‘Has she said anything?’ he asked circumspectly.
‘No.’
He fell silent. I heard him take a deep breath.
‘Tell me,’ I urged, feeling sick to the pit of my stomach because I had an idea of where he was headed.
‘I thought she was you,’ he said at last, confirming my suspicions.
‘Oh God, Angus!’ I felt faint.
‘I’m sorry!’ he blurted. ‘I was drunk! I wanted it to be you. I wanted to see you there. And she didn’t stop me!’
‘Of course she didn’t!’ I raised my voice, but I wasn’t angry. I was destroyed. I knew Rose had a crush on him. Her eyes had followed him around like a lovesick puppy from the moment he’d moved in, but I never thought she’d let it go anywhere.
‘Liza, I’m so sorry,’ he said urgently. ‘I swear, I’ll never—’
‘Don’t call me again,’ I told him firmly, steeling myself. ‘Can’t you see how screwed-up this is? Let it go. Move on. I plan to.’
When we were invited to Somerset for Easter, I jumped at the chance. I wanted to avoid seeing Angus in person for as long as possible.
We saw each other that summer, but by then I was already going out with Jake. I hated the look of contempt in Angus’s eyes when he found out that we were ‘serious’, but I told myself it was for the best. It was the closure we both needed. Angus ended up getting together with a girl from university after that – her name was Megan – but they didn’t go out for long; only a couple of months. He had one other fling that I knew of, but it didn’t amount to much either.
Sometimes I had second thoughts about him. Dad’s death the year after almost broke me.
I was at my lowest ebb. I was nineteen and I’d had Dad to myself for only eighteen months. We’d grown very close. He had given up climbing the previous autumn under pressure from Mum, and he had no hobby to occupy his time or take him away from us. He had finally been showing a real interest in me and what I was about, and he’d help me set up gigs and drive me to and from the venues. He used to joke that he was my manager. We had such a giggle together. For the first time in my life, I’d felt like the apple of his eye.
I only just kept it together at the funeral. Mum asked me to sing Dad’s favourite song and I was wrecked, because I knew he would have wanted it too, so I couldn’t say no.
But it was the last thing I felt I could do. The idea of playing my guitar and singing a jaunty little song to a congregation of people, while my beloved dad was lying cold and lifeless in a box, was abhorrent. I did the best that I could, singing my song to the last person who would ever call me Lizziebeth, but towards the end, tears started to stream down my cheeks.
I couldn’t sit back down. I had said my goodbye and didn’t have it in me to endure any more.
I felt a jolt of electricity spark up my arm as I passed the third pew and the low whisper of my name as Angus’s fingertips brushed against mine. I met his eyes and wanted nothing more than to hold him and to have him hold me.
But by the time he’d found me, I’d come to my senses.
‘Liza,’ he said, his voice choking at the sight of me sitting on the grass, leaning up against a gravestone. He knelt down, but I flinched when he tried to touch me. I’d gone all this time without crumbling and I was determined not to lose it now.
‘I’m just trying to be a friend,’ he said quietly, his eyes full of concern. ‘I miss you. I miss my friend.’
‘You and I could never have been together, Angus. You do know that, right?’
It was one of the very few times we ever spoke about what happened. Maybe if we’d both had it out properly at the beginning, we could have forgiven each other and eventually become mates, but instead it had always been awkward.
‘It’s Phoebe or no one for you. Do you understand? If you don’t want her, you can’t have any of us.’
His stare hardened and he stood up and backed away.
Later I saw him holding Phoebe in his arms as she cried. I felt a bittersweet happiness for them. I could almost see the cracks in their broken relationship gluing themselves back together. I was glad that he could comfort her. She deserved it. And they really did make a beautiful couple.
They still do.
But I would have preferred it if he’d chosen not to have any of us.
I arrive home from my futile flat search in London at eight o’clock, just as Rose is coming out of the front door. She recoils when she sees me.
‘What’s up?’ I ask. ‘Where are you off to?’
She glares at me. ‘I’m going to see Angus’s new apartment.’
‘Are you?’ I wrinkle up my nose. ‘Why?’
