‘Priorities,’ he said. ‘Had some homework I had to finish.’
Geneva laughed. ‘This it?’
There was a creak from his chair and a second later cool water splattered over her as he bombed into the pool. Shrieking, she dived after him.
Summer. It seemed a million miles away. Geneva stared past the leaf-flecked surface of the water but the memory had faded. She sighed and looked around. The pool was badly overdue a hefty dose of chlorine, while the loungers, stacked on their sides under the eaves of the pool shed, looked mildewed. They should have been put away inside but no one had got round to it. It didn’t feel like it yet, but in another month it would be spring, then summer would come bounding along after, as predictable as ever. At least some things were predictable.
Behind the sheds, Geneva heard the rhythmic grumble of her father’s four-wheeler sweeping up the hill as he headed home for the evening; another evening of silence punctuated by the clatter of cutlery and the schizoid waffle of the TV. Her mother used to be fanatical about monitoring TV viewing and always insisted on muting the ads, but these days she sat gazing raptly as if the flickering screen was the sole reason for her existence.
Geneva wished she could help her parents; that she could somehow break through their mutual silence and shake them into normality. It was as if they’d forgotten how to speak to each other — or in her mother’s case, how to speak at all in anything other than a lifeless, what-does-it-matter-anyway tone.
Suddenly angry, Geneva slammed into the pool shed and rummaged for the enamel measuring jug. The twenty litre drum of chlorine was still half-full. She unscrewed both its caps and tilted it forward on the bench, the acrid whiff of chemical making her cough and lean away — they used to poison men with this stuff. Chlorine gas — that was what the gasmasks were for in the First World War. They’d done a poem about it in English last year.
By the time she’d dribbled a litre of chemical around the sides of the swimming pool, Geneva’s mood had lifted. The chlorine probably wouldn’t be enough to combat the furry growth on the walls, but it was a start.
Inspired, she hunted for the skimmer and began scooping the densest piles of sodden debris from the uninviting water. It wasn’t just the pool. The whole place was a mess. She dumped a mass of soggy leaves under a leggy, overgrown hebe and reassured herself that the garden was not her problem. Maybe she’d suggest to her father that they ask Mrs Macphee to put in a few hours. She used to come once a week, and it had been her input that had shaped the whole redesign of the garden, aiming for sleek and easy-care. Casting an eye around the overgrown borders, Geneva acknowledged the difference between low maintenance and no maintenance.
Satisfied that the pool looked marginally better, she returned the skimmer to the shed, tightened the caps on the drum of chlorine and closed the door. The loungers could stay out — it was close enough to summer, and they might serve as a reminder that the pool needed attention.
Scuffing her way back along the paved path towards the kitchen, Geneva decided to cook dinner. Lemon chilli chicken used to be her father’s favourite — she’d have a look in the freezer and see what she could find. If there was any fruit in the house she might even stretch to an apple crumble.
6.
Preoccupied by their new maths teacher’s announcement of a snap test in two days’ time, Geneva unchained her bike from the long row of double metal triangles. She’d liked Mrs Pomana. They’d had an understanding that involved leaving Geneva to get along on her own. She didn’t hold out much hope that Mr Nichol would be as tolerant of his students’ individual preferences.
Blue tartan skirts fluttered around her as she wheeled her bike toward the gate. By rights she should enjoy maths. She used to, last year. But Mr Nichol …
Her attention caught on a splash of colour, grey and maroon, on the wall opposite the gates. Frowning, Geneva slowed almost to a standstill, causing someone to batter into her shoulder with a rude expletive as the home-going tide swung around her and out into the street.
It was Angus. The uniform was Wakefield College — and she was fairly sure a tie meant he was Year Thirteen. He must have bunked off to get here this early.
She was nearly at the gate when his eyes skimmed the crowd and found her, setting a tentative smile flitting across his face. He slid off the wall as she waited to cross the road. This was not part of her plan, she told herself firmly, avoiding meeting his eyes by judiciously scanning the traffic. Complications: who needed them?
As she reached the pavement she looked at him speculatively and his eyes skittered quickly away. God but he looked nervous. Geneva grinned. ‘Hi,’ she said, her voice sounding strange to her ears. ‘Just passing?’
