Chapter 42
Rose
I’m standing on a balcony of a chalet in Argentière, staring up at the nearby mountains soaring into the crystalline blue sky. I take a deep breath and slowly exhale.
This is the exact same chalet where Phoebe and Josie stayed on their hen trip and tonight I will be sleeping in Phoebe’s bed. Josie was worried when I asked for every minute detail, but I tried to reassure her that I’m not losing my mind. I just want to feel close to my sister.
Right now, though, I feel cold.
I shiver and go back inside, sliding the door shut behind me before crawling onto the sofa and pulling a thick, woolly blanket up to my neck.
But I know that nothing I do will make me warm.
It’s been a week since I left England. I stayed in Paris for a few days, trying to soak up the atmosphere and prepare myself for what lay ahead. Then I took a train down to Saint Gervais and caught the Mont Blanc Express up through the valley to Chamonix, staring out of the window at the imposing mountains growing gradually bigger with each mile, heightening the tension that I would soon arrive at the town where Phoebe felt so at home.
From my position on the sofa I stare up at the mountains again, scarcely able to believe that my dad and sister used to climb them. The melting ice cascading down the rocks looks like a white waterfall, as though God has upended a carton of milk on them. It is absolutely breathtaking. I feel a pang of homesickness and wish Mum, Eliza or Angus were here with me to share this experience. Or Toby...
Reaching over to the coffee table, I pick up Phoebe’s purple diary and her iPhone with the headphones still attached. I plug in the earpieces and press play, listening as the dreamy strains of a song by an artist called Greta Svabo Bech waft out. Then I open the diary and begin to read. I want Phoebe’s experiences to be fresh in my mind when I go to the top of the Aiguille du Midi tomorrow.
It’s early September, and around 20 degrees in Chamonix town centre and partly sunny. I’m wearing Phoebe’s grey hoodie and I feel snug as I stand on a bridge, looking down at the milky green river rushing noisily below, before striding uphill to the main part of the town. Chamonix is pretty and it has a nice vibe, with people sitting on the pavement outside restaurants and cafés. I walk down a shopping street and through a square, gazing up at the surrounding mountains. They start off green near the bottom and grow increasingly white as they project into the sky. In places the slopes are banded with dark green pine trees, in others they’re striped with cables that carry the ski lifts, not that anyone will be skiing for a while. Far over my head, brilliantly coloured parachutes float this way and that, attached to the nutcases who deem it a good idea to jump off a mountain.
My sister was one of those nutcases, I muse with admiration tinged with sadness. Remy took her paragliding on their first proper date.
I’m intrigued to meet this man, after everything I’ve read about him, but I’ll have to wait a few days. He’s currently with a group of mountaineers on Mont Blanc, but he has promised to text me on his return. I hope he wasn’t too shocked to receive my email. He didn’t let on if he was.
I’ve already bought my extortionately priced Aiguille du Midi ticket – thank goodness for Mum because I never would have been able to afford to do everything I’m doing with my meagre bakery earnings – so after a while I head back down the hill to the cable car entrance and join the queue winding inside.
When I’m standing inside a cabin packed with people, the door whooshes shut and we begin our flight away from Chamonix. I emit a squeal along with most of the other passengers as we sail up and over the pylons, and I remember Phoebe saying that she’d never tire of the sound.
I turn to look at the girl who’s manning the car: she’s young and pretty with chocolate-brown eyes, and her straight, dark hair is partly tied back from her oval-shaped face. For a moment I picture Phoebe in her place, with blonde hair instead of brown and wearing the same dark uniform and I have to fight back tears. I look down to see us clear the tree line, and then we’re passing over rocks and grass and disembarking to switch cable cars at the middle station.
On the next car, I manage to secure a spot near the front and grip the handrail for support as crisp mountain air streams in through a crack in the window. Very soon the rocks below us are covered with snow, and in the distance I can make out tiny red and orange tents on an enormous white expanse. What did Phoebe write when Dad came over and climbed Mont Blanc with her? They weren’t dwarfed by the mountain, they were microscopisized by it. I don’t think it’s even a word in the English language, but it should be. I can see what she meant.
The cable car breaks through the clouds to cheers of delight and I look in dazed awe at the mountain peaks protruding through the fluffy whiteness. It’s almost otherworldly – the sun is bright and the sky is as blue as blue can be.
Our ascent becomes almost vertical and only a metre or so in front of me is a sheer rock face, too steep for even snow to cling on to, although a multitude of icicles manage it. I suddenly feel quite dizzy with vertigo. A small group of climbers to my left are walking along a steep, narrow ridge and I can barely believe my eyes. It looks so dangerous – and Phoebe and Dad used to do that sort of thing often!
The dizziness I’m feeling worsens as I step out of the car and follow the crowd down the stairs. I feel distinctly unsteady as I walk onto a wide metal footbridge, astonished at the low height of the handrails on either side. Cloud hovers only ten metres below, so I have no idea how far the drop would be if I were to topple over the railings. Around me, majestic brown and grey snow-splatted mountaintops pierce the sky, but I feel too giddy and short of breath to appreciate the view. Is this what altitude does to you? I honestly had no idea. I’ve never been this high before in my life.
Feeling rigid with fear, I force myself to turn and study the building wrapped around one jagged peak. I find it astonishing that people managed to build up here. Who clung to the mountaintop and hammered in that nail? Are they absolutely mental?
It occurs to me that somewhere inside that mass of man-made material is the staff apartment, and then I realise that I’m standing on the footbridge where Remy and Phoebe shared their first kiss. I’m amazed that she felt relaxed enough to smile, let alone kiss anyone up here or stay overnight with only one colleague for company. I’d be far too scared to do that, yet she was only eighteen and stayed up here on a fairly regular basis.
The panoramic viewing platform is at the top of the building, past the café and shop, I recall from Phoebe’s diary, but I feel too shaky to climb any higher right now. I decide to go and take a look at the ice cave instead.
Once over the footbridge and into the tunnel, I feel slightly safer. I pause for a moment to try to compose myself, standing clear of the melting ice dripping from the ceiling. Most of the people passing by are climbers, wearing backpacks adorned with ice axes and ropes, and harnesses around their waists, jangling with carabiners, slings, camming devices and other essential climbing gear. Harnesses have always reminded me of oversized charm bracelets and I have a flashback to Phoebe and Dad, fully geared-up as they set off early from a campsite in Wales. Mum, Eliza and I were huddling miserably around the campfire in the drizzle, trying to keep warm, but Dad and Phoebe were buzzing with excitement about their imminent climb. Nothing seemed to scare Phoebe. Nothing except for falling hopelessly and uncontrollably in love with Remy.
When I read about her fears in her diary, I couldn’t believe she chose to leave him behind, that she chose home and safety instead of the rollercoaster of emotions she experienced with him. But maybe she regretted it. Maybe that was why she was willing to risk her life to spend one more day with him.
Again, I’m curious to meet this man.
I move on from where I’m standing, and it’s not long before I reach the ice cave and beyond it the ridge where Remy and his cousin Amelie came in off the mountain.
Carved out scallop shapes give the walls around me the appearance of whipped egg white, and ahead the light is blinding as it reflects off the snowy slopes. This is the same ridge that I saw earlier from the cable car and it looks just as steep. I feel nervous at the sight of some approaching climbers. They’re tethered together by rope, but still... It seems like it would be so easy to lose their footing and slip, pulling down others with them.
The horror of Phoebe’s death hits me with the impact of a punch to the stomach and my heart starts to beat faster. The feeling intensifies, and suddenly it seems like a very real possibility that I’m going to faint.
