by Paige Toon
We barely slept that night, talking and kissing as we lay in each other’s arms on the sofa. Occasionally Angus would flit into my mind and that would make everything seem unreal, but I knew I had no reason to feel guilty. It was thrilling being with Remy.
In the morning we rose in time for the sunrise and went to the ice cave, our view framed by icicles clinging to the ceiling as the sparkling sun rose over the mountains and up into a clear, blue sky.
Cécile and I put Remy and Amelie on the first cable car down and stood and waved them off. But I didn’t feel sad to see them go because I knew it wasn’t the end. It was just the beginning. The beautiful beginning of a beautiful relationship that would last only a few short months.
Falling in love with Remy was easy. Letting him go at the end of the summer was the hardest thing. Neither of us believed in long-distant relationships, so when we parted it was devastatingly final.
But we almost didn’t part at all. I kept delaying my return home, and as autumn approached, I seriously considered staying in Chamonix permanently. It was Dad who talked me out of it, when he finally made it over to visit me in August.
‘You’re only eighteen!’ he exclaimed. ‘You can’t throw away your career prospects because of a man,’ he said, amongst other arguments he’d used to convince me to take up my place at university.
I told him I wanted to be a mountain guide, like Remy. He’d done as I’d suggested and moved from Turin, scoring a job with a tour company who took climbers up the mountains. He was doing what he loved, day in, day out, and getting paid for it. Why shouldn’t I aspire to do the same?
‘There’s no money in it,’ Dad said. Climbing for him had been a hobby, something he had done at weekends to get away from it all. Prior to retirement, he’d worked as a civil engineer for a large building company. He hadn’t been passionate about his job, but it had paid well and had allowed him to live the life he’d wanted outside of working hours.
In the end, I succumbed to pressure and returned to England with a broken heart.
My sadness didn’t stop me from throwing myself into life at university in London, but I knew I wasn’t done with France. And I also believed that Remy and I would cross paths again one day.
It turns out I was right. Two weeks before I’m set to marry Angus, here we are again. It should be Angus who’s filling my head tonight, with happy thoughts about our future. Instead a snowstorm is brewing that’s entirely Remy-induced. It’s scaring me.
Chapter 8
Rose
What was that all about?
I jump back under the covers as I hear the front door close.
I was still reading Eliza’s diary and only switched off my light a little while ago, peeking out of the window when I heard Angus’s car pull up. It wasn’t spying, I was just curious to see what he was up to, but now I’m more confused than ever.
What the hell were he and Eliza arguing about? The way he tried to embrace her... The way she pushed him away... It seemed so intense – almost intimate. I’ve never seen them act like that around each other before.
I listen as Eliza’s footsteps reach the top of the stairs. She walks along the landing and pauses outside our bedrooms. I grab her diary and shove it under the duvet, then freeze at the sound of gentle knocking on my door. I close my eyes and pretend to breathe deeply as the door opens. A moment later it shuts and I hear her go into her room.
My eyes fly open. That was not an encounter between platonic friends. There’s something going on between those two. They have history. What sort of history? What the hell? Eliza! What did you do?
My conscience pricks me as the memory of my own betrayal comes back to me. New Year’s Eve, almost a decade ago...
I’d gone to Darryl White’s party on my own because Eliza was ill. I knew Angus was going to be there and I wanted to see him. He’d seemed down for a couple of days and it had been a while since we’d caught up properly. But then he spotted me and smiled and he was so drunk and... and... Oh God.
Phoebe had returned to France the day before so I thought – hoped – that he knew what he was doing when he started to kiss me, but he was so out of it, he’d obviously forgotten she’d left. Not only did I return his kiss passionately, but I let him feel me up. My face burns at the memory. I nearly died when he turned on the cloakroom light and realised his mistake.
I groan and slide further under the bed covers, pulling my duvet over my face. It’s ridiculous that this still bothers me.
