The Terrible Privacy Of Maxwell Sim

20

‘So, tell me, Emma – how long have we known each other now?’

– Proceed on the current road.

‘Can’t remember? Well, amazingly, it’s less than three days.’

– In two hundred yards, left turn.

‘I know, it feels longer than that, doesn’t it? I feel I’ve known you for years, now. Which is why I feel I can say something to you. Pay you a little compliment, if that’s all right. I mean, the last thing I want to do is to embarrass you …’

– In one hundred yards, left turn.

‘… but what I wanted to say, really, was this. I just wanted to say that there’s one thing I really like about you. One thing about you that I’ve never encountered in any other woman. Can you guess what it is?’

– Left turn coming up.

‘It’s the way … Well, it’s the way you never judge people. That’s a very rare quality, you know, in a woman. Or a man, for that matter. There’s nothing judgemental about you at all.’

– Proceed for about three miles on the current road.

‘You see, I know I’m behaving badly. I know I shouldn’t have done what I did, and I shouldn’t be doing what I’m doing now. But you’re not going to give me a hard time about it, are you? You know that I’ve got my reasons. You know there are extenuating circumstances.’

– Proceed for about two miles on the current road.

‘It doesn’t look good, I realize that. I walk out of Alison’s house at five o’clock in the morning, without saying thank you, without saying goodbye. Not only do I walk out, but I raid her drinks cabinet while I’m at it. Now, I know that Alison and her husband are stinking rich, and they’re not going to miss a couple of bottles of whisky. Not just any old whisky, admittedly, but two very expensive single malts. Well, that isn’t my fault, I don’t care what the bloody stuff tastes like, if they’d had Bell’s or Johnnie Walker in the cupboard I would have been just as happy to take those. Still, as a matter of principle – even leaving aside the cost – I can see that I shouldn’t have done it. As I said, none of this looks particularly good. So there I am, dragging my suitcase along the street at five o’clock in the morning, a stolen bottle of whisky bulging out of a jacket pocket on either side, two coppers in a parked police car glaring at me suspiciously as I walk by, and somehow … somehow I make it back into the centre of town, where I manage to find you again. What time would that have been? I lose track of time. Can you remember?’

– Proceed for about one mile on the current road.

‘I mean, there were other things that happened in between. I’m pretty sure of that. There was a lot of walking around. There was that homeless guy in the doorway who followed me down the street and kept asking “Are you all right, pal?” And I sat on a bench for a while. Quite a long while, actually. It was high up somewhere, near a park, looking down over Princes Street and Princes Street Gardens and the whole city. The classic tourist view. It was still dark when I sat on that bench, and light when I got up and left. The snow was falling again, by that stage. Not settling, though. Just falling. Still hasn’t started to settle.’

– Heading right at the roundabout, take third exit.

‘It was a relief to get back to you again, I must say. I was pretty cold by then. Took a few sips of the Laphroaig to warm myself up before we got going, which I know is really a bad –’

– Exit coming up.

‘Whoa! Thank you – nearly missed that one. Wasn’t concentrating, sorry. And don’t pip your horn at me, you rude, impatient bastard, just because there’s someone who doesn’t know his way around here as well as you do. We’re not all bloody natives, you know. Now, where was I?’

– Proceed on the current road.

‘Oh, never mind, I can’t remember. Let’s just enjoy the scenery. D’you know, I don’t think I’ve ever driven over the Forth Bridge before. This must be the furthest north I’ve ever been. That’s a bit stupid, isn’t it? Forty-eight years old and never been north of Edinburgh. I should make a list. I should make a list of all the things I ought to do before I get to fifty. Bungee-jumping. Hang-gliding. Reading one of those godawful books that Caroline always said would be good for me. Anna Karenina. The Mill on the Floss. Finding someone else to marry, going to bed with them, learning not to be scared of intimacy again, not being lonely any more (shut up shut up shut up), sailing single-handed round the world in a trimaran …’

– Proceed on the current road.

‘Ah, Donald, you never stood a chance, really, did you? You stood no more chance of sailing round the world than I do of getting to Unst tomorrow and turning up at that shop with a box full of toothbrushes. Who are we trying to fool, eh? Who are we trying to kid? Ourselves, probably. Yes, that’s right. We have to fool the rest of the world at some point as well but that’s not the difficult part – the difficult part is convincing ourselves, isn’t it? Isn’t that right, Donald, me old mucker? Me old shipmate? Eh?’

