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Guilt almost stopped his throat. ‘I think that my survival was more a matter of chance. Most
of the time I was just feeling sorry for myself.’
‘So let me get this right.’ She spoke quietly. ‘You were eleven years old, and you’d seen your own brother and his friends buried in a rock fall. You had a broken ankle and no doubt a fair number of other minor injuries, and you were trapped underground in the darkness for three days...’
She broke off as Gabriel shivered violently. Reaching across the table, her fingertips touched his and he couldn’t draw his hand away.
‘I’m sorry, Gabriel, but I think you need to hear this. Just staying alive through all of that was an act of incredible bravery. Hasn’t anyone told you that?’
‘I don’t talk about it all that much.’
‘You mean never?’
Gabriel nodded. He wanted so much to tell her, but he didn’t have the words. Maybe Clara could do what he couldn’t, and find those words.
‘Well, I’m not a doctor, specialising in the treatment of patients who’ve suffered trauma.’ Her fingertips caressed his. ‘I know a few things, though, and it’s very obvious to me that you need to talk about this.’
His heart pounded in his chest. Three little words, that were so difficult to say, but which suddenly he couldn’t hold back any more.
‘Help me, Clara.’
* * *
They’d talked for a long time and it was clear that much of what Gabriel said was for the first time. It was hard to listen to, and hard to know how to respond. But he’d wanted to talk, and seemed to forgive Clara for not always knowing what to say in reply.
He didn’t remember much about the last day he spent in the cave, or the first day after he was rescued. Maybe that was gone for good, like the night after he’d been dosed with flunitrazepam. It was clear that Gabriel needed a great deal more help with this than Clara could give him, but he seemed to be taking his first steps at least. As the sun rose, light slanting through the kitchen windows, they were still talking.
‘After you were rescued, did your parents have you talk with anyone about your experiences?’ He seemed to be feeding on her questions. Using them to help him to say the things he really needed to say.
‘They took me to a number of different doctors. But I didn’t talk. Full stop.’
‘You mean...you didn’t say anything?’
‘Not a word. For five weeks.’ Gabriel shrugged. ‘My brother’s funeral was delayed because of the time it took to dig the bodies out and perform the autopsies. I remember lying in bed the night before and hearing my father talking to my nanny. He said that my mother was beside herself with worry, and that they’d been talking about whether they should take me to the funeral. They couldn’t decide what was best.’
He sighed, shaking his head.
‘It was natural for them to be worried, Gabriel. That’s not your fault.’ He’d been very quick to blame himself for all of this.
‘I was making things worse for her. She’d just lost Pietro... Anyway, the following morning I got out of bed while it was still dark. I dressed myself up in my best clothes and came downstairs, and found my parents right here, at this table. My mother was in her dressing gown, and she’d been crying...’
Clara caught her breath. This time she couldn’t ask what had happened next, the picture of a young Gabriel dressing himself for his brother’s funeral was too affecting.
‘I told her that I wanted to go with them. I remember my mother bursting into tears and hugging me.’
‘And...then?’ Clara almost choked on the words.
‘Then nothing. I went back to being a little boy. My sudden recovery was hailed as a miracle, my mother had her younger son back, although nothing could ever compensate for her having lost Pietro.’
‘And you never spoke about it again?’
‘It seemed... My mother took me back to all the doctors she’d taken me to before, but I told them that everything was okay. I wanted to be the kid who didn’t worry his parents. They’d already been through enough.’
‘You’d been through a lot too, Gabriel.’ If he remembered nothing else of what she’d said tonight, Clara hoped he’d remember this. ‘This is not something you can deal with on your own, you need professional help. You have to go and see someone and talk all of this through.’
He smiled suddenly. ‘I’ve just told you, haven’t I?’
‘I’m not a counsellor. I can listen as a friend, and I’m glad you were able to tell me about this. But there’s a difference between friendship and professional help, and I know you know that.’
