I’m already breathing hard, and my calves are hurting, but apart from that, I’m doing great! God, it just shows, climbing really isn’t that hard. I reach another bend, and look back in satisfaction. I’m practically halfway up the mountain already!
This is so easy. I always knew people who went hiking were showing off about nothing.
Down below, I can faintly hear Jim yelling, “Becky! Come back!” But I close my ears and resolutely keep on, one foot after another. I need to hurry if I’m going to catch up with Jess.
Except she must be a pretty speedy walker. Because after about an hour of steady climbing, I still haven’t caught up with her. In fact, I haven’t caught up with any of them. I kept the red couple in sight for a while, but somehow they seem to have disappeared. The man in blue has vanished too. And I haven’t even clapped eyes on Jess.
Which is probably because she’s run the whole way up, I think a bit disconsolately. She’s probably doing twenty one-handed press-ups at the top, because climbing a mountain isn’t strenuous enough. God, it isn’t fair. You’d think I might have got some of the superfit genes too.
I take a few more steps forward and stop for a breather, wincing at the sight of my mud-spattered legs. My face is hot and I’m panting, so I get out my Evian facial spray and spritz myself. It’s getting fairly steep up here. Not that it’s hard or anything. In fact, I’m really enjoying myself. Apart from the blister on my right foot, which is getting a bit painful. Maybe that guy had a point—these aren’t the best shoes in the world for climbing. Although, on the plus side, the heels are really good for slippery bits.
I look around the empty, rugged mountainside. About three feet away is a rocky ledge, and beyond that a sheer drop down into a valley. Which I’m not going to look at. Or think about.
I put the Evian spritzer away and look around, a bit uncertainly. I have no idea how much farther there is to go. I’d kind of counted on catching up with the other walkers and finding out from them. I squint ahead, trying to spot a brightly colored anorak, but the air is hazy with mist.
Oh God. Maybe it’s going to rain. And I don’t even have a cardigan.
Suddenly I feel a bit stupid. Maybe I shouldn’t have rushed up here. Maybe I should go down. Cautiously I take a step backwards . . . but the ground is more slippery than I expected.
“Shiiit!” I grab on to a sharp rock to stop myself slithering toward the rocky ledge. There’s a blinding pain in my arm—I must have wrenched a muscle—but somehow I haul myself back up.
OK, I’m not going back down now. Anyway, it’s probably farther to go back down than carry on. I’ll keep on following the path. It’ll be fine. If I just speed up a bit I’m bound to reach Jess. It’ll be worth it just to see her face. She won’t believe her eyes. Then I’ll tell her—and she won’t believe her ears! She’ll be totally, utterly gobsmacked! I hug the thought to myself happily for a few moments, then, with a fresh surge of energy, keep on climbing.
I’m knackered. I can’t keep going any longer.
My knees ache, my hands are sore, and my feet are covered in blisters. I’ve been trudging for what seems like hours, but this bloody mountain goes on forever. Every time I think I must have got to the top, I see another peak rising up in front of me.
Where’s Jess? Where is everybody? They can’t all be quicker than me.
I stop for a few moments to catch my breath, holding on to a large boulder for balance. The view over the valley is as stunning as ever, with purple and gray clouds rolling across the sky, and a single bird soaring high above me. Maybe it’s an eagle or something. To be honest, I don’t care. I just want to sit down with a cup of tea. That’s all I want in the world.
But I can’t. I have to continue. Come on. This is what they mean by endurance.
With a huge effort I let go of the boulder and start climbing again. Left, right. Left, right. Maybe I’ll try singing, like the Von Trapps. Yes. That’ll cheer me on.
“ ‘High on a hill . . .’ ”
No. Forget the singing.
Oh God. I can’t climb anymore. I just can’t do it.
I must have been walking for hours and I feel sick and dizzy. My face is sweaty, my lungs are burning, my hands are numb. My legs are covered in mud, my shoes are unidentifiable, I’ve gashed my knee and torn my skirt, and I don’t know where I’m supposed to go next.
I stumble over a cluster of rocks and grab on to a bush for support, wincing as it pricks me. OK. I’ve got to stop for a rest. I sit down on a flat stone and fumble for the Evian facial mister.
I’m desperate for a drink. I spray the very last drops of Evian into my mouth, until it’s all gone. I wipe my face with a tissue from my bag and look around the empty mountainside. There is no one in sight. No one.
What am I going to do?
Deep down I feel a spasm of fear, which I ignore. It’ll be fine. The important thing is to think positive. I’ll just keep climbing. I can do it!
No, I can’t, comes a small voice inside.
Stop it. Think positive. I can do anything I set my mind to.
My legs are all shaky, but somehow I force myself to my feet, wincing in pain as my shoes dig into my blisters again. Right. Just keep going. I’ll get to the top—and maybe that’s where the welcoming party is. And those hot drinks they were talking about. Yes. It’ll be fine—
Suddenly there’s a distant rumble of thunder. Oh God. Please, no. I look up, and the sky has darkened to a menacing gray.
A raindrop hits me in the eye. Then another.