‘Are you okay?’ I’m vaguely aware of a young climber asking this question. I try to be brave and nod my head, but he isn’t buying it. ‘It’s the altitude,’ he says in an American accent. ‘You should think about going back down.’
I nod again and stumble away from him, slipping on the slushy ice and snow under my feet.
‘Do you need some help?’ he calls after me.
I shake my head and feel my way out of the ice cave.
I’m still in a state of vertiginous terror as I climb back onto the cable car. I feel like I’m at the top of a very, very tall ladder and have to turn around and climb down the first rung without losing my footing.
The cable car sets off slowly, and as we come back through the cloud, the grey rocks emerge and the air is dark and gloomy. But I feel a wave of relief that I’m on my way back down again. I was thinking about getting off at the intermediate stop, but right now I just want to put my feet down on flat ground.
Chamonix is not particularly pretty from this height – a grey, dull stretch of buildings running all the way down the valley – but it’s a welcome sight to me.
That evening, I sit out on the balcony and try to make sense of the day I’ve had. I feel very low, like I’ve let Phoebe down by not appreciating what she loved. Her diary descriptions are completely alien compared to my experience. The top of the Aiguille was stunning, yes, but how could I admire its beauty when my heart was in my throat and I found it difficult to breathe?
I can see how Phoebe felt inspired here, and I understand how she wanted to be up there on top of the world, but I can’t imagine actually going through with what she did. She was adventurous, brave and self-assured.
We couldn’t be more different.
I don’t feel as close to her tonight. And it makes me feel sad.
The valley before me is shrouded in darkness and the pine trees look black, not green. But beyond the trees, the mountains are still light in colour, the sky above blue as it fades into night.
The reality of Phoebe dying up there suddenly hits me again, and I have to hurry back inside before I lose it.
I sob my heart out that night. At one point, Eliza’s name pops up on my Caller ID and I feel unbearably alone as I let the phone ring. She wouldn’t know how to handle me like this. I cry myself to sleep soon afterwards.
The next morning, when I wake up, I lie there for a long time wondering if I’ve been very stupid by thinking that I could – should – do this. I feel like I dreamt my trip up the mountain yesterday. I don’t want my stay to be plagued by grief and despair, so eventually I get up and resolve to pull myself together.
When I made the decision to go travelling by myself, I felt liberated. Not exactly free – the thought of what awaited me here gave me a knot in my stomach that feels a long way from unravelling – but I knew it would do me good to go out on my own. The last time I felt like that was when I went to university, but between then and now I’ve lost some of my confidence and independence. I’d like to get it back.
The purpose of this trip is to honour Phoebe, to try to keep her memory alive. I don’t want to crumble every time I visit one of her old haunts. I want to appreciate the things she saw and respect the things that she did.
I reach for her diary and have a flick through before making a decision. Today I’m going to go on the Montenvers train to visit the grotto.
The little red train departs from Chamonix and I smile at the young family sitting opposite before turning to stare out of the window at the ferns nestled in amongst the rocks as we chug steeply up the mountain.
Mer du Glace, France’s largest glacier, is 7km long and 200m deep, and its name translates to Sea of Ice. The grotto is dug out every summer because the glacier moves about 70m a year, and there are hundreds of steps to walk down before you reach it. Eventually I make it into the huge, cold tunnel of ice. It’s lit by colourful lights and I take photos of the various ‘rooms’ that I pass along the way. Phoebe was right: this is totally up my street. I try not to think about how she wanted to bring both Eliza and me back here with her.
Later I head to the restaurant in the Grand Hotel for lunch. It’s an imposing rectangular granite-stone building several storeys high, but is cosy inside, with wooden-panelled interiors. I order the tartiflette – a traditional Savoyard dish made with potatoes, reblochon cheese, lardons and onions. The calories are sky high, but I need comfort food right now. I’m battling loneliness – and grief.
I wish I could have persuaded Eliza to come. I remember that she called me last night and I send her a quick, breezy text to tell her what I’m up to. I’d love to talk to her, but politeness gets the better of me – I’d feel too rude having a conversation on my phone in the middle of a restaurant.
We do talk to each other that night, while I’m sitting outside on the balcony with a glass of wine in my hand.
‘It’s stunning here,’ I tell her. ‘I can see why Phoebe was so drawn to the mountains.’
‘You’re not planning on moving, are you?’ she asks with alarm.
I laugh. ‘No. This is her place, not mine, but it is beautiful.’
‘Is it hard?’ she asks quietly.
‘A little,’ I admit.
We both fall silent. She doesn’t want me to elaborate, and I don’t want to burden her with my tales of woe.
‘I wish you were here,’ I say.
‘I’m glad I’m not,’ she replies indignantly, making me smile again. ‘Where are you at the moment?’ she asks.
‘On the balcony, looking up at the mountains. They’re only a few hundred metres away, across a valley dotted with chalets and a hell of a lot of pine trees. It’s getting dark now, but you can see the top of the Aiguille du Midi from here.’
‘What’s that?’ Eliza asks.
‘The mountain Phoebe worked on during her gap year,’ I reply.
‘Oh,’ she says, leaving a long pause before adding sadly: ‘I wish I’d spoken to her more that year. I hardly know anything about what she got up to.’
‘Neither did I,’ I’m quick to correct her. ‘I learnt almost everything I know from pilfering her diary. I was having too much fun at university to think twice about you two.’ I say this teasingly, but the comment has a lot of truth to it. I also avoided Phoebe after my mortifying faux pas with Angus. Yes, shame on me.
‘What have you done since you got there?’ she asks, so I fill her in, steering clear of my freak-out yesterday.
‘When are you seeing Remy?’ she eventually asks.
‘He’s back from his climbing trip tomorrow. I’ll give him a call in a couple of days if he hasn’t got in contact by then.’
I imagine he’s less enthusiastic to meet me than I am to meet him.
To my surprise, Remy lives only a five-minute walk from where I’m staying. He’s invited me to his place for a coffee and I’m nervous as I follow his directions through the streets of Argentière two days after my conversation with Eliza. His apartment is located within a five-storey traditional chalet, not dissimilar to mine, and when he answers the intercom, it’s in English.
‘Hello?’
He’s expecting me.
‘Hi, Remy, it’s Rose,’ I confirm, my stomach a tangle of anxiety.
‘I’m on the second floor.’ This time I hear his French accent clearly.
‘Okay, thanks,’ I reply as the door buzzes open.
The air inside the chalet is cool, and the sound of my booted footsteps reverberates around the walls and stone floor as I make my way up the stairs. Nearing the top of the second flight, I hear a door click open, and by the time I reach the top, Remy is standing on the landing.
He has short, dark-brown hair and a neatly trimmed beard. His eyes are startlingly blue and they widen as I smile at him. A moment later, the blood drains from his face.
‘Hello,’ I say, feeling a pang of sympathy as the triplet effect takes hold.
He starts and comes to his senses, stepping back from the door and holding it open.
‘Come in, come in,’ he says.
He’s wearing dark blue jeans and a yellow T-shirt and his face, legs and forearms are tanned and lean. The edgy feeling in my stomach intensifies as I walk into his apartment.
‘Can I get you a coffee or something cold to drink?’ he asks. He sounds uneasy, so it’s not just me.
‘I’d love a coffee,’ I reply.
‘Take a seat,’ he says, heading off into the kitchen.
His apartment is even closer to the mountains than mine is, with the same sliding doors opening up onto a large balcony. I sink onto the pale-blue sofa, the cushions having given up the ghost some time ago. The coffee table is wooden and solid and the rug under my feet is bordering on threadbare. The walls are painted ochre and there’s graphic art hanging on them.