Angus and I never talked about what happened, although I think he tried. He called for me the morning after, but I was horrified. Eliza had been ill the night before so I pretended I’d caught her tummy bug and managed to escape to university without facing him. Even though I heard from Phoebe – very belatedly in a letter – that she and Angus had broken up before we’d kissed, I still felt disgusted with myself. In his drunken state, he must’ve thought Phoebe had changed her mind and come back to him.
I couldn’t bear to face him at Easter either, so I jumped at the chance when Aunt Suzie offered to have us to stay in Somerset. The next time I saw Angus was in the summer holidays, well over six months after our encounter. He was warm and friendly and seemed genuinely happy to see me. Eventually, my blushes came under control and I realised he was cool to let it go – we never had to speak of it again. Thankfully we’ve been buddies ever since.
Oh, but his kisses... I shiver and do what I really shouldn’t, which is remember the good bits. I’ve never had anyone kiss me like that, before or since. He was divine.
Mum rouses me from a deep sleep at ten forty-five the next day.
‘Rose! Are you ill?’ she exclaims, whipping back the curtains. I groan and bury my face in the pillow, but she’s pulling me out again a moment later and checking my vital signs.
‘Mum!’ I squawk, batting her away. ‘I’m fine! I’m just tired.’ Too damn right I’m tired. I struggled to get to sleep last night after all that. Needless to say, my urge to hug Eliza has flown right out the window and is probably migrating to Africa.
‘Are you sure you’re my Rose?’ Mum asks, sitting beside me on the bed and peering at me with amused blue eyes. We inherited our green eyes from Dad, but the rest of us is all Mum: similar height, similar build, and we did have a similar hair colour, before hers turned grey. Now she dyes it dark blonde and wears it in a bob. ‘Did you and Eliza swap beds in the night?’ she asks.
‘No, we did not,’ I snap indignantly. Eliza almost always oversleeps. ‘I just had a bad night.’
‘Aah,’ she says, patting my cheek. I flinch with annoyance.
Sometimes I think my mum still sees me as a little girl and not the twenty-seven-year-old woman that I’ve become. Maybe if she came to London more to visit, she’d know the real me – the one who has a sophisticated, older doctor for a boyfriend and a busy job – but she rarely gets out of Sale these days.
‘You’d better get up,’ she says, standing. ‘The new owner’s architect is coming over soon to measure up.’
‘Okay.’ I yawn and swing my legs out of the bed. ‘Is Eliza up yet?’
‘She’s long gone,’ Mum replies.
‘Where to?’ I ask with alarm.
‘London, flat hunting. Didn’t she tell you?’
‘No, she did not!’ What on earth?
Mum fills me in. Eliza wants to move to London. I can’t believe she didn’t say anything! We may not be close, but I’m still her sister and I could have given her advice about where to look – she doesn’t know London well at all. Even more proof of how little she respects me.
‘She was out of here at the crack of dawn, raring to go. She reminded me of you when you’ve got ants in your pants.’
I humph and she smiles at me as she goes out the door.
Wait a sec. Why does Eliza want to move to London when Angus and Phoebe are about to come back here? I thought she hated that I’ve had them to myself all these years.
I’ll never work her out, so I give up
trying. Eliza’s an enigma, that’s for sure.
Right, then, I’d better get ready. I went out with an architect once and he was rather dishy.
Sadly, this one is not, as I discover half an hour later. He’s up in the loft, grumbling about not being able to see the wood for the trees. The new owners plan to do a loft extension, apparently.
‘I’m still in the process of sorting everything out, I’m afraid,’ I call up to him, rolling my eyes.
Not that I’m looking for a boyfriend. Gerard is a catch, but frankly he could do with a firecracker or two up his jacksie. We’ve been seeing each other for six and a half months and he’s thirty-four, tall, dark, handsome, and he’s a doctor. However, he does unfortunately happen to be married. He’s not still with his wife, mind. I would never do that. But it would have been nice if the divorce papers had been signed before he’d asked me out. I don’t think they’ve actually been issued.