I swallow, trying to stay calm. But inside I’m a mush of panic. What do I do now? Do I keep going up? Do I go down?
“Hi!” I call out. “Is anyone there?” My voice echoes round the rocks, but there’s no reply.
More raindrops land on my head.
I don’t have anything waterproof. I look around the stark landscape, hollow with fear. What if I can’t get down? What if I’m stuck up here in a storm? I was so desperate to tell Jess we were sisters. Now I just feel like a fool. I should have waited. Luke’s right. Why can’t I wait for anything in life? It’s all my own fault.
There’s another distant rumble of thunder, and I flinch in fright. What if I get struck by lightning? I don’t even know what the rules are for being outside in a storm. It’s something like Stand under a tree. Or maybe Don’t stand under a tree. But which? What if I get it wrong?
Suddenly, through my agitation, I’m aware of a kind of chirping noise. Is it . . . an animal?
Oh my God.
Oh my God. It’s my mobile. There’s a signal up here! There’s a bloody signal!
With shaking fingers I unzip my Angel bag and grab my flashing mobile. Weak with relief, I see the word luke on the little display. I jab frantically at the green button.
“Luke!” I say. “It’s Becky!”
“Becky? Is anyone there?” The line is crackling, and he sounds all fuzzy and distant.
“Yes!” I shout, as raindrops start falling harder on my head. “Luke, it’s me! I’m lost! I need help!”
“Hello?” comes his puzzled voice again. “Can anyone hear me?”
“Yes! I can hear you! I’m here!” With no warning, tears start streaming down my face. “I’m stuck on this awful mountain and I don’t know what to do. Luke, I’m so sorry—”
“The line’s not working,” I can hear him saying to someone else. “I can’t hear a bloody thing.”
“Luke!” I yell. “Luke, I’m here! I’m right here! Don’t go!”
I bang the phone frantically, and the words battery low flash at me.
“Hello?” comes Luke’s voice again. “Becky?”
“Luke, please hear me!” I cry in desperation. “Please hear me! Please . . .”
But the light in the little screen is already fading. And a moment later the phone goes dead.
He’s gone.
I look around the desolate mountainside. I have never felt more alone in my life.
A gust of wind blo
ws a flurry of rain into my face and I realize I can’t just stand here. I have to find some kind of shelter.
About six feet above me is a kind of ledge sticking out, with a cluster of rocks on top. One of them has an overhanging bit which maybe I can crouch under. The mud is all wet and slithery, but I dig in my heels and grab on to anything I can find, and somehow scrabble up there, grazing my other knee as I climb.
God, it’s quite high up. I feel a bit precarious. But never mind. If I don’t look down I’ll be fine. I firmly take hold of the overhanging bit of rock and am trying to edge underneath without slipping over . . . when suddenly I glimpse a flash of yellow.
Bright yellow. Human-waterproof-climbing-gear yellow. I don’t believe it. There’s someone else on the mountain. There’s someone else! I’m saved!
“Hi!” I yell. “Halloo! Over here!” But my voice is carried the wrong way by the wind and the rain.
I can’t see whoever it is properly, because the overhanging rock is in the way. Very slowly and cautiously I maneuver myself around the lip of the ledge until I have a better view. And then I see her clearly.
It’s Jess.
She’s on the slope below, wearing a yellow cagoule and a backpack. Some kind of rope thing is attaching her to the mountainside, and she’s digging carefully at a rock with a metal knife.
“Jess!” I shout, but my voice sounds hardly bigger than a squeak above the wind. “Jess! Jess!”
At last her head turns—and her whole face contracts in shock.
“Jesus Christ! Becky! What the hell are you doing up here?”
“I came to tell you we’re sisters!” I shout back, but I’m not sure if she can hear me through the buffeting rain. “Sisters!” I yell again, taking a step forward, cupping my mouth. “We’re SISTERS!”
“Stop!” shouts Jess. “That ledge is dangerous!”
“I’m fine!”
“Get back!”
“I’m OK, honestly,” I call. But she looks so alarmed, I obediently take a step back, away from the edge.
And that’s when my shoe slips on the wet mud.
I can’t regain my balance and I scrabble frantically at the rocks, trying to hold on to anything, trying to save myself, but everything’s too slippery. My fingers close round the roots of a shrub, but they’re wet with the rain. I can’t get a proper grip.
“Becky!” I hear Jess’s scream as the roots slip out of my desperate fingers. “Becky!”
Then I’m falling in a rush of terror, and all I can hear is screaming, and I have a glimpse of sky and then something thwacks my head, hard.
And then everything goes black.
Maida Vale Chronicle
Saturday, 7 June 2003
FEARS FOR
MISSING GIRL
Fears were growing last night for the safety of Maida Vale resident Rebecca Brandon, 27. Mrs Brandon (née Bloomwood) disappeared on Thursday from the luxury flat she shares with husband Luke Brandon and has not been seen or heard from since. The alarm was raised by Mrs Brandon’s friend Susan Cleath-Stuart, who arrived in London for a surprise visit.