‘I like your apartment,’ I say when Remy returns with our drinks.
‘The furniture belonged to my grandmother,’ he tells me with a smile, handing me a mug and sitting in a faded brown leather armchair. He crosses one leg over the other, resting his ankle on the opposite knee. It’s a relaxed gesture, but I’m pretty sure he’s anything but.
‘Thank you for agreeing to meet me.’ I decide to get straight to the point.
‘It’s okay,’ he says, placing his chin on his upended palm. His eyes keep darting away from me, like it hurts to look at me for too long, but they keep finding their way back to my face. A morbid fascination.
I didn’t hesitate to get in contact with Remy because I already felt like I knew him, but now I don’t know what to say.
‘Sorry,’ I blurt. ‘I know this is weird. It’s weird for me, too. I’ve read so much about you that I feel like we’re already friends, but this is harder than I thought it would be.’
‘Phoebe told you about me?’ He looks confused. He probably thinks he misunderstood me.
‘No.’ I shake my head. ‘Not really. When she came back from France ten years ago, she went straight to university. I read about you in her journal.’
He looks taken aback. ‘I remember her writing in that.’ He swallows. ‘What did she say?’
‘She wrote about everything you did together. Well, not everything.’ I blush. ‘But she wrote about how you met, your first date, visiting the grotto, the trails you hiked and the mountains you climbed.’
He looks shaken, but I continue.
‘I’m trying to understand. What happened on the day she died? What happened on the night before? I know that you met her in a bar in Chamonix, but had you pre-arranged it? Did you know she was going to be there?’
‘No,’ he says firmly. ‘I was stunned to see her.’
‘She claimed that she wasn’t very surprised to see you.’
‘She wasn’t,’ he acknowledges, leaning forward in his seat. He rests his elbows on his knees, clasping his hands together.
‘She said it felt like fate,’ I add.
He stares ahead in a daze. ‘It did.’
‘You know she was getting married, right?’ I didn’t mean that to sound as sharp as it came out.
‘Of course. She told me,’ he frowns. ‘I wasn’t trying to win her back. I was just pleased to be able to catch up with her. We hadn’t seen each other in years, but I’d thought about her often and I was glad to see her again. She seemed happy.’
‘She was,’ I say in a tiny voice.
He looks pained and a second later his blue eyes fill with tears.
I press on, but more gently. ‘She asked to go climbing with you, right?’
He nods, his eyes spilling over. He brushes his tears away, but his bottom lip is trembling and I have an urge to go over and hug him.
‘I should have said no.’ He looks down at his hands for a long moment before lifting his eyes to meet mine again. ‘I didn’t know she hadn’t climbed in years. Why did she stop? She used to love it so much.’
To my alarm, I realise that he actually expects me to answer this question.
‘Er, I don’t know.’ I think for a moment. ‘Angus didn’t climb,’ I tell him, feeling like I’m betraying Gus by admitting it.
He nods thoughtfully, but the gesture transforms into a headshake.
‘What?’ I prompt.
He looks full of despair. ‘We used to work so well as a team, but that morning we lost a lot of time. She was holding the group up. There were three other experienced climbers, but she didn’t have the speed or the ability to keep up with them, although she was trying. She was embarrassed, but she didn’t want to give up.’ He shakes his head again, fighting back tears. ‘I didn’t even think to ask if she was fit enough because I just assumed that she would be.’
‘Could her death have been avoided?’ I feel shell-shocked. ‘Was it her fault?’
‘No, Rose, it was my fault!’ He raises his voice, anguished. ‘She shouldn’t have been up there in the first place! I’m a mountain guide. I should know who’s fit to climb and who’s not. That’s my job!’
This time I do get up and go over to him because I can’t bear to sit there watching him suffer alone. I kneel at his feet and put my arms around his neck, and a moment later he breaks down, his arms encircling my back. We hold each other as we sob – two strangers who are unfamiliar, yet so familiar to each other in the most unusual of ways. I look like his lost love, I feel like his lost love, and it’s like I know him intimately, because I’ve been inside my sister’s head reading about him.
‘I should have said no to her,’ he cries, his voice stifled by my shoulder.
I tighten my grip on him. ‘No one ever said no to Phoebe.’
For some reason, my comment seems to calm us both down, and only a minute or so passes before we gather ourselves together. Remy excuses himself to go and get a box of tissues, and when he returns, we both blow our noses loudly and smile at each other shyly as I return to my spot on the sofa.
But the worst is not yet over.
‘How did she die? I want to know everything,’ I remind him with quiet but strong determination. If ever there were a time when my curiosity could burn me, this would be it, but there’s no suppressing that part of my personality now.
‘We were caught in an avalanche,’ he says.
I already know this, but I want to understand what it was like and I say as much. ‘Please tell me everything you can remember. Every detail.’
He swallows and stares ahead in a daze. ‘It was like being hit with wet cement. Heavy. And we could hear it coming. It sounded like snakes hissing.’
My eyes widen. ‘So she knew she was going to die?’
He shakes his head, glancing at me. ‘Yes, she was frightened. The look in her eyes haunts me at night. But Phoebe was such a positive person, such a fighter. She hadn’t changed that much. I don’t believe she thought she would die. Your father taught her avalanche survival techniques – I remember her repeating his advice on one of our climbs years ago, things like try to swim through the snow and keep an air gap in front of your mouth...’
He’s more animated now, like his mind is on what he knows and what he’s comfortable with, rather than our difficult subject. I bring him back to the hellish reality of it soon enough.
‘I keep having nightmares about her being stuck under the freezing snow, trying to get out,’ I say, as a new stream of tears begins to cascade down my cheeks.
He shakes his head. ‘It wasn’t like that, at least, not for Phoebe. For Phoebe it was quick. It was instant.’
This time it’s he who gets up and comes over to me. He sits beside me and closes his warm hands around mine, turning me to face him.
‘She was killed by a large block of ice, Rose.’ He swallows. ‘I saw it happen.’
‘Oh God.’
He increases the pressure on my hands. ‘It was quick. I promise you, she didn’t suffer.’
‘But she was scared?’ I ask.
‘Momentarily, yes. But icefall struck us before the snow. The size of the block that hit her... She could never have survived it. We were roped together and both of us were torn clean off the mountain. We cartwheeled down with the snow. I’d sent the rest of our group on ahead, so they saw what happened and contacted mountain rescue. I was wearing an avalanche transceiver and we weren’t buried very deep so they managed to locate us relatively quickly and dig us out. If they hadn’t, I would have died, too.’
‘But you say Phoebe never stood a chance?’ I ask in a choked voice.
‘No. She was still tethered to me, and I knew with the utmost certainty that she was already gone.’
I gulp back a sob and a moment later we both break down.
I was too anxious to eat lunch today, so when Remy asks if I’d like to go out for a bite to eat with him, I agree. We walk down the hill to Argentière’s small town centre and into a bar.
‘What can I get you?’ Remy asks me.
‘A white wine, please.’
‘Go grab us a table. I’ll bring the drinks over. Here, take a menu, too.’
After we’ve placed our food order, we settle in for a chat, and I feel more relaxed now that we’ve got the hard stuff out of the way. Remy asks where I’ve been since leaving the UK so I fill him in about Paris and I’m aware of him searching my face, studying every tiny detail as he tries to make sense of the fact that I look exactly like the girl he used to love.
