‘Nice.’
It wasn’t. But I don’t say this either.
‘I hiked up Scafell Pike.’
BC’s eyebrows rise. ‘I’m impressed.’
What I also don’t tell him is that none of my muscles will now move. My thighs scream in protest with every step I take, my knees throb with pain and my shins feel like I’ve been kicked in them by a particularly bad-tempered donkey. Even my neck hurts from unaccustomed rucksack carrying. This does not bode well for scampering up the Andes like the proverbial mountain goat.
I had to hobble in here like an old lady and, frankly, I have no intention of putting one foot in front of the other any more than I possibly need to today. I’m even going to cut down on my caffeine intake to ensure that I minimise my trips to the loo as that would involve walking to the other side of reception.
‘Coming running with us again tonight?’ Blake asks.
‘I think I’ll give it a miss,’ I say. ‘I’m meeting my sister for a coffee this evening and I need to get straight back.’
‘Wednesday then?’
I nod. ‘Wednesday.’ Two days away. Hopefully, I’ll be able to walk by then, maybe even run.
‘Catch you later,’ BC says, and waves as he heads to his office.
Sighing to myself, I log on to the computer to check today’s diary.
Greg still isn’t really speaking to me and I feel very unsettled. There was a lot of banging around in the kitchen this morning as we both made our respective sandwiches. We’ve never been like this before in all our years of married life. But then there’s never really been a time when we’ve been pulling in opposite directions. Any adversity that we have faced – and it usually centred round the kids or money – has made us grow closer together to work through it. I’m not sure why he feels so threatened about me going off to Peru or why he won’t sit down and talk to me about it. But there you have it. He won’t.
I felt such joy, such liberation on top of Scafell Pike that I don’t know why it’s not something that we’ve done as a couple before. If we’d got on better we could be making regular trips to the Lakes or the Peak District, hiking boots in hand – or on feet. You know what I mean.
Then Minny totters in and breaks my train of thought. ‘I’ve come back to work for a rest,’ she declares. ‘I’ve never done so much damn exercise.’ My colleague leans on my desk. ‘How’s the fundraising going?’
‘I haven’t done much yet. You?’
‘I’ve just press-ganged all of my Facebook mates. I’m pretty much there.’
I don’t have any Facebook mates to press-gang.
‘Mum and Dad will give me the rest.’
Ah, good old Bank of Mum and Dad.
‘Coming running tonight?’
‘Can’t,’ I say. ‘Things to do.’
‘See you at lunch then,’ she says and totters off.
Then I pick up the phone and call Chelsea and invite her to meet me and Lauren for coffee tonight. She sounds delighted and I feel mean for not having contacted her before and even meaner for having an ulterior motive for wanting my big sister to be there.
When I hang up, I pull my travel guide of Peru out of my handbag and immerse myself in it, gazing at the pictures of the walnut-brown women who live a life that’s a world away from mine with their black plaits, their bowler hats and their pipes, and dreaming of when I can visit places like Tambomachay, Puca Pucara, Salapunco, Qenko, Ollantaytambo. I won’t think of Greg or how difficult he’s being. I’ll only think of what a great adventure this will be.
Chapter 45
To show that he wasn’t boring, that he could be flexible, exciting even, Greg had borrowed one of Ray’s top of the range, ultra-light poles today to fish with. The sixteen-metre pole weighed next to nothing and was probably worth about two grand, maybe more. It felt strange, uncomfortable in his hands. He liked what he liked, as Ray said. And he liked his own rod. He knew the feel of it. With his own rod there were no surprises. He didn’t know what to expect with this one. However, he was prepared to give it a go.
They were still fishing in the same spot that they always went to – it didn’t do to change too many things all at once.
He’d been sitting, deep in thought, without a bite for half an hour now.
Carp were tricky fish to catch. You had to be wily. They were smarter than your average fish. Carp learn by their mistakes. Once they’d been caught by one type of bait, they wouldn’t go for it again. So you had to think of different ways to keep them keen.
He was thinking that if Annie were a fish, she’d be a carp.
