Shadow of the Mountain

by Mackenzie, Anna

  He took the rug and spread it near the wall so that they could sit on the edge with the top up around their shoulders.

  ‘I didn’t know it’d be like this,’ Geneva tried again. ‘I’m really sorry.’

  His arm came up behind her, ostensibly to hold the rug in place. She could feel him shivering, and snuggled in a bit to compensate, folding the edge of the rug across her legs.

  ‘It’s not your fault.’

  They sat listening to the waves pour over the stones with their soothing caress. Geneva preferred the sibilant rumble to the lap and hiss of a sand beach. She was hunting for words to describe the difference when Angus broke the silence.

  ‘I didn’t really hitch.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I told your friend’s mate I hitched but I didn’t.’ She felt him turn his head towards her. ‘I just said that. My mum dropped me off but I wasn’t going to tell him that.’

  Geneva laughed. ‘So how’re you getting home?’

  ‘Mum. She’s gone to visit a friend. I’m supposed to be back there by twelve-thirty. It’s not that far from Kitty’s. I’ll walk from there after we drop you off.’

  Angus’s arm tightened around her shoulders, his chin resting for a moment on the top of her head. ‘We might be better off getting a taxi. That guy’s a dangerous weapon behind a steering wheel.’

  ‘Thanks, but I’d better go home with Kitty or her mum won’t be too impressed. She’s nice, Kitty’s mum.’

  He made a non-committal sound before changing the subject. ‘Are you going to sign up for the climbing club?’

  ‘I’m not sure if I could always get there.’

  ‘Were you in a club before?’

  ‘No.’ She hesitated. ‘I don’t know if I want to get that serious.’

  The words seemed to gain weight as the silence extended between them.

  Eventually Angus shrugged. ‘Whatever.’

  ‘I’ll think about it, okay?’ she added. ‘Hey, do you have the time? We’re supposed to be home by midnight.’

  Angus unhitched his arm to peer at his watch. ‘Yeah, it’s probably time we went.’

  Already she was regretting the loss of his arm. Standing, Angus reached for her hand and pulled her up, then bent to lift the rug. Draping it round them, he settled his arm back around her shoulders. It wasn’t the easiest way to walk, their hips bumping together as one or other stumbled on the uneven surface. After a few steps Geneva wrapped her arm lightly round his waist. They were nearly back at the car park when he stopped and turned towards her.

  Just then the car horn honked and Angus moved away, leaving her with the rug as he swung himself over the wall. She heard him mutter ‘wanker’ as the headlights came on, dazzling them in the glare.

  ‘So what d’ya think? He’s gorgeous, isn’t he?’ Kitty rolled sideways to peer down at Geneva, who was still half asleep on the trundle bed below.

  ‘He’s good looking,’ she conceded, cautiously. ‘Fairly full of his own opinions, though.’

  ‘Better than having none at all,’ Kitty snapped. ‘Where’d you meet Angus, anyway? Typical private schoolboy, if you ask me.’

  If you ask Jax, Geneva thought. ‘He goes to Wakefield,’ she said mildly, sitting up and looking around the chaos of Kitty’s room. ‘It’s not private.’

  ‘Same as,’ Kitty countered, watching her. ‘You wouldn’t believe the sort of stuff that goes on in boys’ schools.’

  ‘I wouldn’t know,’ Geneva answered, wishing for the peace of her own bedroom, wishing she’d had a chance to say goodbye to Angus in private. When they’d clambered from the car outside Kitty’s house, Jax had honked the horn — doubtless waking all the neighbours — and roared off with a squeal of tyres. Kitty hadn’t invited Angus in, instead giving him a wave and dragging Geneva off by the arm. For all that Jax being older seemed to give Kitty some sense of superiority, Geneva was beginning to feel that it was Kitty who’d stayed still while she’d grown up.

  ‘Anyway.’ Kitty frowned. ‘Forget them. Let’s have a great day.’ She stood up on the bed, kicked the bedclothes to one side and stretched to touch the ceiling before flopping down to a groan of protest from the bed. ‘How about we get the old dragon to take us down the mall? Do a spot of shopping on her card, then hit her up for lunch.’

  ‘Your mum’s not a dragon,’ Geneva said. ‘And she’d have to be a nutcase to give you her credit card.’