‘It’s uncanny, isn’t it?’ I say softly. ‘If Eliza were here, you’d be even more freaked out.’
He jolts, startled. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to stare. Yes, it is strange, and that top you’re wearing... Is it...?’
‘Hers,’ I confirm. It’s this damn grey hoodie again.
‘I thought it looked familiar. I think she was wearing it the night I saw her again. The night before...’
‘I’m so sorry,’ I say with concern. All of Phoebe’s possessions from her hen trip were returned to Angus – this top included. ‘I didn’t even think twice when I put it on this morning. Do you want me to take it off?’
He waves me away. ‘No, it’s fine. Really, it’s fine,’ he tries to reassure me. ‘So how do you like Chamonix?’
‘It’s not quite how I expected,’ I reply a little downheartedly.
He looks intrigued, and slightly perturbed, perhaps because I’ve been talking quite enthusiastically up until now. ‘In what way?’
‘It’s beautiful,’ I’m quick to acknowledge. ‘I mean, it’s absolutely stunning. But I sort of expected to come here and walk in Phoebe’s shoes. I thought it would make me feel closer to her, but so far she’s seemed all the more alien to me. She and I are so different. Practically the only thing we have in common is how we look.’
He reaches across the table and presses my hand. ‘I’m sorry. I hate to think of you having a bad experience here. How much longer are you planning on staying?’
‘Another week or so.’
‘I have a few days off. Perhaps I could show you around a bit? Show you the Chamonix I know?’
‘I’m not going rock climbing,’ I state firmly, just to make it perfectly clear.
He shakes his head and looks away from me, very serious all of a sudden. ‘No,’ he says. ‘No, there’s no chance of that.’
The next morning, Remy is in a brighter mood when he turns up outside my chalet in a silver-grey Nissan X-Trail. There are two mountain bikes perched on the roof racks.
‘What are they for?’ I ask him warily.
‘Can you ride a bike?’ he asks in return, a twinkle in his bluer than blue eyes.
‘Yes,’ I reply hesitantly.
‘Then hop in,’ he says with a grin.
‘I haven’t ridden in a long time,’ I warn as he pulls out of the car park.
‘It’s not something you forget,’ he teases. ‘And I promise you it’s not a difficult ride.’
We’re going to Le Tour, which Remy tells me is a ski area in the winter and a great place for hikes in the summer. It’s only around a five-minute drive to the upper end of the valley. When we arrive, Remy unloads the bikes from the roof, while I fumble around with the helmet he’s brought for me.
‘Here, let me help you,’ he says, coming over to adjust the chinstrap. I’m struggling.
‘How is Amelie, by the way?’ I find myself asking.
He looks at me with surprise.
‘Sorry, I feel like I know her, too,’ I explain. ‘She visited you and Phoebe a few times during that summer.’
I also know from Phoebe’s most recent diary that she lost touch with Cécile. She wrote that Cécile had moved to Germany, but she would have attempted to catch up with her if she’d still been here.
Remy smiles and nods. ‘Yes, she did. She’s very well, thank you for asking. She got married last year, but no babies yet. Here you go,’ he says, wheeling one of the bikes towards me. ‘Climb on and I’ll just check the seat doesn’t need adjusting.’
I do as he says.
‘Perfect,’ he comments. ‘Feel okay?’
‘Yes.’ I nod.
‘I’ll lead, but tell me if I’m going too fast or too slow,’ he says.
The latter is unlikely.
We bike up the mountain on a not too difficult trail and then stop off for lunch. There’s no snow at this time of year, but the view from the café is stunning – we can see down the entire Chamonix valley with the Mont Blanc range in the distance.
The trip is so much fun, thrilling and a little scary at times, but mostly exhilarating.
‘Thank you so much,’ I say to Remy on the car journey home. ‘I really enjoyed that.’
My cheeks are rosy red from the cool mountain air and my hair has come loose with the wind and the motion of bouncing over the rocky ground. I feel happy.
‘I’m glad to hear it.’ He returns my smile. ‘What now? Have you dinner plans?’
‘No, but you don’t have to—’
‘I want to,’ he cuts me off. ‘There’s a restaurant in Chamonix that I think you’d like.’
‘You do actually look a little different to each other,’ Remy says from across the table.
‘Oh?’ I say, pleasantly surprised that he thinks so.
‘I can’t quite put my finger on it, but I’m sure I could tell you apart.’ He sits forward in his seat. ‘What do you do, Rose?’
‘I’m not really sure, to be honest,’ I reply with a smile.
He raises an inquisitive eyebrow so I tell him about how I quit nursing, and how I’ve rediscovered my passion for gardening.
‘What about you?’ I ask warmly. ‘Do you like your job?’
His smile falters and he looks down at the table. ‘I did and, yes, I still do. It took me a while to go back to work after the accident.’
‘Were you hurt?’ I ask gently. I don’t want to lose it here, and neither does he, I’m sure, so we won’t stay with this subject for long.
‘I fractured my ribs, but it was mainly only surface cuts and bruises. I was very lucky.’ His eyes are shining as he glances up at me. ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispers.
‘Stop,’ I say quickly, touching my hand to his. ‘If you hadn’t sent the rest of your group on ahead, it sounds like you all could have...’
He swallows and I take a deep breath and try to compose myself.
‘I didn’t mean to bring it up again, but I’m glad you’re still working as a guide. Phoebe was happy to hear that you were doing a job that you loved, even though I think she was a little envious.’
‘Oh, it also has its drawbacks,’ he tells me wryly. ‘The worst thing is turning people back when the conditions aren’t right or you don’t think they’re ready for it. Getting so close to the summit of Mont Blanc and then telling clients who’ve paid a lot of money that it’s not going to happen... I deal with some very disillusioned people.’
‘When are you next going up?’ I ask.
‘In a few days’ time. I have a group of Australians coming.’
‘Tell me about the climb you did with Phoebe and Dad,’ I prompt.
I’m glad to sit and listen to him, watching as he grows increasingly animated talking about his favourite hobby. It sounds like he got on well with Dad – they had a mutual respect for each other – although Remy did say it was sometimes a case of too many cooks.
‘I joined them on their preparation climb, in the lead-up to their Mont Blanc ascent. The White Lady was something they planned to do just the two of them,’ he explains. ‘Anyway, your father wanted to lead, but I was used to doing that.’ He smiles good-naturedly. ‘Phoebe encouraged me to let him have his way.’
I laugh, remembering how pig-headed Dad could be at times. He wouldn’t have let a young upstart get one over him. ‘Well, he certainly had a lot of experience,’ I say diplomatically.
‘That wasn’t why I bowed down to him,’ Remy replies with a smirk. ‘I just didn’t want to piss off my girlfriend’s father.’
We both laugh.
It is the loveliest evening, which is surreal considering the tragedy that brought us together.
‘Your climbs do sound amazing,’ I say when he’s finished regaling me with stories.
‘You’ve really never been tempted?’ he asks.
‘I couldn’t think of anything worse.’
He smiles. ‘Are you afraid of heights?’
‘No, it’s not that. Although I did feel incredibly unsteady at the top of the Aiguille du Midi. I was a bit freaked out,’ I admit. ‘I wanted to go across to Helbronner, but I needed to get back down again.’
‘That’s a shame,’ he says, looking disappointed on my behalf. ‘It is the most incredible journey, travelling over crevasses, surrounded by mountain peaks.’
‘Now you’re making me feel bad that I missed it,’ I say with a little laugh.
‘I’ll go back with you tomorrow, if you like?’