‘How did the trip to the Lakes go?’ his friend enquired as he slipped the hook from the two-pound perch he’d just landed.
It had been Ray’s idea to take Annie hiking in the Lake District. The idea was that it would be a three-pronged attack. Annie would be impressed that Greg wanted to go somewhere other than Norfolk – and, specifically, Cromer – she would see that there was wonderful walking and adventure to be had in this country, something that he would be happy to do with her and, most importantly of all, would realise that she wasn’t capable of going to the Andes and would give up this whole, harebrained idea.
It had seemed like a grand plan at the time.
And, for a brief moment, it had looked as if it might work. As they’d summitted Scafell Pike, all was harmonious in the world. Then Annie had taken umbrage at something, some misplaced word or sentiment, and hadn’t appreciated the entirety of the scheme or its subtle nuances. He frowned. Or maybe she had? Whichever way, it had all been, literally, downhill from that moment.
‘Not well,’ Greg told his friend.
He pulled the pole in to allow a woman walking her dog to pass by on the path. The constant hauling in and out drove Ray mad, but it was part of the deal with this kind of fishing and Greg viewed it as a kind of meditation in itself.
While Greg had the rod in, he changed the bait on the end of the hook before he let the pole out again.
There was something to be said for using a pole which could stretch over the width of the canal and tantalise the fish hiding in the weeds on the far bank. When you used a float it was buffeted about by the wind, by the movement of the water, by canal barges passing by – but with a pole you could be more accurate, less affected by outside influence. With a rod you needed to play the fish, to tire it out. With a pole, the elastic fitting on it did the job for you. Did that take the skill out of it? he wondered. There were infinite possibilities and permutations to fishing. No day was the same. Each time you dipped your hook into the water, you never knew what would be on the end – if anything. The anticipation of it was what kept him coming back for more. How anyone could ever think that fishing was dull was beyond him.
‘She’s still thinking of going to Peru?’ Ray asked.
‘Definitely.’ Why couldn’t Annie want to do something that didn’t take her so far away from home? Why couldn’t she have wanted to run the London Marathon or something? The usual things that people did for charity. Why couldn’t she do something that he could go along with. They’d enjoyed tackling Scafell Pike together – at least, the going-up bit. To be honest, he was surprised at how much she’d enjoyed it. Would the old Annie have been interested in Lakeland walking if he’d suggested it? Why couldn’t the new Annie be happy doing something like that?
Ray tsked. ‘You’re going to have to slap that down, matey.’
Greg didn’t think that he could. He didn’t think that he wanted to either, not really. It was just that she frightened him, this new Annie who’d become headstrong, determined, focused – and very fed up with him.
Chapter 46
Lauren and Zak decided not to tell Jude what had happened. Not that anything did happen. Not really.
When Zak had woken, they’d had a lovely breakfast together in the hotel restaurant and then they’d gone out in the sunshine of Bath for the day. That was all.
Lauren had got her trip on an open-top tourist bus, then
they’d gone to the Roman Baths together and, finally, they’d visited the new rooftop spa and had a lovely long soak, luxuriating in the warm, restorative waters. She had missed a text from Jude while they’d been bathing telling her that he loved her and, strangely, it hadn’t made her stomach churn to have been unavailable to reply immediately.
She and Zak didn’t hold hands, there were no lingering looks over the cappuccinos they’d enjoyed, nothing like that. Still, it was cosy, friendly and a lot of fun. Then they’d driven home, separately, after a chaste kiss. And Lauren didn’t want to share that with Jude.
In fact, she wanted him to believe that she’d had a thoroughly miserable time by herself while he was busy being married and duty bound. Besides, it wasn’t fair on Zak. She didn’t want Jude to think that there was anything in it and possibly jeopardise Zak’s career prospects at Happening Today.
On Monday morning, Lauren was deliberately late for work. She knew that Jude would be in early, looking for her, trying to snatch some time alone. It was a pattern she was well used to.
Defiantly, she kept herself busy and surrounded by other people all morning and she hadn’t answered Jude’s emails either. It was childish, but there was no doubt that it gave her a certain sense of satisfaction. Whenever she looked up, just to glance in Jude’s direction, it seemed that Zak was looking at her.
