Shadow of the Mountain (13 page)

‘Y
ou’re such an idiot. I can’t believe you did this. Stubborn bloody idiot.’

The voice was a long way off but if she concentrated on listening to it, it seemed to come closer.

‘Stubborn to the power of ten.’ There was a pause. She could feel something pushing at her, digging into the pain that seemed to radiate from her leg. ‘Try it now, Geneva. Try being stubborn now.’

Her body moved. Pain like a vice shot up her side,
squeezing
her lungs so that she couldn’t breathe, crushing her brain. She groaned.

‘Geneva? Open your eyes! Wake up and talk to me. Come on, Geneva.’

Something wasn’t right. Stephen wouldn’t call her that — he always called her Gen or Genna — plus, it didn’t sound like Stephen. She forced her eyes open and the light struck at them, making her wince and squint. He was there, bending over her. She tried to say something but her voice wouldn’t work. He moved and light caught the side of his face. It wasn’t Stephen. It was Angus.

‘Thank fuck,’ he said. ‘I thought … Look, I’m just going to
move you a little bit, okay? I need to get a ground sheet under you. I’m sorry if it hurts.’

It did, but not as much as before. She drifted again.

‘Jesus, Gen, you should have known better. You of all people.’

At the sound of Stephen’s voice, Geneva opened her eyes. Angus was rummaging in his backpack. She frowned,
trying
to grasp the voice she’d heard so that she could decide whose it was. It was gone. Angus turned to her. ‘Here you go,’ he said, gently sliding something soft behind her head. ‘Comfortable?’

There was something bothering her. No, there were a lot of things bothering her. She pushed her way past the dull pressured feeling in her left side. ‘How come you’re here?’ she asked, latching onto one of the easier questions, abandoning the others. Her voice sounded groggy, as if she was half asleep, or half plastered.

Angus studied her. ‘Your dad phoned. He said you went out early and he thought maybe you’d come to see me.’ He paused. ‘Yeah, well. Anyway, when I said I didn’t know where you were, he seemed a bit worried. You’d been missing more than five hours then — he wasn’t sure what time you left but he was pretty sure it was before seven.’

‘Five.’

‘Right.’ Angus compressed his lips. ‘Your dad said you wouldn’t normally go off without leaving a note. He was worried you might have crashed the bike or something.’

‘I did leave a note,’ she said, ‘on my desk.’ She hesitated. ‘I said I was going into town.’

‘Well, that was helpful,’ Angus answered.

There was nothing to say to that. Geneva let herself drift for a while. When she opened her eyes it seemed darker than before. ‘Angus?’ There was no answer. Panic battered like a flock of trapped birds in her chest. She turned her head, her breath coming faster, pain building with it. ‘Angus!’

There was a rattle of stones further along the ledge. ‘I’m here. It’s okay.’

She swung her head towards the voice as he jogged back into sight. ‘I was just putting up a marker to help them find us.’

Each tight breath stabbed at her ribs, stealing her air. Angus squatted before her with his hands on her shoulders. ‘Breathe,’ he instructed. ‘I’m not going to leave you, Geneva.’

Geneva nodded, spreading her fingers wide and
concentrating
on her breathing. There was something wrong with her lungs: they didn’t feel big enough, or strong enough, to hold the air she sucked into them. Time had become
irrelevant
: she couldn’t tell how long it took before she could speak and think clearly again. ‘Sorry,’ she mumbled at last. There was so much to be sorry for.

‘It’s all right. Everything’s going to be all right.’ Angus turned and sat beside her, his arm hitched around her
shoulders
. ‘It won’t be long now.’

What wouldn’t? Her brain was getting sluggish. How long had she been here? Geneva struggled to force her thoughts into order. Five hours — Angus had said five hours; five hours counting from seven, so it must have been midday when her father phoned him.

‘I was at the cairn,’ she said aloud.

‘What?’

‘When Dad rang you. I was at Stephen’s cairn.’ An image of her father sprang into her mind. ‘You didn’t tell him, did you? He’d be …’ Her voice trailed away, the image of her father fading with it. There was something wrong with the order of her thoughts, she knew, but she couldn’t work it out. ‘Angus?’ She turned her head, not lifting it — it felt too heavy to lift — her cheek against his shirt. He was wearing a polyprop, purple and blue striped. Little black stripes too, beside the purple ones. It felt warm. His warmth … There’d been something she wanted to ask. She searched through her thoughts and found it. ‘Am I dying?’

Angus moved roughly, bouncing her head so that waves of pain shot around her skull like ping-pong balls. She whimpered, resenting the pressure of his fingers on her jaw. ‘Geneva, look at me.’ She opened her eyes. ‘You’re not dying! Understand me?’ He looked cross and she closed her eyes against him. ‘You’ve broken your leg and hit your head,’ he said. ‘With luck it’ll knock sense into you rather than out of you.’ He shifted again, more gently this time. ‘Now drink this, and don’t be so stupid.’