I decide to take Remy up on his offer, so the next day, we return to the Aiguille du Midi. I still feel short of breath and a bit giddy, but I’m not nearly as anxious with him by my side.
We catch one of the tiny, four-person egg-like cable cars to Italy, which glides over the glacier and wild crevasses below. I’m by no means relaxed, but I feel somewhat better equipped to be able to enjoy the view without worrying too much that I’m going to faint.
In Helbronner, we visit the crystal museum before going to the café for lunch.
‘I forgot you used to live in Turin with an Italian girlfriend,’ I say after Remy orders in fluent Italian.
He shakes his head as we take our food to a table. ‘I wish I had access to your diaries. You have an unfair advantage.’
I laugh and sit down. ‘My diaries are horrendous. I was such a love-struck idiot as a teenager.’
He raises one eyebrow.
‘I read them recently,’ I explain, cracking open my can of Diet Coke. ‘I went through a lot of crushes.’
On the return journey, Remy asks me about Angus. ‘You say he didn’t climb.’
‘No.’
‘But he and Phoebe got on well?’
‘Very well,’ I reply. ‘They had a lot of fun together.’
I sound a bit defensive, but I’m uncomfortable talking about Angus to Remy.
‘I don’t think Angus had anything to do with Phoebe stopping climbing,’ I say. ‘He never would have tried to prevent her from doing something that made her so happy. Now I think about it, it’s more likely that she stopped because Dad died. It probably upset her too much to go on her own.’
Remy nods thoughtfully, staring out of the window.
Sometimes I think it’s a blessing that Dad died before Phoebe. I don’t know how he would have coped, knowing that he set her on a track towards her death. But then, he understood the risks. They both did. To me, climbing is a selfish sport. To them, it was as fundamental as breathing.
‘Where were you when you lost her?’ I ask quietly, following Remy’s gaze across the jagged peaks, the snow catching the afternoon sunshine and reflecting it back to us blindingly.
‘I’ll show you when we get back to the Aiguille,’ he replies quietly.
I feel like I’m going to throw up as we take the elevator to the top terrace, and I’m shaking as Remy leads me to the railings and puts his hand on my back, but he doesn’t make me wait before telling me what I need to know.
‘There,’ he says, pointing. ‘We were on Mont Blanc du Tacul, just in front of Mont Blanc.’
My throat has swollen up painfully, so all I can do is stare.
‘She joined our group on a preparation climb for Mont Blanc,’ he tells me gently, ‘like the one we did with your father. We were planning to turn around at the top of Mont Blanc du Tacul and come back here.’
I nod again. Tears are streaming down my cheeks and it’s a wonder they’re not freezing into tracks in the cold air.
When I thought about doing this trip, it occurred to me that I could bring some pages of Phoebe’s diary to scatter on the wind. But now the idea seems too melodramatic, so I stand there in silence and remember her instead.
I remember her sitting on the grass in the park, making daisy chains to drape around my neck...
I remember her climbing up the rock wall in Sale, looking down at the rest of us with a deliriously proud grin on her face...
I remember her running into the bedroom that we shared in London and waggling her bottom at me, while wearing those damned unicorn knickers that we all fought over...
I remember her laughing...
I remember her crying...
I remember my sister, my beloved sister, one part of me, despite how different we were, and when I open my mouth to say goodbye, a sob comes out instead, and it’s Remy I turn to for comfort.
‘Thank you for being here for me,’ I whisper. ‘I honestly don’t know how I would have coped doing this alone.’
‘I’m happy I had a chance to meet you, Rose. I really do wish you and your sister all the best. You can come back and see me anytime.’
‘Thank you,’ I say, but I know in my heart that it’s time to shut the book on this chapter.
I call Mum a couple of days later, before I leave Argentière.
‘I can’t believe it!’ she squawks down the phone, making me flinch. ‘Why didn’t you tell me that Eliza and Angus were together?’
In the midst of my own dramas, I’d forgotten the ones that were going on at home.
‘Has she told you, then?’ I say wryly.
‘She’s moving in with him! Into his room, not yours, his!’
I laugh. ‘I know, Mum.’
‘And you’re okay about it?’ she asks.
‘Yes, I’m okay about it,’ I confirm. Not happy, just okay. But I hope that will change with time.
‘Well, that’s something, at least.’
‘What did Judy say?’ I ask.
‘She’s very apprehensive,’ Mum replies, and I feel a pang of sympathy for Eliza because I know she was worried about Judy’s reaction. ‘I think she’s concerned that Angus is trying to replace Phoebe, but—’
‘He’s not,’ I interrupt. ‘Who are we kidding? Phoebe can’t be replaced and Eliza is her own, unique person. Angus has always cared about her. And Phoebe knew it. She understood it. In fact, she even felt a little bit guilty about it because she got to Angus first and she knew Eliza was heartbroken.’
‘You sound like you know an awful lot about it,’ Mum says, disconcerted.
More than I should, that’s for sure.
‘I just want everyone to be happy,’ I reply.
‘That’s good,’ she says. ‘Because I do, too. And,’ she adds, ‘so does Judy. She and Angus had a proper heart-to-heart and she’s given them her blessing.’
I’m really pleased to hear it.
‘So,’ I say, changing the subject. ‘Have you been into the bakery lately?’
‘Oh, I meant to tell you!’ she exclaims. ‘I met Toby’s mother!’
‘You didn’t?’ I gasp.
‘I did! She was outside in the garden when I went to check on the plants. She seemed nice, if a little shy. She said to pass on her regards to you.’
I’m astonished. Delighted. And as soon as we hang up, I find myself calling Toby’s mobile.
‘You took your time about it,’ he says when I tell him it’s me, and the sound of his deep, dry voice makes me feel instantly jittery.
‘How are you?’ I ask with a smile. ‘I heard your mum has been into the bakery?’
‘Yeah,’ he says warmly. ‘It’s been pretty amazing, the turnaround.’
‘What happened?’ I ask.
‘I sort of lost it with her a few days after you left. Ended up shouting my head off.’
‘Oh.’
‘Yeah, I felt really bad about it at the time,’ he says heavily. ‘But, I don’t know, it seemed to spur her on. She seems determined to do what she can to get better.’
‘I’m so pleased to hear it.’
‘It’s a lot down to you,’ he says seriously.
‘No, I didn’t do anything.’
‘You did. More than you know.’
We both fall silent and I hug my knees to my chest. I have to remind myself that nothing has changed – he’s still too young for me – but I can’t ignore how much I’ve missed talking to him.
‘Where are you now?’ he asks.
‘I’m in Chamonix. Well, Argentière, the next village along. I’ve been here for a few days, but I’m going to Geneva tomorrow.’
‘How’s it been?’
‘Surprisingly therapeutic,’ I reply.
‘You thought it would be, right?’
‘I hoped, but I was worried I’d screwed up by coming here.’ He listens as I fill him in.
‘It’s so picturesque,’ I say. ‘You should see the view from my chalet.’
‘Send me a selfie of you on the balcony,’ he prompts.
‘Okay, I will do as soon as I get off the phone.’
In the background, I hear a couple of lads shouting.
‘Where are you?’ I ask, confused.
‘At the park,’ he replies.
‘Send me a selfie, too,’ I say before I can think better of it.
We end our call and I go out onto the balcony and hold my phone aloft, trying to catch the snowy, sunlit tops of the mountains in the background. I check the photo and press send, and a moment later receive his.
He’s lying on the grass in the late afternoon sunshine. His face is bathed in a golden glow and his dark eyes have flecks of toffee-brown in them as he stares into the lens. I shiver. Another text comes in from him, a response to the photo I sent.