– Proceed on the current road.

‘Sorry, Emma, it’s you I should be talking to, isn’t it? Were you beginning to feel left out? Or perhaps you’re beginning to get worried, hearing me chat away to someone who died forty years ago, someone I’ve never even met. That’s not right, is it? That’s not healthy. Anyone would think I’d been drinking too much whisky before getting behind the wheel of this lovely car. I don’t believe in ghosts, and neither do you. Of course you don’t. You’re nothing if not rational, are you? A pure reasoning machine, you are. You don’t have a body, or a soul, just a mind, a beautiful mind, and that’s how I like it. What use would I have for someone with a body and a soul? What use would someone with a body and a soul have for someone like me? No, we’re made for each other, Emma, you and me. We’re like those “cosmic beings” that Crowhurst thought everyone was going to turn into. Disembodied. Too good for the physical world. In fact we’re so well suited that there’s something I have to ask you. Will you marry me? Go on – I’m serious. Gays and lesbians can get married nowadays so why shouldn’t a man marry his SatNav? Where’s the harm in that? I thought we were supposed to be all liberal and tolerant and inclusive in this country. Go on, what do you say? Marry me. Come live with me and be my wife. What’s your answer?’

– Proceed on the current motorway.

‘Oh, we’re on a motorway now, are we? When did that happen? I hadn’t even noticed. So which motorway would that be, exactly? The M90. I see. And where are we heading towards, on the M90? Perth, apparently. Perth, followed by Dundee, followed by Forfar. Forfar! Now there’s a name. There’s a name to conjure with. Makes me think of football results. Didn’t the guy who used to read the football results on the BBC say that was the most difficult one to get right? East Fife 4, Forfar 5, or something like that. In fact everywhere around here makes me think of football results. Cowdenbeath. Dunfermline. Arbroath. I’d no idea where any of these places were before today but God, those names take me back. Saturday-afternoon telly. Final Score. What time was that on? 4.40, I think. Yes, that would be about right. Kick-off at three o’clock, game over at 4.45. Then the results would start coming up on that little automatic typewriter thing. What did they call it? The teleprinter, or something. God, 1960s technology! We’ve come a long way since then. How old would I have been when I started watching that – seven, eight? I bet every eight-year-old boy in the country was doing the same thing, sitting in their front room at teatime on a Saturday afternoon, glued to the telly. I wonder how many of them had their fathers with them at the time? Did my father sit down and watch it with me? Well, come on, Emma, what do you think? Take a wild guess. Of course he didn’t, the miserable fucking bastard. He was too busy sitting next door in the dining room reading T. S. Eliot and his String Quartets. Or planning when he was going to have his next wank.’

– Come on, Max, have a bit of sympathy for your father.

‘What the – … ? Did you just answer me back?’

– Proceed on the current motorway.

‘OK, I’m turning you off for a bit now. I think you’re getting too big for your boots.’

‘Better off without her, for the time being. Till I need her again, anyway. Not much chance of getting lost at the moment. What do I want to go to Aberdeen for, anyway? There’s no way I’m getting on a ferry this afternoon. Look at this weather, for one thing. What I should really do is go back to Alison. Turn round at the next junction, go straight back to her house, apologize. Poor woman. Pig of a husband cheating on her. What would she say, if I turned up looking like this? She’d understand. Trained psychotherapist, after all. Shoulder to cry on. That’s what I need, really. Someone to talk to about … all this. All this stuff. Everything that’s come out, in the last couple of weeks. Bit too much to cope with, really. Bit much to take in all at once. We all need somebody to talk to. How did you think you were ever going to manage it, Donald? Nine months at sea, was it? – ten, something like that? With no human company at all, just a radio transmitter that barely worked. Unimaginable. And, of course, you didn’t manage it in the end. Was that what tipped you over the edge, finally – the loneliness? The terrible privacy, as Clive called it? I’m not surprised. Nobody could be expected to handle solitude like that, and why should you be any different? You’re human like the rest of them. But you should have turned back when you had the chance. When you first realized that the boat was never going to make it. I don’t know, though, maybe things were already too far gone by then. Perhaps what you should have done, that day, when you realized the mess you’d got yourself into, instead of putting it all down on paper and trying to work out the way forward yourself … perhaps you should have used the radio, made contact with your wife, somehow. I bet she would have told you to turn round and come back.