He put a water bottle into her hand. Geneva stared at it, unmoving. ‘My side hurts,’ she said. ‘Or,’ she thought about it, ‘not hurts so much now but it feels sort of heavy.’

Angus frowned and took the water bottle. ‘Which side?’

As he lifted her shirt, Geneva wanted to giggle. A tiny
bubble
of sound escaped. Angus paused to look at her, his face creased in concern. ‘Cold hands,’ she said.

Angus scowled and ignored her. ‘Could be broken ribs,’ he said eventually. ‘You need to stay still. Does it hurt when you breathe?’

She nodded.

‘Don’t take any big breaths.’

‘It must have happened when I fell,’ Geneva said.

‘No kidding.’

She closed her eyes. ‘You’re not going away, are you?’ She was starting to drift again. ‘Stephen went away.’

Angus didn’t answer. She opened her eyes to look for him. ‘He made me get the survival blanket first,’ she remembered, ‘and my jacket.’

Angus had been staring away across the mountain, and his head swivelled towards her. ‘Stephen did?’ he asked.

‘He said I had to keep warm,’ she said.

‘He was right,’ Angus answered after a pause. ‘Actually, I was trying to work out how you got your pack off, with your leg the way it was.’

‘Stephen helped me,’ she repeated. ‘He was here when I woke up. Then you were.’ She frowned. ‘That was later.’ Her memory seemed to be misbehaving. ‘What time is it?’

‘Nearly six-thirty. There’s a rescue team coming, Geneva. They won’t be long now. It’ll be all right.’

‘That’s what Stephen said,’ she answered. Her thoughts coasted.

‘Angus?’ she said later.

‘Here.’

‘I’m sorry about what I said.’

‘I know. I’m sorry too.’

‘You’d have liked Stephen,’ she said.

Angus grunted.

‘He loved climbing. It was only because of him that I
started
. But there was lots more to him than that.’ Geneva
hesitated
, memories pouring like water through her mind. ‘He was the best brother ever,’ she said.

She felt Angus stiffen. ‘Stephen was your brother?’

She frowned. ‘I told you that.’

‘Actually, I don’t think you did.’

Geneva’s thoughts were already wandering along another track. ‘Angus?’ She paused. ‘Stephen wasn’t really here, was he?’

She felt the arm around her shoulders tighten. ‘I don’t know Geneva. But you are. That’s what counts.’

T
he figure at the end of the bed came into blurry focus. Geneva had vague memories of three or four faces, her father’s amongst them, as she’d slipped in and out of
consciousness
over the past days. This particular face was one she wasn’t ready to see, but it was too late to pretend she was still asleep.

‘I hope you’ve learnt a lesson,’ Keith said. ‘I’ve a good mind to ban you from RockZone.’

‘Okay,’ she croaked. There was a tube up her nose and her throat felt raw. ‘Thirsty,’ she added hopefully.

Keith walked around to the side of the bed, raising the cup so that she could get the straw between her lips. The water tasted stale and full of chemicals. Town supply. She grimaced. ‘Sorry,’ she said.

‘I should bloody well think so. What the hell were you thinking?’

Geneva frowned. It was too hard to answer. She hoped she looked remorseful.

‘You’re a bloody idiot.’

‘That’s what Angus said.’

‘He’s as big an idiot,’ Keith answered. ‘I should ban the pair of you.’ He scowled. ‘At least he had the sense to ring Tink
and tell her where he was going. She told him to wait at the car park while she got hold of search and rescue. But did he? Did he hell! When we got there and found his mother’s car, we figured we’d be scraping him off the rock as well.’

Keith paused in his tirade. ‘You’re both lucky to be alive,’ he added in a quieter tone. ‘It was dark by the time we found you. We wouldn’t have, without Angus, even if we’d known where to look.’

Geneva felt oddly detached from Keith’s lecture. ‘I don’t remember,’ she said. She certainly didn’t remember Keith being on the mountain. It had been just her and Angus and … ‘And Stephen,’ she whispered.

Keith let out a sigh and slumped heavily into the chair
beside
the bed. ‘Geneva, Stephen’s dead. You getting killed won’t bring him back. It won’t fix anything.’

‘I know,’ she said.

Keith studied her a moment before nodding slowly. ‘I think you do.’

They sat in silence for a while. Geneva thought she might have slept. When she opened her eyes it was dark and her father had replaced Keith in the chair. ‘Dad?’ she said.

A thin smile stretched across his face but it did little to wipe away the sadness that rested there. ‘Hello again, love.’ His voice was flat and he ran a hand briskly across his face.

Geneva felt her own eyes prickle.

Her father shook his head. ‘How could you do that to us, Genna?’