The thing is, although I admittedly did have a soft spot for Angus when I was younger, I wasn’t deluded. I knew early on that he and I weren’t meant to be, and I certainly haven’t sat around pining for him since. I’ve moved on, dated, searched for the one true love of my life. I’ll find him eventually, if I haven’t already. I’m not sure it’s Gerard. He is reasonably attractive, clever and definitely fancies my pants off, but he’s no Angus.
What I mean by that is he’s not the same with me as Angus is with Phoebe. Those two together are adorable. The way they laugh at each other, listen to each other, look at each other... The way he casually drapes his arm around her shoulder, when they’re hanging out at a barbecue, a beer in his spare hand. I can picture them both, right now, standing on my London balcony in the early evening sunshine, the week before last. Gerard is far less attentive to me.
There is no doubt in my mind: Angus is absolutely besotted with Phoebe. So what the hell has been going on between him and Eliza?
‘Are you okay up there for a minute?’ I call up the ladder, feeling twitchy. I wonder if Eliza’s diary holds any clues.
‘I’m almost done,’ the architect calls back.
‘Do you need help getting down?’
‘Yes, if you could just wait,’ he replies a touch huffily.
I sigh, eager to get back to my reading.
But it’s one thing after another, and then Angus rocks up. Mum answers the door to him and he doesn’t waste much time getting to the point.
‘Is Eliza there, by any chance?’ I overhear him asking.
‘Oh, no. She’s gone to London to look for a flat,’ Mum replies.
‘Has she?’ He sounds taken aback.
‘I know, that’s what I thought!’ Mum exclaims. ‘She was out the door before I’d even made breakfast. Rose was still fast asleep.’
‘Hello, Gus,’ I interrupt, squeezing between Mum and the doorframe.
‘Hey, Rosie!’ While he might sound jovial, I can tell that the news about Eliza has thrown him.
I turn to Mum. ‘Do you think you should check on the architect?’
‘Does he need me?’ she asks with a frown.
‘I think so.’ Actually, he’s fine, but I want to speak to Angus alone. ‘You’re after Eliza?’ I ask him when Mum has moseyed off.
‘Yeah.’ He shrugs. ‘It wasn’t important. You okay?’
‘I’m fine. Busy packing up.’ I watch carefully for any signs of guilt as I ask my next question. ‘Have you spoken to Phoebe?’
‘I tried calling her last night,’ he replies. ‘But it went straight to voicemail.’ His right eyebrow twitches. Oh, Angus! I want to ask him about his apparent intimacy with the wrong sister, but he distracts me before I can think of a way to phrase the question.
‘Are you missing Dr Gerard?’ He raises one eyebrow in a cheeky gesture.
‘Yeah, but he’s really busy at work, so I wouldn’t have seen much of him this week anyway.’
‘It’s a shame you two couldn’t have got some time off together.’
‘What, so he could come here and help me pack?’ I tease.
Angus gives me a sympathetic look and nods past me. ‘How’s it all going?’
‘Slowly,’ I reply. ‘What about you?’
‘Same. I have no idea how I’ll get the apartment sorted before Phoebe returns.’
‘Maybe I could come over and give you a hand?’ I offer.
‘Haven’t you got enough on your plate?’
Er, yes. What am I thinking? ‘I could just hang up Phoebe’s clothes or something,’ I find myself saying. ‘I bet you’re rubbish at that.’
He grins. ‘Have you seen inside my wardrobe?’
‘No, but I know you, Angus Templeton, and you’re a right messy git.’
He chuckles. ‘Alright. I’d love to show you the place. What are you doing tonight? Maybe I could order us in a pizza?’
‘Sounds perfect. I want to see what you’re leaving me for.’
‘Aw.’ He flashes me a fond smile and pulls out his phone. ‘I’ll text you the address.’
As he types out a message, it occurs to me that I could use this evening as an opportunity to find out what’s going on with him and Eliza. I wish that had been my reason for offering to help him unpack, but no, I’m just being a martyr as usual.
‘Rose is a giver, not a taker.’
You got that straight, Dad, I think wryly. I really should sort out my priorities.
