Black Cairn Point (3 page)

Now

‘Shall we talk about your issues with self-esteem, Heather?’

Dr Petersen’s voice cuts through my reverie. I’m not sure how long he’s continued to talk; I haven’t been listening. This question rankles, though.

‘I don’t have issues with self-esteem,’ I shoot back, then scowl. I’m annoyed at myself for letting him goad me into speaking.

Two–one to him. Another reason to scowl. He smiles, gloating.

‘Do you deny that you have difficulties talking about your emotions? Or believing your self-worth? Let’s talk about your feelings for your friend, Douglas.’

I open my mouth to correct him – Dougie hates to be called Douglas – but then close it again. Take a deep breath. Rearrange my cool, nonchalant expression. I won’t talk about Dougie. Not with him.

I can all but feel the tables turning as the hour passes, handing the advantage to Petersen. The smugness I had when I walked in now lies in tatters around my feet. With a tremendous effort, I force myself to smile at him. It’s not warm but something more akin to manic. I watch as he squirms uncomfortably under my stare, and my smile becomes real. Almost uncontained. He clears his throat.

What will be his next avenue of attack? The self-esteem thing sideswiped me, but I wasn’t concentrating. I am now. Focusing like a boxer in the ring, waiting for my opponent to make his move. A sharp jab, a hook, an uppercut. What does he think will land that knockout blow?

While Petersen deliberates, I decide to defend with feigned indifference. I sigh, look away as if I’m bored.

I am bored; bored of the circles that we spin around and around in. Bored of trying to pretend I’m sane now, when I was never insane in the first place. Bored of dreaming about getting out of here.

At least, I tell myself I’m bored, and I almost believe it.

What I really am is afraid. Fear, my constant companion, churns in my gut, but I’ve lived with it for so long now I can almost ignore it. Here, in the light, the shadows in my mind are pushed back, almost vanquished. The only monster sits opposite me.

‘I spoke to your mother, Heather.’ He pauses, watching keenly for my reaction. I blink, nothing more. ‘She tells me you’ve been refusing to take her calls …’

He tails off, hoping I’ll fill the silence with a response. Any response.

I have one: I have nothing to say to her.

But I don’t say that. And it’s not just because I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of thinking I’m opening up to him. It’s because I don’t want to admit it, even to myself. But it’s true. I have nothing to say. To her or to any of my family. Because they didn’t believe me … and there’s just no way past that.

Neither did Petersen. But I don’t give a shit about him.

While he lets the silence drag on – hoping I’ll break – I let my gaze wander across his desk. Half my mouth lifts up in a smirk. The silver letter opener is gone. It was there, in pride of place, the first day I came here. It’s been there every time since. Silly thing for a shrink to have in his office, really, something like that. Sharp. Deadly. I don’t believe for a second that I’m the only person to have tried to stab him in the neck with it. I
do
wonder if I got the closest …

‘Heather?’

At the sound of my name like that, like a question, I look up. It’s involuntary. Still, it annoys me. I glare at him, eyes sparkling in defiance. He sits up straighter, thinking he sees tears.

‘She’d like to see you.’ He’s dropped his voice and made it patient, kind, indulgent. Almost loving.

It’s like the squeak of wool between teeth. But I don’t react. Well, my lip curls a little, but I can’t help that.

‘Your mother’s offering you a second chance,’ he scolds gently.

Is she? I laugh bitterly to myself. It’s
me
who should be offering
her
the second chance. If I ever decide to.

I compose myself once more and go back to smiling at him. I’m sure I know what’s coming next. Another barbed threat. Something about how healing the division with my family will show I’m making progress. Maybe a reference to moving up his stupid ladder.

He surprises me.

‘Tell me about the cairn, Heather. Tell me what you found there.’

Then

By the time we’d managed to cook burgers on the tiny portable barbecue Dougie had brought with him, the sun was sinking low in the sky. It hovered an inch above the horizon, the first hues of a beautiful sunset ebbing out over the cloudless blue. I leaned back in my chair, stuffed full of food, and let the last of the day’s heat play across my face.