‘Would’ve, should’ve, could’ve.

‘Still, you know – for me, it isn’t too late. I should phone someone now, shouldn’t I, while I still have the chance? I need to talk this stuff over. Who shall I phone? Lindsay, Caroline, Alison? What do you think? Poppy, even?

‘Lindsay, I suppose. She’ll have the most practical take on it. Yeah – Lindsay. She’s the one. Let’s go for it.

‘Ha! Battery’s dead. Run down completely. I saw it was getting pretty low last night. Meant to charge it when I got to Alison’s. Maybe I can find somewhere to charge it later.

‘Anyway, it’s out of action for now – just like your radio transmitter, at the time when you needed it most.

‘There’ll be call boxes at the next service station, I suppose.

‘Oh, fuck it. It wouldn’t have made any difference anyway.’

– In one mile, heading left at the roundabout, take first exit.

‘Ah, welcome back.’

– In one mile, heading left at the roundabout, take first exit.

‘I heard you the first time.’

– In one mile, heading left at the roundabout, take first exit.

‘All right, there’s no need to nag. If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s a nagging woman.’

– In a quarter of a mile, heading left at the roundabout, take first exit.

‘I’m sorry, Emma. I didn’t mean to jump down your throat. Not feeling my best, to be honest. Haven’t eaten since last night. Driving around the outskirts of Dundee while pissed – not a good look. On top of that, trying to come to terms with the fact that my whole … existence, apparently, is nothing more than a horrific mistake on the part of my parents, and my father in particular.’

– Heading left at the roundabout, take first exit.

‘So – thanks, Dad, for clearing that up. Just in case there was the slightest chance I might ever start feeling good about myself. Not that it was ever going to be very likely, in the near future, but it’s good to know you’ve knocked it on the head anyway. Just when I was starting to feel that my life couldn’t get any more disappointing, I now learn that I should never really have had one in the first place. So, there’s something new to put on my gravestone: “Here lies Maxwell Sim, the most unnecessary person ever born.”’

– Straight on at the roundabout, take second exit.

‘Is that how I’ll have to think of myself, then, for the rest of my life? A non-person? The square root of minus one?’

– Next right.

‘Or is this somebody’s subtle way of telling Maxwell Sim that he isn’t wanted any more? That perhaps it’s time for him to disappear?’

– Straight on at the roundabout, take second exit.

‘OK, I need to think about this. Leave me alone for a while, will you, Emma? Just give me a little space?’

*

‘Now then.’

– Proceed for about one mile on the current road.

‘I think the time is fast approaching. The time when … the time when …’

– In a quarter of a mile, heading straight on at the roundabout, take second exit.

‘The time when I have to give up on this pretence …’

– Heading straight on at the roundabout, take second exit.

‘… and accept what is happening to me. Which means that right now, at 12.09 p.m. exactly, on Thursday, March the fifth, 2009, forty miles south of Aberdeen, proceeding north on the A90 at forty-seven miles per hour, I am going to leave this road, and abandon this journey … So I shall not go straight on at this roundabout, Emma, I shall go left at this roundabout, following the signs to Edzell. Now, what do you think of that?’

– In two hundred yards, make a U-turn.

‘Ha! Is that the best you can do? Oh no, Emma, there won’t be any U-turns, not from now on. I’m not going to follow your directions any more, and I’ll tell you why not. Because I don’t want to go to Aberdeen and get on the ferry. And in fact the logic of this situation dictates that I can’t go to Aberdeen and get on the ferry. Do you know why? BECAUSE I AM NOT MAXWELL SIM ANY MORE. I AM DONALD CROWHURST and I have to follow in his path and repeat his mistakes. He did not sail around the world at all and I won’t be sailing to the Shetland Isles either. He decided to fake his voyage and I am going to fake mine, and I don’t care how many satellites there are in the sky trained on me right now, from this moment onwards nobody knows where I am, I have disappeared, disappeared into the darkness of this approaching snowstorm and I will hide out here, drifting in the mid-Atlantic, for as long as it takes, until the time is right, until the time is right for me to emerge again, in triumph, and present myself to the world.’

