Barry Maitland: Bright Air

‘Yes,’ she said simply. ‘It was.’ I gathered that not only was she not going to make it easy for me, but that this wasn’t what she’d come about.

‘Her father took it hard, I suppose.’

‘He didn’t show much, but, yes, I think so.’

‘I … I wrote to him, but I didn’t get a reply.’

‘I don’t think he replied to anyone.’

‘Ah.’ Although the activity of refilling our glasses meant I hadn’t had to meet her eye, I was acutely aware of her watching me closely, as if straining for a false note. I found I couldn’t think of anything more to say.

Finally she spoke. ‘Haven’t you been reading the papers, Josh?’

‘Not much; I’ve made a point of avoiding them for as long as I can. Why?’

‘About Curtis and Owen?’

I shook my head, intrigued, wondering how they might have got into the news. ‘What have they been getting up to?’ I said with a laugh.

She didn’t smile back, but looked down and traced a finger around the base of the glass. ‘A couple of weeks ago I got a phone call from Suzi.’

‘Owen’s wife? Oh yes? How are they both? Any more children? I didn’t keep in touch.’ In fact I hadn’t kept in touch with any of them.

‘I did, with Owen and Curtis. We used to catch up from time to time. They still went climbing together.’

‘Really?’ I gave her a look, which she avoided.

‘Yes. They’d gone to New Zealand for a week. Suzi had just heard that there’d been a bad accident on Mount Cook. Curtis was killed.’

I felt the impact of the words like a physical blow, wiping the stupid smile off my face, pinning me back in my chair. ‘Curtis? Dead?’ An image of him came vividly into my mind, red curls spilling out from under his climbing helmet, a big cheeky grin on his face.

Then I remembered I had noticed a newspaper item, not long after I’d got back: two Australian climbers hurt in the Southern Alps, names withheld. I’d read it with a kind of shiver, thankful that all that was behind me. I must have missed the later reports.

‘… Curtis’s parents.’

‘What? Sorry, Anna, I didn’t catch that.’

‘They were abroad, Curtis’s parents, and they were having trouble tracing them.’

‘What about Owen?’ I felt disoriented, unable to think clearly.

‘Yes, he was very badly hurt. Suzi was hysterical. They wanted her to fly out straight away, but their new baby was sick, and she couldn’t go …’ Another image, Owen beaming through his glasses, a small child perched on his shoulder.

‘Dear God.’

‘You’ve heard nothing of this?’

‘No, no … Go on.’

‘Well, I said I’d go. I caught the next plane to Christchurch, where the boys had been flown. I made it just in time to be with Owen when he died.’

‘He died? Owen too?’

‘I thought you must have seen it in the news. It was on TV too.’

No wonder she’d been looking at me strangely. ‘God, that’s just terrible, Anna. I can’t believe it.’ I reached out my hand to grip hers. It felt cold.

She nodded sadly, knowing the arithmetic that was going through my head. There had been six of us at university, six friends who went rock climbing together. Now three were dead: Luce first, and now Owen and Curtis.

‘Just three of us left,’ I said. ‘You, me, and … I suppose Damien is okay?’

‘Oh yes. I spoke to him on the phone yesterday.’

I felt dizzy, unable to breathe properly, and suddenly I couldn’t stand it, sitting there talking calmly like that, and jerked abruptly to my feet. ‘I think I need something stronger than wine. Can I get you a brandy, Scotch?’

She shook her head and I headed out across the hall to Mary’s private sitting room, where I took a deep breath and poured myself a whisky from the bottle in her sideboard. The clock on the mantelpiece softly chimed the hour, and I stood for a while staring dumbly at the pattern in the Indian carpet at my feet. I felt physically shaken by the news, yet I didn’t seem to feel anything for them. I tried to picture the two of them, Curtis and Owen, but my brain didn’t respond. Finally I thought of Anna sitting out there alone and I straightened up and opened the door. The judge, his report under his arm, was crossing the hall with Socrates, perhaps bent on a game of hide-and-seek. They looked at me and something seemed to strike the judge. He gave a guarded smile and gestured at the drink in my hand. ‘Just the thing.’

I had the ludicrous idea that he was accusing me of stealing Mary’s Scotch. ‘I’ve had some rather bad news,’ I blurted, and began telling him about Curtis and Owen, and about climbing, and about Lucy too, and I could feel the tears stinging the insides of my eyelids. Then Anna appeared at the door across the hall, and I shut up.

The judge said, ‘My dear chap, of course I read about it. They were close friends of yours, those fellers? I’m so sorry.’

He sensed Anna behind him and turned, and I introduced them. We commiserated for an awkward few moments before I escaped with Anna, leading her out to the terrace, now deserted, where we sat down with a sigh. Across the bay deep shadow was rising like a purple tide so that only the tops of the buildings on the far ridge were glowing in the golden evening light.

I gulped at my drink. ‘Sorry. These past weeks must have been dreadful for you. Have you seen Suzi?’

‘Yes. Her mother has moved in with her. And Curtis’s parents flew back as soon as they got the news. The funerals will be held on Tuesday. I’ll give you the details.’

‘Thanks.’

I tried to remember the last time I’d seen the two of them. It was the night before I left for London, my farewell party. I could remember Curtis, pissed, standing on a table to sing a farewell song, but not much more, for Luce had been there too, and the evening was a blur of booze and guilt.

Anna was very quiet.

‘Is there something else?’ I asked.

Her eyes met mine for a moment, then slid away. It was such an uncharacteristic gesture that I was disconcerted. Anna was sometimes stubborn and over-earnest, but never shifty.

‘Something bad?’

‘Maybe I should leave it for now. You seem pretty shaken up.’

‘No.’ My voice was off-key. ‘No. You’d better tell me. What on earth is it?’

‘It’s about Luce, Josh.’

‘Luce?’

‘Yes.’ She shifted uncomfortably in her chair. The light was fading and the evening air had suddenly lost its warmth. ‘You have to imagine what it was like, when I arrived in Christchurch. I caught a taxi straight to the hospital as soon as we landed. It was dark, and there was a lot of activity outside-TV crews, reporters. At first the staff wouldn’t let me see Owen, but eventually I persuaded them that I was representing his family, who couldn’t get there for a day or two. From their reaction I gathered that that would be too late.

‘It was hard to make him out at first among all the tubes and dressings, just a few pink and purple bits of his face visible. He was so still, eyes shut, as if he was completely absorbed in what the machines were doing to him, pumping, dripping, measuring. The nurse said they were amazed that he’d survived the flight to the hospital, and didn’t expect him to last the night.

‘The room was warm and after a while my attention drifted. I felt exhausted by it all, the journey, the emotion, and the knowledge of how it was going to end. It was almost like a physical thing, like gravity, the drag of death on life.’

Anna hesitated, glancing at me, and I nodded encouragingly.

‘Anyway, I got up and stretched and walked around, and when I glanced at him again I was amazed to see that his eyes were open, looking straight up at me. I spoke to him, told him who I was, and how Suzi would be there to see him soon, and he listened and seemed to understand. His mouth made a smile and then he said in a whisper, Tell her I love her .