I hear a sharp crack.
What was that? I know there are hunters in these woods. Or maybe it was distant
thunder. Calm down, Clive old boy. I sometimes find that
talking out loud to myself steadies me. But not this time. Instead of floating
away from me, as they usually do, my words hang in the oppressive air and
enlarge my feelings of isolation. This is not going to plan.
My badly twisted knee
is throbbing like hell and the bee sting is causing my hand to swell up like a
balloon. There is little chance that I shall be able to climb back up the steep
incline towards the path at the top. I only meant to hide in the bushes by the
track, but taking a tumble like this has left me shaken.
Damn Michael. I speak out loud again. When he and I had
agreed that I would ‘become lost’ at some point on the walk, we both grinned at
the simple idea. I would be able to test Jemma’s reaction to my disappearance.
He would report back to me how she behaved. My
unexplained absence would surely make her realise how much she depends on me.
And he, in turn, would observe the group dynamics in response to a crisis, as
material for the detail of his Level Four game. Brilliant. Only now I’m hurt
and can’t re-join the path to follow the group. Damn him.
I could have told him
how the others will react. Natasha will be cool and professional. She will tell the group to stay put whilst
she retraces our steps. Charlie will assume leadership in her absence and do
exactly the opposite from what she has instructed. Prats like him are so
predictable. Diana will flip. She’s a bit unstable. Seamus, the creep, will
move in on Jemma. And the rest will melt into the background, unaware of their
bit parts in our little drama. Except Michael, of course. He’s a manipulative
git. It occurs to me that
I find it easy to predict the reaction of everyone except my own wife. What
exactly is Jemma doing as I sit here? What else can I do to jolt her into some
kind of tender feeling towards me?
“Clive? Clive? Can
you hear me? Are you ok?” Natasha’s distant
voice interrupts my thoughts.
"Down here,” I call. Within
minutes, she has slid and scrambled her way down to me.
“What have you did?”
she enquires, and I want to laugh. I tell her that I went behind a tree to take
a pee, when I fell. As she leans over me to examine my knee, I can smell her
perfume, mingled with the sweetness of perspiration. A thought occurs to
me. Now that would definitely prompt
Jemma into some kind of reaction. But very possibly not the one I want.
“It is good job I saw
broken branches and slip marks by path. But I cannot get you back to top by my
own self. I must go and get help.” Natasha pulls a bottle of water out of her
backpack and thrusts it into my swollen hand. I yelp in pain.
“So sorry,” she says.
“You have no allergy to stings, yes?”
“No,” I say. “I’ll be
alright.” After a few words of reassurance, she climbs back to the top of the
incline and disappears. I lean back again, cursing my own stupidity but sighing
with relief. At least I have been found before it gets dark. Overhead, I can see
vultures circling. In more ways than one. I speak out aloud again but my voice sounds strained. I hear the
sharp crack again but nearer this time. It is followed by a prolonged rustling
in the undergrowth not far off.
Suddenly it seems so
much darker down here.
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