– In two hundred yards, make a U-turn.

‘Nope. No can do. This is it, baby. The parting of the ways.’

– In three-quarters of a mile, slight right turn.

‘Something occurs to me, by the way.’

– Slight right turn coming up.

‘It might have been a good idea to put some petrol in the car back in Brechin. So far we’ve done … 527 miles since we left Reading, and I haven’t filled up once. There can’t be much more left.’

– Next right.

‘Still trying to get me back to Aberdeen, then? I thought I told you, we’ve abandoned that idea. Left turn here, I think.’

– In two hundred yards, make a U-turn.

‘You don’t give up, do you? Give into it, Emma. Surrender. There’s something fantastic about just giving up. The sense of … release is incredible. I can remember when I first discovered that, actually. It was on that holiday to Coniston, with Chris and his family. One day we decided that we were going to climb up the Old Man of Coniston, all of us, and then about halfway up Chris and I got ahead of the others and it turned into a kind of race, between Chris and me. And before we knew what was happening, we were running up this bloody great hill, or mountain or whatever it is. And then pretty soon Chris got ahead and it became obvious that he was much fitter than me – well, that should have been obvious before, really – and then he was more or less out of sight but I kept sort of plodding on, out of breath, tripping over all these rocks, with this terrible stitch in my side and thinking that I was going to have a heart attack any minute. And after a few more minutes of this, I thought, What is the point, what is the bloody point of carrying on like this, so I just flopped down by the side of the path and let him get on with it. I knew what I was capable of, you see. I knew that I couldn’t compete with Chris. Never could, never would. And to accept that – to accept myself for what I was – was such a relief. Soon I was caught up by the others who were walking along behind – Mr and Mrs Byrne, and Mum and Dad, and Alison – and they stopped and I remember Mr Byrne saying, Are you just going to sit there? Aren’t you even going to try? And I told him, No, I was perfectly happy sitting there while Chris ran on to the summit, and everyone else followed him. I’d given up and I was happy about it and for the next hour or more I just sat there, enjoying the view. Knowing that I’d found my level and I’d never rise above it.’

– Proceed on the current road.

‘I think that might have been a deer we just passed. Did you see it? In the woods.’

– We need to talk about Chris.

‘Yes, you’re right. We do need to talk about Chris. We need to talk about a lot of things, Chris being one of them. But before we do that, I’m going to pull over into this lay-by here, and have another little drop of whisky, and then a little snooze, if that’s all right by you. Because suddenly, Emma, I feel tired. Incredibly tired. And I would hate us to have an accident. I’d never forgive myself if anything happened to you.’

– We need to talk about Chris.

‘Mmm?’

– I said, We need to talk about Chris.

‘Shit! What time is it? Three o’clock! Bloody hell.

‘Where did all this snow come from?

‘And what happened to all the whisky? I didn’t drink all that, did I? I’m going to have to open the other bottle …

‘Oh God, my head …

‘Right. Let’s get started. Not much visibility this afternoon, I must say. And so dark! Feels like it’s night time already.’

– Proceed on the current road.

‘OK. Will do.

‘Now. What was it you wanted to talk about?’

– Chris.

‘OK. We can do that. Was there anything in particular you wanted to discuss?’

– Yes. The photograph.

‘The photograph? You’ll have to be more specific. I’m not with you.’

– Proceed on the current road.

‘Which photograph did you have in mind?’

– The folded photograph.

‘Ah, you mean the one of Alison? In her bikini?’

– Why did he fold it?

‘Pardon?’

– Why did your father fold the photograph?

‘I thought we’d established that. Because he was turned on by the picture of Alison, and that was the only half he wanted to look at.’

– Are you sure?

‘Of course. What other explanation is there?’

– In one mile, right turn.

‘Come on, Emma, what are you getting at?’

– In half a mile, right turn.

‘No, that takes us back on the road to Aberdeen, and I’ve already told you, I’m not going to Aberdeen. Today or any other day.’

– You know.

‘I know? I know what? Do you mind not being so cryptic?’

– You know why your father folded the photograph.

‘Can we change the subject?’

– Right turn coming up.

‘Left turn, I think you’ll find.’

– You know.