She couldn’t thank her friend enough for coming to her rescue this weekend, and the Sunday they’d spent together was, Lauren was sure, more relaxing than it would have been with her lover. Jude would have been constantly checking his phone and watching the clock, anxious not to miss his appointed departure slot.
At lunchtime, she’d dashed out to the sandwich shop on the corner and, just as she entered the door to join the queue, she’d felt a hand on her arm.
It was Jude and he was out of breath. ‘I’ve been calling you,’ he panted.
‘Really?’
‘You didn’t hear?’
‘No.’ She hadn’t. To be honest, Lauren had been back on that open-top bus in Bath with Zak.
Jude hung his head. ‘I thought you were deliberately avoiding me.’
They joined the queue.
‘Would you blame me if I was?’ Lauren asked.
‘Forgive me,’ he said. ‘I’ll make it up to you. Anything. All you have to do is ask.’
‘Leave your wife,’ she said flatly. ‘That would work for me.’
‘I’m trying to,’ Jude insisted. ‘It’s not that easy.’
‘If you can’t get away for a weekend, how are you going to leave for ever?’
‘I have to choose my moment carefully,’ Jude said. ‘Georgia’s very fragile.’
‘You forget that I’ve met her,’ Lauren reminded him. Fragile, Georgia was not.
Jude looked exasperated. ‘I am putting things in place, Lauren. Please believe me. One day we will be together.’
‘Don’t leave it too long, Jude,’ she warned. ‘Or I may not be waiting.’
‘Tonight,’ he said. ‘I’ll come round tonight.’ Then, lowering his voice, ‘God, I want you.’
They’d reached the counter in the shop and Lauren browsed the menu. They ordered and Jude pulled out his wallet and paid.
‘Before you put that away, you need to give me some money,’ she said. ‘My sister’s doing the Inca Trail for charity and you’re going to sponsor her.’
Jude peeled off a twenty.
‘More.’
He gave her another.
‘Several more.’
Her lover handed over all he had in his wallet.
‘A hundred pounds – that’s it? She needs two grand.’
‘You’ve cleaned me out.’
Lauren tutted. He might be sorry, but clearly he wasn’t that sorry.
The woman behind the counter handed her a brown bag with her sandwich in it.
She always had the same thing in here. Every day. Prawn mayonnaise on brown with salad. It was a habit. Yet there was a whole array of unusual and varied fillings to be had. It was a habit that she should break.
Maybe one day she’d surprise herself and have a complete change.
Chapter 47
I arrive ten minutes early at the big Borders bookstore in the city where I’m meeting my sisters, so I head straight to the travel section and South America in particular.
My mouth waters as I read about the exotic dishes I can hope to sample while I’m out there. Ceviche, chunks of fish marinated with lime juice, more than 1,000 different varieties of potato (good job we’re doing a lot of walking to counteract that) roasted cuy or guinea pig – think I might give that one a miss – chillies, avocados and 100 different types of corn on the cob.
I’m on a sofa with a stash of books open by my side when, a few minutes later, Lauren swings in between the shelves. ‘I knew I’d find you here,’ she says.
‘Just browsing.’ I close the books and return them to their rightful place. We head up to the coffee shop and order. Then, having made myself hungry and with my tastebuds crying out to be tantalised, I get a blueberry muffin to go with my coffee. Admittedly, it’s not that exotic, but it’s the best that Starbucks can offer.
‘Chelsea’s coming along too,’ I tell Lauren when we sit down.
‘Noooo,’ she complains. ‘She’ll arrive looking all beautiful and elegant and make me feel like a right old skank. Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘She’s our sister. Be nice.’
Lauren looks down at her jeans. ‘I’d have dressed up if I’d known.’
‘Chelsea’s not like that.’
‘She is.’
‘How was the weekend?’ I ask as a distraction technique.
‘Crap,’ Lauren says. ‘Well, sort of. Jude didn’t turn up.’
‘Oh, Lauren. Again?’
