The Students of Barrenmoor Ridge Page 11

Holding his hand behind his back, Liam flicked his fingers, waiting for the biscuits to be placed there. What he was given instead took him by surprise.

  ‘I really am truly sorry,’ Casper said, holding Liam’s hand.

  It felt so good and so wrong at the same time, Liam pulled away.

  Casper sighed and dropped the biscuits on Liam’s side of the tent.

  ‘Are you cold?’ he asked.

  ‘In more ways than one.’

  More rustling followed, and Liam felt the sleeping bag tugged away. Casper laid it over him and crawled in close.

  ‘Should I put the light out?’ he asked.

  ‘Might as well.’

  Perhaps darkness would lead to sleep, and Liam would wake in a storm-free morning to discover that the conversation had never happened. They would be back at school in the music room with Casper flashing through Bach’s oboe concerto in F, and Liam flawlessly playing the accompaniment, slapping palms when they reached the end, jubilant and invigorated.

  Or perhaps they would lie in silence as they were doing now, each lost in his own thoughts, or depression in Liam’s case, and say nothing to each other until Casper suggested they return home on the first train.

  Casper turned off the lamp and crawled back beneath the inadequate sleeping bag as Liam nibbled dry biscuits in the dark, willing sleep to take him.

  Time meant nothing in the darkness. Every lump in the ground dug into Liam’s back or his side, and there was no escape whichever way he turned. The longer he stayed silent, the worse the distance between them became, and he lay tired, but sleepless, hoping Casper would say something.

  As he waited, his mind was invaded by imagined possibilities. How Casper would roll over, put his arm around him and tell him he had decided to change his plans. He was staying, forget what he’d said, it wasn’t what he wanted. Liam would immediately say it was all forgotten, and then they would pick up where they left off, deciding their route for the next day after they’d found the rucksack, saying Casper’s mistake didn’t matter. They would relive happier moments from their fifteen months, the concerts they gave, the applause they shared, the way they were revered at school for their talents, and everything else wouldn’t matter.

  They would be laughing when Liam suddenly said, ‘By the way, I’m gay,’ and Casper would hug him harder and answer, ‘I was hoping you were.’ Liam would turn gently, and face to face, Casper would repeat what Liam had confessed word for word. What came after would happen naturally, and their friendship would become…

  His body jolted. Had he been thinking that or dreaming it? Was that what he wanted from Casper? The thought had never entered his mind until then.

  Or had it?

  Yes, of course it had, in the same way it had entered the mind of every confused and hapless gay teen in the school. Of course Liam wanted someone to tell him they were the same, he wasn’t alone, he had found the unobtainable—another like him.

  That was ridiculous. If he wanted to, he could go online, put an app on his phone, join a group, go to a bar, and no-one would give a toss. It wasn’t such a big thing. Look at the guy in the pub. Out here in the wilds of Yorkshire, in a small village… People asking about his husband as if it was the most normal thing in the world. It was, of course, but Liam hadn’t been brought up to think so. Even in the twenty-first century, divisions, phobias, the right-wing press, caricatures, bullies… everyone harboured a grudge against anyone different. It was a self-protection mechanism. Why should Casper be any different?

  Why? Because he was. He would understand. He’d suffered xenophobia at his previous school, he’d said so, so why was Liam so reticent to finally say what he had longed to confide to his best friend? Casper would get it, he’d support him, he’d done nothing but since that first meeting in the practice room. There was nothing to worry about, and the only person Liam was letting down by staying silent was himself.

  There had been a break in the wind, but he wasn’t sure if it was because the storm had abated or because he had fallen asleep. His feet still ached, and now his muscles were tightening after the exertion of the ascent, but his eyes were sore and his stomach queasy from the lack of food. With no idea of the time, and not wanting to subject himself to the temperature by wriggling from his bag and finding his phone, he lay still, waiting, hoping.

  Casper wasn’t asleep. Liam felt him struggle beneath the sleeping bag and heard the rustle of his jacket as he took it off.

  An opportunity not to be missed.

