Georgia’s head pounds in time with her feet as she scrambles up the uneven grassy slope.
Her photo couldn’t be on Facebook. It couldn’t be.
And yet it was.
The world dances in front of her eyes as she tries to make sense of it. Who could have done this to her? In her mind’s eye she sees Zac slipping away. But it’s one thing to go snooping in her bedroom and find it, but quite another to put it online. It is such a vindictive move, and she knows her brother isn’t like that. It doesn’t make any sense.
Danny is not far behind. He’s cross with her. She had sprung her change of heart on him as they lined up: told him she didn’t want to pace him, she wanted to go hard and run alone.
‘Okay, whatever, Georgia,’ he’d snapped. ‘Just do what you want to do. Don’t worry about me.’
He had no idea what he’d just shown her. Her one precious photo, out there in the world for everyone to see – to laugh at like it was some ridiculous joke provided solely for their entertainment.
When she reaches the top there are only a couple of runners ahead of her. As the trees close in either side of her, terror compresses her thoughts. How long will it take for Leo to find out what’s happened? He can’t be aware of it yet, or surely he would have approached her. But now it’s out there, it’s only a matter of time.
Despite his rejections, Georgia’s daydreams of Leo have always contained a few flickers of hope. One day he might comprehend what a difficult situation she had been in, and once his anger began to recede, perhaps some of those other, purer feelings would rise to the surface. But now she has betrayed him twice. How likely is it that she’ll ever get the chance to explain?
There is no way back from this. He could lose his job because of it, or worse. What will happen if the photograph is traced to her? She will be humiliated, and he will hate her all the more.
The rain is in her eyes, and wiping them breaks her rhythm. She sees a route marker too late and stumbles while changing direction, tripping over her own feet as a boy rushes past her. The loss of momentum makes her almost slow to a walk, and she grips her sides, her body aching and weary already, her sore arm beginning to throb. She grits her teeth as she forces herself to run again, calling to mind Uncle Liam’s stories of courage and endurance. They are leaving the trees behind, and ahead is a steep fell climb along a narrow, uneven dirt path that’s been worn into service by countless feet. Georgia grabs handholds wherever she can, using a few large slabs to help haul her body up the gradient. The stones are slippery in her grip, it’s difficult to gain purchase. It makes her more desperate to reach the top fast, and her knees buckle more than once.
Somewhere in her mind she knows she is using her energy too quickly – she should be taking it steady in this early section, not making a mad dash up the hill – but she can’t stop herself. She has to keep moving, to blur her surroundings. It is only when she stops that things coalesce into what is there, and what is not.
The day is growing colder, but that suits her fine. Her breathing is ragged. There is so much adrenalin in her body that she wants to speed up to fight it, despite her mind’s plea to slow down. Her leg muscles are on fire, and they’re not even a third of the way through yet. Don’t give up, she tells herself. Keep going.
She hits the top of the fell, where the view should open out before her, but up here it’s foggy, and she is shrouded by mist. She fights through the dense air; her joints grind in pain, each breath is a freezing burn.
She digs in. As she flies along, she becomes curiously weightless and dizzy; she can hardly feel her feet hit the ground. This is not so much a run as a chase – she needs the finish line, she needs this to be over. She tries to keep her eyes on the only runner ahead of her, a pair of heels kicking up dirt now and again where the fog subsides. She doesn’t look back, because there will be nothing to see except white haze, but somewhere within that obscurity her competitors are all trying to run her down.
This stretch goes on forever, this narrow, muddy track, until she fears she might have lost her way. She swallows her panic, but her urgency is all for safety rather than first place. Exhaustion begins to sap her will to win; her mother was right, she shouldn’t be doing this. It’s almost a relief when she hears the hammering footsteps, and people begin to overtake her. A group passes by with Danny among them, and he doesn’t glance around. She has the strangest sensation of treadmilling next to them. She wants to scream at them not to leave her behind.