Chapter 9
Eliza
There’s a lump in my throat as I walk out of yet another estate agent’s. So far, I’ve seen eight places and none of them have been right, nor can I see myself getting on with any of the people that I’d have to share with. My potential flatmates seem to be either a bit snotty, or grotty students with no one in between.
I can’t believe I have to leave my home. Bloody Angus. And bloody Rose for being such a frigging driplet! Mum is happy living there with me, and I’m happy living with her. We keep each other company.
My eyes sting with tears because deep down I know that the time is right for her to move into something smaller and more manageable. She’s almost seventy, but she’s an old almost-seventy. I think having the three of us in her forties aged her, and she’s definitely suffered since Dad died. I’m not there enough – if I’m not busking, I’m waitressing – and she’s rattling around in that big house all by herself. I know she’s lonely and could do with more company, people her own age, but I’ll miss her and I’ll miss my home. I’ll even miss my stupid waitressing job and my stupid boss, Mario, who looks at my tits every day. No, maybe I won’t miss him.
I sniff and begin a futile search in my bag for a tissue, but I give up and dry my eyes with the hem of my T-shirt instead, glaring at a guy passing on the pavement when he gawps at my bellybutton ring.
I’m tired. I wouldn’t be so emotional if I’d got a decent night’s sleep, but last night’s argument with Angus put a stop to that. It was typical of what happens when we’re alone for any length of time. Our defences slip and we fall back into the past to a place where we can speak openly, laugh, argue, cajole. We can be the best of friends or the worst of enemies.
But nobody else is allowed to see this side of us. They wouldn’t understand how we got to be so close. In front of others, we have to keep our distance. Living 200 miles apart makes this easier.
Sometimes, when I feel like torturing myself, I imagine what could have been, how things might’ve turned out if I’d gone downstairs to introduce myself the moment I’d seen Judy’s car pull up on Mr Templeton’s driveway. I was watching from the window and my jaw nearly hit the sill at the sight of Angus climbing out of the car. He was as heart-skippingly sexy as I’d remembered. The moving truck arrived and he got stuck straight in with helping to unload it while I watched him, fixated.
And then Phoebe appeared.
I felt sick to my stomach because I had an idea how the next few minutes were going to play out. I thought about bolting downstairs and going outside to introduce myself, but I couldn’t make my feet
move, so I stayed, frozen at the window with a sinking heart as Angus’s mum came outside and Phoebe won her over, too. You should have seen their faces when Phoebe headed into our house. Judy looked beside herself with glee and Angus was smitten. Phoebe had him, hook, line and sinker.
When she rushed up the stairs to warn us off, I threw myself onto the bed and pretended to be asleep.
I don’t know why I didn’t tell her that Angus was my mystery skateboarder – I’d mentioned him at the time and she knew I’d gone back looking for him – but I doubt it would have made a difference.
Phoebe is determined. If she likes something, she usually gets it – she’s lucky like that – and I can’t even hate her for it because I love her to death.
But also, I’m honest enough with myself to know that I couldn’t have charmed Angus and his mum like Phoebe did. I’m a slow-burner, not a bright spark. Phoebe would probably still have offered to show Angus around, and at the end of the day, they still would have kissed.
I didn’t meet Angus until the Sunday when Phoebe introduced us and I couldn’t help but be a bit standoffish. I remember Phoebe glowering at me, willing me to be nicer to her new boyfriend, but I didn’t have it in me and, after that, I went out of my way to avoid him.
My attempts only lasted so long, though, and a few weeks after he moved in, he overheard me singing. I was sitting on my windowsill, playing my guitar, but this was no Disney movie and I was no princess because it was late at night and I was as drunk as a skunk and intermittently smoking a fag. Suddenly a ball of paper came flying through the window...
‘What the hell?’ I exclaimed, poking my head out into the cool night air.
‘Hi,’ Angus whispered loudly with a grin, waving at me from what I assumed was his own bedroom window a few metres away – our house was a semi and his bedroom backed onto mine.
‘You scared the shit out of me!’ I hissed.