‘I’m helping him unpack Phoebe’s things,’ she replies, already on the defensive.
I can’t help it. I let out a snort of laughter. ‘Are you for real? Haven’t you got enough sorting out to do? Or is Angus more important to you than Mum?’
‘Fuck off, Eliza,’ she hisses, and I don’t even flinch because I know what I said was mean. She continues. ‘Just because you’re a devious little bitch who wants to get into his pants—’
‘What are you talking about?’ I interrupt, paling.
‘I know about you! I know about you and Angus! You betrayed Phoebe years ago and you’re probably still betraying her now!’
I shake my head. ‘No. You’re off your rocker. There is nothing going on between Angus and me. Nothing. If anyone wants him, it’s you. You with your soppy, puppy dog eyes. You make me sick. Get a life.’
For a split-second, I think she’s going to slap me. ‘I’m telling Phoebe,’ she warns, suddenly serious.
‘Telling her what?’ I snap.
‘About what you and Angus got up to when you were eighteen. How you were this close to shagging him.’
I gawp at the thumb and forefinger she’s holding in front of my face, a centimetre apart. How does she know that? Did Angus tell her? Is he trying to wreck his wedding? I’m stunned. But no, he wouldn’t have done that. Hang on a second...
‘You found my old diary,’ I state as it dawns on me.
She looks away uneasily.
‘You bitch! I can’t believe you read it!’ I hiss. ‘Well, maybe I should tell Phoebe that you had it off with Angus at Darryl’s New Year’s Eve party! He thought you were me,’ I say nastily. ‘But you let him kiss you. You let him touch you.’ I don’t know this for sure, but I know Angus and I know how he was with me the night before.
I’m right, because Rose looks like she’s going to throw up.
‘Instead of accusing me of betraying Phoebe, why don’t you take a good, long look at yourself, Rosie,’ I spit. I laugh suddenly and look around. ‘Wow, if Judy and Mum could hear us, they’d cancel the wedding themselves,’ I say scathingly. ‘Jesus, you know what? I am going to tell Phoebe that Angus would have had either of us, too. She deserves to understand what she’s walking into before she marries the guy.’
‘No, don’t,’ Rose splutters. ‘You’d ruin everything for her. She’d be so cut up.’
I’m vaguely aware of the phone ringing inside the house, but I’m on a roll. ‘I disagree. She needs to hear the truth.’
‘IT’S PHOEBE!’ Mum yells.
‘Perfect!’ I erupt. ‘Perfect timing, Feebs.’ I smile evilly at Rose. ‘Maybe I’ll tell her right now...’
Part Two
Chapter 13
Phoebe
Sometimes I can’t believe I’m still here. I’m having a proper ‘pinch me’ moment, right now. I’m sitting on the balcony looking up at the mountains. The setting sun is casting a bright amber light across the snow-capped peaks. It is beyond beautiful.
Remy and I are heading into Chamonix tonight for dinner, but he was late coming back from today’s climb.
Before he went inside, he asked me if I was happy. I think he worries sometimes when he catches me deep in thought, which admittedly, is quite often.
The truth is, the dream I had last night is still playing on my mind. In it,
Dad and I were ascending a mountain and I was teasing him about the time he’d confided in me that he’d grown up amongst brothers so had always wanted sons, but instead he’d got daughters: three of them.
I was fifteen when he first said this. We were climbing in the Welsh hills and I had just reached the top of Cemetery Gates. I remember him being so proud. He hugged me and told me that I was as good as any son.
In my dream he smiled and repeated these words, but then he vanished and I screamed, certain that he’d fallen. I woke up sobbing and Remy had to hold me until I calmed down.
I think Dad’s on my mind because I know how much he would have loved the climb Remy and I did yesterday. It was the Rébuffat route on the South Face of the Aiguille du Midi. It was technical and it took us almost six hours, but Dad would have been proud.
Sometimes I feel so clunky, like I’m lumbering up the mountainside, but today everything just flowed.