‘Beautiful,’ he says.
I shiver again and force myself to put my phone away.
‘I don’t know what your problem is,’ Eliza says to me on the phone as I stand outside a shop in Geneva. I’ve been inside taking photos of shelves bursting with cuckoo clocks, cowbells and penknives, and now I’ve just stupidly admitted that I can’t stop thinking about Toby.
‘He’s twenty-two, now, anyway,’ she comments. ‘They had balloons up when I went into Jennifer’s yesterday.’
‘Shit! I can’t believe I forgot his birthday!’
‘Don’t worry, the new girl was showering him with attention.’
‘What’s she like?’ I ask nervily.
‘Ha! Gotcha,’ she says, instantly cottoning on to my jealousy. I squirm in my seat. ‘Late thirties, very mumsy. Can’t see it happening.’
‘The point is,’ I say, trying to regain control of the conversation, ‘Mum struggled for years to get pregnant, and my biological clock is ticking, too.’
‘You’re not even thirty!’ she exclaims.
‘But Toby’s nowhere near ready to settle down.’
‘No, I don’t imagine he is, but Jesus, Rose, what’s the big rush? Why are you so desperate to shack up and have kids? People do that a lot later in life now.’
‘That’s easy for you to say. You have Angus.’
‘Angus and I aren’t in any hurry,’ she states firmly. ‘Your problem is that you think you can plan how your life is going to pan out. You’re like Phoebe in that respect. But love doesn’t have an order. It happens when it happens.’
‘I’m not in love. I just have a stupid crush.’ Another one.
‘Whatever. You have to work this out on your own.’
In the next couple of months, I travel through Germany, Holland, Belgium, France, Portugal, Spain and Italy. I visit the Bauhaus museum in Berlin, ride a bicycle along the canals in Amsterdam and eat too much chocolate in Bruges. The Sistine Chapel is closed, but I tour the Vatican in Rome, window shop in the grand arcades of Milan and snigger at the size of the statues’ willies in Florence, trying my best to look impressed at the mastery of Michelangelo’s David. I eat too many tapas at the Mercado San Miguel in Madrid and tone my legs walking up most of the seven hills in hot and sticky Lisbon, and I sit on a beach in Biarritz, watching the surfers with the Pyrenees mountains in the background.
It’s a small world when you’re riding the train tracks of Europe, and I bump into the same people more than once. At first I feel out of place – like I don’t belong with so many youngsters on their gap years – but soon I find I have things in common with people and make friends, regardless of age.
I speak to Eliza regularly, and she seems as keen as I am to strengthen our sisterly bond. She’s now a personal assistant to the head of an indie record label and she loves the role, but they work her to the bone. She doesn’t mind – she’s much happier being surrounded by musos instead of demanding, unappreciative customers. She’s also thrilled that Joe wants her to continue to play regular gigs – I’ve asked Angus to record a couple of songs next time and email them to me.
I spoke to Angus before I left the Alps and gently brought him up to date with everything Remy said. It was a heart-wrenching conversation and I’m not sure that it answered all of his questions, but I think he’s coming to terms with it and is ready to lay Phoebe to rest. He’s committed to Eliza, one hundred per cent.
I talk to Mum too, of course, and I also frequently text and call Toby. I’ve given up trying to control my attraction to him. Who knows where we’ll be in a year when I return? For now, we’re friends, and I’m not going to fight it.
Eventually I end up back in Paris, ready for my flight to Brisbane the next day.
Eliza calls me when I’m at the top of the Eiffel Tower.
‘I can’t believe you’re so close and I can’t see you,’ she says.
‘You should’ve come over here for the weekend,’ I say, trying to swallow my mouthful of pain au chocolat. I’m eating on the run.
‘Why didn’t you suggest it!’ she cries, sounding traumatised.
I laugh. ‘Don’t worry about it. It’s only just occurred to me, to be honest.’
‘It’s going to be horrible without you here at Christmas,’ she says miserably.
‘It’s going to be hard for me, too,’ I agree.
I’ve tried not to think about it too much. The first Christmas without Phoebe was unbearable. The second will be almost as challenging, but with every year that passes, we just have to believe that it will get easier.
‘Have you spoken to Toby recently?’ she asks.
‘Last night. We speak quite regularly. Why?’
‘Still think it’s a crush?’
‘Oh, I don’t know, Eliza.’ I feel my face start to warm.
‘Don’t be so prickly, Rose,’ she teases.
‘Bugger off,’ I reply, making her hoot with laughter. ‘I do like talking to him,’ I admit when she composes herself. ‘And I miss him much more than I could ever have imagined I would.’
‘But do you fancy him?’ she asks in a cheeky voice.
‘He can be quite flirty on the phone,’ I confide. ‘I don’t discourage him, but I probably should.’
‘You like it too much.’
‘Mmm.’ I feel like my face is about to catch alight.
‘Good,’ she says, and I can practically hear her smile cracking her features.
I end the call soon afterwards because the tower is swaying slightly and it’s making me feel nauseous. The world seems keen to let me know that I’m not so great at heights, after all.
Toby rings me an hour later as I’m wandering alongside the river on my way to a museum.
‘We only spoke last night,’ I say, but I’m smiling as I locate a bench to perch on.
‘Eliza said you’re missing me.’
‘Has she been into the bakery?’ It’s Saturday.
‘She comes in all the damn time, giving me grief.’
I laugh. ‘Do you ever think she’s me when she walks through the door?’
‘Never,’ he replies quite seriously. ‘But I wish she was you. I miss you.’
‘I miss you too, but, Toby...’ I sigh. ‘You know I’m going to be away for a long time, right? Who knows what’s going to happen. You shouldn’t wait for me.’ Even as I say it, I feel a wave of nausea about the idea of him being with someone else.
‘Do you miss me?’ he asks after a long pause.
‘Of course.’ I sit up straighter. ‘You’re not in Paris, are you?’
‘Do you wish I was?’
‘Are you here?’ I scan the crowds urgently.
‘No, I’m not,’ he tells me, and I’m unprepared for the disappointment I feel. ‘Sorry. It’s my mum’s birthday,’ he explains. ‘We’re having a small family celebration at the bakery tonight. She’s not ready to go out to a restaurant or anything yet.’
‘Oh. That sounds really lovely.’ I try to sound like I mean it because I do. I have no idea why I feel like crying.
‘What time is your flight tomorrow?’ he asks.
‘Nine forty-five in the evening.’
‘Will you text me when you get there?’
‘Sure.’ My mobile bill alone will wipe out my budget if I keep making phone calls once I’m Down Under.
‘Are you okay?’ he asks gently.
‘I’m fine!’ Honestly, though, my throat is swollen and if I try to say more than two words, he’ll hear how choked I sound.
‘Rose,’ he says quietly.
I burst into tears.
‘Hey!’ He’s mortified.
‘I’m sorry!’ I reply, gulping for air. ‘I just thought for a moment that you were here.’
‘I’m really sorry,’ he says, but he sounds more amused than apologetic.
I brush away my tears and gather myself together.
‘I’m glad you want me there so much.’ He’s a bit too pleased with himself, but I don’t deny it. The phone is pressed up against my ear and it’s leaving a painful impression, but I’m still sad when he makes a move to end our call.
‘Listen, I’d better go,’ he says reluctantly. ‘Vanessa’s out the front on her own and it sounds quite busy.’
‘Are you in the garden?’ I ask.
‘Yes.’
‘With the windows open?’
‘Just a crack. I’ve taken the frosting off,’ he answers my next question before I can ask it.
