She’s in shock, I tell myself. Of course she is. I have to give her some space. And yet I can’t help but hope for more. Even though my work is all about breakdowns in communication, for a long time I couldn’t help but be smug enough to think it wouldn’t happen to me. I had the utmost confidence that what I couldn’t combat through professional training, I could vanquish with the all-encompassing scope of motherly love.
Reluctantly, I had headed to the kitchen as the officers requested, and as soon as I’d gone I regretted it. Something was niggling at me about the accident, but I couldn’t locate the source of my discomfort. I was forced to wait, staring blankly at a crack in the ceiling, straining to eavesdrop, itching to grab a glass from the draining board and hold it to the wall. The only thing that stopped me was imagining Georgia’s horror if she found me like that. So, I sat quietly, while my mind blazed through a series of doubts and what-ifs. I kept reminding myself that my child was safe, but I couldn’t settle. Whenever I pictured Sophia’s face, I could barely keep it together. While I waited I had left messages for Callum, and for Liam and Helene, but there had been no response. Now the kids are asleep, I grab my phone and try Callum again, but it goes through to voicemail and I leave another message telling him to come home. It’s so typical that Callum isn’t here, I think, a familiar burst of anger rising in my throat. When is he ever home nowadays? I have grown used to eating dinner while we both direct our conversation towards our children. Where I would once catch my husband’s eye when the kids were young and share a private joke, now I keep my head down. Callum has a predictable routine: finish his food, get up and wash his plate and cutlery, set them to drain. Then he gives each one of us a cursory peck on the head and disappears, the front door opening seconds later. At this point, my children bolt their food a little faster if they haven’t yet finished, then take their own cue to leave, jumping up and racing out of the room as fast as they can in the hope that I won’t call them back to help with the chores.
Seven days a week, if Callum is not at the office, there is always something to do at the Mountain Rescue Depot. Since he became team leader for the region his responsibilities have multiplied, and even if he isn’t out on a rescue he is busy with administration or talking to the press or members of the committee. I’m pretty sure he racks up more hours volunteering there than he does at Shipton’s, the electrical engineering company that has paid him a wage for the past fifteen years. When Callum first joined the rescue team I admired his passion. I never imagined that he would become so absorbed, but the work never ends. Those who visit the Lake District to experience the postcard views don’t always consider the loose rocks, the gullies, the treacherous rain, the fog or the cold. Until Callum began volunteering I had no idea how many people got lost or stuck on the hills, but of course we live in an area that has built an industry around traversing the landscape. I’ve since learned that rescues often take hours, and there’s no convenient time to get stuck on a mountain. Callum’s pager doesn’t give two hoots about our plans.
The silences crept into our conversations a little at a time. Stealthily, so we almost didn’t notice. While we don’t argue, at least a fight might be some kind of attempt at communication. Instead it feels as though I’m standing on the sidelines while in the ring my marriage flounders against the ropes, stumbling and staggering, beaten to a pulp by all the doubts, the indecision, the things we cannot say to each other. I am waiting for the moment that one of us will step in and stop this, but it never seems to arrive. I’ve become too frightened to move, wondering whether I can save it, or if it’s already out for the count.
In an effort to evade my marital dilemmas I switch the television on, but it’s impossible to settle enough to watch anything. I try Liam and Helene again, but their phones are switched to voicemail. It’s agonising to be cut off from them when they may need us more than ever before. Our families have been through so much together – countless meals and celebrations, hikes and picnics, the heartbreak of losing parents, the nervy first days of school. It was Helene who brought me meals after an operation on my knee, who took my children when I needed to grieve for my parents, who plies me with wine every New Year’s Eve. And while Liam and Callum can be fiercely competitive, Liam is always the first at our door if we need help with odd jobs, or to mend our recalcitrant thatched roof.