Guilt Trip (7 page)

However it was only fifty meters and then we
were able to stand upright again.

I breathed a sigh of relief, glad to have escaped
from the din, only to find the air now filled with a strange murmur.

“That peculiar bubbling noise is known as the
Gargle,” Mike informed us. “It’s actually the sound of a subterranean waterfall,
but its noise is strangely distorted by the natural acoustics in this part of
the caves.”

It
was
distorted. A strange eerie sound, like the low rumble of distant thunder, or an
approaching tube train whose lights can’t yet be spotted down the long, dark
tunnel. And as we moved on, the noise grew. Louder. And louder. Building up and
up. Echoing off the walls: a cacophony of water.

When the path branched into two, Mike
directed us to the left, down a very short tunnel to an underground pool, the
very source of the sound, its surface bubbling and churning, seething as the
waterfall pounded into it from on high.

And as we crushed into this dead-end,
everyone trying to get to the front to see, I began to feel ill.

It was too much. Too loud. Too confusing.

It was the sound of the accident, closing
in on me, surrounding me. Choking me.

I had to get out of there. Now.

I began pushing my way through the crowd, but
now everyone was turning back to the fork, and I was caught in the middle,
pushed and pulled along. And then we became bottlenecked, herded together as
the cave walls of the main passage narrowed, closing in before us, requiring us
to turn sideways in order to squeeze through, one by one.

I felt faint. I needed air. I needed to
breath.

And now we had reached the famous Hall of
Teeth, everyone keen to get through the opening onto some kind of high viewing
platform.

There were too many of us. We were too crushed.
Penned in. Constantly jostled by the ebb and flow of the crowd as impatient
people tried to elbow their way to the front. And all the time the deafening
roar of water still played in my head.

Until suddenly I was almost through, pushed
onto the back of the platform, catching tiny glimpses of the view between others’
shoulders. Tiny disjointed snapshots of a thousand shining stalactites piercing
the air.

And then I heard it. A faint cry echoing
through the huge cavern.

“Help me…!”

And gradually its volume increased. And now
it was inside my head, its thin plaintive tone piercing straight through the
loud crashing of the water. But no matter how I tried, I couldn’t shut it out
as it repeated and repeated, swirling around my mind.

And so the real world seemed to retreat, no
longer existing for me. And, while my body suddenly seized up, paralysed, my mind
played and replayed the scene of the accident in full: the ice, the barrier,
the bank, the water. My mother reaching out to me, pleading for me to help her.
The words repeating, over and over in my mind. Her eyes staring into mine. Staring
until they were lifeless.

Until my mind, too, seized up, unable to
function any longer, the images melting together into a white blur, while the
pounding of the water and the desperate cry for help merged into white noise.

And everything was suddenly blank.

That evening, I lay on Dad’s bed flicking
through the TV channels while Dad busied himself around me. He was getting
ready for dinner at a restaurant with the organisers of the photography
exhibition.

“I still think we should ring Dr Henderson…”
he said, for the umpteenth time as he examined the contents of his wardrobe.

“I’m alright, Dad. Honestly…”

“But what I don’t understand,” he said,
pausing in his search and turning to me, “is, how can anyone just develop claustrophobia
out of the blue? You’ve been down
loads
of caves before without any bother at all.”

“I haven’t
developed
anything,” I said. “It was just a one-off thing. The cave
was just too narrow and too crowded, that’s all.”

“But no-one else fainted,” he argued. “No-one
else got ill.”

Turning back to the wardrobe, he selected
two shirts and held them up for my inspection. I nodded at the green one. It
would look good with his best jacket.

“So what I’m wondering,” he continued
tentatively, “is whether it might be some kind of delayed reaction. You know…
to the accident.”

“It wasn’t anything to
do
with the accident!” I cried.

“I don’t know…” he said. “It happened just
after the subterranean waterfall.”

“But that doesn’t mean-”

“And you were a bit shaky at the Falls too,
weren’t you.”

“Because I was starving!” I shrieked.

“Hmmm… I still think we should phone Dr
Henderson…”

I sighed loudly, as if this was all so
boring. I
had
to make Dad think he
was fussing over nothing. Over-reacting.

I didn’t want him phoning Dr Henderson. They’d
end up sending me away to a ‘special’ hospital: I was sure of it. Especially once
they found out that the new tablets hadn’t worked.

And besides, I didn’t want him to start
dwelling on the accident again. Thinking about Mum. Remembering about the
stupid Spiritualist meeting on Sunday.

<><><>

We were interrupted by a knock at the door.
Dad finished buttoning his shirt as he answered. It was Luke.

My stomach lurched as I thought about how
I’d irritated him earlier with my gossiping and then I’d run off like a spoiled
child. How he must despise me.

“Just come to check on the patient,” he
said, standing in the doorway.

I wondered whether this apparent concern
was simply part of his job as landlord, but then he looked over at me, into my
eyes, and I knew for certain that it was genuine. That he’d forgiven me.

“Nothing serious I hope?” he asked.

“Claustrophobia, apparently,” Dad told him.
“That’s what the paramedic said.”

“Claustrophobia?”

“Yes. First time ever. Happened down in Hell’s
Mouth.”

“Really?” Luke was clearly quite shocked. He
looked at me curiously. “How did that come about then?”

Dad spoke for me: “Oh, just too many people
packed into a small space.”

I was relieved to hear him say it like
that: a simple explanation without any reference to the accident. Maybe
everything would be okay after all.

