The Hike(34)

Paul peered over the edge again, but it was useless. If he couldn’t see Tristan, how was Tristan going to see Ginny? He thought about what he’d said earlier to Cat, joking with her about her annoying sister. Suggesting they tossed her over the edge. Fuck . . . could he have put that thought in Cat’s head? Some subliminal command that he’d had no plan to make? He took the Huntsman tool out of his pocket and flipped out one of the knives. Sharp enough to cut bone, his dad had said, laughing. In case you need to survive in the wild.

He held the knife out and it glinted in the moonlight. The rope whirred, and another intrusive thought popped into his head. He could cut the rope. See how good a climber Tristan really was. If he was good, he’d make it back. If he slipped . . . then he’d be with Ginny after all.

Stop it, Paul. What the hell is wrong with you?

It was shock, he knew. Cat would be horrified if he said any of this out loud, but sometimes his thoughts really did reveal his true soul. He flipped the knife back in. Cat still hadn’t moved. She was staring straight ahead, watching him, the whites of her eyes the only things visible now.

He thought about Ginny, and what she’d been saying before she . . . before she fell. He shook his head. No. Ridiculous. He was overtired and his thoughts were in overdrive, like some kind of waking nightmare.

‘Was it in Ascot?’ she’d asked.

Cat’s conference had been in Ascot. He remembered now, because he’d suggested he head over on the Saturday and go to the races – he’d checked, and there was a meeting on – and stay with her that night in the hotel. It’d be fun, he’d thought. But she’d turned him down. Said it would be all work and no play.

Which was bullshit, of course. What kind of work conference has no play?

But then he’d forgotten all about it. Gone down the pub instead. He’d been secretly pleased the next day, when she’d said she was staying an extra night. He went out for a Sunday sesh too. Regretted it on Monday morning. Perils of being a delivery driver. But it’d been fun.

But now . . .

‘Cat? What was Ginny going on about? Before she fell?’ He was still holding the Huntsman. ‘Cat? How did she know about Ascot? You said she never took on anything to do with the work bookings . . .’

‘Paul . . .’ she started, but then she didn’t carry on. There was a rattle of metal, then that shearing sound of the rope being pulled. Tightened. Pulled. Breaths. Grunts. Shearing. Something hitting against rock. He turned back towards the edge. A hand appeared, reaching. Then another.

Tristan was back.

Paul slipped the knife back into his pocket and went to help him to safety.





Twenty-Eight

SATURDAY EVENING

Tristan pulled himself on to the flat rock. He had one foot up, ready to push himself to standing, when Paul stepped over and outstretched a hand. Tristan took it and climbed back to safety, then headed straight across to where Cat sat.

He crouched down in front of her. ‘Are you OK?’

Cat gave him a small nod. He could barely see her now. The light around them had turned to a dark granite, with only the glint of the moon for company. The silvery rocks they’d been climbing were all but black.

Paul pulled him by the shoulder and Tristan turned to face him. ‘What?’ he snapped, and he saw Paul flinch. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Jesus.’ He stood up, rubbed his eyes with his palms. ‘This is a nightmare.’

Paul snorted. ‘Are you for real? Where’s Ginny? What happened down there?’

Tristan rubbed his hands up over his forehead and into his hair. Pulled it a bit until it stung. ‘I couldn’t see her. The light was already too far gone.’

‘You were gone ages. You must’ve seen her. I don’t understand.’

You never will, mate, Tristan thought. ‘She’s gone. There’s no way she survived that.’

Cat let out a small sob and he turned around and crouched back down to be close to her. ‘Hey. Come on. It was an accident. We need to stick together here.’

Paul pushed him from behind and he fell forward on to his knees. He tried to twist around into a sitting position, but keeled over a bit before righting himself.

‘An accident? Are you mad?’

Cat was properly crying now.

Paul loomed over him. He stank of sweat and fear. ‘Why the fuck do you care more about Cat than your wife?’

Tristan sat up and looked up at Paul, with his big, sweaty face too close to his. ‘Why do you care more about Ginny?’

‘Stop it,’ Cat said. Her earlier despair seemed to have faded away. She almost seemed like she was enjoying watching them fight.

Tristan couldn’t be arsed with all this. He’d just exerted himself far too much with that climb down and back up, and for what? He was never bringing Ginny back up with him. He was glad the cam had held the rope, and even gladder that he’d only slipped once, and hadn’t had to test its capabilities too much.

‘Look,’ Tristan said. ‘Ginny is gone. We’re not getting her back. Yes, that is going to be a lot to process, but for now we need to look after Cat. And we need to get ourselves down this mountain and we need to alert the authorities, OK?’ He took a breath. ‘It doesn’t surprise me that you’re letting your emotions get the better of you here, mate. I know you couldn’t hack it in our real world of managing the funds of the ludicrously wealthy, and all that entails. But you need to man the fuck up here, now. Your wife needs you.’