Angus nodded. ‘Yeah. En route from here to there. Thought I’d stop by.’
They turned in unison to walk along the pavement, the bike’s wheel clicking with each revolution. Curious glances lapped at them, but Geneva was used to that. Angus wasn’t.
‘I hope it’s okay, coming here. I mean, it’s not against the rules or anything?’ He was blushing, and she liked him for it.
‘No, it’s fine. They’re just wondering how you get to be so lucky, walking along with a gorgeous chick like me,’ she said.
Angus nodded, playing along. ‘Mm. You’ll have to tell them I didn’t give you any choice.’
‘Oh, I’ve got a choice. This bike goes a lot faster than you.’
He laughed aloud, bringing more curious eyes swinging their way. But the tide was beginning to thin.
‘Hey,’ he hesitated. ‘I was wondering if, maybe,’ he stopped to clear his throat. ‘Are you in a hurry or anything? We could get a coffee in town, or …’
She studied him. Boys didn’t feature in her life. Nothing much featured in her life, not since — she cut the thought off. She liked Angus. Taking in his profile as he studiously admired the scenery, she knew what the curious eyes would really have been wondering: how a sad case like her got to walk with him. It wasn’t that he was good looking, at least, not in a trad way: there was something not quite balanced in his face. But the imperfection suited him, she decided, and he had a great smile — she recalled registering that when they were climbing, though she’d assured herself it didn’t mean anything then. Geneva returned his smile, wondering whether it did now.
‘Yeah, okay. I was planning on going into town anyway,’ she hesitated, thinking how it must have felt, copping the full attention of every girl heading out the school gates. Simon would have loved it, but not Angus. ‘Walk and talk?’ she suggested. ‘I have to pick up some stuff at the supermarket.’
As they crossed Wallace Park, Geneva’s bike in tow like an obedient dog, an army of ducks rushed noisily from the water.
‘Looks like we’re under attack,’ Angus observed, ‘and seriously out-numbered.’
Geneva reached into her school bag. ‘I’ll divert them while you make a break for it.’
‘Ungentlemanly,’ Angus replied. ‘I should defend you to the death.’
The ducks did a rapid U-turn as she tossed the remnants of her lunch into the pond. ‘Saved from noble sacrifice by a peanut butter sandwich.’ She paused. ‘I used to come here to feed the ducks with my gran. When I was really little, I thought they were all her pets.’
‘Is she still around?’
Geneva shook her head. ‘She went into a home a few years ago but she wasn’t happy there. I think she just gave up.’
Angus nodded. ‘My mum’s parents are still alive but they don’t live around here so I’ve never seen much of them. My other grandfather was great. He lived with us for a while. He died when I was ten.’
Geneva steered the bike towards the park’s sister-city garden, thinking about how many facts go into finding out who a person is. Leaning her bike against the tile-topped wall, she led the way over an ironwork bridge to the central pagoda, set on an artificial island that was for once free of prepubescent boys armed with bottles of dishwashing liquid.
‘D
o you like living on a farm?’ Angus asked.
‘It’s okay. Peace and quiet. Great views. Weird parents. Fairly standard stuff.’
‘Brothers and sisters?’
‘Nope.’ She chose the left fork of the path. ‘You?’
‘Ditto the parents — not sure there’s any other kind. Siblings: younger brother, sisters either side. Kat’s at university, Blair’s in training to be the most annoying being in the universe, and Beth’s in Year Nine and thinks her PE teacher is the universe.’
Geneva smiled. ‘That’s Wakefield uniform, right?’ They knew hardly anything about each other, as if the climbing was a whole separate existence. Perhaps it was, she decided, picturing the way her parents would react.
Angus was looking at her expectantly.
‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I missed that — I was miles away.’
‘I could tell.’ A vertical crease appeared between his eyebrows when he frowned. ‘It doesn’t matter. Actually I was wondering — tell me to piss off if you want — but …’ He nudged a pebble off the path with his toe. ‘There’s a party on this Saturday. It’s a farewell thing for a mate from school whose family are moving to the States. It’s in the Assembly Hall in town. There’ll be about a hundred kids — his friends as well as his sisters’, plus adults.’
