The Hike(28)

‘I just assumed.’

‘Yes, so did I. But maybe our couple are not a couple at all. Maybe that’s got something to do with why they’re being so cagey.’

Séb zooms in on the woman on the screen. She’s glaring at him, her face directly on the camera, as if she knows they are watching her. Thierry half expects her to give them the finger.

Séb smirks. ‘My god, that face. If they are a couple, then he’s done something very, very bad.’

‘Or she has,’ Thierry says.

They wait, listening to the tinny faraway ring of the phone, then there’s a click, and someone answers.

Thierry sees something interesting on the monitor. The woman is shouting at the man, her arms gesturing wildly. He wishes now that they didn’t turn the TV up so loud, but the remote is broken and by the time he locates the stupid little switch to lower the volume, she’ll have finished what she’s saying. He keeps watching, his interest piqued. He’d probably be able to hear her if the sound was off, but then they wouldn’t have had the opportunity to talk about the couple without being heard. The walls are far too thin in this place. He zones out of Séb’s phone conversation, still watching the screen. Then smiles and gets up from his seat, just as the front door of the police station swings shut. He nods to Séb’s phone. ‘You deal with that. I’m going to have a chat with our lady on her own.’





Twenty-Two

SATURDAY EVENING

Ginny stood with her arms crossed, looking over Cat. She’d managed to get the boys’ attention, and they were on their way back down. Slowly and reluctantly. The sky had changed from the bright blue of the day to a darkening indigo as night crept in. Goosebumps skittered across the skin of her arms, and she hugged herself tighter. She was torn between feeling sorry for Cat, hating her for this further delay, and a growing sense of despondency about the whole situation. They were going to be navigating the descent in the dark. No question about it now.

Cat was still sitting on the ground, legs crossed, taking small sips of water. Ginny sat down beside her and unlaced her trainers. She pulled them off gingerly, and unpeeled her socks from her heels.

‘Oh shit,’ she muttered. ‘Maybe should’ve just left them as they were.’

The skin was shredded. What were once blisters had already rubbed off, leaving bloodied red-raw skin beneath. She winced at the pain, the fresh air hitting the delicate flesh and making them sting even more.

‘Jesus,’ Cat said. She turned away and made more dry-retching sounds.

‘Please don’t be sick right next to me.’ Ginny rolled the socks off completely, exposing her bare feet. She gently prodded the soft pads of flesh under her toes, where more blisters had formed – they felt like small, deflating balloons. She blew out a breath. ‘Tell me you have plasters in your bag?’

Cat turned back to her. The retching had thankfully not taken a liquid form this time, but her sister’s tired face was clammy and slightly green. Cat nodded, then started opening pockets on her rucksack.

Ginny leaned back on her elbows and looked out at the mouth of the valley beneath. So much air. So much space. And below, a dizzying descent to oblivion. Or to the restaurant, at least. Although it was so far away from them now, she couldn’t quite believe they’d climbed so high.

A bird that looked like a buzzard swooped overhead, then dived deep below them. She thought back to the bird they’d seen earlier, on the other part of the mountain, where the rocks had slipped and Cat with them. Things could have ended very differently back there.

‘Do you get buzzards here?’ she asked Cat. ‘I thought you only got them in the desert where they ate dead camels.’

Cat nodded. ‘All sorts of things like that. I saw a kestrel earlier. Buzzards are really common in Europe. Not just in the movies.’

Ginny bristled at her tone. Cat was always patronising her. She couldn’t help it if she didn’t know as much as her clever-clogs sister. Mum and Dad had told her it didn’t matter anyway. That there were other ways to become successful in life. They were supposed to love both of their daughters equally, but she’d done her best to make herself the favourite. Dropping in little anecdotes here and there when she visited them for Sunday lunch and Cat didn’t bother to go – loads of people booked her for events on Sundays, she’d whine – and they’d let it go and spend all their time with Ginny, and that had suited her just fine. They knew Cat didn’t really need their help – hence the reason they’d changed their will to favour Ginny.

Ginny had always been good at getting what she wanted. She just hadn’t expected to get it so soon. She still couldn’t believe that her parents were gone. She missed calling them. She missed asking them things. They were the ones who had always given in to her. It was much harder with everyone else.

But Ginny had wanted Tristan from the moment she’d spotted him in the Perception Bar in the W Hotel in Leicester Square. She’d been on all sorts of forums, trying to find out the best place to meet a ‘man of means’, as her forum buddies were inclined to call the likes of Tristan – rich, good-looking, seeking a stay-at-home wife who didn’t ask too many questions. She’d been fine with the whole set-up until recently, when his recent – presumably current – dalliance started to take up too much of his time. She worried that he’d grown bored of her now, that he was on the lookout for wife number two. It happened, the forum buddies said, more often than not. Sure, she wouldn’t have to worry about money. But she didn’t like the thought of being rejected for a new model.