I adore climbing with Remy. He’s so beautiful and he has such grace – he’s like a dancer, moving up the rock. I know that’s what Dad once said about me, that I reminded him of Catherine Destivelle, my rock climbing heroine. Dad’s hero was the legendary Joe Brown, the ‘human spider’ – Manchester born and bred.
The thing about Remy is that he’s always challenging me and forcing me to step out of my comfort zone. The first time he ever did that was on our very first date when he took me paragliding. I was terrified, which was pretty unusual for me, so he really had to persuade me. What did he say? ‘It’s the purest, simplest form of aviation’ or something like that. He said I’d feel like I was flying.
I remember indignantly telling him that I wasn’t a fricking bird, and he laughed so hard. But he wasn’t going to be deterred. He convinced me that doing something out of the ordinary would stimulate my mind. So many people go through life just coasting, but shifting my perspective would feel amazing.
He was right. We did a tandem flight together and when we ran down the hill, I was petrified, but then my feet were off the ground and we were floating over dark-green pine trees with the mountains all around. It was so incredible. My heart soared.
It’s still soaring today.
So to answer Remy’s earlier question, yes, I am happy. I just mustn’t think too much.
Chapter 14
Rose
The knock on my bedroom door jolts me to attention. It’s late afternoon and I’ve been lying on my bed, reading.
‘Rose?’ Mum calls as I quickly sit up. ‘I’m making tea. Would you like one?’
‘Sure! I’ll come down.’
She doesn’t usually seek me out when she’s putting the kettle on. She must be lonely. Either that, or she has something to talk about.
In the end, both prove to be correct.
‘I think it’s time,’ she says, her voice wavering when I appear in the kitchen.
I gather her in my arms and give her a hug, fighting back tears myself.
‘I’ll speak to the estate agent tomorrow,’ I tell her.
‘I’ve called them already,’ she replies. ‘They said they can use the same photos, so it might even go live in the morning.’
Unsurprisingly, last summer’s sale fell through. It’s not like Mum hadn’t been having her doubts, but it’s been almost a year now so I’m relieved she’s finally come back around to the idea.
‘I’ve also found a little place that I think will suit me just fine,’ she says brightly. ‘It’s a bungalow, not far from here. A rental, so I won’t have to worry about being stuck in a chain.’
‘That’s great, Mum.’ I pretend not to notice her watery eyes.
‘I think I’ll go quickly, this time,’ she says. ‘No delaying it. Will you return to London?’ she asks.
‘No.’ I shake my head. ‘I want to stay here.’
Her lips pinch together. ‘Don’t you think it’s time you went back to work?’
‘Not yet, Mum.’
‘You mustn’t let that man ruin your career, Rose,’ she warns, and I can see that she’d quite like to shake me, but she manages to refrain.
‘It’s not just Gerard,’ I say, although finding out that he knocked up his wife while telling me they were getting a divorce was admittedly quite a blow. ‘I feel like I need a change from nursing.’
‘What about taking a job at one of the hospitals here?’ she suggests, not really listening to me.
‘Maybe,’ I reply, not wanting to make any promises.
In the end, quitting my job in London last October and moving home to Sale permanently to be with Mum was an easy decision. But living with her hasn’t been as easy. Eliza moved out when I moved in – she and I were never going to last long in the same house. She claimed she was ready to live somewhere new anyway, but instead of moving to London, she shacked up with one of her waitress friends in the city.
Meanwhile, Mum and I soldiered on alone. We didn’t get a lodger, and without my sisters the silence has been deafening. Mum has felt it more keenly than anyone. She needs to move on, meet new people and have a fresh start. I fear that this house is sending her to an early grave.
‘What will you do?’ Mum asks worriedly, bringing me back to the present. ‘Where will you live?’
‘I don’t know yet, but I’ll find something.’
As it turns out, I’m far too busy in the next six weeks to do much of anything other than deal with the house sale. We get a cash buyer quickly who wants to move in without delay and I’m overcome with déjà vu as I begin to pack. Mum can’t do much – she’s grown more frail over the last year – so I crack on with most of the work alone, although Judy, bless her, sometimes comes over to help. Mr Templeton passed away two years ago – Angus, who was pretty cut up at the time, fretted about his mum living on her own in that big house – but earlier this year, Judy made the decision to downsize, and luckily, she didn’t move far.