‘Time to get the fire going, d’you reckon?’ Martin asked quietly.

At the word ‘fire’, both Dougie and Darren jumped up, their expressions eager and enthusiastic, Darren losing the cool, superior look he usually wore. It made him look a lot younger suddenly. Nicer. I almost smiled at him as he rubbed his hands together, practically gleeful.

‘Definitely,’ he said.

Neither Emma nor I moved. It was obvious that this was a boy thing. I wondered, as I watched them dig a hole and then rearrange a hastily gathered bundle of firewood, whether any of them were ever boy scouts. Martin, maybe. He seemed to be moving the most purposefully, taking charge of constructing the twigs into a tepee shape, cradling a crumpled wad of paper in the centre and setting a match to it.

‘This’ll get it going,’ Darren announced, holding up a bottle of something. Vodka, I realised.

‘No!’ Martin yelped, jumping up with an arm aloft to halt Darren, who was already halfway towards pouring the alcohol onto the smoking wisps of fire.

In an instant the friendly camaraderie was gone. Darren bristled, narrowing his eyes in annoyance. Martin took in Darren’s posture – the way his fingers curled themselves into a fist, the broadness of his shoulders and curve of his bicep revealed under a ludicrously tight t-shirt – and his expression went from alarmed and irritated to supplicating.

‘Don’t want to waste it,’ he said, attempting a smile. ‘The fire will catch, just give it a second.’

‘But since you’ve got the vodka out …’ Dougie appeared behind Darren, a stack of plastic cups in his hand.

There was an awkward moment where Darren continued to stare at Martin, aggression barely veiled, before he turned and started to fill the cups as Dougie held them out to him. I watched as the liquid inside rose at least halfway up the side of the transparent plastic before Dougie topped it up with Coke. This time, when he handed me one, I didn’t hesitate. After all, it wasn’t like I’d never had a drink before …

I took a sip and, aware that Dougie at least was watching me, did my utmost to keep the grimace of distaste off my face. The Coke did nothing to disguise the sharp tang of the alcohol. It was nasty. Like drinking hairspray. Still, no one else was complaining so I took another mouthful. It didn’t improve. Making my way back to my seat, I made a mental note to sneakily add some more fizzy cola as soon as possible.

‘So what shall we do?’ Darren asked from across the circle. As Martin promised, the fire had caught and Darren’s face was illuminated by flickers of orange light. Dusk had fallen quickly and behind him the landscape melded into layers of darkening shadows.

‘How about Truth or Dare?’ Emma suggested with a giggle.

‘Truth or Dare?’ Martin repeated. His tone was scathing but it was apprehension that I read in his eyes.

I was with him. My stomach dropped at the very thought, imagining what I might have to say or do in front of Dougie, but he was grinning enthusiastically.

‘Sounds good,’ Dougie said. He turned and raised a questioning eyebrow at me. ‘Heather?’

What else could I say?

‘I’m in,’ I muttered.

Martin sighed unenthusiastically. ‘Fine, then.’

‘All right, Truth or Dare.’ Darren emptied his cup and quickly poured himself a refill, pausing to top up Emma’s drink before stashing the already half-empty bottle protectively between his feet. ‘Who’s going first, then?’

‘Why don’t you?’ Martin suggested, sure, as I was, that Darren would refuse.

‘All right,’ Darren said, rising to the challenge.

‘Truth or dare?’ Emma asked eagerly.

‘Dare.’

She pouted and I knew she’d had some awful question planned for him – probably whether or not he loved her! I doubted Darren had drunk enough for something like that. Neither had I. I took another swig, knowing it would soon be my turn.

‘I’ve got one.’ Dougie leaned forward, rubbing his hands together. ‘I dare you to go into the sea. Right up to your chest, then duck your whole head in.’

