Read Online Bright Air by Barry Maitland - Free Book Online

fingers. Later my climbing instructor told me of a concrete retaining wall in a secluded corner of a nearby park, where climbers had glued artificial holds to the surface for bouldering practice. According to my book, bouldering—that is, solo climbing on low rocks or walls without ropes—was the best way to sharpen technique, and I became a regular visitor to the place.
    Looking back now, I can barely recognise myself in all this secretive and rather obsessive activity. Although I saw Luce from time to time in the following weeks, helping her with her statistics assignments or going out to the pub, I didn’t mention anything about my training. I avoided seeing her with her friends, and made excuses for not going to their next climbing sessions while I desperately tried to get fit, strengthen the peculiar muscles that seemed to be crucial, and develop some minimal expertise. After a few weeks of excuses I could see that she was losing interest, and I realised I was going to have to make an appearance. They were all clearly surprised when I turned up, and more so when I put on my no-longer pristine shoes and made a reasonable showing on the wall. I was still hopelessly inferior to the girls, and to a lesser degree Curtis and Owen, but I actually outpaced Damien, who was probably still hung-over from lunchtime, and he generously conceded that I might be okay and said he’d shout us all at the bar.
    We sat around a table together, Owen, Anna, Luce and I, with Damien and Curtis returning from the counter with beer, and they were friendly enough, but I still felt uncomfortable,the outsider, their conversation and humour full of references I didn’t know and which they didn’t bother to explain. I remembered Luce saying that six of them had gone climbing in Yosemite together, and I wondered who the other one had been. Then Curtis raised his arm and waved to someone at the door, and I turned and saw a tall lean man wearing a black shirt and jeans. He had shoulder-length black hair swept back from his face, and as he made his way towards us I saw that he was limping heavily, putting his weight on a stick in his left hand.
    Curtis jumped to his feet and pulled another chair into the circle, and the man sank into it with a grunt, handing Curtis a fifty-dollar note which he took up to the bar.
    Luce said, ‘Marcus, this is Josh. Josh Ambler, Marcus Fenn.’
    I got up and stretched my hand out to shake his. His face was deeply lined and tanned, his hair touched in places with grey, and I saw that he was much older than us, maybe mid-forties. He regarded me impassively.
    ‘Josh has been climbing with us this evening, Marcus.’
    ‘Really?’ His voice was soft. Curtis returned and placed a large Scotch by his hand, and laid the change beside it. ‘What do you do, Josh?’
    ‘I’ve just started an MBA.’
    His expression registered an involuntary wince and he took a quick gulp of whisky as if to clear a bad taste. ‘Merchant banker, eh?’ This caused general merriment.
    ‘That sort of thing. How about you? What do you do, Marcus?’
    ‘Oh, I work for this godforsaken institution, I’m sorry to say, and occasionally try to squeeze a little understanding into these guys’ heads. Fairly unsuccessfully, I’d have to admit.’
    I couldn’t pin down his accent—Australian, certainly, but with what might have been an American flavour. His attention turned to Owen. ‘How’s Pop bearing up?’
    Owen shook his head wearily. ‘Bushed. If you have some dope for crying babies, please can I have some.’ This was the first time I’d heard that Owen was a father. Apparently he was also married. ‘Suzi’s going spare.’
    ‘If she needs a break,’ Luce said, ‘I don’t mind doing the odd babysit.’
    Owen seized on the offer. ‘We’d really appreciate that, Luce.’
    Marcus was observing this domestic exchange with a sardonic smile, as if he found the whole idea vaguely pitiful.
    There was karaoke in the adjoining room, and