‘Come on, Nicky!’
‘I’m not bloody Lara Croft.’
‘I think you’ve got potential. You might find you enjoy it.’
And the truth was that she understood what he meant. His disregard for safety, his desire for kicks and danger, his search for an adrenalin rush – she found she was responding to all this.
‘Get back,’ he said, shoving her hard up against the metal struts of the bridge as a train passed by them, so close she felt the wind it created brushing her cheek.
Grace’s death had robbed Nicky of the remains of her youth. She had stepped over into a world where unspeakable horrors lurked in corners, where life wasn’t carefree and consequence free. While she loved Greg, Adam brought the spontaneity and risk of her younger years bubbling to the surface. She didn’t want a life half lived. She took a deep breath. ‘I’m in.’
Adam held her face in his hands. ‘You won’t regret it,’ he shouted as a train wobbled past them. ‘Follow me exactly.’
He started out across the tracks.
‘What about the third rail—’
‘Don’t touch
any
rail,’ he interrupted.
The tracks were wider than they looked and the other side seemed far away. About a third of the way across fear began to expand inside her. She could hear the clanging of points as they changed, the hum of the shiny metal rails. She didn’t dare look up, scared that what she saw would make her panic and run – and who knew then what danger she might be in? She gripped Adam’s hand harder, his knuckles a bony lifeline. Finally they were across and she half staggered on the small loose stones piled by the side of the tracks. Her heart was pummelling the inside of her chest. She didn’t let go of Adam’s hand as he led her out over the river, because she couldn’t bear to feel herself outside his comforting orbit; she didn’t want reality to leave her exposed.
A little further on Adam turned into a triangular space with high cement walls made by the struts of the bridge below them and she could finally retreat a little from the trains. She looked around her at the spray cans that littered the ground as Adam commanded her to stand right back against one of the walls. Nicky gave a gasp. So this was why graffiti artists risked their lives for their art. The wall in front of her had a huge mural of Red Riding Hood painted on it, her red cloak fanning out behind her, her hair a blonde punk interpretation. In her hands she held a spray can of paint, aiming it like a gun, and above her head were the words ‘Fear makes the wolf grow bigger’. Red Riding Hood’s eyes contained a steely glint that it was impossible to ignore. The enclosed space, the inability to walk away from the work because of the train lines, meant its full power caught the viewer head on.
‘Now
that’s
what I call art,’ Adam said.
They were suspended over the middle of the Thames, the breathtaking view of the beating heart of the city flowing away beneath them, Red Riding Hood’s blood-red cape caught in the wind off the river.
‘It’s amazing,’ was all Nicky could say.
‘Worth the danger?’ Adam asked. Nicky nodded, adrenalin surging through her body. She hadn’t felt so alive in years. ‘Life is about taking risks, confronting your fears. Otherwise what’s the point?’
Nicky laughed. ‘Fear makes the wolf –’
They finished the rest together: ‘– grow bigger.’
He suddenly looked serious and grabbed her hand again. ‘We need to go. The transport police will be here in a minute.’ He led her back the way they had come and she felt at that moment that she would follow him anywhere. This day was a divine hiatus, a break from her real life. They walked back onto the platform past several gawping passengers. ‘Shit! The police are here!’ She followed his gaze and saw two policemen hurrying across the concourse. They sprinted down a walkway and out into Villiers Street. As she ran along she started giggling and then she started laughing and she found she couldn’t stop. Such happiness surged through her that she had to double over near Embankment Tube. This was all so gloriously silly, so young at heart. Adults didn’t run, they walked. Greg might stride, his sturdy legs eating up the ground, but he didn’t run. There were probably moments when Adam skipped.
‘Nicky Ayers, you’ve got some balls, I’ll give you that! I never thought you’d go for it!’
‘Then you really don’t know me at all, Adam Thornton!’ He was looking at her through his laughter with amazement – and desire.
They jogged across the river and down onto the South Bank, her heart only now beginning to return to something like normal.
They passed the National Film Theatre and Nicky went in to the bar to buy a bottle of water. As she inched forward in the queue she felt a swirling mixture of adrenalin, excitement and shock. Adam had taken her back to her younger self, her self before her marriage and before Grace’s death.