  ‘You warm enough?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s making me sweat,’ Casper replied. ‘I’ll put it over the cover if I need it. What time is it?’

  ‘No idea. Late, feels like.’

  More rustling and shifting about followed as Casper settled. The opportunity was escaping, but how to get from taking off a coat to coming out?

  ‘How did you sleep in Wales?’ Liam asked, hoping it was random and far enough removed from the last time they had spoken to show that he was over his earlier upset.

  ‘Badly.’

  ‘Just so you know, in our tent, Jason didn’t try anything.’ It was not a name Liam wanted to bring up, but it was a useful one.

  ‘Oh.’

  When he’d first decided that he wanted Casper to know, Liam had been calm and had imagined an easy, matter-of-fact conversation, but now the time was on him, he was nervous, and his breathing hard to control. He only had to say a few words and that would be it, but they stuck in his throat.

  ‘What do you reckon?’ he asked, hoping vagueness was the way forward.

  ‘About what?’

  ‘What they say about Jason.’

  ‘None of my business.’

  That line of enquiry wasn’t going to lead anywhere. Liam needed to be bolder.

  ‘But what if he is? What would you say then?’

  ‘Same. None of my business. Want some water?’

  ‘No.’

  Behind the rising moan of the wind, another, more sinister sound approached the tent. It sounded like distant thunder, but it was hard to tell until the material of the tent was suddenly lit in uneven flashes as if by a faulty stroboscope, and the light was followed a few seconds later by the growl.

  ‘Getting worse,’ Casper said.

  ‘Yeah. You alright there?’

  ‘I am. What about you?’

  ‘No. Not really.’

  Casper sighed. ‘Can we talk about it in the morning?’

  Liam didn’t want to reopen the scar or their earlier conversation, and there was still another injury to inflict, so he said, ‘Okay,’ and clawed at the previous thread. ‘I reckon Jason probably is.’

  ‘Oh.’

  Casper wasn’t much help, and Liam resorted to a lie that he’d probably get beaten up for telling.

  ‘In fact, I know he is. He told me.’

  Casper shifted his position again, but it was impossible to say what to, and Liam imagined him turning away. It was too late to consider his feelings now; Liam had taken himself too far, and Casper had to be told.

  ‘What would you say if I told you I was?’ he asked through tentative breathing, his pulse racing.

  Casper sighed and moved again. ‘I’m tired.’

  His voice was louder, he was closer perhaps, and Liam, on the pretext of trying to get comfortable, innocently shifted his foot. Casper’s leg was right beside him, an inch away.

  ‘Yeah, me too, but go on, what would you say?’

  Another sigh, this time longer, and if it was possible to judge among the melee of the storm, sad.

  ‘You don’t make things easy do you, Lee?’

  That could only mean that Casper was uncomfortable, and usually, Liam would have backed off. He’d never wanted to upset Cass, he cared about him too much for that, bu
t after having his dream of lifelong friendship shattered, Liam was prepared to do it this once.

  ‘What do you mean?’ he asked.

  ‘Forget it.’

  ‘No, I can’t.’ Not only could he not forget Casper’s reaction, he also couldn’t control the confession that was rushing up from inside to pour from his mouth like a volcano spews lava.

  Now or never.

  ‘I’m gay, Cass.’

  Thunder growled, or it might have been Casper. Either way, it was a movie moment from a James Whale film delivered with impeccable yet clichéd timing. Silence followed until Liam said, ‘I mean it. I wanted to tell you first.’

  ‘Oh.’

  The statement was followed by relief. There was nothing more Liam could do. Casper knew, it was out, and Liam had freed himself from everything apart from the fear of rejection.

  However, “Oh,” was not a reply.

  ‘Is that it?’ he asked, frozen on his back, staring at the roof somewhere in the blackness.

  Another shuffle, another huffed breath.

  ‘Bloody hell, Lee. Why do you have to make things so difficult?’

  Casper turned and pressed against Liam’s side. Euphoric that he’d not moved in the other direction, but terrified at what the gesture meant, Liam was unable to move.

