‘As fell runs go, the school championship has got to be one of the safest. I don’t think the first-aid tent has been used at all today.’
He regrets this comment, as they both automatically glance across, and there is Danielle, under the awning, watching them rather than the field. Callum hopes that Anya doesn’t sense anything more than eye contact, but he can’t help but rapidly avert his gaze. He quashes his disappointment – of course this will take time. He wonders what Anya will say when he announces he’s taking a break from mountain rescue. He opens his mouth to tell her, but stops himself. Now is not the time.
There is nothing to do except wait. He keeps checking his watch, imagining Georgia on her run, visualising her speeding down the hillside first, as though he might will her into winning. He knows that someone will appear at any moment. Beside him, Zac is huddled against the rain, his clothes clinging to his skin and his hair glued to his forehead. Usually Zac would be playing on his phone inside the hall; they would have to find him and tell him the result. He’d give Georgia a high five and that would be it. Why is he out here today, unable to keep still, waiting for his sister to come back?
Callum doesn’t have time to ask. The first runner appears at the top of the hill. A boy – which is to be expected. As he flies down the slope, his feet slipping and sliding as he somehow manages to retain his balance, the parents begin to stream out of the hall. Suddenly everyone is making noise – catcalls and loud cheers take over the field. Almost immediately there are a few more figures in the distance – and Callum sees the boy Georgia was standing with at the start. He’s towards the head of the pack, his nimble feet on the descent helping him to challenge for second place.
The winner breaks through the finish-line barrier, flapping weak arms victoriously before staggering, sodden and exhausted, towards his back-slapping family. Callum tries to focus on the hill as the next runners arrive.
And there’s the first girl.
It’s not Georgia. After a wave of despondency he quickly rallies. He knows how good she is at the downhill, as long as she’s not too far behind. He counts the seconds under his breath, willing her to appear next. But she doesn’t. As the second girl begins the descent, the leader makes the mistake of looking back and takes a tumble on the hillside. She rights herself and carries on, but she is sobbing as she wins the girls’ race. Her thoughtful parents have a towel ready; they cloak her in comfort and lead her away.
Callum’s eyes never leave the tree line as the trickle of runners becomes a stream. They sprint down the hill, some at full pelt despite the gruelling conditions and the medals already won. They rush through the finish line, stumble to a stop and are each collected by waiting arms.
‘Where the hell is she?’ Anya asks, her hands on her hips. Beside them, Zac doesn’t take his eyes off the horizon.
‘I don’t know – she should be here. They said she was towards the lead.’
As he says these words, the ground Callum stands on seems to shift beneath his feet, as though he’s surfing a tidal wave on this landlocked field in the rain. On all sides of them are congratulations and commiserations. The crowd flows and ebbs between their three still, expectant figures. None of them can bear to voice the fears that slide towards them, gathering like an avalanche, preparing to sweep them away.
But when no more runners come down the hill for a whole minute, then two, Callum and Anya turn to each other. For a fraction of a second they are caught in the mirror of one other’s panic, and then they rally.
Callum hurries back to the marshals, with Anya and Zac right behind him.
‘Jimmy, Georgia isn’t back yet,’ he says. ‘Please can you check on her?’
‘Really?’ Jimmy looks concerned. ‘Of course. Hang on a second.’ He puts his two-way close to his mouth, and turns away from the hubbub.
Anya is back on her phone. ‘I’m trying her mobile now.’ Her words are rapid, her tone breathless. Her hand is trembling. ‘Voicemail,’ she says, putting it on speaker so they can all hear. Callum watches the colour drain from her face.
Jimmy turns back to them. ‘The last marshal hasn’t seen her,’ he says, his brow furrowed. ‘He said he’ll walk the route, in case she’s had a fall.’ He claps Callum on the back. ‘Don’t worry, she won’t be far. She’s probably sitting somewhere with a sprained ankle, unable to get decent mobile reception.’
Callum’s thoughts skitter, desperately wanting to believe him. His instincts, however, are raging at him, convinced there is more.
Anya is right next to him. Instinctively his eyes find hers. The pause is swifter than a heartbeat, but in that second the chasm between them is no longer dark and deep and empty. Instead there is a roaring in Callum’s ears; all that he most loves and fears is tumbling over and over itself, filling every part of him. He knows Anya feels it too – their purpose united in the racing heart that’s lost somewhere in the woods above them.