“Right…” Luke hesitated. “Anything I can
do?”

“Well…” Dad began. “I did say she should
get some room service. You see I have to go out for this dinner…” He turned to
me and shook his head. “No - it’s no good, Mel, I can’t leave you like this…”

“I’m fine!”

“No. It’s not right.”

“I’ll be fine!”

“We’ll keep an eye on her,” Luke said. “Don’t
you worry.”

“Well…” Dad reached for his jacket.

 
“We don’t usually do room service,” Luke
said, “but I’m sure we could make an exception.”

“No, it’s okay, thanks. I’m not hungry,” I
said, not wanting to make a fuss.

“Well - maybe later then,” he said, turning
to leave. “You know where we are if you need anything.”

Dad came over and kissed the top of my head.
“Take it easy, honey,” he said. “I’ll try not to be too late.”

<><><>

There was nothing on TV - nothing I could
get into anyway - so I spent the next hour just lying there, bored, but too
tired to do anything about it.

At about eight o’clock, there was a gentle
knock and Sandy stuck her head round the door.

“You awake, love?” she whispered.

I put on a fake smile. “Sure. Come in.”

She was carrying a tray. “Cheese toastie
with coleslaw on the side and an apple juice. Compliments of the boss,” she announced,
placing it on the bedside table. “So…feeling any better?”

“Just a bit tired, really,” I said. “And maybe
a bit cold.”

She came closer to me then and felt my
forehead, plumping my pillows, fussing around me like a mother hen.

“Sandy…” I said tentatively. I knew fine
well I shouldn’t pry but couldn’t help myself. Luke’s reaction earlier in the
bar had made me curious. “Do you know anything about an accident? Only someone
mentioned it in the market and said her mum was a waitress here.”

“Oh yes,” she said, her tone suddenly
hushed, almost reverent, “- you mean the girl who died?”

“She died?”

“Yes - it was tragic. Everyone was
devastated apparently. They lived in you know. Great friends of Luke’s family.”

A great friend of the family who’d died? Then
no wonder Luke hadn’t liked me asking about it. I cringed afresh at how it must
have looked - me idly gossiping about something which had brought his family
such grief.

I wanted to ask Sandy for more details, but
didn’t know how. I didn’t want her to think badly of me too.

But now she was starting for the door. “Anyway,
I’d better be getting back to it, love,” she said. “You take care.”

And then she was gone.

I looked at the food on the tray. I wasn’t
really hungry, but I picked at it anyway. I didn’t want Luke to think me
ungrateful on top of everything else. After all, it had been sweet of him to
think of me.

<><><>

Half an hour later, there was another knock
at the door.

“Come in?”

It was Luke.

He stood, looking in, his lean body filling
the doorway.

“So - how are you feeling?” he asked.

“Not so bad.”

There was a silence made uncomfortable by
the fact that I was all too aware that this was a bedroom. And that this time,
we were alone.

“Thanks for the food,” I said, more to fill
the gap than anything.

He smiled, glancing over at my plate: “All
done?”

I nodded.

“I’ll just remove this, then,” he said, crossing
the threshold now, coming into the room, over to where the tray lay, on the
table next to the bed.

Beside it was a framed photo.

“This your Mum?” he asked, looking at it.

I nodded. It was a black-and-white one
taken by Dad. Mum was standing outside a hospital, smiling. It had been taken
on April 22
^nd
, forty weeks before my birth, the day I was made in my
petri dish and placed inside my mother to grow. Dad always kept it by his bed:
it was a really good one of Mum.

“So did she not want to come on this trip,
then? Not an adventurer like you two?”

“No - she’s um…um… She died.”

“Oh, Melissa.” He shoved the tray down
again with a clatter. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“It’s okay.” I held my hands up as if to
ward off his concern.

“How… I mean… do you want to talk about it?
Or do you want me to leave?”

“No, it’s okay.” I was embarrassed by his
sympathy and tried to act unconcerned, just giving the facts without emotion. “It
was a car accident. On the ice. We drove into the river.”

“You were
there
?”

“Yes. Only…” My mind went back to the
scene. The sound of the water. Her begging me for help. I could feel myself
beginning to tremble. Recounting the story was too much for me to handle on top
of everything else that had happened that day. Luke took a step towards me,
then hesitated. I could feel his desire to comfort me. “Only … her seatbelt was
jammed and ... and…”

A tear rolled down my cheek. I hastily
brushed it away, but another followed. And then another.

And then Luke was sitting on the bed, pulling
me to him, wrapping his arms round me. And it felt so good.

For almost a year I had had to be strong, keeping
my feelings in check in order to keep Dad going, only ever discussing it with
the cold, unemotional Dr Henderson who seemed to view it purely in scientific
terms. But now two strong arms were holding me tight. Supporting me. Comforting
me. And so the floodgates opened and almost a year’s worth of pent-up emotion broke
free.

The sharp bend.

We skid across the ice, the black river
below, waiting for us.

Bursting through the barrier, we race down
the bank to meet it.

“Help me…!” Mum cries out, the sound
reverberating, on and on…

I watch her as she struggles, the cold
water flowing around her, caressing her, lapping at her face. Her nose. Her
mouth.

I open my window and unbuckle my seatbelt,
holding on to the headrest, my feet on the dashboard.

Through the window, the darkness
dissipates, revealing a sky full of gleaming stalactites.

And then he is there. Luke.

He stretches out his hand to me, and I
reach up to take it…