Just as she was looking for her money for the water she was shoved roughly from behind, careering awkwardly into the woman in front of her in the queue. She turned round, astonished and annoyed, to find a small woman with spiky blonde hair, and wearing a cropped T-shirt that showed her taut brown tummy, balling her fists. ‘Do you mind?’
‘Leave Adam alone.’
Nicky realized in an instant who she was. ‘Bea.’
‘See, he’s told you about me. We’re still together, so hands off.’ Her bottom lip jutted forward in a pout that Bea probably thought was attractive. And she had a kind of image that made an impression. There was a smattering of freckles across her nose, which was fine and upturned, and her skin was stretched tight across her cheeks. She looked like a vindictive elf.
Nicky could feel her anger mushroom. She wasn’t going to be pushed around. She also didn’t like the idea that she was being followed; it was creepy and unsettling. ‘If you’re still with him, go off and find him. He’s just over there.’ She pointed towards the river. ‘And leave me in peace.’ Bea narrowed her eyes, which were hard and unyielding; her small breasts sat high on her ribcage, exposed under the tight and see-through T-shirt; her skinny legs showed under the denim mini. She was an acrimonious bundle of hatred. Nicky sensed the wiry strength in her thin arms and had no doubt that Bea could fight nasty if she wanted to. Nicky glanced at the barman, who had suddenly found something of great interest to study in the ceiling tiles, while people behind her in the queue shifted and craned for a better look. She felt ridiculous, as if she’d been dragged back through the years into a teenage argument. ‘You’re not so sure now, are you?’
‘I’m not giving up.’ The queue shifted forward. ‘I’ll enjoy making your life hell.’ She grabbed the water bottle from Nicky’s hand and threw it on the floor, where it skidded and spun towards some stools. ‘Bitch!’
‘Just leave me alone!’ Nicky was ready to vent her anger. She bent down to pick up the water and turned to see Bea marching out of the bar, her middle finger stuck skywards.
Every eye in the room was now upon her, waiting for what she would do next. She mumbled ‘Sorry’ and headed for the exit, head down. She found Adam a few moments later, buying them ice creams.
He gave her one glance and exclaimed, ‘What the hell happened to you?’
‘I just met Bea.’
‘Bea Forrester? For Chrissake!’ He looked around wildly. ‘This is beyond a fucking joke!’
‘It wasn’t a pleasure.’
‘I’m so sorry. Come on, let’s go.’ He handed her an ice cream, his face clouded.
‘She’s got it bad, hasn’t she?’
‘She’s ridiculous. I feel powerless to do anything except wait it out.’
‘Rejection is a very intense emotion.’
He was staring at her and Nicky felt a tension began to shimmer between them. She turned and headed towards the river, putting her hand on the wall that bordered the Thames and feeling the rough stone under her palm. They walked along, licking their ice creams, and slowed by some builders who were digging up paving stones and replacing a section of the wall. Nicky stopped by a line of red and white tape and busied herself eating so she didn’t have to look at him.
‘Nicky.’
Now she had to face up to the situation she had partly created. She looked at him, noticing a small scar near his lip, caught in relief by the sun. She had to make a choice here. He was handsome and keen – what more could a girl want? But Nicky was married, and whatever her problems she needed to deal with them with Greg. Nicky took a step back because she thought Adam was going to try to kiss her. It was a distraction she didn’t need. She felt the red and white tape of the builders’ barrier slide under her bum.
Adam opened his mouth, as if about to say something, when through the crowds of people on the Thames Path Nicky saw Bea loom up, cycling fast towards her. She gasped and instinctively took a sharp step backwards. As Bea screeched to a halt, Nicky stumbled and tripped on one of the paving stones, aware of the builders’ tape breaking and pinging away under tension. She heard a workman shout out as she took another step backwards, trying to regain her balance, but her foot found nothing on which to land and her arms began to cartwheel in a useless attempt to stop herself falling. She was going backwards into the Thames with nothing to break her fall. She heard a woman scream – it might have been her – before the shockingly cold water closed over her head.