Darren gaped at him.

‘That’s the friggin’ Irish Sea. It’s freezing!’

‘Chicken!’

The word seemed to animate Darren. He jumped up from his chair in one sudden movement.

‘All right then.’ He began stripping off his clothes carelessly, almost tossing his jeans into the fire before Emma snatched them free of the flames. ‘I’ll keep my kecks on, seeing as there are ladies present.’

He winked at Martin, wickedly amused, then took off, jogging across the sand.

It was a good fifty metres to the shore, but we still heard his gasp as his feet touched the water. He ploughed on, though, his outline silhouetted against the last of the light. When he was out almost far enough for his shoulders to disappear beneath the waves, he dropped, leaving the horizon flat once more. Just a second later he emerged, half-swimming, half-running back to the beach. As soon as he broke free of the water he burst into a flat-out sprint for the warmth of the fire.

‘Christ, it was Baltic!’ He juddered, dancing on the spot, holding his hands out to the heat. His body was covered in goose bumps, impressive muscles twitching beneath the skin. His boxers were soaked, clinging indecently to his body. I tried not to look, especially as he yanked them off before diving back into his jeans.

‘Aren’t you going to put your shirt back on?’ Martin asked sourly as Darren settled himself back into his chair, still topless.

‘Think I’ll dry off a bit first.’ Darren grinned at him. He held Martin’s eyes and twitched both pecs, one after the other, in an obscene little dance.

‘Show-off,’ Martin muttered, so quietly the words only reached me because our chairs were close enough for the arms to touch. Darren smirked a little wider, though, and I wondered if he could guess what Martin was thinking.

‘Who’s next?’ Darren asked.

‘You get to choose,’ Emma told him, prodding his splayed thigh with her toe.

‘Then I choose you. Truth or dare, gorgeous?’

Emma giggled, revelling in his attention. I turned my head to the side and rolled my eyes, catching Martin’s gaze. He discreetly mimed shooting himself in the head and I laughed silently.

‘Ooh, I don’t know.’ More giggling.

‘Pick one, Emma,’ I said, perhaps a little too sharply. She stuck her tongue out at me.

‘Dare,’ she said eventually.

‘Okay …’ Dougie began, but Darren held up his hand.

‘I’ve got one.’

‘What?’ Emma eyed Darren apprehensively. As did I. I didn’t want him to set a precedent of humiliating dares, because I knew exactly what Emma would ask if I opted for truth.

‘Lose your top.’

‘What?’

‘Come on, babe. I’m feeling exposed, half-naked here all by myself.’

‘You could just put your shirt back on,’ Martin offered, but Darren ignored him, gazing at Emma, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

She bit her lip indecisively for a moment, then whipped her sleeveless t-shirt up and over her head. Underneath she wore a string bikini top. I would have died. Emma, my Emma,
should
have been mortified, but instead she seemed to enjoy the attention. I saw her glancing around, checking that all three boys were looking at her. Of course they were, though Martin tore his eyes away after a moment. Dougie continued to stare, his eyebrows lifting in appreciation, a half-smile on his lips.

My stomach squirmed uneasily. Firstly that he was looking at her like that. Secondly … there was no way I was taking
my
clothes off. Was that the way this evening was going? I gulped down the rest of my cup to douse the apprehension writhing in my belly. Darren saw the gesture and offered me the bottle. After just a moment’s hesitation, I held out my cup and let him pour me another healthy measure. Dougie passed me the Coke and I filled it up to the brim.

‘Okay,’ Emma purred, pleased with her moment in the spotlight. ‘I pick Dougie.’

‘Truth,’ he said, not even pausing to think.

Emma looked pointedly at me and I felt ice slither through my veins. Don’t, Emma. Please don’t, I thought.

‘Do you fancy someone?’ she asked.

I tried to swallow another mouthful of vodka, but it wouldn’t go down. The world in front of me seemed to be receding a little, as if I was viewing it through a tunnel. I wondered if it was the alcohol or just my intense embarrassment.

