The One We Fell in Love With (7 page)

‘Anyway, climbing became the thing that I did with Dad. We went back to the wall time and time again.’ He had taught me all of my climbing techniques and all of the various hand,
finger and foot holds, everything from a knee bar to a pinch grip. ‘Then he started taking me hiking with a bit of scrambling thrown in.’ Scrambling was the link between mountain
walking and rock climbing and it was excellent preparation for Alpine climbing, which involved routes with both rock and ice and snow. It took us away from paths and rock walls and was often a
sanctuary for rare plants and animals, so I used to get a lesson in nature as well, remembering always to take care with my footsteps. ‘Scrambling graduated to bouldering.’ This meant
climbing big boulders without safety ropes and only a crash mat and Dad to catch my falls. ‘And when I was old and strong enough to belay Dad, we’d go full-blown mixed ice and rock
climbing.’ In this case, Dad used to lead and fix bolts as he went, while I belayed him from the bottom – feeding the rope out and supporting him should he fall, which was incredibly
rare. He would then wait at the top for me to climb up behind him.

‘Sometimes we’d spend whole weekends away in Wales or Scotland, just the two of us, and our family holidays usually took place near well-known rock climbing routes, so we’d
escape together when Mum would let us.’ These times alone with my father were among my happiest memories. ‘How about you? How did you learn?’ I asked Remy, suddenly feeling bad
for hijacking the conversation, although he didn’t seem to mind.

‘Big brother,’ he replied. ‘Well, half-brother – my father’s son from an earlier marriage. I grew up in a little village, surrounded by national parks. The Gorge du
Tarn was my climbing playground. My brother used to take me when he came to visit. Amelie followed on when she was sixteen. My aunt blamed me for her new hobby, of course,’ he said with a wry
smile. ‘A safer one would have been preferable.’

‘Stop thinking about it,’ I said firmly as he shuddered again.

‘Do you have any photos of your sisters?’ he asked, changing the subject. It was an age-old question. People always wanted to see photos, and then they’d become obsessed with
meeting all three of us at once.

‘They look exactly like me,’ I replied, but indulged him by digging into my pocket and bringing out my phone. He leaned in close while I showed him.

‘Whoa,’ he murmured, staring first at the pictures and then at me with fascination.

I laughed lightly, trying to ignore my butterflies as I placed my phone on the coffee table.

‘What’s it like, being a triplet?’ he asked.

‘I get to see what I look like from behind,’ I replied flippantly.

‘Do you play a lot of tricks on people?’

I shrugged. ‘Not really.’ I wished we’d been more inventive, considering the amount of times I’d been asked that question. ‘Eliza used to joke that we should train
as magicians. We’d be able to do a great double act.’

‘Triple act, you mean.’

I smiled. ‘Exactly.’

‘You must miss them.’

I paused before admitting the truth. ‘Not as much as I thought I would.’

‘No?’ He looked intrigued.

‘It’s just... It’s weird. We’ve had eighteen years of it being the three of us. We’ve been through
everything
together and there’s a bond between us
that can never be broken. I love them more than life and I can imagine us all growing old together and ending up living next door to one another. But then there’s the flipside of the
coin.’ I stared at him levelly. ‘It’s not easy being constantly compared and having to share everything under the sun. It’s nice to just be me for once. To follow my own
path.’

He nodded attentively.

‘What’s the time?’ I asked in a sudden panic, checking my phone and realising that it was almost ten o’clock. ‘We’re going to miss the sunset!’

We grabbed our coats, but still had to brace ourselves against the cold as we walked out of the apartment and down the stairs. The shop and café were dark and deserted.

‘I can’t get over how bizarre it is up here without the tourists,’ I said.

‘I love it.’ He flashed me a grin and then stopped suddenly in his tracks.

‘Wow.’ We both spoke at the same time.

The sky had turned a deep mauve, fading to a line of brilliant orange across the cottonwool cloud-line. The sun’s yellow rays were still potent, piercing my eyes and leaving impressions
when I blinked. We were surrounded by mountain peaks, bathed in the last of the evening’s light.

‘What do you do, Remy?’ I asked after a moment.

‘I’m a web designer for a small company in Turin. I’ve worked there pretty much since I left school.’

‘You enjoy it?’

‘Yeah.’ He nodded. ‘I’m lucky. I don’t have to work weekends, so I can come here. Most of my salary goes on the Mont Blanc tunnel.’

‘There are worse ways to spend your money.’

‘My ex does not agree with you,’ he said drily.

‘She doesn’t like the mountains?’

‘She doesn’t mind looking at them, but climbing, skiing, hiking... no. We don’t have a lot in common, to be honest. I don’t know how we lasted two years.’

‘Did you live together?’

‘Yes. We still do, unfortunately.’ He turned to face me properly, leaning one elbow against the handrail. A warm glow was cast across his face, lighting his blue eyes. He was
insanely attractive, even when he was talking about his ex. I tried to concentrate as he continued.

‘It’s a great apartment. Neither of us wants to give it up, but we can’t afford the rent on our own.’

‘If you like it here so much, why don’t you move?’

‘And lose my job?’ he replied.

‘Couldn’t you freelance?’

‘I don’t know if my boss would go for that.’ He paused and then looked up at Mont Blanc. ‘Maybe I’ll ask.’

‘Have you been to the summit?’ I asked after a moment. His sightline hadn’t changed.

He nodded. ‘A couple of times. You?’

‘Not yet. I’m hoping to go this summer with my dad. The last time he summited Mont Blanc, he was in his twenties and I know he’s keen to do it again. But he’s getting
older now and my mum worries every time he talks about doing another big climb. I feel a bit guilty for putting the pressure on.’

‘Well, if he decides not to come, you can give me a call.’

He said it casually, but I told him I’d need his number.

‘I’ll give it to you when we go back inside,’ he promised with a smile. ‘What about you?’ he asked. ‘What do you want to do with your life?’

‘I like writing. I’m going to university in September to study French and English.’ I shrugged. ‘I guess I’ll take it from there, see what happens.’

He must’ve picked up on my lack of enthusiasm. ‘You’re not looking forward to university?’

‘Not yet.’ My lips turned down. ‘But only because I can’t imagine leaving here.’

He regarded me thoughtfully. ‘You don’t miss your boyfriend?’

‘My boyfriend?’ I was taken aback. ‘I don’t have one.’

His eyes widened. ‘No?’

‘I did, but we broke up at Christmas.’

‘Aah.’ He gave me a knowing look. ‘Swedish Pete got his facts wrong.’

‘Swedish Pete again?’ I asked with a disbelieving giggle.

He grinned. ‘I think he was a little besotted with you.’

I laughed and pulled a face.

We fell silent as we returned our attention to the view. I tried to relax and recapture the sense of tranquillity from earlier in the day, but my breathing was shallow and I felt strangely
skittish.

The sun was dipping below the clouds.

‘Going...’ I said.

‘Going...’ he said.

‘Gone,’ we both finished at the same time, turning to face each other. I shivered.

‘You’re cold. We should go back inside,’ he said, placing his hand on my arm. I stared up at him for a long few seconds before lowering my gaze to see his smile slowly fading.
I met his eyes again and involuntarily stepped closer. A moment later, his lips were on mine.

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.

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.