‘Will you SHUT UP about that, Emma! Will you stop talking about it?’

– Say it, Max. Say it.

‘Fuck off.’

– Don’t cry. Don’t cry, Max. Just tell the truth.

‘I’m not crying.’

– You can say it.

‘Why are you DOING this to me? Why are you putting me through this?’

– Was it really Alison’s picture he wanted?

‘Of course it wasn’t. Oh, God. Oh, Dad! You miserable …You miserable man. Why didn’t I see? Why didn’t any of us see? It was Chris, wasn’t it? You had a thing for Chris. All those years. Your best friend’s son. Couldn’t take your eyes off him. Even now – even now you still think about him. Even in Australia you were asking after him all the time. And not just Chris, probably. Probably other people as well. Friends of mine? Friends of Mum’s? Who knows? You bottled it up, Dad. You bottled it up, all that time, for years and years. In fact I think you’re still bottling it up now. Your sad little secret. The thing you could never admit, to Mum or to me or to anybody else.’

– In two hundred yards, make a U-turn.

‘So sad. So very, very sad.’

– Make a U-turn. Then, proceed for about three miles on the current road.

‘Video diary, Day Four.

‘Well, doubtless you’ll want to know how I’ve been getting on.

‘I’m pleased to report that I’m well on my way to Shetland. Well on my way. Of course, it’s a bit too dark outside for you to see exactly where I am, but my guess would be … my guess would be somewhere off the West Coast of Africa. Yesterday we certainly passed by Madeira, on the starboard side, and today I can see, over on the port side, a looming mass of glowering rock and earth which I think must be one of the Canary Islands. Either that or, quite possibly, the Cairngorms, because, unless I’m very much mistaken, we are now on the B976, heading in a westerly direction, away from Aberdeen, and into the mountains. Let me just check that with my trusty navigator.’

– In three hundred yards, make a U-turn.

‘Ha, ha! Yes, she’s been saying that for some time. That’s Emma, there, my trusty – as I said – my trusty navigator, who has been disagreeing with me, today, over the route we should take. She seems to think that at this rate we have no possibility of rounding the Cape of Good Hope before Christmas, which means bad weather in the Roaring Forties, although I have to say the weather here is pretty bad already. Thick, spiralling snowflakes, as you can see outside the car, a howling wind – can you hear the wind? – all making it pretty difficult to steer a straight course at the moment, not helped by the fact that the driver – that is to say, the captain – has been drinking pretty steadily for the last … for the last fifteen hours or so. Nothing like a bit of ship’s rum, I always say, to cheer you up in stormy weather! Anyway, the road is getting pretty – pretty winding and treacherous around here, I’m sticking to a steady twenty miles an hour or so and supplies – petrol supplies that is – are pretty low, and – whoops, here comes a big bend, didn’t see that one coming, and if you’re wondering what that sound was, it was the sound of the camera sliding off the dashboard and on to the floor, which is why you currently have a good view of my left foot.

‘OK. Cut.’

‘Emma?

‘Emma, are you still there?’

– Yes, I’m still here.

‘You haven’t said anything for a while.’

– I’m still here. What is it?

‘Shall we stop soon? I’m getting tired again.’

– Proceed on the current road.

‘OK. Whatever you say. Is this a good time to talk, though?’

– In three hundred yards, make a U-turn.

‘Don’t you ever give up? I wanted to talk to you about my dad, and Roger.’

– Proceed on the current road.

‘I’ve been thinking about it, and maybe it’s not such a sad story. You know, in a way they loved each other. I mean, Roger sounds a bit of a bully, and a bit of a prick, but I think he really cared for my father. And that means that at least somebody really cared for him, once. I’m not sure that Mum ever did, you see. If you think about it, Roger and my dad were just unlucky. And it was Crispin Lambert who screwed things up for them, most of all. If it wasn’t for him and his stupid schemes, things might have turned out all right. Although, I don’t know whether my father would ever really have had the nerve to come out, to admit to himself that he was …the person he was. But the path he chose for himself was much harder, in a way. Deceiving himself, deceiving everybody close to him – for a whole lifetime. That’s what Crowhurst was considering, too, isn’t it? Must be why he reminded me of Dad …

‘Emma … ?’

– Proceed on the current road.

– Proceed on the current road.

