Letting Go Page 3

  “What? What …?” Ellie says, her eyes glassy.

  “His phone. Is it the same network as yours?”

  Ellie shakes her head as if a fly is buzzing round her face. “I don’t … I don’t … How should I know?”

  I try to be patient and say, “The two of us are on the same network, right? If Steve’s on a different one, there’s a chance he might get coverage here. OK, here’s what I need you to do. I need you to keep trying your phone. We might just be in a black spot, so move around a bit. We just need one bar to connect to the emergency services.”

  Ellie clutches at my coat sleeve. “I don’t want to leave you,” she says.

  “You’re not leaving me. I’m not going anywhere. I just … I need you to try, OK? Don’t go far, and for Christ’s sake watch where you’re going. I can’t be doing with you falling off the mountain too.” I smile, and it seems to reassure her. “OK, El?”

  “OK.” She squeezes my arm and moves away.

  I’m not holding out much hope. Our best hope, I think, would be to climb back up to the top. There has to be a better chance of getting a signal up there. But that’s a guess, based on … well, based on nothing, really. Anyway, we can’t risk it. If anything, the conditions are even worse than they were when we started to make our way down.

  I check that Ellie’s OK. She’s shuffling around and holding her phone up to the sky. At least it’s stopping her from panicking.

  I turn back to the edge and shout, “Steve? What phone network are you on?”

  There’s no answer. So I shout the question as loud as I can. Still no answer. I lie flat on the ground and peer over the edge, and even lying like this the vertigo hits me. What if I fall too? My brain knows it’s not possible, but that doesn’t seem to matter.

  I can see Steve properly now. Lying on a rocky outcropping. His trousers are black, but I see something white just below his left knee. Bone.

  “STEVE!” I shout. “Can you hear me?!”

  His right arm moves slightly. It’s hanging over the edge. His walking pole dangles from the strap around his wrist. Maybe it was just the wind buffeting the pole that made his arm move and he’s actually unconscious.

  One last try, and I give it all I’ve got. “STEEEEEVE!”

  This time, I close my eyes to listen. I hear the wind. I hear Ellie trudging around behind me. I hear … a whimper. A whimper isn’t great, but it’s better than silence.

  “Steve?” I say. “Can you tell me what phone network you’re on?” A giggle bubbles up inside me, but I manage to swallow it down. This is ridiculous. How did this happen? How did I end up stuck on the side of a mountain, shouting about mobile networks?

  There’s another whimper from Steve, followed by a shout of pain. And then, “It hurts … Oh God … it hurts!”

  I shuffle back and rest my forehead on the ground for a second. I’ve been freezing cold for what feels like hours, but now I feel hot. I could happily stay like this, cooling my forehead on the rocky ground, but I can’t do that. Of course I can’t do that. I know what I have to do. The problem is that I really, really, really don’t want to do it.

  It’s hard enough to force the words out of my mouth, let alone make them loud enough for Steve to hear.

  “I’m coming down to you, OK?” I say. I close my eyes as a wave of nausea and fear hits me. “Just … hang in there.”

  6.09 p.m.

  “Don’t be so fucking stupid,” Ellie says. She’s looking at me like I’ve just suggested something … well, something fucking stupid.

  “Got any better suggestions?” I ask.

  “Yes! We … we wait.”

  “Wait for what?” I say. “Wait for who? No one’s coming, Ellie. No one knows we’re up here. You do realise that, don’t you?”

  “But …” Ellie looks around hopelessly. And her head snaps back in my direction. “My dad!” she says. “Dad knows! He’ll be expecting me home soon. He’ll … he’ll call someone … won’t he?”

  Hope flickers to life in my chest. Yes. Of course Paul will call someone. Hell, he’ll probably get straight in his car and drive here. He’ll come stomping up this mountain and take one look at us and say something weird like, “Well, this is a bit of a pickle, isn’t it?” Thank God Ellie was sensible enough to tell someone where we were going.

  “But …” Ellie says, shaking her head, and my hope dies.

  “But what?” I ask, even though I’m almost certain I’d rather not know.

