Bright Air - Barry Maitland [3]
‘… 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.