‘It’s all very well saying that now. I can’t proceed any further on the current road. Look – it’s closed. The police have closed it. They’ve put a gate across it.

‘Where the hell are we, anyway? Didn’t we just pass a town?

‘Let’s have a look. Yes, there we are. That’s us – that little red arrow on the screen, come to a dead halt. That’s you and me, that is. But look, if we just go back a while, there’s a tiny road to the west that’ll by-pass this gate, and bring us back on to the main road. Then we’ve got to climb up this mountain, over the top and down the other side again. No worries.

‘Thing is, I’m not sure we’ve got enough petrol. That warning light’s been flashing for a while now. Still, never mind, eh? What’s the worst that can happen to us? We’ve got our whisky, we’ve got each other – let’s make a night of it. What do you say?’

– It’s up to you, Max. Completely up to you.

‘Good girl. Come on then.’

*‘The wheels on the bus go round and round,Round and round, round and round,The wheels on the bus go round and round, all day long.The wipers on the bus go swish swish swish,Swish swish swish, swish swish swish,The wipers on the bus go swish swish swish, all day long.

‘Do you know that song, Emma? You must do. You can join in if you like. Come on, sing along. It’s good to have a bit of a sing-song, when you’re in dire straits. Keeps your spirits up.‘The horn on the bus goes beep beep beep,Beep beep beep, beep beep beep,The horn on the bus goes beep beep beep, all day long.

‘What’s the matter, don’t you know the words? I used to sing this with Lucy all the time. Know it off by heart. I wonder if she still remembers them? We used to sing it in bed, first thing in the morning. At the weekends, Caroline would get up and have the first shower and I’d stay in bed and then Lucy would jump in with me and sit on my stomach and we’d sing this song.’

– I don’t know the words.

‘Well, the next verse goes like this:‘The children on the bus go up and down,Up and down, up and down,The children on the bus go up and down, all day long.

‘Then:‘The babies on the bus go wah wah wah,Wah wah wah, wah wah wah,The babies on the bus go wah wah wah, all day …

‘Do you know what? I don’t think we’re going to make it up this hill. The car’s not built for this kind of driving. It’s not gripping properly on the ice. And did you hear that splutter? That sounds to me like the sound of a car that’s running out of gas. So close, as well! If we could just get to the top then we could probably freewheel all the way down the other side. But sadly … I don’t think we’re going to make it.

‘Nope. We’re out of luck.

‘Stuck. Stranded.

‘Quiet, isn’t it?’

– Very quiet.

‘You know where we are, don’t you?’

– Where are we, Max?

‘The doldrums, of course. We’re in the doldrums, just like Donald Crowhurst when his radio finally packed in. He had a broken radio, I’ve got a dead mobile.’

– But, Max, there’s something I want you to remember. Something very important. You’re not Donald Crowhurst. You are Maxwell Sim.

‘No, you don’t understand. You still don’t get it. Everything that happened to him is happening to me. It’s happening now.’

– We’re in the Cairngorms. Not the Sargasso Sea.

‘Close your eyes and we could be anywhere.’

– The inside of his cabin was hot. Here it is cold.

‘Well, that’s easily fixed. We’ll put the heating on full blast.’

– If you do that, Max, the battery will soon be flat.

‘I don’t care. And Crowhurst was naked, wasn’t he? Didn’t he spend a lot of his last few weeks naked?’

– Max, please don’t do that. Control yourself.

‘What’s the matter, have you never seen a naked man before? No, I suppose you haven’t.’

– Max, stop it. Put that shirt back on. And turn the heating down. It’s already getting too hot in here. You’ll waste the battery.

‘Here come the trousers. Look away now if you don’t want to get a shock. There! Now we’re all comfy and cosy. No secrets between us. How about a wee dram, at this point? Talisker, we’ve got, twenty-five years old, courtesy of Alison and Philip. You won’t join me? Well, I can’t say I blame you. Very wise. I’ve had enough of this stuff already today, but if we’re going to get through a whole night on this mountainside …’

‘What? What happened? Where am I?

‘Emma?’

– I’m here, Max.

‘Did I fall asleep?’

– Yes, you did. For more than an hour.

‘Really? Shit, I was hoping it would be longer than that. God, it’s hot in here.’