N
icky had heard many times that the Thames was a lot more dangerous than it looked. She knew that the tides pulling that huge body of water upstream and down swallowed at least one person a week, and those were the ones that were found. By the time she surfaced Nicky noticed with a jolt that she was already ten metres from where she fell in. She tried to swim to the bank, but her dress and shoes were weights dragging her down. She swam harder but got no nearer to the high, slimy wall. Even if she got there she couldn’t climb out. She saw a line of boats and barges moored mid-river that had seemed almost within touching distance from the shore, but now that she was in the gunmetal water their distance was absurd, the expanse of broiling water between her and them impossible to traverse. Something pulled her sharply under again and she fought to get her head above water. She saw a bridge in the distance. If she was pulled under there she knew it was unlikely she’d ever come out because the vicious eddies and undercurrents would hold her down. She was swimming as hard as she could, rapidly losing strength and making absolutely no headway.
Nicky realized with a terrible sense of déjà vu how quick death could be, how decisive and unstoppable her journey towards it was, how puny her efforts to fight it were. People were shouting from the top of the wall, their arms and hands waving. They were too far away to help her. She heard a scream as someone dived into the river. Adam swept downriver to her and started shouting as he neared. ‘Kick as hard as you can!’
Nicky was mute, with no strength to utter a word. She put all her energy into staying afloat and he reached out his arms in the water to pull her towards him. He cupped his hand under her chin and together they kicked for the wall. He was a strong swimmer and his legs powered away beneath her. She used the last of her energy to kick as best she could, while Thames water slapped over her face, making her cough and splutter. She turned her head and saw he was trying to use the current to aim for a large buttress of stone that jutted out at right angles into the river. If they could get there at least they would have a chance of avoiding being swept downriver under the bridge.
They smacked into the wall with surprising force, then Nicky grappled to find any handhold in the slimy brick, but she kept being dunked under by the current as it swirled against this obstacle. Water filled her mouth; the dank smell of rotting masonry filled her nostrils. Adam reached up and grabbed an old round boathook fixed into the ancient brick. He clung on to it with one hand and planted his feet wide against the wall. ‘Hold my hand!’ he commanded.
Nicky made a lunge for his hand as the water tried one last time to suck her around the edge of the buttress and back into the river. She climbed between his legs and he created a cage around her where she could gather her breath. She saw a line of faces peering over the wall and heard shouting that she couldn’t make into anything meaningful. A few minutes later some workmen appeared and lowered a ladder over the side towards them. Nicky only had the strength to climb up one rung so Adam shoved her up by her bum from below. The builders pulled her up the wall with the energy of hopeless bystanders suddenly finding themselves useful.
By the time she was dragged over the wall and lay splayed on the warm concrete of the South Bank, panting like a fish landed on deck of a trawler, she realized she’d had the most extraordinary day. As a crowd of anxious and appalled onlookers gathered round, asking her if she was OK, patting Adam on the back for being the have-a-go hero he was, she burst into tears of relief and – at that moment of rescue – love.
G
reg didn’t believe in luck, he didn’t like surprises and accidents made the hairs stand up on the back of his neck. He sat hunched over the computer in the hotel room while the LA morning sun bounced off the building opposite. Nicky’s movements were pixellated by a bad Skype connection; she seemed manic and excitable, and, considering what she was telling him, he wasn’t surprised.
‘The Thames has got this funny taste, not what you’d expect at all.’ She tried to laugh, but it didn’t come out right. The spotlights in their kitchen accentuated dark circles under her eyes and made her look tired.
‘I still don’t understand how you fell in. Have you contacted a lawyer? You need to sue that building firm right now, their health and safety procedures—’
‘Greg, listen to me, I’m fine. I’ve got one hell of a scratch on my knee—’
‘Jesus! Have you been—’
‘I went to the doctor for a tetanus injection. I had a shock, but I’m fine now.’
He watched her tuck some strands of hair behind her ear, bite a hangnail. All right, my arse.
‘Hello? You still hear me?’
‘I’m still here.’ A stretchy silence opened up between them. ‘Who was this guy who jumped in?’