‘I know. I know. I know.’ She puffs out an unhappy breath. ‘I ended up phoning Zak and he came down to Bath to hang out with me.’ My sister tries to shrug off her dis appointment, but I can see the pain in her eyes. ‘All’s well that ends well.’
‘Why didn’t you call me?’
‘Of course, I called you. But you were up a mountain somewhere without a phone signal.’
I’d forgotten about that. Or maybe I’d just decided to blank it as an unpleasant experience. But then, it wasn’t unpleasant – not the walking bit: I loved it. Only the falling-out-with-the-husband bit put a damper on it. ‘You seem to be spending a lot of time with Zak.’
‘He’s cool,’ Lauren says. ‘A lot of fun.’
‘And available?’
‘Don’t go there,’ Lauren warns.
Then Chelsea arrives and I can’t interrogate her any further. Oh, God. Lauren is right. Our big sister is looking beautiful and pristine and already my inadequacy levels are rising.
‘Hello, girls,’ she says, and then kisses us both on the cheek. Chelsea isn’t an enthusiastic kisser. Her lips are cool, dry and I bet she hasn’t left a lipstick mark either.
Chelsea is wearing a baby-pink cashmere sweater and black wool trousers and looks a million dollars. None of it, I know, will have come from George at Asda. The shoes, I suspect, are Prada, Jimmy Choo or something. The handbag is one of those over-size ones that celebrities use.
I pull out a chair for my big sister and generally fuss round her, earning myself a glare from Lauren in the process. My twin looks miserable. Taking Chelsea’s order, I scuttle off to the counter and get it for her.
‘One skinny latte,’ I say, when I bring it back. What else?
Lauren – whom I’ve persuaded to eat – puts down her slab of Rocky Road and gives me another pointed and black look.
‘It’s great to see you both,’ Chelsea says. ‘We don’t do this often enough. The three of us, I mean.’ A tacit acknowledgement that Lauren and I get together more often without her.
‘We should,’ I gush. ‘Now that you’re back for a while. It is nice to be in your own home again?’
‘Yes.’ Again, I’m sure I see a shadow cro
ss her face. Then my sister sweeps back her luxuriant hair and smiles and I’m convinced that I imagined it.
‘How’s the boyfriend?’ Chelsea asks.
‘Great,’ Lauren takes up the gushing. ‘We’ve just had a fabulous weekend in Bath together.’
Chelsea’s lips tighten almost imperceptibly. Lauren’s eyes challenge me to spill the beans on her lie.
‘Lovely,’ Chelsea says and then turns to me. ‘What have you been up to, Annie?’
I take a deep breath. This is my moment. ‘I’m planning to trek the Inca Trail,’ I announce. My sister’s jaw hits the table. Just like my husband’s did. I soldier on, regardless. ‘In aid of Dream Days. I need to raise two thousand pounds by September.’ I don’t mention the measly fifteen pounds I’ve cajoled out of my neighbours.
When she has recovered from the shock of her useless sister doing something useful, Chelsea claps her hands together in approval which makes me glow. ‘Oh, Annie. That’s wonderful!’
Strike while the iron’s hot. I whip out my form. ‘I was hoping that you might sponsor me.’
Behind our sister’s back, Lauren winks.
‘Of course. Of course.’ Chelsea reaches into the depths of the voluminous handbag that’s probably set her back over a thousand pounds. She pulls out a chequebook. Coutts account.
I sit feeling embarrassed as she fills in the cheque in her painstakingly immaculate script with her Mont Blanc pen. She won prizes for that writing at school. Lauren and I would make great GPs on the writing front. Chelsea signs with a flourish. It’s only then that I notice that her nail varnish is chipped, her manicure long overdue. And that’s not like my sister at all. Perhaps she’s not had time with the party and moving back into her house in Woburn.
Then, folding the cheque, my sister hands it over. I take it gratefully.
‘Thank you, Chelsea.’ I feel quite teary. Peru, here I come! ‘Thank you for helping make my dream come true.’
Lauren, behind Chelsea’s back, sticks her finger down her throat and makes vomity mimes at me.
‘Nonsense,’ my sister says with a tinkling laugh. ‘It’s the very least I could do.’