The One We Fell in Love With (21 page)

‘There’s probably a medical term for that sort of thing,’ I say with a giggle.

‘Yeah, a term for the fatally curious. You wouldn’t be able to switch off or fall asleep at night.’

I flash him a smile. ‘I like it when you start to ponder the universe.’

He smiles back at me, his face and hair golden in the candlelight, and his eyes glinting beautifully. He’s painfully gorgeous.

Out of the blue, I wonder if he used to have crazy conversations like this when he was with Phoebe.

But of course he did.

‘What are you thinking?’ he asks, sensing the change in atmosphere.

‘Feebs,’ I reply quietly.

I glance up in time to see him swallow, but then he looks down and places his knife and fork together on his plate.

‘I’m stuffed,’ he says.

‘No room for dessert?’ I double check.

‘No, but you can.’

‘I might just get a cup of tea, actually. I’ve had a bit too much wine.’

‘Well, there’s the posh tea and coffee in my room, and don’t forget the biscuits.’

I smile. ‘As if I could.’

Old-fashioned, pink-tinted newspapers titled
The Gotham News
hang over gold railings fixed to the walls as we walk down the corridor. Angus reaches his room and
unlocks the door with a key card and I follow him inside.

The room is dark and sumptuous, a double bed in its centre with a fur throw draped casually over the end. I sit down on the only armchair and he offers up a glass jar. I smile and take a
Batman-shaped biscuit, then he gets on with filling and boiling the kettle.

‘What time have you got to be at work tomorrow?’ I ask, trying to make small talk.

‘Ten or so,’ he replies, perching on the end of the bed, facing me. He rests his elbows on his knees and clasps his hands together and I catch a glimpse of his chest beneath his
shirt.

‘I’ll be out of your way soon,’ I say, nodding at the kettle as I hear it click off.

He gets to his feet to make our drinks and I relax back in the armchair and cross my legs. The bed dominates the small space and it’s feeling a little warm in here.

When he turns around, he seems to jolt ever so slightly. His eyes graze my legs as he walks over and passes me a cup.

‘When you look at me, do you ever see Phoebe?’ I ask as he sits down.

He blanches. ‘What? No!’

‘Does it ever hurt to look at me?’ I ask, as my mood takes a nosedive – a sure sign of too much alcohol. I’m on a destructive course now and I won’t be able to stop
it.

‘Eliza,’ he says with distress, placing his cup on a nearby table and coming to kneel on the carpet in front of me. He stares up at me. ‘No. Obviously sometimes you remind me
of her because you’re her sister, but that’s rare. Mostly you’re just Liza.’

My eyes mist over. He sighs and takes my drink from me, before pulling me to my feet and into his arms. He’s warm and strong and I let him hold me, my throat swelling uncomfortably.

He holds me tighter. ‘I’m so thankful to still have you and Rose.’

Does he mean as friends? God, I don’t know what I want.

I place my hands on his shoulders and break our contact, turning my face away. He tucks my hair behind my ears, prompting me to meet his gaze again. He cups my face with his hands.

‘What are you—’ I start to say, but he reaches up and touches his thumb to my mouth, silencing me. Then he replaces his thumb with his lips.

It is the sweetest kiss. It lasts no more than a couple of seconds and is incredibly gentle and tentative, but my knees feel weak as he breaks away.

‘You shouldn’t have done that,’ I whisper, clutching his arms to keep steady. My heart is racing.

‘Why not?’

I am intensely aware of the double bed directly behind him. It would be so easy to push him backwards and get totally and deliriously caught up in this moment.

But I can’t do that.

Oh, but then he kisses me again.

The shivers rocketing up and down my spine are making my legs continue on their course towards jellification.

‘Angus,’ I whisper as he presses his lips to my jaw. ‘We can’t.’

‘Yes, we can,’ he murmurs gently.

Using great willpower, I put my hands on his chest and slowly push him away.

I’m startled to see his eyes flash with anger.

‘You once told me that if I didn’t want Phoebe, I couldn’t have any of you,’ he says in a low, dangerous voice.

I nod nervously. ‘Maybe that still stands.’

‘Bullshit!’ he erupts, making me jump. I begin to pace the small area to the side of the bed as he rants. ‘That is bullshit and you know it! She’s not coming back. You
and I are here. And we should be together. It would be about fucking time.’

