position.
Climbing was a puzzle that had to be solved; brute force and strength would only get you so far. The very best climbers – and her mentor had told her she could be one of the very best – used their brains, not their muscles, to get to the top. It was about shifts in position, working through a maze of tiny protrusions and indentations almost invisible to the naked eye to defy gravity and get to the finish. Changing the angle of an ankle, starting with a different leg, crossing arms over in the right way meant you could climb an overhang or impossible-looking rock face.
Georgie climbed when she wanted to relax, when she wanted endorphins to flood her body and take away the petty stresses at work, the major stresses at home. She balanced on her right leg and swung her left over to a further point. This buttress was thinner but longer, allowing her to get the whole length of her foot on it. It changed her body position subtly, and allowed her to approach the rock face in a new way. She often wondered why she loved climbing so much, but she knew the answer: it was one of the few places in her life she could actually have space around her. She thought of home, to the tiniest boxroom carved off the main bedroom that was all the space she had to call her own, where trying to go out in the evenings involved tense pacing and waiting for the bathroom door to open and racing in before one of her three older brothers barged her out of the way to spend hours primping and preening themselves. Getting ready for work was easier; she was the only one up early, the only one of the family with a PAYE number.
She’d been a mistake. Mum and Dad often told her, with a smile that showed all their love and, until Mum got too weak to lift her arm, a ruffle of a hand in her hair. A fourth – and a girl. There was no room in the house, precious little room in their lives. Old habits clung on; she wondered if they’d called her Georgie because it was easier to stick with boys’ names. She was simply the last and littlest of the Bell gang and expected to tread the same path.
She dabbed more chalk on her fingers and completed the rest of the climb, swung her leg over the top and stood, staring down at the blue crash mats far below. But she didn’t want to follow that path, working for her dad, the suffocating weight of her family on her. She just needed to endure home for six more months, then she would finally have the money to get her own place, carve out a new life at arm’s length from her family. At twenty-eight she could make a start. Work was the solution and the salvation. Pity she was the only one in her family to think it.
She paused for a moment, letting her breath return to normal. The exercise eased her frustrations, her lack of privacy. Hard economic realities kept them all at home, but it wasn’t only that. Duty had kept them there through Mum’s long illness, and grief after she’d gone. She turned to abseil to the ground. It was seven thirty on Monday morning; it was more private showering here than at home.
Four hours later she had Kelly’s name in the computer and was left scratching her head. There was precious little information, which was frustrating. There was nothing filed under her married name, no record of where she grew up, no arrest record. She typed Kelly’s maiden name into the computer. ‘Access denied’ came up across the screen. She hadn’t been expecting that.
Mo came over with a pile of printouts. ‘I’ve got her mobile phone records. Why are you so interested in the wife?’
Georgie didn’t answer. She glanced down the printout of Kelly’s mobile phone use for the past three months. The last month’s stretched to barely half a page. Again, unexpected. ‘Mo, if you had loads of cash and were young and good-looking, what would you be doing? No offence or anything.’
He laughed and sat down. ‘I wouldn’t be here with you, that’s for sure. No offence.’
‘None
Climbing was a puzzle that had to be solved; brute force and strength would only get you so far. The very best climbers – and her mentor had told her she could be one of the very best – used their brains, not their muscles, to get to the top. It was about shifts in position, working through a maze of tiny protrusions and indentations almost invisible to the naked eye to defy gravity and get to the finish. Changing the angle of an ankle, starting with a different leg, crossing arms over in the right way meant you could climb an overhang or impossible-looking rock face.
Georgie climbed when she wanted to relax, when she wanted endorphins to flood her body and take away the petty stresses at work, the major stresses at home. She balanced on her right leg and swung her left over to a further point. This buttress was thinner but longer, allowing her to get the whole length of her foot on it. It changed her body position subtly, and allowed her to approach the rock face in a new way. She often wondered why she loved climbing so much, but she knew the answer: it was one of the few places in her life she could actually have space around her. She thought of home, to the tiniest boxroom carved off the main bedroom that was all the space she had to call her own, where trying to go out in the evenings involved tense pacing and waiting for the bathroom door to open and racing in before one of her three older brothers barged her out of the way to spend hours primping and preening themselves. Getting ready for work was easier; she was the only one up early, the only one of the family with a PAYE number.
She’d been a mistake. Mum and Dad often told her, with a smile that showed all their love and, until Mum got too weak to lift her arm, a ruffle of a hand in her hair. A fourth – and a girl. There was no room in the house, precious little room in their lives. Old habits clung on; she wondered if they’d called her Georgie because it was easier to stick with boys’ names. She was simply the last and littlest of the Bell gang and expected to tread the same path.
She dabbed more chalk on her fingers and completed the rest of the climb, swung her leg over the top and stood, staring down at the blue crash mats far below. But she didn’t want to follow that path, working for her dad, the suffocating weight of her family on her. She just needed to endure home for six more months, then she would finally have the money to get her own place, carve out a new life at arm’s length from her family. At twenty-eight she could make a start. Work was the solution and the salvation. Pity she was the only one in her family to think it.
She paused for a moment, letting her breath return to normal. The exercise eased her frustrations, her lack of privacy. Hard economic realities kept them all at home, but it wasn’t only that. Duty had kept them there through Mum’s long illness, and grief after she’d gone. She turned to abseil to the ground. It was seven thirty on Monday morning; it was more private showering here than at home.
Four hours later she had Kelly’s name in the computer and was left scratching her head. There was precious little information, which was frustrating. There was nothing filed under her married name, no record of where she grew up, no arrest record. She typed Kelly’s maiden name into the computer. ‘Access denied’ came up across the screen. She hadn’t been expecting that.
Mo came over with a pile of printouts. ‘I’ve got her mobile phone records. Why are you so interested in the wife?’
Georgie didn’t answer. She glanced down the printout of Kelly’s mobile phone use for the past three months. The last month’s stretched to barely half a page. Again, unexpected. ‘Mo, if you had loads of cash and were young and good-looking, what would you be doing? No offence or anything.’
He laughed and sat down. ‘I wouldn’t be here with you, that’s for sure. No offence.’
‘None
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