Dougie didn’t seem bothered by the question.

‘Yes.’

‘Who?’

My heart stopped in my chest as I waited for his answer, but he leaned back in his chair, his grin still in place.

‘That’s two.’

‘What?’ Emma blinked, confused.

‘That’s two questions. You only get one.’

I breathed again as Emma’s face crumpled.

‘But that’s not fair!’ she squealed.

‘Yes, it is,’ Dougie disagreed.

‘Darren!’ Emma turned to him for support, but he was laughing.

‘Sorry, angel. You need to work on your questions.’

‘That’s rubbish,’ Emma grumbled.

Dougie shrugged his shoulders, hands spread, the picture of innocence. I kept quiet, hoping no one else could hear the way my heart was pounding with the after-effects of adrenaline. He fancied someone, then. I felt the weight of crushing disappointment as I wondered who it was. Please not Emma, I thought. Anyone but her.

‘Right, Heather or Martin, Dougie?’ Darren asked.

I didn’t let myself look at Dougie as I waited for his answer. I wanted him to pick me, in exactly the same way as I wanted him not to. The silence dragged on, until eventually I had to glance at him. He was staring at me thoughtfully. I stared back, but after just a second he turned his face away.

‘Martin,’ he said.

An evil grin spread across Darren’s face.

‘Truth or dare, Martin?’

Martin adjusted himself in his chair, looking uncomfortable. No doubt he was trying to work out what sort of torture Darren might have lined up for him. ‘Truth,’ he said slowly.

Darren’s grin widened.

‘Who do
you
fancy?’

There was a pause. Everyone looked at Martin, but he shook his head and folded his arms across his chest.

‘I’m not answering that,’ he said flatly.

‘Oh, come on,’ Emma chided. ‘Everyone else has.’

‘I don’t care. I’m not.’

‘Then you have to take a dare,’ Darren told him. I could hear the malicious delight in his voice, but there was no way out of it for Martin.

‘Fine. What is it?’

Darren answered so quickly I knew he’d been brewing this one up for a while.

‘I dare you to kiss Heather. A real one, not a peck on the cheek.’

As soon as I heard my name, my insides squeezed. My gaze flew to Darren for a millisecond before I turned to Martin. I knew my own eyes were wide with shock and shared embarrassment; Martin’s expression, on the other hand, was completely blank. He stared at me for a heartbeat before drawing his eyes slightly to the left, focusing over my shoulder. Where Dougie sat. I absolutely could not spin to see the expression on his face; I’d have doused myself with the rest of my drink and jumped in the fire first.

After a horrible few seconds that felt like a year, Martin turned to Darren.

‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘I’m not doing that either.’

‘Why?’ Darren challenged.

‘Because it’s stupid. I’m not going to embarrass myself, and I’m not going to embarrass Heather. And –’ another flicker in Dougie’s direction – ‘you know you’re just trying to be an arse. Well, forget it.’

‘You have to do one or the other, that’s the game. Choose.’ Darren’s voice was hard. Aggressive. The fight I’d predicted earlier seemed to be very close to the surface.

‘No, I don’t,’ Martin disagreed, shifting forward in his seat like he was preparing to stand up. Darren moved in tandem as the testosterone rose up another level.

‘Martin, that’s the point of Truth or Dare,’ Emma chimed in, siding with Darren.

‘Well, then I’m not playing.’

‘Are you chicken?’ Darren asked quietly. I could see that Darren had rankled Martin. He stood up, towering over the rest of us.

‘No,’ he said slowly, emphasising the word. ‘It’s not that and you know it.’

‘Yes, you are. Chicken!’ Darren moved to stand too, but Dougie was quicker than him, jumping to his feet and putting a restraining arm on Darren’s shoulder.

‘Right, enough Truth or Dare. I’m hungry. Who’s up for toasting marshmallows?’