The look in his eyes takes my breath away. He’s so hot when he’s riled up.

My willpower gives way and I take a step towards him. He sees me coming and closes the gap.

Where earlier it was tentative, now it is so fiery with passion that we could set light to the furniture.

He holds my face and kisses me with a frenzied urgency. I feel dizzy, but I attack him with just as much fervour. I don’t want to stop. I can’t stop. Stopping is futile and
pointless. I need him. I want him, and damn it, I’m going to have him.

We pull each other down to the bed.

The morning comes and with it the guilt. The sense of déjà vu is extraordinary, but when I turn to see Angus sleeping peacefully beside me, I feel a sudden swell
of determination. Last night was incredible. And I am hopelessly in love.

I press a gentle kiss to his shoulder and he stirs.

His beautiful eyes open and he looks momentarily confused. My heart skips a beat. Was he very drunk last night? Does he remember what happened? Does he know who I am? But then he smiles
sleepily.

‘Hello, trouble,’ he whispers, putting all of my worries at bay. He reaches over and places his hand on my cheek. ‘Are you okay?’

‘I think so,’ I reply. ‘Are you?’

He nods and slides his arm around me, pulling me against his bare chest. I sigh peacefully and snuggle into him, my palm flat against his stomach.

‘Liza?’ he asks after a moment.

‘Yes?’

‘Don’t freak out later when you’re alone. That killed me when we were eighteen.’

‘I won’t,’ I promise, adjusting my position so I can look up at him. His eyes are full of trepidation.

‘I love you,’ I whisper, stroking my fingertips along his jaw.

His stressed expression melts away as he draws me up his body to kiss him. ‘I love you, too,’ he says against my lips.

But right then and there, I know that Michelle is right. I have to talk to Phoebe.

The air is damp with recent rainfall as I walk along the winding paths in the cemetery. A gust of wind blows the leaves on the trees, causing a cascade of raindrops to fall down on my head. I
barely flinch.

I reach the gravestone and look down at the engraving.

I fall to my knees, the mud seeping up through the grass and soaking my skin.

‘I’m sorry, Feebs, but I have to tell you something. I’m in love with Angus. I’ve loved him since the beginning.’

Tears spill out of my eyes as I speak and I can barely hold back my sobs.

‘I’m so sorry. If you were here, this never would have happened. I’ve tried for so long to stay away from him, but I can’t do it any more. I’m in such agony,
missing you, and I feel like he’s healing me. I hope you can accept it. I wouldn’t expect you to be happy for me. I would give anything to have you back, and I know that would mean
giving up Angus, but I feel incomplete without you. I love you so much. And I’m sorry. But I love him, too. And
he’s
here. I hope you understand.’

I can’t speak any more for the lump in my throat, but I stay there for a long time afterwards, with my hand on the gravestone and tears trekking down my cheeks.

Phoebe

Guess what I did yesterday! I STOOD ON TOP OF MONT BLANC WITH DAD! We made it! We summited!

The scale of things up there was incredible. We weren’t dwarfed by the mountains, we were midgetised by them. Microscopisized, even.

Mum used to accuse Dad of being selfish because she said he couldn’t justify risking his life climbing when he had a wife and three young children at home.

But now I understand. When you’re walking along a ridge, teetering on the brink between life and death, you’ve never felt so alive.

I can’t believe this is my last page. Nor can I believe what I’m about to write. Deep breath: Dad has convinced me to go home with him. He’s worried I’ll lose perspective
if I stay, and he’s right. But I know it’s going to kill me to say goodbye to Remy.

It’s goodbye from me to you, too. What adventures I’ve had this year! It’s been a blast.

So, au revoir.

Or, until we meet again...

Rose

I’m in floods of tears as I close Phoebe’s purple journal, my fingers trembling as I reattach the tiny padlock. That was her final entry, the last of her lovely,
loping handwriting, and she’s gone now, for good.

I’ve had her teenage diary in my possession for over a year since finding it in the loft on the same day that I uncovered Eliza’s. But I never had any intention of reading
Phoebe’s – I had too much respect for her for that. I’m afraid the same couldn’t be said for Eliza. My curiosity overruled any sense of right and wrong when it came to
reading hers and no doubt she’s still cross with me about it.