  Kitty grinned. ‘Can but try. Race you for the shower.’

  Geneva claimed first right as guest, then went down to talk to Sonya while Kitty took her turn. She knew from experience how long it would take.

  A couple of hours later they were sitting in Spinelli’s, stomachs comfortably full and an afternoon of mall shopping stretching ahead.

  ‘Right. If you two want dessert, you can order now then I’ll leave you to it.’

  ‘You’re leaving your card, right?’

  Sonya looked at her daughter with one eyebrow raised. ‘As if. Why do you think you’re ordering before I go?’

  ‘We might want a coffee or something. For God’s sake, Mum —’

  ‘No.’ Sonya turned to Geneva. ‘It’s been lovely seeing you again, Genna, and you know you’re always welcome. Now, you’re sure you’re okay to get home? I don’t mind driving you.’

  Geneva shook her head. ‘I’ve got my bike. Thanks for having me, and for lunch and everything.’

  ‘Yeah, thanks Mum,’ Kitty added. Geneva winced at the dismissive tone. Sonya sighed, smiled at Geneva, and went to pay the bill.

  ‘Now, where were we?’ Kitty grinned. ‘God, she’s a pain. Jax says —’

  ‘Your mum’s not a pain, whatever Jax says.’

  ‘Yeah, well, whatever. She’s just so possessive. It’s like she can’t bear to see me enjoying myself.’

  ‘She doesn’t want you getting into a situation you can’t handle, that’s all.’

  ‘Oh, right. Like, prissy little schoolboy wouldn’t get you into anything you couldn’t handle, right?’

  Geneva stared. ‘I can’t be bothered with this, Kitty. You didn’t used to be so obsessed with putting everybody down all the time. Why don’t you just play a tape of Jax?’

  Kitty’s face lost its prettiness, her eyes narrowing and her mouth pulled taut. ‘Mum’s done a number on you, I see. I knew it was a risk, leaving the two of you to that cosy little breakfast chat. You’ve always been her little goody-good, haven’t you?’

  ‘God, Kitty, if you could hear yourself! Actually I’m quite capable of forming my own opinions. You used to be too,’ Geneva replied, stung. She’d treasured her friendship with Sonya almost as much as her friendship with Kitty, but there’d never been any competition; they were two different things. Complementary things.

  Kitty’s voice was loud when she answered. ‘And you used to be fun. You used to be a laugh a minute. But now — Jesus! It’s not like the whole world stopped just because Stephen’s gone. Why don’t you just lighten up?’

  Bright spots of colour ignited in Geneva’s cheeks though her insides felt cold. Without a word she reached under the table for her backpack.

  ‘Hey, Genna, look, I’m sorry,’ Kitty gabbled, reaching across the table for Geneva’s hand. ‘That came out wrong. But you’re so down on everything, you know?’

  ‘Me!’ Geneva replied, indignant. She pulled her hand away. ‘I’m going, Kitty. Thanks for the bed — or rather, thank your mother. It’s her house.’

  ‘So, rub it in!’

  Geneva raised her brows, amazed at how rapidly her one-time friend could swing moods.

  ‘Hey, come on,’ Kitty said, ‘we haven’t had dessert yet. Sit down.’ She glanced around. ‘People are looking,’ she hissed.

  ‘Should suit you then.’ It was a cheap shot. Geneva swung the backpack over her shoulder and marched out of the restaurant without looking back. Half of her expected Kitty to follow, but she didn’t.

  By the time she reached her bike, Geneva’s anger was laced wi
th regret. She fumbled the lock’s combination, the scene from the restaurant replaying in her mind while all the things she wished she’d said gathered on her tongue.

  Biking usually helped her put things in perspective, but she couldn’t focus. Her stomach was churning and the familiar road seemed more of a challenge than usual. She wished she’d never agreed to stay at Kitty’s, and that she’d never met Jax — or better still, that Kitty had never met Jax.

  ‘Wanker,’ she said aloud as she left the suburbs behind. ‘Arsehole,’ she shouted, enjoying the feel as the wind tore the word from her mouth. Kitty deserved better, even if she was being too stupid to see it.

  She should never have agreed to go out with them; should never have allowed Kitty to talk her into trying to revive the friendship.