As before, Eliza offers no help, but this time I’m thankful. It upsets Mum that we’re still not speaking, and Phoebe would hate it, but she’s not here to do anything about it.
I’ve been helping out Mrs Dryden, an elderly lady from down the street who had a hip operation a couple of months ago. Her Staffordshire Terrier, Bicky, needs walking, and usually we go to the local park. Today, though, I need to pick up a few groceries, so I head into Sale town centre, praying Bicky won’t want to do her business on the pavement. The last time that happened, a good-looking guy was approaching and I had to pooper-scoop in front of him.
I’ve heard that the boarded-up shop around the corner from the Town Hall has reopened as an artisan bakery, so I decide to go and have a nose around. There’s a stylish, modern, pale-green and grey sign jutting out from the red brickwork with the name Jennifer’s painted on it. In the window, various fancy breads lie stacked in old-fashioned wooden boxes, and colourful cupcakes are piled high on the counter.
A couple of those would go down nicely for tea. We exchanged on the house today, but the feeling is bittersweet and Mum and I could do with a pick-me-up, if not a celebration.
‘The dog has to stay outside,’ the man behind the counter says the moment I push through the swing door.
‘Oh, okay.’
I go back outside and tie Bicky to the lamppost.
‘What can I get you?’ he asks when I return. He’s about six foot tall and heavy-set with thick eyebrows, greying hair and dark-brown eyes. He has a cockney accent, so it’s a pretty safe guess that he’s not from around here.
‘Two cupcakes, please. One chocolate and one vanilla.’
He gets out a box while I scan the interior. The pale-green and grey colour scheme continues inside, with white accents on the skirting boards, windowsills and furniture. There’s a small seated section at the back where a couple of people are sitting at a table, drinking coffee.
‘Anything else?’ the man asks.
‘Um, maybe a loaf of bread,’ I reply, turning back to him. The door opens and three women come in, two with prams.
‘Which o
ne?’ he asks as they stand behind me, chatting noisily.
‘I usually go for a boring wholegrain, but there’s so much to choose from. What do you recommend?’
‘Is it a special occasion? Or are you just planning to slice it up for sandwiches? Toby!’ he yells before I can answer.
‘Not for a special occasion, exactly,’ I reply as the door behind him opens and a sullen-looking guy saunters out. He has a likeness to the man with the same dark hair and eyes, although he’s a darn sight better looking.
‘See to these customers,’ the man barks, returning his attention to me.
‘But it’d be nice to try something different,’ I finish.
‘Walnut and raisin bread? Goes well with cheese.’
‘That sounds lovely, I’ll give it a shot.’ I look around again. ‘This is a great place. When did you open?’
‘Last week,’ he says.
‘Have you moved up from London?’
‘Er, yes. Accent give me away, did it?’
I smile. ‘Just a bit. I used to work in Highgate,’ I tell him.
‘The posh part,’ he says with a knowing look.
‘The area where I worked wasn’t particularly posh,’ I feel compelled to point out. ‘It was closer to Archway. The Whittington Hospital. I’m a nurse.’
He looks away abruptly and I feel a bit silly for divulging all that information as he interrupts the discussion going on beside us. ‘We’re out of the rosemary and potato bread, you doofus. I told you to do a stock take,’ he adds, before tutting at me. ‘You’re not looking for a change of career, are you? This one here is hopeless.’
I shrug. ‘I am actually looking for a job, if you’ve got anything going.’
The man narrows his eyes at me. ‘I thought you said you were a nurse.’
‘I was, but I’m taking a break. I’ve been looking after my mum, but she’s moving to a one-bedroom bungalow soon.’
‘Couldn’t cope with her, hey?’
His son – if that’s who he is – shoots him a look of, ‘You can’t say that!’
‘It’s her choice,’ I reply, too diverted by Toby’s comical expression to be annoyed. ‘I think she wants her independence back,’ I joke. ‘She’d rather be around people her own age.’