What would have happened if she had told Sophia about Leo straightaway? If Sophia had not been on holiday when Georgia first met him, she wouldn’t have kept him a secret. Sophia would have made her repeat his words, examined his tone, and extracted every possible insinuation from the way he’d pronounced each syllable. Sophia would have wanted to know exactly what he looked like – and Georgia was desperate to describe him to someone, because every time she saw him she found him irresistibly attractive. Sophia would have squealed at her descriptions of his muscles and speculated on the parts of him that Georgia hadn’t seen – yet, she would have said, and they would have fallen about laughing. But by the time Sophia got back it was all over, and Georgia couldn’t bring herself to talk about anything.
Just weeks ago, as she planned her first fell run with Leo, everything had felt so uncomplicated. Back then the ache that ran through her whenever she thought of him was delicious. She had perused the different routes they might try with a precision she rarely applied to her schoolwork. When she settled on Loughrigg she had sent a text suggesting not only a run but a swim in the tarn – and she had counted every minute from the time she pressed send to when her phone buzzed a couple of hours later.
He had replied that he would see her there early on Saturday morning. The plan was made. And after that, all she had to do was wait, and try not to get too lost in daydreams of what it would be like to see him again, and how it would feel to run her hands over his skin, press her mouth against his, and have his arms around her.
She still thinks about him every day, but today the memories are more acute, and even more unbearable. The accident must have done something strange to her emotions, bringing to light things she would rather keep hidden. If it wasn’t for sport this afternoon she would consider going home, but she needs to make sure her name stays on tomorrow’s team sheet. Much to her dismay her mother had been proved right and she had fallen asleep in Geography a few hours ago, waking to find her head on the desk. Mr Alsop had acted like he hadn’t even noticed, which was disconcerting. No one is giving her overt attention today. She wonders what it would take to get a reaction from one of the teachers. The freedom with which she might behave is making her dizzy. Could she light a fire in the classroom, shout profanities from the windows? How far could she go while everyone pretended that she was invisible?
Covert attention, however, is another story. She feels eyes on her wherever she goes, and her ears keep straining, certain she can make out whispers. Although perhaps she is just imagining it – there are so many trees around the school that the place is surrounded by rustling murmurs.
When she has finished her lunch, she makes her way up to the sports centre at the very top of the school grounds, watching the sky darkening all the time. She finds a quiet corner in the change rooms and keeps her back to the others as they begin to trickle in. People talk softly, but no one comes across to her. She’s relieved, but sad all the same – it seems she has successfully cut herself off.
When she’s ready she heads outside. She hears a voice hiss, ‘Georgia,’ and realises it’s Danny. This is one of the few lessons in which he’s not cosseted by his pack of friends, but she ignores him and goes to stand at the far end of the line. The teacher, Mrs Sawyer, leads them through a series of warm-ups and then beckons Georgia towards the front, knowing she’s one of the fastest. They are to run a circuit through the woodland behind the school, a route Georgia has taken many times, and one that will form part of tomorrow’s race. Georgia has won various cross-country medals for the school team over the past few years, and there aren’t many in the group who can match her time. She’s competing against herself.
Each student will start thirty seconds apart. As Mrs Sawyer presses her stopwatch, Georgia feels the first light drops of rain on her face. She runs out into a surprisingly bitter breeze, which seems to have sprung up from nowhere. She makes an effort to set a good pace in the first five minutes, knowing that will warm her up, and once she is out on the woodland track she slows to a steadier speed, letting her breathing calm. Every fifty metres is a red flag telling the students how far they have run, and she begins to count them as she goes by.
In her peripheral vision she sees a flash of light. She wheels around, searching beyond the tree line to try to see what caused it. On either side of her, the thick foliage of the wood is still and impenetrable. She stops, hands on her hips, breathing hard, blinking to try to clear the raindrops from her vision. It was nothing, she tells herself, as she begins to run again. A trick of light. But now she remembers those lights heading for her in the dark, and in this moment it is as though those angry globes had been pointed at her and her alone. Why hadn’t the car slowed? Did someone want to hurt them? To hurt Sophia? To hurt her? Was there someone out there who is angry enough to wish her harm?