Parties. God. Geneva studied the boulders that were artfully arranged in the water below them.
‘I’d like you to come.’ Angus added, sounding awkward.
Well, he hadn’t appeared at St Andrew’s gates for the sake of impressing the inmates. ‘I wouldn’t know anyone,’ she said, stalling for time.
‘You’d know me,’ he suggested, mouth curved in a hopeful half smile. ‘Well, a bit anyway.’
Geneva chewed on her lip. ‘I’m not sure if I could get there.’ She glanced sideways, noticing the spread of red on his cheeks. ‘I’m not saying no,’ she added. ‘I’d like to go.’ She would? And that had sounded too keen. Her own cheeks began to heat.
‘I can ask my mother if I can borrow the car,’ he said, doubt surfacing on his face. ‘Can’t promise anything though — she tends towards the paranoid when it comes to cars and parties.’
‘I’ll work something out,’ Geneva offered, wondering whether her parents would let her stay the night with her father’s sister — or whether they’d even care. Pushing the latter thought away, she tried to remember exactly where the hall was in relation to Julia’s house.
When she phoned later, Julia was enthusiastic. ‘Sweetie, of course you can! That would be lovely. I can drop you at the hall and you can taxi back — the buses stop running at eleven-thirty: pumpkin territory after that. Of course, you do realise the twins will pounce on you at some unseemly hour on Sunday morning? I’ll threaten them with every heinous punishment I can think of but it won’t make any difference: they’ll be dying to see you. We all are! It’s been far too long…’
Her aunt talked for twenty minutes with barely a pause, barraging her with questions and leaping off in a new direction with every answer. Geneva felt as if she’d forgotten what real conversation was like. By contrast, when she laid the idea in front of her parents, her mother didn’t turn her eyes from the TV while her father murmured: ‘Julia? Our Julia?’
After glancing futilely at his wife for guidance, her father nodded. ‘I’m sure it’ll be fine,’ he said. ‘When did you say?’ Geneva repeated the details, wondering just what it would take to get a proper reaction.
7.
‘Well, well. What a pleasant surprise.’ Simon slipped an arm around Geneva’s shoulders, his fingers caressing the bare skin of her upper arm. ‘Our little Jenny.’
Geneva dodged sideways but he followed, hemming her in. ‘You look delicious, babe. Didn’t know you knew old Slater.’
His words were slightly slurred she thought, glancing around for Angus. He’d said he’d only be a minute but there was no sign of him in the press of people. ‘Known him for yonks,’ she lied.
‘Shame we haven’t bumped into each other sooner. Come and meet some people.’ The arm slid back around her shoulders.
‘No, Simon, I’m fine.’ She sidestepped. ‘You go on. I need the loo.’
He leered. ‘I’ll show you the way.’
‘No.’
‘Now, don’t be like that.’ He was drunk. He reached for her again and she backed away, coming up with a thud against a solid surface. Simon bent towards her, one hand holding a beer bottle against the wall near her head.
‘You look great in that.’ The fingers of his free hand trailed from her shoulder around the curving neckline of her top. Geneva whacked his hand away.
‘Hey!’ He frowned, beer sloshing from the bottle onto her arm as he stepped back in surprise.
‘Everything all right?’ Angus stood behind Simon, a plastic cup in one hand.
‘Hey, Gusto!’ Simon turned. ‘Look who’s here. Who’d have thought such a classy piece would know the Slater.’
Stretching past Simon, Angus passed Geneva the cup. ‘Actually, she’s with me.’
Simon raised his eyebrows. ‘Fast work, Gusto.’ He scowled as Geneva sipped the punch. ‘So how come you didn’t mention that, Jenny?’
‘None of your business,’ she said, moving away from the fumes of alcohol on his breath. ‘Here.’ She handed him the cup. ‘You should swap to punch. Do you want to dance?’ she asked Angus.
Leaving Simon standing by the wall, they threaded a path between the crowded bodies. The music was way too loud. She could feel the bass notes pounding in her gut. Angus leant close and mouthed something. She mimed her inability to hear.