  Pumping the pedals, she thought back to the last time she’d been to Kitty’s. It had been the end of last summer and she’d arrived expecting a quiet day with her friend, only to find that Kitty had arranged a trip to the beach with a bunch of kids from school. ‘I don’t want to go,’ she’d said. ‘I can’t.’

  ‘You’ve done nothing but mope around for months,’ Kitty had told her. ‘It’s not healthy.’

  Geneva had shaken her head, the tears that had been perpetually just below the surface spilling from her eyes.

  Kitty had glared, hands on hips. ‘Well, you know what? I’m sick of being a giant tissue dispenser. I want a life! There’s only a week of holidays left and the weather is too good to waste. And who knows: you might have fun!’

  Geneva hadn’t gone. Sonya had been furious with Kitty and had made her apologise later, but it had been too late. Geneva had withdrawn into solitude: it had seemed the safest thing to do.

  And maybe the easiest. Geneva shook her head, weaving slightly on the road.

  It was too neat to blame Jax. For years she’d thought she and Kitty would be friends forever, that nothing could come between them, but maybe this had always loomed ahead of them: a growing apart. Jax and the months of not seeing each other had simply emphasised it.

  Or maybe, Geneva acknowledged, her anger finally burning out into tears, maybe somewhere at the bottom of it all, was Stephen.

  10.

  ‘Mum? I brought you a cup of tea.’

  Her mother was lying on her back staring upwards. Geneva followed her gaze but the ceiling was blank, not even a fly spot marring its pristine surface.

  ‘Mum?’

  Her mother’s eyes turned towards her. ‘Thank you, dear.’ Her voice was tired. Everything about her was tired.

  Geneva glanced surreptitiously at the top of the bedside cabinet, wondering whether her mother was still on medication. It wasn’t the sort of thing you could ask over the dinner table. Especially not over their dinner table.

  ‘I heard Dad go out early. Is everything okay on the farm? I mean, does he need some help or something?’

  Her mother slowly pushed herself up against the pillows. ‘He hasn’t said.’

  Geneva hesitated then sat on the edge of the bed.

  ‘Sonya was asking after you.’

  Her mother sipped her tea, her face vague.

  ‘It was weird seeing Kitty. She’s changed.’

  Geneva waited, hoping for some response, some encouragement; some way into a conversation.

  The silence stretched outwards, filling the room as if it were tangible: a thick, invisible jelly. Geneva imagined saying ‘Kitty’s boyfriend’s a right wanker who drives too fast and is really rude and God knows what they were up to in the car. Her mum’s really worried about her. And we had an argument in the middle of a restaurant and that’s that basically.’

  ‘Did your father wash his breakfast dishes?’ Her mother asked.

  Geneva gazed at her. Maybe her relationship with her mother wasn’t so different to Kitty and Sonya’s. Just quieter.

  ‘I’ll do it,’ she said.

  Sundays. Sundays always felt flat and drab. An endless line of Sundays, the day before Monday, the day before everything starts all over again.

  Lying on her back in a pool of sunshine on the living room floor, Geneva smiled faintly. Progress. Six months ago, every day felt like Sunday. Every day had that bleary-eyed, best forgotten, get-it-over-with feeling. There hadn’t even been boredom to balance the other days out. So this was definitely progress.

  Studying the pictures in the yoga book Sonya had lent her, Geneva lifted her legs into a shoulder stand, held for two minutes then slowly lowered. She wondered whether there were cultures where it was permissible to swap parents, to trade them in on a more compatible model; cultures that recognised the imperative to get as far from the gene pool that spawned you as soon as was humanly possible.

  She’d once got on well with her mother. Family holidays, shopping, skiing trips, picnics. They used to talk about all sorts of things, colluding over the changes to the house and how to convince Geneva’s father that they needed a break from the farm. They used to cook meals together and take over the TV when the Silver Ferns were playing or the Wearable Art Awards were on. Not any longer. According to Kitty, Geneva had changed: she was no longer fun. Well, if it was true of her, it was certainly true of her mother.

  Abruptly Geneva closed the yoga book and stood up. Yoga was supposed to make you feel calm and airy but she didn’t feel either. Throwing the book onto the coffee table, she fought off a sneeze. No one had vacuumed in here for ages.