  ‘I’m cold now,’ Casper said, his voice betraying no emotion. ‘We need body heat.’ He pressed even closer. ‘Go to sleep, mate.’

  ‘Is that it?’

  ‘Goodnight.’

  Liam turned on his side, his mind teaming as hard as the rain, his body shaking as much as the ground when the wind blasted, and his hopes shattered like the night when the lightning flashed. At least facing the wall, Casper wouldn’t be able to see his tightly screwed face that fought to keep the sobs at bay. Unable to even wish his best friend goodnight, he swallowed, grateful for the storm that drowned the sounds of his heartbreak.

  The confession hadn’t gone according to plan, and the whole trip was ruined, but if he thought the adventure had started badly, there was worse to come, and it was already on its way.

  Ten

  Mark fumed into his flat and found Benny sprawled on the settee. In need of an outlet for his fear, he turned it to anger, slapped Benny on his head, and shouted, ‘Why didn’t you fucking look, dick-breath?’

  Benny didn’t know what he’d done wrong, but when Mark explained, stood his ground and protested that he was only the donkey and it was Mark who should have checked. The retort earned him another thick ear, and it came with instructions.

  ‘Get your boots on,’ Mark ordered on his way to the wardrobe where he sorted through clothes. ‘Whatever you’ve got for bad weather. Find torches, bring your mobile and do it quick.’

  ‘You ain’t serious?’

  ‘You can pick up your cagoule from home on the way past.’

  ‘Me mum’s making tea.’

  ‘Tell her we’ll get chips. Move it.’

  Ignoring Benny’s protests, Mark changed into warmer clothes. Like anyone born and brought up in the shadow of the fell, he knew it was madness to go up the hill at night with a storm coming in, but he also knew what to wear if he had to. He’d done his share of farm work in the winter, and the insulated gloves and fleeces he wore then were still wearable. The paths were etched in his mind after twenty-odd years of tramping them for want of anything else to do, and he knew not to go alone. The journey would take less than three hours each way, maybe more if the rain worsened and they had to skirt the riverbed, and it wouldn’t begin at all until Benny was ready. A bellow followed by a threat followed by the offer of a reward spurred Benny into action, and by the time they left the flat, although neither admitted it, they were fired up by the challenge and fearful of what would happen if they failed.

  That had been at least two hours ago, and now they were battling their way from the top of the zigzag to the fork in the footpath. The way ahead was lit by Benny’s torch, and Mark followed him, happy to let his accomplice go in front and be the first to suffer any obstacles. They had done well so far despite the raging wind, the rain that stung his eyes, and the cold that pained his nose. Dressed in balaclavas under ski caps, and oilskin trousers tucked into workers’ boots, they were staying dry, but the waterproofs trapped their body heat, and they were as wet inside as they were out.

  Stopping for breath where the path divided, Benny turned and shone his torch directly into Mark’s face, earning him a string of verbal abuse before he pointed it to the ground.

  ‘Where they going to be?’ he shouted over the gale.

  ‘How the fuck do I know?’

  ‘We going that way?’

  Benny shone the light towards the rugged cliffside, but the beam only penetrated so far, and all they could see was the deluge.

  ‘No, idiot. Straight on.’ Mark shoved him towards the incline, and to make sure Benny didn’t get them lost, walked beside him, his head down and turned to the side to speak. ‘He told me they were camping up here tonight, and the best place for that is Adam’s Ledge. Watch out for the water, and get a move on.’

  The runoff was worsening but not yet filling the channels, and enough rocks were visible above the surface to provide stepping stones. With the riverbed now a few yards further on, it was important to get over it and back before it filled completely and forced them to skirt around it on the descent.

  ‘Don’t know why you wanted to set up this stupid deal in the first place,’ Benny complained. ‘We get enough off the social to get by.’

  ‘You wouldn’t understand.’

  ‘Try me.’

  ‘Couldn’t be bothered. Just keep going and look out for a tent.’

