2
Howard lived in a Victorian terraced house in Gilesgate, a village that was nominally part of Durham but only connected to the city itself by a long street that wound its way up one of seven steep hills. Sarah found herself stopping regularly to take a break and get her breath back as she climbed Claypath, the last street in Durham proper; winding its way up to Gilesgate bank.
Why does this city have to be built on so many hills? she asked herself. And why am I so exhausted? I’ve lived here for years, climbed every hill, walked every street, and I never used to get out of breath. I must be coming down with something.
She sat on a low stone wall and checked the time while she got her breath back. It was half past six and night was already drawn in. Getting across the roundabout at the top of the hill would be a nightmare. She decided to use the bridge connecting Claypath to Hild Bede college rather than risk crossing traffic in the dark. It meant a slightly longer path to climb, but it removed the risk of being squashed by an inattentive driver. There was a zebra crossing further up the hill that she could use to get to Howard’s house, so it would not be too much of a problem.
Her telephone began to ring. Fishing it out of her bag was almost too strenuous to manage. She took several deep breaths in an attempt to regain her strength, then flipped open the clamshell.
‘Hello?’ she asked.
‘Hi, Sarah. It’s Peter.’
‘Hi. What’s up?’
‘Oh, not a lot. I’m in town, just finished lectures, and I was wondering if you were doing anything tonight?’
‘Oh. Right. Well, I’m supposed to be going to Howard’s about something, but after that I’m free.’
‘Fair enough. Do you need a lift? I’ve got the car with me until my Dad visits next week.’
‘You know what? That would be fantastic.’
She arranged to meet him at the bus stop below the bridge. By the time he arrived, she was feeling a little more like herself, although not greatly.
‘Bloody hell, Sarah,’ said Peter. ‘You look like death.’
‘It’s nice to see you too,’ she said, flatly.
‘I’m serious. Have you been to see the doctor?’
She shook her head. The movement made her feel a little sick.
‘Well you should. Make an appointment tomorrow morning if you’re not feeling better, okay?’
‘Yes, Mum.’
‘I’m serious,’ said Peter. ‘You’ve got to look after yourself. You’ve been ill like this far too often.’
‘Turn right here,’ said Sarah. ‘Then second left.’
Peter sighed, and although she felt bad for upsetting him, a lecture on her health was not something she wanted to hear. She let the silence grow more thick and uncomfortable as the car wound its way along the last few hundred yards to their destination.
Howard was at the door when they arrived. For a moment, she seemed pleased to have company, but her smile faltered when she saw Peter. To her credit, Sarah noted that she recovered very quickly; and it seemed Peter was oblivious anyhow.
‘I think you came just in time,’ said Howard as she led the way into the tiny lounge that was supposed to serve as a communal room for all five people who lived in the house.
With a two-seater sofa, one armchair and a rickety wooden chair by the television, there was barely enough room for the three of them to squeeze in. Entertaining five people would only be possible, Sarah decided, if they were all very thin and agreed not to breathe.
‘What’s happened?’ asked Sarah.
‘It’s Liam,’ said Howard. ‘He’s been in his room for over an hour now, and I can hear chanting again.’