  As she opened the cupboard where the vacuum cleaner lived, Geneva glanced towards the jewel-bright abstract of glass that split the dark wood of the front door. With the sun behind it, the coloured panes threw irregular shards of colour into the monochromatic space beyond. Just after the house had been finished, she and Stephen had stood here in the hallway, laughing like little kids as the colours dappled their faces green and orange.

  Today there was a shadow in the light: a dark mass shifting behind the glass. Geneva frowned. There was someone outside. She hadn’t heard a car. After a moment’s hesitation, she stepped forward and opened the door.

  ‘Shit! Sorry. Hi.’ It was Angus.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Dumb question: he was standing on her doorstep. But why hadn’t he knocked?

  Angus gestured vaguely. ‘I was, um, coming to see you. If that’s all right.’

  Geneva wasn’t quite ready to release her confusion. ‘Sure, but … How’d you get here?’

  ‘I biked.’ He grinned. ‘I don’t know how you do it. I’m knackered.’

  At the foot of the steps, an ancient mountain bike lay abandoned beside the path. Geneva walked over to inspect it. ‘It’s an antique,’ she said.

  Angus had followed her back onto the gravel. ‘I hope you don’t mind me coming. I figured I’d just, you know …’

  Geneva felt generous, aware of how pleased she was to see him. ‘No, it’s fine. It’s good to see you. It was a bit of a risk though — what if I’d been out? It’s a long ride.’

  ‘You’re telling me,’ Angus said.

  His vehemence made her grin. ‘You’re lucky it’s a nice day. Come on, we’ll sit outside,’ she added, leading the way along the path that ran around the corner of the house to the wide paved terrace and the view of the mountain. She wasn’t ready to share him with whichever of her parents might be lurking inside. ‘Do you want a drink? A litre or two of water maybe? Electrolyte replacement fluid?’

  ‘Whatever you say,’ Angus agreed, turning to face the mountain. ‘That’s some view. No wonder you decided to take up climbing.’

  Geneva stood beside him. A single flag of cloud hung from the mountain’s spiked crown while lower, each angled face was sharply defined in the crisp light of late winter.

  ‘Have you done any climbing there?’

  ‘Just the easy slopes. Not for a while.’ Stephen had taken her. Twice.

  ‘It’s Kaitiaki isn’t it? I thought it had a reputation for not having any easy slopes.’

  She stared at the mountain.

  ‘The name means Protector,
doesn’t it?’

  Geneva nodded, searching for a way to change the subject. ‘How long did the ride take you?’

  Angus looked sheepish. ‘Let’s just say I won’t be entering the Tour de France this year.’

  She laughed. ‘It’s probably the bike. Mountain bikes aren’t designed for distance on the road.’

  ‘It’s Mum’s really — not that she uses it. Mine was co-opted by the fiendish brother a few years ago and I never got round to getting another. Maybe I should though,’ he added.

  Geneva looked at him. To visit her? She smiled.

  From behind them in the house came a splintering crash. Angus was beside her as she turned and ran.

  ‘Mum!’ Geneva dropped to the floor beside her mother, scarcely noticing when a shard of glass stabbed into her knee.

  Her mother was face down, head twisted to one side. There was blood high on her temple, spreading through her hair in a dark, sticky mess. Geneva laid a hand on her shoulder. She felt cut off, as if the two of them were caught in a bubble while the world roared by unchecked. Angus’s voice broke the spell.

  ‘She’s unconscious,’ he said, his fingers finding her mother’s wrist. ‘We need to keep her warm. Can you get a blanket? And a towel.’

  Geneva nodded, forcing herself up. Her body felt unresponsive, disjointed, while her breath came fast and shallow. Angus looked up, surveying the sharp corners of the work surface beside them. ‘Quick as you can,’ he added.

  Galvanised, she turned and ran for the linen cupboard, her hands shaking as she pulled down a neatly folded blanket. Folded by her mother. The panic had settled into a slow, throbbing ache somewhere high in her chest. Towels, she told herself, grasping at the instruction.

  Angus was lifting the hair back from her mother’s temple when she returned with the soft fabrics clutched to her chest. He took the towel and laid it gently against the cut on her mother’s head. Blood soaked quickly into the cloth, spreading outwards in a dark halo.