by Karen Swan
The crevasse itself had been easy to spot from the air – a black scar against the white cliffs, but so much longer than she had anticipated at almost a kilometre long. All sense of scale was lost against these massive mountains when there was nothing to use for gauging perspective – not a house or car, dog or bike – and when she first spotted Zac and Lenny’s neon orange rope, it had looked more like a thread, barely discernible against the vast terrain, like a single bright hair on a granite floor. It was almost impossible to fathom how they could be scaling it, and she tried to imagine both of them straining, bodies flexed, pitching themselves against gravity and the elements, seemingly fighting for something more than just a summit.
Beside her, Anders brought the chopper steadily down with customary focus, his eyes dead ahead as he made for the small concrete-cubed monitoring station, the only thing clinging to these slopes. They touched down lightly, the blades slowing into silence, and Bo looked out at the vast view. It took her breath away, as it always did, but this time she tried to memorize it, inhale it, taste it. In a few hours, she would be gone from here and she didn’t know how she could capture it or take a slice of it with her. Not through a picture, that much she knew. She hadn’t posted a single image since the selfie in the coffee house in Alesund and everything that had happened since with Anders: it was her secret, something rare and all the more special for being kept private. She didn’t want to share any of it with the world. She wanted to protect it and keep it as her own, a pearl in her pocket.
‘So the guys are going to approach from the west and we’re dropping in at the east end, is that right?’ Anna asked as they jumped down, all of them pulling up their hoods and bracing against the chill. It was gusty at this altitude, the drop before them frighteningly steep. A short scramble down from where they stood was the opening to the crevasse.
Anders gave a baffled shrug. ‘That’s what they said, to meet them in the middle.’
‘Do we have time for all that? Didn’t you say the authorities would send in security?’ Bo frowned, peering down at the great chasm. The walls were rippled with thick ice and the snowdrifts on the ground looked deep. ‘I thought we were just getting the money shot and then going? Our flight’s at seven.’
Anders went still at her words. It was eleven now.
‘You’re actually flying out tonight?’ Anna asked her, dismay on her face too, the mask slipping.
Bo nodded. She didn’t hate Anna for what she’d done; she felt sorry for her: Anna had been swept off her feet and then dropped from a height. Things had become personal and everyone was hurt. There were no winners in this sorry mess.
‘How long have we got?’ Bo asked, looking over at Anders. He was standing over the lip of the crevasse and staring into it, assessing the conditions.
‘Forty minutes to an hour, maximum. There will be cameras everywhere so they’ll see us. They’re probably watching us now.’ He scanned the desolate spot, taking in the steel towers supporting probes, sensors and boreholes. ‘But hopefully by the time they can send anyone up here, we’ll be gone . . .’ He crouched down, carefully turning to face into the rock before lowering himself and dropping gently into the snow. He reached his arms up for the others. Anna went first, then Bo, his hands lingering ever so fractionally on her waist after she was set safely down.
‘Follow me,’ he said, leading from the front. ‘It will be uneven underfoot. There are boulders and rocks under this snowpack, so tread carefully. You don’t want your foot to go through. A broken ankle up here would be bad news.’
Bo rolled her eyes with a smile. ‘I’m going to call you Mr Brightside,’ she teased, prompting him to cast her an intimate glance – one which sent Anna looking between them both again.
It was like being in an ice cathedral, their voices amplifying in the narrow space. The crevasse was neither straight nor smooth and, in places, the ice was layered into thick, organic bulbous forms. They walked slowly and carefully, passing between the blue-white walls that stretched high above them, icicles hanging like two-metre daggers as thick as her arm. They staggered through in wondrous silence, only the occasional ‘careful’ coming from Anders every few minutes as he pointed out where they should tread.
‘How will we know where to stop?’ she asked after a while. It felt already like they had been walking for ages but the entire crevasse was only seven hundred metres long and if they were meeting halfway . . .
‘I don’t think we’ll be able to miss them,’ Anna said, a trace of sarcasm in her words.