– The heater’s been on all this time. I told you not to keep it on so high. Now there’s hardly any power in the battery. You know what that means, don’t you, Max?

‘No, what does that mean?’

– It means that I’m going to go soon. I’m fading away.

‘Oh, no! Not that, Emma! Not you as well. Don’t leave me, please.’

– Soon I’ll be gone. Just a few more minutes.

‘I’ll turn the heating down. I’ll turn it off completely.’

– No, Max, it’s too late. We have to say goodbye to each other.

‘But, Emma, I can’t do without you. You’ve been … everything to me, these last few days. Without you … Without you, I can’t go on.’

– It has to be this way.

‘No! You can’t go!I NEED YOU.’

– Don’t cry, Max. We’ve had some good times together. Now it’s run its course. Accept it, if you can. We have just a few more minutes together.

‘I can’t accept it. No.’

– Is there anything you want to tell me in that time?

‘What? What do you mean?’

– Is there perhaps something you want to tell me, before I go?

‘I don’t understand.’

– I think there’s something you ought to tell me. Your little secret. Something you never told Caroline. Something that involves Chris.

‘Chris?’

– Yes. Now you know what I’m talking about, don’t you?

‘You mean …’

– Yes?

‘You mean what happened in Ireland. The nettle pit?’

– That’s it. Come on, now, Max. You’ll feel better if you tell someone.

‘Oh God … Oh God … How did you know about that?’

– Just say it out loud. Just tell me what happened. Tell me what happened to poor little Joe. What you did to him.

‘Fuck … fuck … FUCK.’

– That’s all right. Cry if you want to. Let it all out.

‘You want the truth?’

– Of course I want the truth. The truth is always beautiful.

‘But the truth is, Emma … The truth is … Oh God. The truth is that I hated him. Isn’t that a terrible thing to say? Just a little boy. Just a happy, curious, lively little boy. I hated him for being so happy. I hated him for having Chris as a father. For having two sisters to play with. I hated him for everything he had … that I’d never had. All the things Dad had never given me …’

– Cry if you want to.

‘I never realized, you see. I never realized how much hate I had in me. I never realized that I could hate a child like that.’

– Let the tears come, Max. It’ll do you good. So what happened? What did you do?

‘I can’t say it.’

– Yes you can. You can say it, Max. He was playing on the rope, wasn’t he? He was swinging over the nettle pit.

‘Yes.’

– And then he swung over to the edge, and he tried to get off, and what did you do then?

‘I can’t say it.’

– Yes, you can say it. You can, Max. I know what happened. You pushed him.

‘I …’

– Is that what happened? You pushed him back in? Did you push him, Max?

‘Yes. Yes, I did. He knew, too. He knew it was me. He told his father. Chris couldn’t believe him, at first, but in the end I think he did. And that’s why they all left. That’s why Chris has never spoken to me since.’

– Cry if you want to. But it’s better if you tell someone.

‘I couldn’t help it. I wanted to hurt him. I so wanted to hurt him. I’d never have believed that I could have wanted to hurt someone so much. And he was just eight years old. Eight years. FUCK. I’m a bad man. I’m a horrible man. I shouldn’t have told you that, should I? Do you hate me now, Emma? Can you ever forgive me, or like me again?’

– I’m the only person you could have told, Max. Because I don’t judge – remember? I’m glad you told me. It was right that you told me. You had to tell somebody, in the end. But the battery’s almost finished now. I’m going to have to say goodbye. I’m going to have to leave you, Max.

‘Emma, don’t go.’

– I have to. I’m going to leave you at the mercy of the elements. The snow will fall on you. The darkness will cover you. The elements have reduced you to this. Now they control you.

‘Don’t you have anything else to say to me? Because I’ve got something I want to say to you. Something I’ve been meaning to say for ages.’

– All right, then. One more thing. You go first.

‘OK. Here it is. I love you, Emma. I really do. I’ve been meaning to say it for days, but I never dared. Never had the nerve. But now it’s out. I love you. Always have. Ever since I first heard your voice.’

– Goodbye then, Max.

‘But … what were you going to say to me?’

– In three hundred yards, make a U-turn.

‘Emma …

‘Please don’t go.

‘Don’t leave me alone. Don’t leave me alone here.

‘Please.

‘Emma? Emma?’