  “He’s … um … he drinks.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Since Mum …” Ellie begins. “I mean, he’s not like an alcoholic or anything. He just … it helps him. He hasn’t written a word since Mum died.”

  Paul’s a writer. He gave me a signed book for my birthday, so I felt I had to read it, sex scenes and all. It’s weird, reading that sort of stuff written by your girlfriend’s dad.

  “So yeah …” Ellie continues. “He probably won’t even notice I’m not there. He’s normally pretty out of it by mid afternoon. Sorry. I should have thought … but sometimes I just want to forget that everything’s different now. Everything’s … terrible.”

  Ellie starts to cry, and I want to comfort her. I want to take her in my arms and tell her that everything isn’t terrible. But in order to convince her, I would have to believe it.

  I take hold of her arms and say, “Ellie. We don’t have time for this. Steve needs help, OK?”

  She nods. “I should … it should be me. I’ll go down to him.”

  “No chance,” I say. “I need you to stay up here. I need you to stay safe.”

  Ellie’s eyes flash with anger. “And what about what I need? Why are you suddenly the one making all the decisions? Last time I checked, you knew fuck all about climbing.” Her anger turns into something else. It melts and softens, and I see something in her eyes. It’s something I’ve wanted so badly for the past few months that it’s almost impossible to believe that I’m seeing it now. “Agnes, if anything happened to you …” Ellie says, “I would never forgive myself. You’re …”

  But she can’t quite bring herself to say whatever it is I am. So I fill in the blanks with words of my own. “I’m … the only one who knows anything whatsoever about first aid?”

  A half‑day course. Five years ago. And I can’t remember any of it. But it’s better than nothing, right? It has to be.

  6.25 p.m.

  The rain has stopped, which is something to be grateful for, I guess. I shout down to Steve to tell him I’m coming. He doesn’t tell me not to, or even thank me. He just tells me to hurry. To be fair to Steve, I’d probably be the same in his situation.

  Once I muster up the courage to start climbing, it’s actually not so bad. I mean, it’s not exactly fun – I keep imagining a gust of wind coming at just the wrong moment, making me lose my footing. I imagine myself falling, landing on Steve, and the two of us plummeting down the mountain. At some point my head would hit a rock and smash open like a watermelon. There’d be brains and blood and gore everywhere.

  While I climb, Ellie’s lying on her stomach, leaning out over the edge and calling down advice to me. “No, not there! Move your left foot left a bit! That’s it.”

  When I’m just over halfway down to Steve, I look up and Ellie gives me a thumbs up. “You’re doing great,” she says.

  Just as she says the word “great”, I reach for my next handhold but my fingers can’t get a grip on the rock. That would be fine if my feet were securely planted on the ground, but of course they’re not. Panic floods my veins. My right foot flails around for somewhere secure to place it, and my right hand does the same. The foot finds its place first. Or, rather, my toes do. Just a few centimetres jutting out from the face of the rock. My legs are shaking badly, and I’m struggling to breathe. I take another look up at Ellie, and she nods her encouragement. “Nearly there!” she says. I don’t think she even realises how close I came to falling.

  Steve’s ledge is just about bi
g enough for two, and I edge sideways a bit so I don’t step on him. When my feet hit the ledge, my legs sort of give way and I slump down next to him.

  “Fancy seeing you here!” I say, and my voice is croaky.

  “Weird coincidence or what?” Steve says with a weak smile.

  He looks terrible. Pale and sweaty. And that’s before I even look at his leg.

  I think he’s at risk of going into shock. That rings a bell from my first‑aid course. Trouble is, I can’t remember much else. I think he needs to stay warm? Luckily, Ellie gave me her spare fleece. I take it out of my rucksack.

  “I’m just going to put this over you, Steve,” I say. “Keep you nice and warm, OK?” And then I remember something else. You’re meant to loosen any clothing that might limit blood flow. “Don’t go getting the wrong idea,” I say as I unzip the top of his jacket and the fleece underneath.

  “What are you … what are you doing?” Steve says. “I’m freezing!”