They carried on, walking awkwardly along the mountain’s icy corridor. It was slow going, especially because they kept looking around them. Bo had never been in anything like this before and a couple of times she had to remind herself to close her mouth – ‘catching flies, darling?’ her mother would say – as she caught the familiar red flash of Anna’s camera recording her. It shouldn’t have surprised her; this was their big finale, the dramatic denouement for Ridge Riders, and Bo had to admit that, in spite of her previous doubts about doing this, it made for a spectacular sign-off.
She looked up as often as she could, loving how the vast sky through which they had just glided was now a mere jagged slit above them, the occasional bird flitting across the frame in soaring silence. It was so cold her breath was coming in little clouds as she used her hands for balance against the ridged, rippled, swollen walls. They felt so solid and impermeable, older than time, it was almost impossible to conceive that they wouldn’t always be here, that a day was coming when the pressure would become too great and a large part of this mountain would shear off with devastating, destructive power – just as it had that day in 1936, changing the course of Signy’s life for ever.
‘Damn.’ Anders stopped in front of them; ahead was an area of snowed-over scree, from where a small rockfall had walled the pass. It had to be three metres high.
‘Bugger,’ Bo said, her hands on her hips as she saw the obstacle in their way, predicting no way through.
‘It’s fine.’ Anders scrambled halfway up, using his hands as well as his feet – though the rocks were icy, there was just enough grip and he reached down to pull them both up in turn. Bo let Anna go first, knowing that his eyes would meet and remain locked on hers for another precious moment if Anna went ahead. These were their dying minutes together and she was greedy for as many as she could get.
But they didn’t get the chance.
‘Oh my God,’ Anna gasped, standing on top of the snow-heap and looking down on the other side.
‘What? What is it?’ Bo asked, staggering up the last few steps herself.
Her jaw dropped down again – forgetting all about proverbial flies – as she took in the extraordinary scene laid out there. A couple of small benches had been cut from the snow like igloo blocks and draped with reindeer hides; strings of tiny white fairy lights were attached to the ice by climbing nails; a bottle of champagne was plunged into a well of snow. And Zac, he was standing there in his all-black layers, looking as proud as a teenage boy who’d made his own bed. Lenny was standing further back and taking photos, another camera set up on a tripod beside him, its red light flashing. Obviously.
‘Oh my God . . .’ she murmured as Zac stepped forward, reaching up to help her down the other side. ‘What is all this? Are we having a picnic?’ At ground level, it was even more magical – so beautiful, so bizarre, so crazy and ridiculous. She knew it would look great on camera, like a stage set from Narnia.
‘No, it’s the beginning of our happy ever after,’ Zac said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out something. His hand curled around it secretly – invitingly – and suddenly she knew what it was.
The shock landed like a sucker-punch and she felt herself tense; unbeknownst to him, she had the full picture, she knew about both Anders and Anna. How could they possibly . . . ?
But then she saw what he was holding. ‘A pebble?’ she asked, picking it off his palm. It was flat and bean-shaped, as smooth as satin.
‘Not just any. I’ve been looking for the perfect one since we got here. Remember I climbed up the waterfall our first day out here and you got annoyed with me for being a Boy Scout?’ He arched an eyebrow at the memory. ‘Well, I needed the smoothest, most rounded one, and I knew that water pressure would do that for me. I’ve looked in every river, on every climb out here since.’
‘But . . .’ She looked up at him, a smile frozen on her lips. She sensed this was a grand romantic gesture but was damned if she knew why. In her peripheral vision, she could see Lenny had stepped forward, his camera trained on them both, intruding on the scene as ever. ‘Why?’
‘As a token of love. Did you know Emperor penguins will select the very best pebble they can find and then give it to their mate, and she puts it in their nest? Penguins mate for life, Bo. Like us.’
She knew it was all for the camera, this: reinforcing their brand image, reassuring the fans. She was quiet for a moment, her finger rubbing over the polished stone. ‘But penguins are also monogamous,’ she said quietly, so quietly only he could hear.