She swallowed. ‘I’m really sorry, Dad.’

He sighed. ‘So am I. I promised myself I wouldn’t say that.’ Reaching for her hand where it lay on the coverlet, he
squeezed it gently. ‘Never mind. It’s all right now. You just concentrate on getting better.’

Geneva nodded.

‘Your mother sends her love. She’s …’ Her father stopped to clear his throat.

Unable to bear the anguish on his face, Geneva let herself slide back into sleep.

When Geneva woke the room was dark with just a nightlight glowing above the bed. A nurse stood nearby fiddling with a plastic bag of liquid. Geneva’s breathing felt easier. The tube was gone from her nose.

‘Dad?’ she whispered.

The nurse shot her a professional smile. ‘Your father’s gone home to get some clean clothes and catch up on some sleep.’ Her cool fingers settled around Geneva’s wrist. ‘You talked to him earlier. Don’t you remember?’

Geneva shook her head, frowning.

‘You were very groggy,’ she agreed. ‘You’ll find you’re like that for a while, and the best thing is to sleep when you need to. Don’t worry about anything else.’

‘How long since …?’

‘Three days. The doctor will be in to talk to you tomorrow morning — your father will be back by then. He’s been here most of the time, and not just him: you’re a popular girl!’ She smiled as she straightened the bed and adjusted Geneva’s pillows. ‘Don’t be surprised if you don’t remember; your body’s had other things to think about.’ The nurse refilled the water jug, wiped her face, gave her a drink.

‘What time is it?’

‘Nearly ten. There.’ She stroked a strand of hair away from Geneva’s eyes, her fingers brisk and impersonal. ‘You’re going to be just fine,’ she said.

The next time Geneva opened her eyes the room was bright with light and she looked around for the first time: green walls, floral curtains, trolley and cabinet with several vases of flowers. As she considered them, the door to her right swung open and her father came in.

‘Hi, Dad.’

He smiled. ‘Awake at last! You look better.’

So did he. Geneva watched as he settled into the chair beside her.

‘I was beginning to wonder if you were planning to sleep all day.’ He patted her hand. ‘How’re you feeling?’

‘Okay.’

‘Good. The doctor will be here soon. Do you feel up to it?’

She nodded. The conversation they’d had last night — or whenever it was — seemed to underpin everything. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said again.

Her father smiled. ‘Don’t you worry, love. Everything’s all right now.’

The specialist’s visit passed in a blur. Her father sat beside her, holding her hand while the man’s rich voice detailed injuries and outcomes.

The operation had gone well: they’d placed a metal rod
inside her femur and the bone would heal around it; there’d be no need for a cast. The stitches would be removed in a week or so but the rod and screws could probably stay in place permanently — they’d assess the situation in six weeks. Geneva darted a sideways look at her father and he reached to pat her arm.

As for the broken ribs, the doctor continued, the best cure was rest. She’d been fortunate that there’d been no major internal damage, and being young and fit she should heal up nicely. He paused in his catalogue to offer a grim smile: laughing might hurt for a few weeks. Geneva didn’t feel much at risk — but she should also be wary of deep breaths, sudden movements, coughing. The ribs, he said, might prove a complication with crutches but the physio would have some recommendations for that, as well as for the sprained ankle. Geneva studied the pattern on his tie, a bold geometric in bright yellows and golds that didn’t quite work with his apricot shirt.

‘All in all, you’re a very lucky young lady,’ he finished, smoothing a hand across his thinning hair.

Geneva was already tired of hearing it. ‘We’ll keep you in for a few more days so that we can monitor your progress but all going well, you’ll be home early next week. The physio had you up yesterday?’

Geneva nodded. Walking, supported on both sides, to the toilet and back: the achievement of the decade. Her leg was a dull ache beneath the general sense of having been trampled by something at least the size and weight of an elephant.

‘They’ll sort you out with a programme that keeps you moving. You’ll need to be careful of the ribs but you’ll be
surprised how quickly things improve — just as long as you don’t decide to take on any mountains!’ He grinned at his wit.

As her father began asking questions, Geneva let her attention slide sideways, her eyes on the doctor’s fingers, steepled in a neat knot in front of the taut bulge of his belly.

‘How’re you feeling, love? You wore yourself out in physio, I heard.’ The nurse was middle-aged and motherly, with a broad, engaging smile. Geneva couldn’t remember seeing her before. She must have just come on shift. ‘You don’t want to be too hard on yourself, you know. You get there fastest if you let your body set the pace. It’s had a rough enough ride lately.’ She placed a practised hand around Geneva’s wrist, studied her charts, clipped a white peg on her thumb and made
another
note. ‘You slept right through lunch. Do you feel like something now? They’ve left it for you.’