  “Don’t worry about it, OK?” I say, because “Trying to stop you from dying” might freak him out a bit. One of the most important things you need to do with someone at risk of shock is calm them down, reassure them. The first‑aid stuff is coming back to me now – not as fast as I’d like, but better late than never. It’s as if the information from the course has lain dormant in my brain for years, just waiting to be summoned when I need it most.

  I fumble at Steve’s waist to unfasten the top couple of buttons of his jeans. “I thought … thought you were gay?” he says, and I reckon it has to be a good sign that he’s able to joke.

  “What can I say?” I reply. “One day in your company has turned me straight.”

  Shit. I should have looked at his leg first. I remember it now: stop the bleeding, then check for signs of shock. Shit.

  I lean over to get a proper look. “Right, looks like you’ve had a little—” My words are cut off by rising vomit, but I manage to swallow it. First aid is one thing in theory, but in practice it’s very different.

  “It’s bad, isn’t it?” Steve asks shakily.

  “Nah, not too bad at all,” I say, and I even manage a smile.

  It’s bad. His leg is a mess. A shard of bone juts out just below his knee, and blood has soaked through his trousers. I need to stop the bleeding ASAP, and there’s only one thing left in my rucksack that will do the job.

  Ellie’s favourite T‑shirt. It didn’t seem right that I should get to keep it, but now it looks like neither of us will end up with it.

  “I’m going to tie this around your leg, OK?” I say to Steve. “To stop the bleeding.”

  “OK.”

  “It’s probably … Look, it’s going to hurt like a total bastard. But I’ll do it fast.”

  I roll up the T‑shirt and slip it under Steve’s leg. Just that tiny movement makes him grimace and swear under his breath.

  “Ready?” I ask.

  He nods. “Do it.”

  I tie a knot and apply pressure to the wound. It’s hard to judge how tight to tie it. Not tight enough and the bleeding might continue, too tight and I could cut off his circulation.

  Steve cries out in pain, and the sound is just horrible. Like nothing I’ve ever heard in real life before.

  “Is everything OK?!” Ellie yells down.

  “Just perfect!” Steve yells back. “FUCK!” Then he turns to me. “I really, really don’t like you.”

  “I know.”

  “Are you done now?” he says. “Please tell me you’re done.”

  “Not quite. Sorry.” I need to secure his leg with a splint – to stop him moving it and causing more damage. “Can you hand me that pole?” I ask.

  Steve looks at me, confusion on his face, but he passes me the pole anyway. He watches in silence as I lay the pole down the outside of his leg then secure it with my bootlaces. “Clever,” he says, and I’m not even sure he’s being sarcastic. Then he says thank you, and he’s definitely not being sarcastic. I shrug it off and ask to look at his phone.

  It’s a struggle for Steve to get the phone out of the back pocket of his trousers. He hands it to me without looking.

  I take one look at the phone and sigh. It looks like our amazing run of luck is continuing. The screen is smashed, and no matter how hard I press the buttons, it won’t turn on.

  7.15 p.m.

  I call up to see how Ellie’s doing, but she doesn’t answer. She must be somewhere trying to get a phone signal. I thought she’d have given up by now.

  “How are you feeling?” I ask Steve.

  “Like I fell off a cliff,” he says. And I wonder if maybe – just maybe – Steve could be someone I might actually like. He’d have to tone down the mansplaining, but he’s kind of funny. Maybe. A little bit. Or perhaps my judgement’s gone right out of the window.

  Steve notices my smile and asks, “Want to know something funny?”

  I nod.

  “I’ve never been up a mountain in my life.” He giggles then – a surprisingly high‑pitched giggle.

  “What?” I say. “Ellie said you—”

  “I lied,” Steve interrupts. “On the dating site. I wasn’t getting any … No one was interested in me, so I changed my profile to say I was into outdoors stuff. Mountain biking, snowboarding … climbing. I never thought I’d actually have to do any of those things.” He gestures to his jacket. “This stuff cost a fortune. Anyway, what I’m trying to say is … I’m sorry.”

  I say nothing. What I want to say is: “You fucking idiot. This is all your fault.” But what good would it do? He already knows that. Anyway, is it really true? Is it all his fault? I should never have entrusted my safety to some random stranger.