  Benny and Mark had grown up a few doors away from each other, played truant from the same schools and been nicked and cautioned together on several occasions, but there was one thing about Mark no-one else knew, and it was something Mark kept close to his chest.

  Her name was Emma, she had blonde hair like her mother, the cutest button nose and a giggle to melt even Mark’s heart. She lived in Kirby with her mother and was only four years old. Mark was allowed to see her, as long as her mum was present and they didn’t fight, and on the condition that he sent regular payments. Recently, the mother (he never used her name) had demanded an increase in return for not shopping him to the child support agencies, and his benefits were barely enough to cover his own bills. Other than try and give his daughter the best he could, the only other things he knew how to do were trade drugs and burgle houses, and he wasn’t particularly good at either. Emma deserved better than him, he accepted that, but apart from a mother who squandered her benefits on alcohol and a grandmother who was worse, Emma had only Mark. If he could pull off this deal, he might have enough to steal her away and start a new, clean life somewhere else. It all rested on finding his rucksack seven hundred metres above sea level, in bad weather, at night and within the next eight hours.

  ‘Oi!’ Benny had stopped and yanked at Mark’s sleeve. ‘Up there.’

  They had crossed the riverbed without Mark realising it, and hope rose in his chest. It might have been pelting freezing rain accompanied now by the added din of thunder coming in from behind the fell, but they’d nearly completed the ascent. Thoughts of his daughter and the riches to come had pushed him through, and he found hope in the lightning as it lit the way in ever brighter electric blue flashes.

  Benny was aiming his torch, and Mark knocked his hand down. Another flash of light, and he saw what Benny had found. Adam’s Ledge, a series of flat, grassy levels, lay fifty yards ahead, and the tip of a bell tent was visible from behind the outlying boulders. Darkness plunged over them again, and he pulled Benny down to his haunches beneath the shelter of the eastern rockface.

  ‘Right, Benny,’ he said. ‘You stay here. Don’t want to ri
sk you blundering about and waking them up.’ Rain stabbed his wrist as he pulled back his sleeve and checked the time. ‘They got to be asleep by now. If not, what the fuck. They won’t recognise me.’ He pulled at his balaclava, a good excuse to scratch his chin where the wool irritated his stubble. ‘Won’t be long, Benny. Don’t you go nowhere, but keep your torch on. Pointing down, fuckwit…’ That corrected, he continued. ‘So’s I can find you. Stay there and wait. I’ll be five minutes tops.’

  With that, he pulled a wooden police truncheon from beneath his waterproofs, and keeping low as he set off, was swallowed by the night.

  Liam knew he had slept because he remembered faces dancing before his eyes. They were weird and twisted images of characters he had never met and floated in and out of his inner mind as unrelated stories unfolded behind them. The twisting imagery dissolved the numbness in his feet and hands and absorbed the uneven press of the ground, even the noise beyond the tent faded into comforting nothingness that made everything right.

  Before he knew it, it was all back. The frightening stomp of thunder, the worrying vibrations through the groundsheet, and the distorted sound of the tent straining against the wind. The cold had woken him. Aware that the temperature had dropped, he pulled the sleeping bag tighter and over his head, but even that didn’t hold back the icy blasts. It could have been any time of night, it certainly wasn’t morning, and the storm had not abated.

  Something else was wrong, and it wasn’t until he pushed back towards Casper’s warmth that he realised what.

  ‘Cass?’

  No reply. Groping behind, he found only the roll mat.

  ‘Cass?’

  A shrill whistle and a raw blast of wind left no doubt that the tent flap was open.

  ‘What the…?’

  If Casper had gone for another piss, he could have at least zipped up after himself. The thought woke his anger and their conversation flooded his already bewildered mind. The friendship was over. Not only had he behaved like a spoiled brat, he’d also wrecked any chance of reconciliation by coming out. He’d been wrong to think Casper would accept the news and think nothing of it. Of course he was angry, Liam had bleated on about friendship and loyalty for over a year while all the time keeping a secret. Yes, well, so had Casper, and even though there was some satisfaction in getting his own back, Liam was now alone, scared of the storm and devastated.