The Hike(39)

Poor little blondie.

But he had no interest in her. It was the other one he wanted. And she was still around.

He sniffed the air, hoping she might be nearby. But he knew she wasn’t. Not yet.

But soon.

He heard the sounds of a waterfall nearby and detoured off the main track. He licked his lips, tasting salt. He was thirsty.

He climbed down to the edge of the pool where fresh water tumbled down the rocks, and he cupped his hands under it and drank. It was cold. Delicious. It made his head hurt, but he liked it.

Then he found a flat stone and sat there for a while, just listening to the sounds of the water. The sounds of the trees, and the undergrowth. The scurry of small things as they darted around, searching for food. For shelter. For smaller things to eat. He cupped his hands and drank more water, letting it cascade down his chest, the coolness soothing his hot, sweaty body.

He heard voices in the distance. The snapping of branches.

They were coming.

He couldn’t wait to see her again.





Thirty-Three

SATURDAY NIGHT

Tristan was trying to be a hard man about it all, but in the thick, dark woods, he was just as scared as Cat. He kept a tight hold on her hand, the torchlight shining a few feet ahead of them, giving them a small arc of light – just enough to make sure they didn’t trip over a protruding root, or a rock. Or something else. He wasn’t convinced they were alone in this section of the woods, but he wasn’t going to bring it up again. For now, the sounds seemed consistent with wildlife and he hoped that was all they had to contend with. There were no really dangerous animals in these mountains. There was unlikely to be anything that would attack them. He was just a bit worried about startling something that was out sniffing around and giving themselves heart attacks in the process.

There’d been enough excitement for one day.

He’d surprised himself with what he did to Paul, but he told himself it was a survival instinct. Paul had been on to them, he was sure, and despite his meek exterior, Tristan had no doubt that Paul would’ve attacked to save himself. He just hadn’t been quick enough to realise the threat.

Hitting him with the belay device had been an almost-instinctive move. He’d known that the heavy steel would have an impact. Even if he’d swung the rope with only a carabiner at the end, it would’ve been enough to knock Paul over. It was the element of surprise more than anything. Seeing Paul’s open, pleading eyes as he’d rolled him to the edge had given him a jolt, but he’d held fast and carried on. After the blow, what else could he do? He could hardly tell Paul it was an accident. The whole thing had given him a rush.

None of it had been supposed to happen like that.

Paul and Ginny had been supposed to ‘fall’ during the chain-led descent, into an area that Tristan could control. Where he could make sure that one, they were both actually dead; and two, they were out of sight and wouldn’t be found easily when the mountain rescue teams were eventually deployed. Cat pushing Ginny when she did had been a risk, but he’d dealt with it.

It was done.

They would need to find a way to scrub the events of the day from their heads, and move on.

Cat’s hand felt different to Ginny’s. Cat was bigger-boned than her sister – in a good way. She was far from fat; in fact, she had perfectly proportioned curves and a cracking pair of tits that he’d been more than happy to get acquainted with. Ginny was all skin and bone. Barely eating in a ridiculous attempt to look perfect for her Insta fans, while pretending to eat all the elaborate food she created on her channel. Were people really so stupid? It seemed so. He wondered if her followers would care that she was gone, or if they’d quite happily move on to the next shiny thing. She’d made murmurings about pregnancy and child-rearing influencers being the next big thing; hinted that she might want to go down that route.

He’d ignored her. He didn’t want kids.

Which is why he’d had the snip, several years earlier.

It could fail though, right? There’d been that guy at work whose wife had got pregnant after a failed vasectomy. It was more common than people realised – and there’d been no chance of an accident with Ginny as she’d been on the pill too. Although he wouldn’t have put it past her to stop taking it. Hence his own insurance policy.

But now . . . well, now he was kind of hoping that the procedure had failed.

He squeezed Cat’s hand. ‘Do you really think you might be pregnant? You know what Ginny’s like . . .’ He paused to correct himself ‘. . . was like, with all her bloody theories.’

He felt Cat tense. ‘Paul thought it might just be the altitude and not enough food.’

‘But what do you think? I mean, I’m no expert, obviously, but aren’t there other signs? Don’t you have to miss a period?’

‘My periods have always been all over the place. When we were young, Ginny was able to track hers to practically the minute they were due, while I was always the one who ended up having an accident in white jeans.’ She tried to laugh, but it sounded forced.

‘That’s what you get for wearing white jeans,’ he said. ‘Weren’t they banned after the eighties?’

‘I’m surprised Ginny’s not still got a pair. She was much more into them than me. She was also quite happy to tell me how I was too fat to wear them. Just as well they were ruined, eh?’