‘Good.’
We both fall silent for a long moment, but I know he’s smiling. He speaks first.
‘I love you, Rose. Have a safe flight and remember to text me,’ he reiterates.
‘Okay, I will.’
After we end the call I stare down at the phone in my hand, stunned. Did Toby just tell me he loves me?
Despite their refutations, I go through the next few hours hoping that Toby and Eliza have indeed concocted an elaborate plan to sneak over to Paris and surprise me, but by the time I’m tucked up in bed that night, I have to concede that they were telling the truth. I fall asleep feeling disheartened and lonely, and the feeling doesn’t leave me all the next day.
On Sunday night I board a long flight to Brisbane via Dubai, and on Tuesday I step off a plane into a cool Australian morning.
My Uncle Simon and his partner Katherine meet me at the airport, and I’m happy to be in the company of family again.
Simon is my favourite of Dad’s three brothers. Uncle Jack lives in Scotland, but he’s a cantankerous old git who doesn’t like visitors – although Phoebe and Dad used to drop in on him when they went on climbs there. Our other uncle, Gerry, lives in America with his third wife and we barely see him at all, but Simon has come to visit often – he and Dad were very close.
I’ve only met Katherine on three separate occasions and one of those times was when she came to Dad’s funeral, but I really like her. I’d actually forgotten that she’s thirteen years older than Simon, because a stranger wouldn’t be able to guess if they saw them standing side-by-side.
The first time I met her, she had long greying hair, but she’s gradually cut it shorter and it’s currently layered into a tawny brown mid-length style with dark-blonde highlights.
As for Simon, he’s now the same age Dad was when he died and he’s grown to look more like him over the years. I feel a pang as his face breaks out into his brother’s grin, but the unfamiliar Aussie twang in his accent soon has me smiling again.
Simon and Katherine used to live in Sydney, but they moved to Byron Bay a few years ago and opened up an art gallery. It’s only a week until Christmas so by the time I arrive the town centre is jam-packed with tourists here for the festive season and we sit in bumper-to-bumper traffic all the way down the hippie-tastic main street.
Katherine’s nephews are coming over with their families for Christmas, but I have a couple of days to get over the worst of my jetlag before they arrive. I’ve never met them before, but my uncle assures me that I’ll love them. At least, he hopes so, because apparently it’s going to be a bit of a squash.
I don’t know why he’s worried. The house is huge with four double bedrooms and a large open-plan living area that opens up onto a wide balcony on the first floor. They have an infinity pool down below which has the most incredible view, broken only by two tall palm trees in the sloping garden. A white sandy beach stretches all the way along the coast, with a multitude of surfers riding the cool, blue waves. Katherine and Simon actually live on a hill overlooking Wategos Bay, which is just over a five-minute drive to much busier Byron. Simon tells me there’s a beautiful walk from here up to the lighthouse and Australia’s easternmost point.
Simon is right: I really like Katherine’s nephews and their families, although he was also right about the house feeling crammed now there are eleven people staying in it.
Sam is warm and friendly and his wife Molly is a blast, making me laugh every time she pretends to be completely harassed by her three boisterous children.
Nathan is less outgoing than his brother, but just as warm, and his wife Lucy and I hit it off immediately. Although she’s often distracted by the demands of their unbearably cute eighteen-month-old son, Finn, we find time to chat and bond over our shared love of Somerset while nursing cups of tea out on the balcony. Lucy spent quite a few years growing up in England and her mum has a place in Dunster, not far from where my Aunt Suzie lives. I think I might have actually been to her mum’s teashop in the past.
After a few days, it occurs to me that my jetlag is kind of a blessing because I’m naturally waking up early – I wouldn’t stand a chance of a sleep-in with all the noise created by the children each morning. I love that the house is full and lively because it’s helping to take my mind off an approaching Christmas without Mum and Eliza, not to mention Phoebe. But two days before Christmas, Simon notices me taking a couple of headache tablets at breakfast and encourages me to head down to the beach for some peace and quiet. I sit on the cool white sand and stare out at the ocean, watching the surfers expertly navigating the waves.
‘G’day,’ I hear a voice say and look to my left to see Nathan walking towards me, carrying a surfboard. His black wetsuit has been rolled down to his waist and his dark hair is wet from the surf.
‘I didn’t know you were down here,’ I say, trying not to gawp at his chest. Lucy’s a lucky girl.
‘Yeah, I’m just going back up. You staying here for a bit?’ he asks. ‘I think Lucy wants to bring Finn down for a play in the sand.’
There goes my peace and quiet. Not that I mind.
‘I’ll be here,’ I say.
‘Cool, see ya later,’ he says, and my eyes follow him as he wanders off along the beach, his tanned feet making imprints in the sand.
‘Is that my competition?’ I hear a deep, familiar voice say.
My heart nearly jumps out of my chest as I shoot my head around to see Toby standing behind my right shoulder.
‘Oh my God!’ I murmur, scrambling to my feet.
He raises one eyebrow at me.
‘Oh my God!’ This time I squeal it, throwing myself at him.
He laughs as his arms close around me.
‘Oh my God!’ I say, pulling away to look at him.
‘You’re starting to worry me now, Rose,’ he says drily. ‘Have you lost the ability to speak?’
‘Holy shit!’ I exclaim.
He looks thoroughly entertained.
‘What are you doing here?’ I demand to know, gawping at the wide khaki green straps coming over his shoulder and then grabbing his arm and turning him to see the enormous backpack on his back. ‘You’re not!’ I gasp.
‘I am,’ he replies with a grin. ‘Turns out I won’t be buying a car yet after all.’
‘Oh my God!’
‘Rose!’ He shakes me slightly. ‘Are you happy to see me?’
‘Are you kidding? Oh my God, are you coming backpacking with me?’
‘Oh my God, only if you want me to,’ he replies, mimicking me and then smiling.
‘Of course I want you to.’ Tears fill my eyes.
‘Aw,’ he says, wrapping his arms around me and holding me close.
He feels so amazing, so real. I feel a bubble of something burst inside my chest, and it’s not excitement, it’s more than that.
‘Who was the surfer?’ he asks wryly, and now it’s my turn to tease. I pull away and shrug.
‘Oh, you know, just a guy I’ve got to know.’
He stiffens and I crack up laughing, unable to keep up the pretence.
‘It’s Nathan, Katherine’s nephew! He’s married.’
Toby doesn’t look particularly amused by the joke. I continue to laugh myself silly.
‘You’re so immature,’ he mutters, making me laugh more. He grins and unclicks his backpack, dropping it onto the sand with a thump before pulling me down beside him.
He loops his arms around his knees and stares straight ahead. ‘Seriously, though,’ he begins, looking a little on edge. ‘I don’t want to cramp your style. If you don’t want me to travel with you—’
‘Toby, I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather go travelling with. I can’t actually believe it, but I’m so happy you’re here.’
‘Thank Christ for that,’ he says, exhaling with relief.
‘How did it come about, though?’ I ask. ‘Were your parents okay about you leaving? How on earth did you even know where to find me?’
He reaches across and takes my hand. Butterflies start up in my stomach at the feeling of his warm, firm grasp. ‘Yes, they were happy about it. In fact, they encouraged me to go.’
I beam at him, unable to contain my delight about the entire scenario.
‘As for how I knew where to find you, well, I had a little help with that.’
‘Eliza,’ I hazard a guess. ‘She knew when I spoke to her in Paris, didn’t she?’
‘Oh, she’s known for weeks now,’ he replies flippantly, flashing me a grin.