Geneva nodded and the nurse swung a trolley across the bed. There were sandwiches in a plastic pack and an
unappetising
mound of something that might have been fish in white sauce. ‘That’ll have gone a bit cold,’ the nurse added, eyeing the greyish gloop. ‘Would you like me to get it heated for you?’

Geneva shook her head. ‘I’ll be fine with just the
sandwiches
, thanks.’

‘Righty-oh. You’ve got juice there, and I can probably rustle up a cup of tea. Did you know you’ve got a visitor waiting? One of the rescue team who was with you when they brought you in — I was on ICU rotation last Saturday night. Shall I send him in or do you want to finish your lunch first?’

Geneva didn’t feel up to another of Keith’s lectures but hadn’t the energy to say so. She shrugged. When the nurse bustled out, Geneva lay back against the pillows and closed her eyes. She stayed that way even when she heard the door open and quietly close again.

‘Hospital food, eh?’ Her eyes flew open. It was Angus, not Keith, who stood beside the bed.

She pushed herself up a little and glanced down at the tray. ‘Yeah … um … hi.’

‘How’re you feeling?’ Angus asked.

‘Okay, I guess. I did two whole lengths of the parallel bars this morning.’

‘Any somersaults?’

‘No. I’m working up to that: Monday, maybe.’

They smiled at each other. ‘Grab a seat,’ she invited.

The chair squeaked as Angus turned it to face the bed. ‘So how’s the leg? Your dad said they put a metal rod in.’

Geneva nodded. ‘And screws. I’ll be setting off metal detectors at a hundred paces.’

‘That’ll get the airport terrorist team agitated.’

‘I think I might be grounded anyway.’

‘Me too. I’m on short rations and twenty lashes a day. Verbal only, but with Mum I’m not convinced it isn’t worse.’

Geneva frowned. ‘Why? I mean, doesn’t she know you’re a hero? Keith said you saved my life.’

Angus looked away, colour creeping up his cheeks. Geneva had had plenty of time to think about this conversation and there were a few things she planned to say. ‘Angus, I’m really grateful for what you did. For finding me, but for more than that too: for just being there.’

He met her eyes briefly. ‘Hey, well, don’t make a habit of it, eh?’ he said lightly.

She forged on. ‘I know what I did was totally dumb, and that it could have been much worse. I do know that. I knew it before I fell.’ She frowned. ‘Actually, it’s kind of weird that I fell. I mean, it wasn’t like I was pushing myself or anything. I just tripped.’

‘Yeah, I was wondering about that. You weren’t roped up.’

‘I’d just unclipped,’ Geneva said. ‘It was daft — the whole thing.’ She hesitated. ‘But for all that, even though it was stupid, I’m still glad I did it. It’s helped. I feel like I’ve got things in perspective now.’

‘Yeah, well …’

She needed him to know that she wasn’t a complete fruit loop. She decided to stop babbling. ‘Hey, shouldn’t you be at school? It is Thursday, isn’t it? Don’t tell me I’ve lost another day!’

One side of his mouth twitched. ‘No, it’s Thursday. I bunked. Compound grounding if the commandant finds out.’

‘Better than compound fracture,’ Geneva said, waving at her leg. ‘Your mum must think I’m a really bad influence.’ She’d intended it as a joke but Angus looked embarrassed. There was an awkward pause.

‘Angus?’ She waited till he met her eyes. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Stephen before. It’s just that it’s not that easy to talk about it. It’s less than a year since he died.’

‘Keith told me.’ He sounded non-committal.

‘I didn’t know Keith knew, not before I freaked out on that trip we did.’ She paused. ‘I meant to tell you before then — I nearly did, a couple of times, but it was never the right time.
Then I was going to explain afterwards, that day I lost my temper. I’m sorry for that too,’ she added, scrupulously.

‘Actually, if we’re going back to that, I think it might be me that owes you an apology.’

‘For what?’

‘Jumping to conclusions.’

Geneva frowned.

‘I didn’t realise Stephen was your brother,’ Angus added.

Geneva studied her uneaten sandwich, its edges curled so that the grated carrot and lettuce hung limply within view. Her appetite had vanished.

‘Truce?’ Angus said at last.

She nodded slowly. Angus leant forward, elbows on his knees. ‘Geneva, do you remember telling me how Stephen helped you on the mountain?’

She stared at him. ‘I —’

‘Well, I figure he probably did.’

She couldn’t think of a reply. The door opened and a nurse marched in, eyeing Angus beadily. ‘Are you family?’

Angus stood up. ‘I’m just on my way,’ he said, his eyes swinging back to Geneva’s. ‘Take care, yeah? No more falling off mountains.’

Geneva smiled. ‘I think my top effort at the moment would be falling off the bed.’

‘I wouldn’t recommend even that,’ the nurse said, moving the tray table aside and reaching for Geneva’s wrist.