Page 123 of Riding the High Road

I drift into a picture of Mum driving a Red Bull F1 car on the Xbox. As in crashing at the corners because she’s crap at it.

‘…didn’t know where you were or what was happening, then I got that call. Gethin?’ Her worried face looks far away. ‘What on earth happened, Gethin? Why were you in Durness?’

‘Whoa, easy with the questions.’ I look beyond her to the window. The cloud has darkened and spread. I stare at it, trying to work things out.

‘They say you fell off the cliff in Durness, you were with a girl on a motorbike or something. I thought you were searching for Don, that’s what Emily said,’ Mum fills my head with gabble.

‘Will you shut up confusing me with the third degree.’ I bang my hand on the bed, my head vibrating. There was a girl: wide blue eyes, pouty mouth, lines of silver earrings. Who was she?

The nurse approaches. ‘Try not to get him too excited, Mrs Williams.’

Mum tenses up. I close my eyes.

Silver bulk on the ocean floor – swimming down to it but whenever I’m in touching distance it retreats – running out of breath give it one last push and grab at the handlebars – an old motorbike – but he’s pushing down on the seat, face behind the helmet screen, mouthing NO – blood banging roaring in my ears. Got to get to the surface, but I can’t let go of the bike. I tug and lunge to get away. Gasp at the air as I break through.

‘NO!’

‘It’s OK, Gethin. Gethin breathe!’

Mum squeezes my hand, face crumpled with worry. I take another breath and another.

‘You dropped off again. Had me worried for a second.’

‘I was underwater, I literally couldn’t breathe?’ I try to explain.

‘It’s the concussion, they say you just need to rest, you know?’

I try to pull myself up on the pillows. Mum rearranges them and I lean back. The people in the beds opposite all look half dead, as in, bandaged heads, tubes and dials. There’s a tube in my arm, leading to a drip.

‘They’re just rehydrating you; it’s going to be OK.’ She seems to catch my thoughts.

I shut my eyes, the image of his No-saying face still wavering ‘He’s not my father, is it?’

‘You found him! What did he say? Has he upset you?’

‘Mum, please!’ I pull my hand away, though I am strangely comforted by how she annoys me in all the usual ways.

‘I’m sorry. I’ve just been so anxious.’

I can hear the hurt in her voice, but I can’t relate to it. What is it about Don? Everything’s so far away.

‘I found him in Lochgillan. He’s got an old motorcycle museum, pretty sick place, like, really quirky…?’ I pause as an image of the museum starts to form.

‘Ah that’s great, Gethin. I don’t have an issue, you know…?’

‘He’s set up these scenes, like smiley motorbike families in the fifties and shit…?’ I trail off, an image of Jez standing next to me looking at the display.

‘Where’s Jez?’ I ask.

‘Does he have a daughter as well? The girl you were with in Durness?’

‘What the hell are you on about? Just shut up a minute, will you?’

She pulls back into hunched shoulders.

‘Has he got a daughter?’ I clutch at a thought just out of reach.

‘I only wondered about the girl,’ Mum says. Not helpful.

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