‘Does my uncle know?’ I ask with a frown, wondering if he’ll offer to put Toby up, too.
‘Yeah, he knows. Didn’t you wonder why he sent you down to the beach?’
I shake my head with amazement. ‘I can’t believe you were all in on it.’
He turns his head to look at me, and my stomach flips over as his dark eyes lock me in a stare. Maybe Eliza is right: Prince Charming doesn’t always come in the package you’re expecting. When you meet someone you really, really like – possibly, likely love – then you’d be stupid not to see where it leads.
Toby reaches over and brushes my cheek. ‘Sand,’ he whispers.
‘Not soil,’ I reply, taking his hand and holding it to my face.
He leans forward and kisses me.
We stay on the beach for a far too brief time, with Toby claiming to want to go up to the house to introduce himself. I’d like longer with him alone, but I oblige, and when we walk up the hill, I notice an unfamiliar car parked on the steep driveway.
‘Is that yours?’ I ask him.
‘Nope,’ he replies, pulling my hand towards the property’s steps. I’m out of breath by the time we reach the ground-floor level of the house, and what little breath I have left leaves me when I see who’s sitting on the edge of the infinity pool with their feet dangling in the water.
‘How bloody long does it take to walk up from the beach?’ Eliza asks, trying to keep a straight face as Mum beams at me from beside her.
‘OH MY GOD!’ I scream.
‘Here we go again,’ Toby says drily.
‘I can’t believe you all came. I just can’t believe it,’ I say later when Eliza and I are sitting at the table on the balcony, a beer in her hand and a glass of wine in mine. They dropped Toby to the beach earlier. He carried his heavy backpack to keep up the pretence, bless him.
‘We’ve had it planned for ages,’ she says, looking like the cat that got the cream. ‘I had to check you were serious about Toby first, though.’
I laugh and shake my head, glancing into the house at him. He’s helping out in the kitchen, stirring something in a saucepan. Perhaps he senses me watching, because he looks over his shoulder at me and smirks. My pulse speeds up.
‘Angus couldn’t come?’ I ask, returning my attention to Eliza.
‘No.’ She shakes her head, sadly. ‘He couldn’t get time off work, but you know what he’s like about his mum. He wouldn’t have wanted to leave her on her own at Christmas for too long anyway.’
‘Do you miss him? No,’ I answer my own question. ‘It’s only been a day or two.’
She shrugs and grins sheepishly. ‘I still miss him, though. But I’m sure we’ll survive without each other for a couple of weeks, and the sex is going to be crazy when I go back.’
‘Too much information!’ I exclaim, making her laugh.
Lucy and Molly come out onto the balcony to join us. I hear the cracking open of bottles and glance inside again to see Nathan passing Toby a beer. They chink bottles and then Sam comes into the room and they go through the process again.
Mum is sitting beside Simon on the sofa, bouncing a giggling baby Finn on her lap. Molly and Sam’s three kids tear out onto the balcony and then run back inside again with Katherine in tow.
‘This house is shrinking by the moment,’ I muse, making everyone laugh.
Mum ends up sharing my bed and Eliza kips on the floor of our bedroom on a blow-up mattress. Toby chooses to sleep on the sofa upstairs, having been given the option of that or the second bunk bed in the kids’ room. By the time we set off backpacking, we’ll probably be desperate to have just each other for company. I’m looking forward to getting to know him better, but we’ll have plenty of time for that.
Christmas Day is a raucous affair, and although Phoebe is never far from my mind, nor Mum’s or Eliza’s, I am sure, we have a good day and I’m just so very happy that we’re all together like this. I feel sorry for Eliza that she doesn’t have Gus around – even I miss him – but she’ll be back with him soon enough. I imagine Christmas is hard for him without Phoebe, too, but his mum has a good shoulder for him to cry on.
On Boxing Day, Eliza and I find ourselves sitting alone on the beach. Mum has gone for a wander along the shore with Katherine, and Toby is surfing with Nathan. At the moment, they’re sitting upright on their boards, waiting for a decent wave. They seem to be having a good chat.
‘Nice view,’ Eliza says with a smirk.
‘Get off,’ I reply.
‘I’m talking about Nathan.’
‘What would Angus say?’ I admonish.
She laughs. ‘He knows he’s the only man for me.’ She pauses, before saying quietly: ‘It’s only ever been him.’
‘Check out the look on your face,’ I tease. ‘You’ve gone all puppy-dog-like.’
She grins at me. ‘You have exactly the same expression when you’re staring at Toby.’
I purse my lips at her. ‘You once said I looked like that over Angus.’
She shakes her head. ‘No, that was different. I’ve seen you go through crushes, but that’s not what this is with Toby. I could tell from the way I saw you together at my gig. I’m really glad you’re giving him a chance.’
I shrug. ‘We’ll see how it goes.’
‘That’s all you can do.’
We’re going out in town tonight to see a live band – Toby, Eliza, Nathan, Lucy, Sam and Molly. Mum has convinced a slightly freaked out Katherine and Simon that the three of them will more than be able to handle four kids. Nathan and Sam are the closest things Katherine and Simon have to children – Katherine took them in when they lost their parents, but they were teenagers at the time. Mum, on the other hand, raised triplets, so she’s more than capable, even at her age.
Triplets...
‘I’m so glad you’re here,’ I say to Eliza, resting my cheek against her shoulder.
‘Me too.’ She wraps her arm around me and draws me close.
‘I miss her so much,’ I whisper.
She hugs me tighter, but I don’t want to cry, and neither, as I well know, does she.
‘Do you remember that time that Joanne Osborn tried to test our telepathic powers and you guessed that Phoebe wanted pizza for dinner?’ I say, trying to sound light-hearted.
Eliza laughs. ‘I do! You were so cross that I got it right.’
Eliza speaks next. ‘What about the time we all went to Hannah Longstaff’s birthday party and everyone freaked out when you and Phoebe said: “Oh please can we play musical chairs?” in exactly the same pitch at exactly the same time?’
I laugh loudly. ‘That’s right! I’d forgotten that one. What about when bully boy Danny Riley said to you: “How do you know which one you are?’” I affect his dumb voice. ‘And you sarcastically replied: “Gosh, I don’t know. I look in the mirror and even I get confused.’”
She hoots with laughter and we fall back on the sand, staring up at the sky.
It’s my turn next. ‘Remember that time Phoebe went climbing with Dad and you tried to teach me to play the guitar?’
‘You weren’t having it,’ she replies sardonically.
‘I was just jealous that you were so good and I was so crap, but I appreciated your effort.’ I reach across and pat her knee. She makes a swipe for my hand and holds it to her chest. ‘You and I both got our periods that same weekend,’ I recall.
‘That’s right!’ Eliza exclaims. ‘Phoebe was quite put out!’
We both laugh. ‘She didn’t get hers for another few months. She was gutted,’ I say.
‘We’ve been through a lot together, haven’t we?’ She squeezes my hand.
I squeeze hers back. ‘We have. Every single awkward phase. We were meant to be together, right from the beginning.’
‘That’s kind of comforting,’ she murmurs.
‘It is,’ I agree.
A shadow falls over us and we raise our heads to see Mum standing a few feet away on the sand.
‘Look at you two,’ she says warmly. ‘Let me take a photo.’
As Eliza and I press our cheeks together and smile up at Mum, I think of the photo frames on Mum’s bookshelves in her new house. Months ago I wondered if Eliza and I would ever feature in a photo of just the two of us. And now I know that we will.
It is just the two of us now. Eliza and Rose. Rose and Eliza.
But in our hearts, we will always be triplets.