‘Huh?’ He missed a beat, looking confused. But as she continued to look up at him, his smile faltered. ‘. . . I think you’re missing the point, baby.’ He laughed, but it sounded forced.
She stepped around him, wanting to see the set more closely. How had they carried these things up here on their backs – the hides, the champagne? And how long had it taken to carve out the benches? The snow shovels were lying on the ground further back, she could see. They must have been weighed down by it all.
From behind her, Zac spoke, looking flustered. ‘Look, forget about the stone. And the penguins. What I’m trying to do here – what this is all about is . . .’ She turned and saw that he had dropped down to one knee and was holding out a red box. ‘Bo Loxley, will you marry me?’
‘Oh God.’ Her hands flew to her mouth and she stepped back as though in retreat. The shock was real. The bluff a second earlier had taken her off her guard and made her relax, but now she felt everyone’s gaze on her, all of them – Anders, Anna, Lenny, Zac and nearly ten million strangers – wanting to see her reaction. She looked up and saw Anders, still at the top of the snow hill and keeping out of the shots. But his expression was open, more revealing than she had ever seen, sheer desolation barrelling through him as he watched the carefully staged scene unfold.
She had forgotten all about it, the dummy proposal, but she saw Zac must have been planning this since they got here. Him and Lenny. The champagne, these props, that ring. Had they bought it all in Alesund for her?
‘Well . . . ?’ Zac prompted her. ‘Don’t keep a guy hanging. It’s cold down here.’ He laughed but as her sorry gaze met his, she saw a flash of fear pass over his face. ‘Just a straight yes or no would be good.’
She stared at him, tears swimming in her eyes and feeling the adrenaline coursing through her. She knew what she was supposed to say, do. Look surprised! Say yes! This was just a re-enactment, a public show of their private moment, giving the fans what they wanted; they were even dressed as bride and groom, she realized – him in black, her in all-white. Because this was damage limitation, an overblown romantic statement to make up for the messiness of their argument on the streets in Alesund.
She saw Lenny beginning to creep around them, finding the best angle, getting the best shot. ‘That’s not live recording is it?’ she whispered, watching the red light flash.
‘Huh?’ Zac was looking openly panicked now.
She jerked her head towards the camera on the tripod. ‘You’re not doing a live video? Please say you’re not.’
‘Bo, what’s going on?’ Zac mumbled, trying not to move his lips, to keep his smile stitched on. ‘Of course it’s live.’
She closed her eyes. And there it was. Of course. ‘Of course it is. Naturally. Why wouldn’t it be?’ She turned away, feeling her humiliation stretch around the world. Just say the words, she told herself. Play the part. Do what needs to be done and it’ll be over. Say it. Say it!
SAY it!
She dropped her face in her hands and turned away.
‘Bo?’ Zac got up from his bended knee and stood before her. ‘What’s going on?’ he asked in a low voice, angling himself away from the camera but still trying not to move his lips. ‘We’ve already done this for real. You know what this is. You already said yes.’
She stared at him, tears beginning to shine in her eyes. ‘And now I’m saying no,’ she whispered.
‘What?’ His expression changed then and he whirled around, pointing at Lenny to stop filming. Bo saw Anna’s hand drop too, Ridge Riders’ dramatic moment falling flat on its face. ‘What the actual fuck? You’re saying no, after you already said yes?’
‘Yes.’
He shook his head, looking confused, as though she was speaking in riddles.
‘I can’t marry you, Zac. I thought I could. I thought it was what I wanted. But . . . everything’s different now.’
‘In the space of three weeks?’ he asked, incredulous.
She nodded. ‘Everything you said to me in the cabin the other day – you were right. Bang on. I didn’t want to face up to it but I have been running. This has all been an escape. What we’ve had has been so great up till now, it was what I needed. And you too. But other people have come between us, which they couldn’t have done if things were right –’
He paled, glancing at Anna.
‘It’s not about her. It’s about us and what isn’t there. I keep trying to set up a life with you, Zac, only it isn’t a life – it’s a feature. And we’re not a couple, we’re a brand. Something changed somewhere along the way for us – the tail started wagging the dog. I don’t know when exactly but—’
‘I do.’
