sound of a Jeep starting over by the chalets was star — tlingly loud. Headlights moved up the track, turning the tents to blue and orange transparencies. Clive escaping. No, I’ll pretend I don’t know. He waited until the noise had faded and the hushed flow of the river rushed back into the silence from beyond the trees. It was all a pleasure, he decided, going back to his tent. Gloria would have been furious.