‘Well, then, I’ll come with you. You might need an extra pair of hands.’
There’s no one Callum would less rather search with, but he doesn’t have the strength to argue. He’s about to disappear into the woods when McCallister says, ‘Hang on, shouldn’t we do this in reverse?’
It’s an oft-used protocol if someone has disappeared on a circular route: to begin at both ends of the journey and meet in the middle. ‘Okay,’ Callum puffs, seizing the opportunity to be rid of him. ‘Let’s split up. You start at the beginning, and I’ll take the end.’
‘Wouldn’t it be better to stick together?’ McCallister calls after him, but Callum is already racing away. He doesn’t want company; he doesn’t need stretcher-bearers for his daughter. He’s capable of the impossible when it comes to Georgia. Besides, he’s the most experienced member of the mountain rescue team – whatever situation she’s in, he will get her out.
He knows this route well, and tears down the track only barely aware of the orange race markers. He’s fit from fell-walking, but the exertion coupled with panic is robbing him of breath. Still, he doesn’t break his stride. He won’t stop until he finds her.
He spots a neon-jacketed official sitting on a fallen log beside the path, his phone dangling from his hand. ‘Hey!’ he shouts. ‘I’m looking for Georgia Turner. Are you a marshal? Have you seen her?’
The man starts at the sight of him, getting up quickly as Callum jogs closer. ‘I was manning checkpoint thirteen – second from last. She came through a while ago.’ He stares blankly at his phone. ‘I don’t understand why she would—’ He falters.
Callum’s senses attune to danger. ‘Why she would what?’
The marshal looks stunned. ‘I, I—’ he stutters. ‘His gaze flickers back to his phone. ‘She couldn’t – she wouldn’t.’ He catches Callum’s eye, and seems to pull himself together. His voice deepens as he says, ‘I’ve never known her to quit before.’
The words are discomforting, but Callum can’t pinpoint why. ‘You know Georgia?’
‘Of course.’ There’s a beat of hesitation. ‘I’m head of sports at Fairbridge.’
Callum frowns. ‘I thought Mack Devonish was—’
‘I’m new.’
‘Right.’
The man is just standing there, and Callum feels a surge of irritation. His mind flails, his thoughts twisting and turning. Calm down, he tells himself. Be rational. His fears are in danger of becoming unfocused rage.
‘Okay. Well, we need everyone helping to find Georgia. Georgia!’ he yells, turning a circle as he calls. ‘She wouldn’t just give up in the middle of a race. Something has happened.’ A thought occurs to him. ‘Do you know the way to the spirit road?’
‘Yes.’
‘I don’t know why she’d be up there, but it’s the path towards our house – it’s worth a look.’
The marshal nods. ‘I’ll head there now,’ and he dashes away with surprising speed.
Once he’s gone, Callum jogs along the race route – calling, listening, looking around carefully. He tries to utilise all his hours of training, to take it steady, to engage all his senses in the hunt for clues. He reconsiders the possible scenarios, but it’s as though she has vanished. Gradually, he is besieged by panic. It lays waste to all his intentions, carrying him unheeding along sections of the track, until he’s travelling in time slips, glancing back at sections of ground he doesn’t remember covering.
He wishes he had stuck with McCallister, because at least McCallister seemed to talk some sense and had a notion of how to help. He has a flashback to McCallister on the day of Hugh’s accident; the flapping, frantic man he’d first encountered. How had he ever thought he had the measure of the man from that day? Now their roles are reversed, and Callum understands what it is to be a frightened father, terrified that harm might have come to his child on the fells, unable to reach her. By all accounts Hugh is still recovering from his injuries. Now Callum truly understands Mike McCallister’s maps and initiatives to make the Lake District safer, his conscientious volunteering. It’s one long attempt to come to terms with what happened to his son, in the best way he can.
His phone rings. It’s Anya. ‘Anything?’ he asks, picking up.
‘No, listen, Callum – there’s a man up there, Leo Freeman. Don’t trust him. I think something’s been going on with him and Georgia.’
‘What? Who’s Leo Freeman?’
‘He’s the new head of sport.’
Callum’s blood turns to ice. ‘I met him already. He’s helping the search.’ He turns around and begins to run. ‘I’ll find him,’ he pants, ‘don’t worry.’