Alan Goodwin - Gravity's Chain

Quickly I was on my feet and pulling Mary clear of the water. She stood, but there was no strength in her legs and she buckled under her own weight. Half carrying, half stumbling, I managed to get her across the rocks, over the road and to the shelter of the cliff where we leant against its solid face, panting for breath. The waves were calmer, but I knew it was just a matter of seconds before bigger ones would come again. I hauled Mary over my shoulder, dropped my head and ran as fast as I could. Another wave crashed over the rocks and swept down the road, but I kept my balance and pushed on regardless. Finally, with no further monster waves, I came to the end of the road and felt the welcome softness of sand. Clumsily I lowered Mary and sank to my knees, panting. Mary was awake but silent, her body convulsed with shivers. Her cheeks were white and her lips blue. The hollow look in her eyes frightened me and I knew there was a new threat now. Although far from rested I stood and hitched her back onto my shoulders.

Fatigue attacked as I was halfway back to the bach. Wind and rain still tore at me, but their discomforts were nothing compared with the screaming complaints of my body. Shoulders, legs, back and arms were all stretched to breaking point. I imagined muscle and tendons breaking strand by strand with almost audible pings.

I couldn’t climb the bank from the beach to the bach with Mary on my shoulders so I ended up dragging her. I’d crawl, then turn and start hauling her dead weight up the slope, the sand giving way and slipping us back, but never to the starting point: each time there was a gain. Several times Mary groaned and feebly pushed out a leg, but her efforts were hopeless. Once we were on the grass at the summit of the bank I could only pull her to the bach as though she were a dead body ready for burial. The last act was to drag her inside and slam the door shut on the storm.

I didn’t even contemplate the stairs but got Mary into the downstairs bedroom where I’d last seen Caroline alive. She lay on the floor, murmuring as her body shook with cold. Upstairs I found some old trackpants and a sweatshirt. Mary was now close to unconsciousness, her eyes rolling in their sockets. I fought with her sopping clothes, yanking at trousers, jumper and shirt. She wore no bra. The sudden revelation took my breath away. Her breasts were as I remembered, pale and strong, the dark nipples erect from the cold. Slow with guilt I bent and laid the lightest of kisses on each nipple.

Appalled, I quickly struggled with the sweatshirt, then lifted her into the bed and tucked the blankets under her chin. I made up two hot water bottles and put them on either side of her.

For once I deserved a drink. I drank tequila and listened to the wind and sea as they slowly calmed. Suddenly I felt colder than I could ever remember and I shivered uncontrollably. Finally I allowed myself the luxury of savouring my achievement. I had saved Mary. I had prevented her loss and I felt the joy of triumph. The drink washed over my tired and aching body and disturbed my stomach. I drank through the remnants of the storm and fell asleep on the sofa as the wind abated and the rain died to the occasional drizzle.

The sky was clear in the morning and the air electric clean as always after a storm. Gulls squawked with delight as they paraded on the beach, poking and prodding an array of gourmet treats washed up the night before. Waves gently rolled on shore without the power to trouble a toddler. There was a half glass of tequila left in the bottle, which I finished with one gulp. With some caution I went to Mary’s room. I’d never considered that she might die in the night, but now, in the cold light of day, it struck me as a distinct possibility. I opened the door and with great relief saw her move.

‘Is that you, Jack?’ Her voice was feeble and she coughed.

‘Yes.’

I hesitated at the door. ‘Come in,’ she urged.

‘I’ll make you some coffee.’

‘Thank you, Jack, thank you for saving my life.’

‘Christ, Mary, at one point I thought you’d gone. I thought I’d never see you again.’

Her voice cracked and she fought back a sob. ‘Me too.’

I sat on the side of her bed, both of us lost for words, as though what had happened was too much for us to contemplate and erased all our history. ‘I’ll make that coffee.’

She didn’t have the strength to answer and simply lay back in bed, her eyes slowly closing. She slept most of the day, waking only in the afternoon for a drink before sleeping again. By the following day she’d regained some strength and easily sat up in bed for coffee.

Satisfied that she was comfortable, I set about the task of removing the boards from the front windows. Within minutes, though, I felt exhausted again and for the first time realised how draining the rescue had been. Although I had regained some strength, I regretted having started, but was determined to keep going, so I took shutters back to the boat shed, storing them where they’d been kept before.

‘Is this where she died?’

Mary’s voice made me jump. Pale and shaky, she was standing in the door, just where I had been when I found Caroline.

‘Yes,’ I replied.

‘Where exactly?’

‘Sorry?’

‘Where did she…hang herself from?’

I pointed to the middle of the shed and the central beam where I’d found her hanging. For the briefest of moments I saw her again, saw those slowly swinging feet and their painted toenails. ‘There.’

Mary shuddered, stared at the spot for a minute and walked away. My instinct was to follow, but instead I finished the job of replacing the boards. It was an hour before I sought out Mary, who was sitting in the front room nibbling on some toast. Tired beyond belief, I lay on the sofa. ‘Mary, I need to know what you meant in the hospital.’

‘I know.’ She stared at the sea. ‘You broke my heart when you went with Caroline.’

‘I know.’

‘And do you know what hurt the most?’

‘No.’

‘You never saw me and told me to my face—you never took responsibility for what you did. You sent Caroline to do your dirty work and you just slid away.’

‘I turned my back, Mary, I know that—it was what my mother was trying to tell me.’ Mary looked quizzically at me, but there was no need to explain. Don’t turn your back, look beyond yourself, she had written: the message couldn’t have been clearer. ‘What did you mean in the hospital, about my being responsible for Caroline’s death?’

‘For so long it amazed me just how ignorant you were of the effect of what you did. You never used to be that way, but it was as though some cosmic switch was thrown in your head and you just forgot about other people. No one mattered but you and Caroline. You forgot that actions have consequences. You refused to take responsibility.’

‘But I didn’t kill Caroline.’ I sat with my head bowed, my chin almost on my chest. My words were barely audible.

She laughed and threw back her head. ‘You did, Jack. You mightn’t have dragged her out there and strung her up over that bloody beam, but you might just as well have. I have to take some blame—I accept that. That’s my penance.’ The first tears slid down her cheek. ‘Believe me, I still lie awake at night and want to scream at the dark.’

‘Why do you take any blame, Mary?’ For the first time I looked at her. I was shaking.

‘After you and Caroline came back from England and the arrangements were made for Caroline to meet Mum and Dad, they were so happy. I’d never seen them so happy. You have no idea just how much Caroline’s estrangement hurt them. It was bad enough for me, but they used to sit in silence night after night, unable to even broach the subject. They only talked about what she’d done as a child. That’s all they had, the past—the future was gone. And then suddenly, as though she’d risen from the dead, she was back. And then she failed to show up that night at the restaurant and all the shit started again. I hated her for that. It’s funny, but after all the stuff with you and going away and her letter, I never actually hated her, but I did that night because she’d given them hope and taken it away again. She had to be punished, Jack, she had to be punished for putting us through all that again.’ She was sobbing.