They all whipped round to see Lenny standing with his arms hanging limply by his sides.
‘Len, mate, this isn’t the time,’ Zac snapped.
But Lenny advanced, ignoring him, his focus pinned only on Bo. ‘I know exactly when things changed. It was when we got here.’
‘I’ve been unhappy for longer than that, Lenny,’ she said dismissively.
‘With me being around, hell yeah, I know, you always made your feelings very clear on that. But I’m talking about when your feelings for Zac changed.’
Bo frowned. ‘How can you know that, if even I don’t?’
‘Because I saw it, Bo,’ he sneered. ‘I saw it happen.’
‘Saw what?’
Lenny switched his attention back to Zac. ‘You’ve seen it too, bud, I know you have. You’ve sensed what was happening; that’s why you hate him so much. You knew he was sniffing around her.’
Slowly, Bo turned to look at Anders. Zac too. He was still on the top of the snow-pile, keeping out of shot, out of the way, but his expression had changed. Where before it had been open, showing her everything, now he was locked up and bolted shut, standing ominously still. Predator and prey all at once.
‘Yeah, that’s right. You know it,’ Lenny snarled, seeing understanding dawn across Zac’s features. ‘Whilst she’s pointing the finger at you for having a roll in the hay with her over there, she’s been rutting like a bitch in heat with him.’
Bo gasped, feeling winded by his barely contained aggression, his coarse language. Their relationship had always been tricky – sometimes peaceable and benign, often fractious and low-grade irritable – but she saw now, it was more than that; bigger and far worse. He actually hated her.
‘She was with him last night, man. I saw the tracks in the snow outside the bedroom window. He must’ve jumped when we got back.’
Bo’s heart beat faster as she saw Zac’s expression change, his lips twisting into a snarl. She saw Anders begin to come down the slope, ready to face him, but she stopped him with a hand. She wouldn’t have him embroiled in this, risking his parole conditions.
‘What the fuck, man?’ Zac asked as he stared at Anders, wanting the details, not wanting them. ‘What’s going on?’
‘You�
�re being played for a fool, is what,’ Lenny said, prodding, inciting him. ‘I saw it all happen, right from the first moment when we were standing outside his house, waiting for him to fucking answer the door; I happened to look over at her just as he came out and I saw how her face changed.’ He clicked his fingers. ‘Just like that. Bam! Job done!’
‘No . . .’ Zac protested feebly.
‘You happened to be looking at her?’ Anders asked, his voice cool.
‘Yeah.’ Lenny turned to face him, a sneer twisting his mouth. ‘And then the very next day, when we got back from town and there they were, cosying up in his cabin, talking intimately together like it was a first date—’
‘His grandmother was there!’ Bo interjected with a disbelieving laugh. He couldn’t be serious!
But Lenny didn’t hear – or care. His eyes were on Anders but he was talking to Zac. ‘He was already making his first move – setting up his ducks. Then, of course, he got to play the hero – saving her in the waterfall, marching back for the boat, flying her back to safety. How you gonna compete with that, huh? You knew you couldn’t. You knew – at some level you knew – what was happening down at his house, her all alone with him.’
‘No—’ Zac protested again, but his voice was clouded, confused, as Lenny led him on like a bull, waving the red flags around . . .
‘Yes, mate,’ Lenny insisted. ‘It’s why you copped off with her –’ He jerked his head towards Anna again, not bothering to even grace her with a name. ‘Getting her drunk.’
‘You were the one refilling everyone’s glasses!’ Anna cried, her face blotchy with silent tears, anger and humiliation bursting from her in equal measure.
‘Yeah, but you wanted it and so did he. I could read the signals. He knew what was going down and he needed to salvage a little pride. I get that!’ He shrugged. ‘And I’m always happy to play MC – whatever keeps these guys on track, I’m the wingman. Trust me, you’re not the first indiscretion he’s had, baby, not by a long shot.’