Back in May, when the anniversary of Phoebe’s death was almost upon us, I went to bed feeling desperately sad. I wanted so much to feel close to her, to hear her voice again, so I dug out
her old diary and I’ve been reading it on and off ever since.

I’ve tried to keep her alive by making it last for as long as possible, which goes against all of my instincts to devour it in one go, but now I’ve reached the end and it’s
like I’ve lost her all over again. It’s so painful. I can’t bear it.

I loved the way she wrote. I felt like I was right there with her as she had her ‘proper pinch me moment’, sitting on the balcony of her apartment in Argentière as she watched
the sun set over the mountains. I lived through all of the climbs she did with Remy and their various adventures, like paragliding and daytrips to the ice grotto. Just a moment ago, I stood on top
of Mont Blanc with her and Dad, after she’d finally persuaded him to visit her that summer. It was the last big climb they ever did together. And, of course, I also suffered her nightmares
with her when she dreamed about Eliza kissing Angus, and Dad dying on a mountain. It all seems oddly prophetic.

I curl up into a ball on my bed and surrender to my emotions. Angus isn’t around to hear me cry. He stayed at a hotel last night – he’s writing a feature, apparently. I asked
him outright if he was seeing someone, but he denied it.

I know he’ll get another girlfriend eventually, but I will never get another sister. Despite what people think when they look at us, Phoebe was one of a kind. And she can’t be
replaced.

Sometimes I go back to the day Mum received the phone call, the one that told us we’d lost her. Eliza and I had been having a blazing row on the doorstep when the phone rang and Mum
shouted out, ‘IT’S PHOEBE!’

We automatically assumed that Phoebe was actually
on
the other end of the line and Eliza threatened to tell her everything about Angus, but then Mum let out the most agonising, inhuman
sound, like her heart was being ripped from her chest. Eliza and I stared at each other in shock for only a split-second before racing inside. Mum was slumped on the floor in the kitchen, the phone
clutched to her ear. I took the phone from her and the moment I discovered it was Josie, I knew.

‘
Phoebe was caught in an avalanche
,’ Josie managed to get out between sobs.

My triplet, one third of me, was gone forever.

‘What’s wrong?’ Toby asks when I go into work. I did the best job I could with my concealer, but my eyes must still be red from crying.

‘Nothing,’ I mumble as his expression radiates concern. A moment later, my vision is obscured by tears.

‘Hey,’ he says gently, striding over to the front door. I hear him lock it.

‘Don’t, Toby, it’s fine,’ I protest. ‘We can’t open up late.’ But he comes over and takes my arm, guiding me into the bakery.

‘Tell me what’s wrong,’ he demands.

I crumble and a moment later his arms are around me, holding me as I cry.

‘When you asked me if I was an identical triplet, I couldn’t answer,’ I say to him a little while later when I’ve calmed down enough to talk.
We’re sitting outside on the garden furniture from home. I painted the wall the weekend before last, but I haven’t finished prepping the soil for the plants so we’re still
surrounded by plastic pots.

‘It was the first time anyone had used the words “identical triplet” to me since Phoebe died,’ I explain. ‘And it shocked me when it occurred to me that I’m
not sure if I technically am any more. Am I still a triplet, when one of the three of us is gone?’ My voice sounds choked and I’m struggling to keep my tears under control.

‘I don’t know,’ he replies quietly. ‘Do you still feel like one?’

‘Yes.’ I nod.

‘Then there’s your answer.’

A sob escapes my mouth. He puts his arm around me and pulls me closer.

‘Shhh,’ he says soothingly, his warm breath tickling the top of my head. It feels as though our roles have been reversed. Now he’s the adult, comforting the child. He’s
quite good at it, actually.

‘You should go and open up,’ I say eventually. ‘The customers will be pounding down the door.’

‘They can wait.’

‘No, Toby, really, it’s fine. Your dad wouldn’t like it. Please go. I’ll come back in shortly.’

‘Okay.’ He seems reluctant to leave, but leave he does.

I stay outside for another fifteen minutes, digging over the soil in the planter box to keep me busy and hoping the redness in my face will die down. There was a thunderstorm in the middle of
the night and the ground is wet, so I make good progress.