  “You’re not going to tell her, are you?” Steve asks me. “I mean, you can. If you want. But I’d rather you …” He closes his eyes for a few seconds, and I wonder if he’s in pain. When he opens them, he says something that shakes me to the core. “I’m pretty sure she still loves you.”

  8.36 p.m.

  The sun is setting over the mountains to the west, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so beautiful. I can finally see the lochs below, but they’re now pools of inky blackness.

  Steve’s been asleep for about an hour. I wasn’t 100 per cent sure about letting him fall asleep, but he was looking so much better, and the bleeding had stopped. I shuffle over to check on him. His breathing is steady, and his colour is good. Sleeping like a baby. Every time he shifts a bit, I tense up. What if I’m not paying attention and he rolls over in his sleep and falls off the ledge? That would be a ridiculous way to die.

  The wind has vanished. One minute it was raging in my ears, and then it was just gone. Silence. Relief. I thought about asking Ellie to try to get down the mountain to find help but decided against it. Too dangerous in the dark. I’d never forgive myself if something happened to her. She can go for help as soon as the sun comes up in the morning.

  I lie back down. Might as well make myself comfortable if we’re going to be here all night.

  “You still there, Ellie?” I call up to her softly.

  “No, I’m at fucking Disneyland,” she replies.

  I smile. It’s the most Ellie thing she’s said all day. “Are you warm enough?” I ask.

  After a slight pause, she says, “I’m OK.” She peers out over the edge above me. “Looks pretty cosy down there.”

  “Sure you don’t mind me cuddling up to your boyfriend?”

  “Is he going to be OK?” Ellie asks.

  “I hope so. I’ve done what I can.”

  “You’ve been … you’ve been amazing.” There’s just enough light for me to see her smile. And just enough light for me to see her smile slip. “This is all my fault,” she says, her voice thick with tears.

  “It’s not!” I say, and look over at Steve. Poor misguided Steve. He made a mistake – several mistakes. But he’s paying for them now. “Ellie, this is no one’s fault. Sometimes bad things just … happen.”

  That last bit is true,
at least. Bad things happen all the time. Sometimes your girlfriend’s mother dies and your girlfriend dumps you and you just … stop. You stop talking to people. You stop leaving your room. You stop going to college. You retreat so far into yourself that it seems impossible to find your way out. But that’s OK, because you don’t want to find a way out. There’s no point, without the girl you love.

  9.47 p.m.

  Steve’s snoring now. Snoring away as if he’s snug in his own bed. Lucky bastard. Ellie’s sleeping too – at least, she said she was going to try.

  I curl up tight, with my hands tucked into my armpits. I try to think of warm things. Hot buttered toast. My favourite hoodie. That time I got so badly sunburned Mum said she could warm her hands on my face. Ellie’s lips the first time we kissed. Every time we kissed. The last time we kissed.

  I keep thinking about what Steve said. I’m pretty sure she still loves you. It’s everything I’ve hoped for and wished for and dreamed about for the last six months. And yet … I don’t know.

  My grandfather used to say that everything happens for a reason. He said it whenever anything bad happened. I think it made him feel better. Even when I was young and didn’t really understand what it meant, I was suspicious. But what if Grandpa was right, and there’s a reason for all of this? A reason for Steve bullshitting about mountain climbing. The awful weather and none of us bothering to check the forecast. Even Steve falling and breaking his leg. If none of these things had happened, I wouldn’t know that Ellie still loves me.

  Ellie still loves me. And suddenly I don’t know quite how to feel about that.

  10.45 p.m.

  “It’s so beautiful,” I say.

  My words are quiet, and I think they’ve been swallowed up by the darkness. But then Ellie says, “It is.” I look up, but I can’t see her. Maybe it’s better this way.

  I’ve never seen so many stars in my life. The view doesn’t look real, which is appropriate, since all of this feels like a dream. The sky above looks like one of those photos you see on the internet, where you just know the photographer has messed around with the image to make it more impressive. But now I feel bad for always assuming that, because maybe those photos weren’t doctored after all. Maybe the problem was me, assuming the worst. Just like always.