Along the far side of the hall there was a covered portico, its shadowed corners already filled with couples. The noise of the band lessened slightly as she led Angus into one of the open sections.
‘What was that about?’ he repeated.
‘What? Simon?’
‘Yeah. Did he …’ He stopped.
‘He’s a wanker,’ Geneva said. ‘And being drunk doesn’t add to his dubious charm.’
Someone spun off the dance floor and crashed into Angus, sending him staggering sideways. Geneva reached out to steady him, feeling the warmth of his skin through the thin fabric of his sleeve. He looked at her.
‘Do you … I mean, are you enjoying this?’
‘It’s okay.’ She wondered if it was too early to leave. Simon wasn’t the only partygoer intent on getting drunk and judging by the state of some of the girls she’d seen in the toilet earlier, it wouldn’t be long before things got messy. ‘What time is it?’ she shouted as the music went up a decibel.
‘Coming up to eleven.’
‘We can go if you want,’ Geneva offered. ‘It’d be good to get away from the noise.’
Angus nodded and they swerved their way between gyrating bodies towards the door. Outside it was colder than she’d expected. Geneva hunched into her jacket, folding her arms tightly across her chest.
‘Sorry,’ Angus muttered as they set off down the street.
‘It’s fine. I’d had enough — I mean, I enjoyed going and everything.’
Angus looked doubtful. ‘Are you warm enough? You’ll freeze if we walk.’
There was a bus stop ahead. Geneva nodded. ‘Plan B: avoid death by exposure. There’s a bus stop a block from Julia’s — last bus is at eleven-thirty, she said. You can come in for a hot drink to stave off frost bite. She won’t mind.’
‘Sounds good to me.’
Julia was watching TV with a glass of wine in one hand and a magazine in the other. ‘Covering all the bases,’ she laughed. ‘I didn’t expect you home so early. God, you look freezing. Go and find Angus a jersey, Genna — one of Dan’s should fit. I’ll put the kettle on.’ She turned to Angus. ‘Coffee or hot chocolate? Come on through.’
Julia was still talking at full-speed, an open box of cocoa in her hand, when Geneva returned swathed in polar-fleece with a large brown jersey over her arm. She handed it to Angus.
‘Right,’ said Ju
lia, returning the box to the pantry and handing Geneva a teaspoon. ‘Inquisition over. I shall go to bed with a clear conscience, having fulfilled my auntly duties.’ She smiled. ‘Genna, lock up when Angus leaves. No hurry: curfew at one, house rules apply.’
Geneva wasn’t sure what the house rules were exactly, but supposed it was a tactful way of saying ‘behave yourselves’.
‘Sure. Night, Julia.’
Angus looked at her. ‘Genna?’ he asked.
‘Strictly family,’ she said, stirring milk into the mugs. ‘Come and sit in the living room. Do you want to listen to music? I’m not sure what they’ve got.’
Angus flopped onto one end of the sofa as she started rattling through the CDs that were piled in untidy stacks beside the TV. ‘Did you get a grilling from Julia?’ she asked, glancing over her shoulder.
‘Half a grilling. Plenty of questions but no time for answers.’
Geneva laughed. ‘That’s Julia. I’m still getting used to it. My parents aren’t big on talking,’ she said, regretting the disclosure as soon as it was made. Angus didn’t seem to notice.
‘Is Dan your uncle?’
She nodded. ‘They have twin boys, four years old — they’re a bit of a handful. Believe me, I am not looking forward to tomorrow morning,’ she added, steering the conversation towards safe territory.
‘Can’t be worse than my little brother,’ Angus answered.
Geneva selected a CD that she’d at least heard of and curled up in the chair her aunt had vacated, her feet tucked beneath her and her fingers laced around the mug of hot cocoa. By the time she’d sipped her way to the sugary sludge at the bottom, she was properly warm and they’d exhausted the obvious list of topics. Geneva found herself stifling a yawn.
‘Time to head home,’ Angus said, stretching his arms as he stood up.
‘Sorry! That wasn’t a hint — I’m just tired.’
He looked at his watch. ‘Nah, I’d better get going.’
Shadow of the Mountain Page 3
