Chapter 1
Phoebe
When people say they’re living in the shadow of the mountain, it sounds kind of ominous. But there’s nothing ominous about this. The mountain is so close, I feel like I’m in it. I can’t even see the top unless I sit down on the sofa, and then my eye line reaches right up to the snowy peaks. What I wouldn’t give to be up there...
‘Why are you sighing?’
I jolt at the sound of Josie’s voice, glancing over my shoulder to see my best friend gazing down at me. ‘Nothing. I’m just happy to be back.’ I smile warmly.
It’s been almost ten years since we first came to Chamonix together at the age of eighteen.
‘What time did you get up?’ Josie asks, belatedly noticing that I’m fully dressed.
‘An hour or so ago,’ I reply, tightening my ponytail high up on my head.
‘What’s wrong with you?’ she grumbles, not expecting an answer as she flops onto the sofa beside me and yawns. Her medium-length dark hair is all tangled and her blue eyes look half asleep. She’s still gorgeous, though.
‘Coffee?’ I ask, bounding to my feet and heading into the small kitchen.
‘Yes, please,’ she replies.
We only arrived yesterday, and last night we hit an old haunt and drank one beer too many. To Josie’s irritation, I rarely suffer with hangovers, but then again, I managed to avoid being roped into the shots she did at midnight.
I switch on the radio and set about making the coffee, humming along to the music while she chills out.
‘What do you want to do today?’ she calls.
‘Climb a mountain.’ I poke my head around the door and flash her a hopeful grin.
‘Noooooo. No, no, no, no, no.’ Josie shakes her head adamantly and I continue with my task, chuckling to myself.
‘Sorry,’ she says, taking her cup from me when I reappear. ‘I don’t want to spoil your fun.’
I frown at her. ‘Don’t be silly.’
I’m getting married in two weeks, and all I wanted to do hen-wise was to come back here for a few days with my closest friend. I’ve thought a lot about Chamonix over the years, and as Josie and I experienced it together, it felt right that we should return, just the two of us.
My sisters were a little put out at not being invited, but now they’ve made other plans. Eliza and I are going to see a band in Manchester and Rose has organised a spa day. It’ll be great to have some one-on-one time with each of them. We don’t get to do that nearly enough these days.
‘So, aside from climbing a mountain, what else could we do?’ Josie perseveres.
‘Paraglide off one?’ I ask hopefully.
She pulls a face. ‘You know I don’t do extreme sports. I’m a boring mummy these days.’
Josie has a one-year-old son, Harry, back at home and this is the first time she’s been away from him.
‘How about we go on the Aiguille?’ I suggest. ‘You haven’t seen the top at this time of year.’
She went home towards the end of the winter season in March all those years ago, but I managed to secure a contract working on the Aiguille du Midi cable car. I loved life here so much that I ended up staying on through the summer.
‘Okay, sure,’ she agrees, nodding. ‘Guess I’d better get cracking then. I assume we’ll have to queue for ages like all the other tourists?’
‘Mmm, unfortunately. I don’t know anyone who works there any more.’
The thought makes my heart squeeze.
A couple of hours later, we’re nearly 4,000 metres above sea level on the highest and most famous of the Aiguilles de Chamonix.
I feel giddy with elation. Or maybe it’s the altitude. Whatever it is, I’m ecstatic to be back.
‘Wow,’ Josie murmurs as we stand in quiet reverence on the panoramic viewing platform. ‘I’d forgotten how beautiful it is up here.’
I gaze around at the jagged browny-grey peaks of the surrounding mountains. Mont Blanc is ahead of us and carpeted with snow, nonchalantly indifferent to the fact that it’s summer. It looks deceptively close, but the way from here to its summit is one of the more technical climbing routes. I know because I’ve done it, as well as another route that is slightly less challenging, but not to be underestimated.
‘I can’t believe you climbed the White Lady twice.’ Josie appears to be reading my mind.
‘Neither can I,’ I reply, as another of Mont Blanc’s nicknames comes back to me: White Killer... It’s hard to keep track of how many people have lost their lives trying to reach the top of Western Europe’s highest summit, not to mention those who have perished coming back down again.
‘Getting to the top is only halfway’, my dad used to say. The thought of him here, now, brings with it a sharp sense of loss.
Dad died of a heart attack eight years ago, and I miss him so much, especially here in the mountains. He was the person who taught me how to climb.
Josie snorts with amusement, oblivious to the dark turn my thoughts have taken. ‘You are such a jammy git. Did you really get paid to stay overnight up here? What a view to wake up to!’
I can’t help but smile again. ‘Well, there are no windows in the staff apartment,’ I tell her. ‘But yeah, it was pretty ridiculous walking outside in the morning.’
When Josie and I first came to Chamonix, we started off as chambermaids, but when she went home, I set my sights higher – a lot higher.
I’d made friends with a few locals, and one of them, Cécile, worked here on the Aiguille du Midi. The likelihood of a non-Chamoniard securing a contract on the cable cars was so low that it barely seemed worth applying – once you got a contract, you didn’t let it go. But my French was fluent and Cécile promised to put in a good word for me, so I sent in my CV. When a couple of full-timers unexpectedly quit citing personal reasons, I got a lucky break.
It’s hard to convey how much I loved it. I had to do everything from manning the cable cars to picking up litter, but the icing on the cake came once a month, when two of us would be guardians of the top, staying overnight in the staff apartment three floors down from where Josie and I are standing now. We were the last people to see the sun set at night and the first to see it rise the next morning. The experience was unforgettable.
My thoughts flit away from me again and suddenly I’m on the footbridge, the sky tinged orange and the mountains jagged silhouettes all around. For a few moments, I let my mind drift, before gathering myself together.
‘Let’s go to the ridge,’ I prompt Josie, bumping her arm.
Soon afterwards we’re in a shiny, dark, hollowed-out, frozen tunnel and, as I breathe in the cold air, I hear the familiar scritch-scratch of crampons on boots digging into densely packed snow. In the oddest way, I feel like I’ve come home.
There are three climbers ahead, preparing to set off down the ridge, and as they make their way through the gate, I move out of the ice cave and into the light. I watch as they set off down the narrow snow track, tethered together by rope.
‘Freaking nutters,’ Josie says under her breath, casting me a look. ‘And you’re a nutter as well.’
I smile a small smile. ‘It feels like a long time since I did that.’
‘You don’t really go climbing much these days,’ she observes.
‘Hardly ever,’ I reply quietly.
‘Do you miss—’
‘Yes,’ I interrupt, then smile at her properly. ‘I need to get my act together.’
She smiles back at me. ‘Plenty of time for that. What do you reckon, lunch?’
‘Good plan.’