SHOPPING
CCTV footage shows Mrs Brandon in local shop Anna’s Delicatessen, shortly before her disappearance, apparently agitated. “She just dropped her shopping and left,” said shop assistant Marie Fuller. “She didn’t buy anything.”
CHAOS
There were scenes of chaos aboard the Mind Body Spirit cruise ship currently touring the Mediterranean as Mrs Brandon’s parents, Graham and Jane Bloomwood, insisted the boat be turned around. “You can stuff bloody tranquility!” a hysterical Mrs Bloomwood was reported as shouting. “My daughter’s missing!”
STORMS
Meanwhile, storms have prevented Mrs Brandon’s husband, Luke Brandon, from leaving Cyprus, where he has been working. He was said yesterday to be “desperately worried” and in close contact with police. His business associate, Nathan Temple, has issued a reward for information leading to the recovery of Mrs Brandon. He commented yesterday, “If anyone harms a hair of that young lady’s head I will personally break all their bones. Twice.” Mr Temple was convicted in 1984 for grievous bodily harm.
Twenty-two
Ow.
Ouuuch.
God, my head is in agony. Oww. And my ankle’s throbbing, and I feel like I might be sick any moment, and something sharp is pressing into my shoulder. . . . Where am I, anyway? Why do I feel so weird?
With a huge struggle I manage to open my eyes and get a flash of blue before they close again. Hmm. Blue. Makes no sense. Maybe I’ll go to sleep.
“Becky? Beckeee!” A voice is calling me from a huge distance. “Wake up!”
I force my eyes open again and find myself looking at a face. A blurred face against a blue background.
Jess.
Blimey, it’s Jess. And she’s all anxious-looking. Maybe she lost something. A rock. That must be it.
“Can you see me?” she says urgently. “Can you count my fingers?”
She thrusts her hand in front of me and I peer at it woozily. Boy, that girl needs a manicure.
“How many fingers?” she keeps saying. “Can you see? Can you hear me?”
Oh, right. Yes.
“Er . . . three?”
Jess stares at me for a moment, then sinks back on her knees and buries her head in her hands. “Thank God. Thank God.”
She’s shaking. Why on earth is she shaking?
And then, like a tidal wave, it all comes back to me. The walk. The storm. Falling. Crashing down the mountainside. Quickly I try to block it out of my mind, but to my astonishment, tears start to seep out the sides of my eyes and drip down into my ears.
OK. Stop it. I’m safe now. I’m on the ground. I . . . think. To be honest, I can’t quite work out where I am. I peer at the bright blue background, but it still makes zero sense. I’d say heaven—except Jess didn’t fall too, did she?
“Where am I?” I manage, and Jess raises her head. She still looks white and shaken.
“My tent,” she says. “I always carry a tent in my backpack. I didn’t dare move you, so I put it up around you.”
A tent! Now, that is just so clever. Why don’t I take a tent everywhere? I’ll start tomorrow. Yes. A little tiny tent that I could keep in my handbag.
The only thing is, it’s a bit uncomfortable here on the ground. Maybe I’ll get up and stretch my legs. I try to rise, and everything goes black and swirly.
“Oh God,” I say feebly, and sink back down again.
“Don’t try to get up!” Jess says in alarm. “You had a terrible fall. I thought . . .” She breaks off and exhales sharply. “Anyway, don’t get up.”
Gradually I’m becoming aware of the rest of my body. My hands are all raw and scraped. With a huge effort I raise my head and glimpse my legs, all bloody with cuts. I can feel a bruise on my cheek, and I lift my hand to it.
“Ow! Is my face bleeding?”
“You’re a mess,” Jess says bluntly. “Does anything hurt really badly?”
“My ankle. The left one. It’s agony.”
Jess starts prodding it and I bite my lip, trying not to cry out.
“I think it’s sprained,” she says at last. “I’ll strap you up.” She switches on a torch and fastens it to a steel pole, then reaches into a tiny tin. She produces a length of bandage-type stuff and starts winding it expertly round my ankle. “Becky, what the hell were you doing up there, anyway?”
“I . . . I came to find you.” Bits of the jigsaw are reappearing in my brain. “I was doing the sponsored endurance hike.”
Jess looks gobsmacked.
“But this wasn’t the hike route! I went off the trail. The hike route was much lower. Didn’t you follow the markers?”
“Markers?” I look at her blankly.
“God, you have no bloody idea about hiking, do you?” she says in agitation. “You shouldn’t have been up there! It’s dangerous!”
“So why were you there?” I retort, wincing as s
he bandages me more and more tightly. “What you were doing looked pretty dangerous to me.”
Jess’s face closes up.
Eventually she says, “Last time I climbed the Pike I saw some ammonite specimens. I wanted to collect one. It’s a bit foolhardy, but I don’t expect you to understand—”
“No! I do understand!” I interrupt, and struggle onto my elbows. I have to tell her.
“Jess, I understand. I’ve seen your rocks. They’re fantastic. They’re beautiful.”
“Lie down,” she says, looking worried. “Take it easy.”
“I don’t want to take it easy! Jess, listen. We’re sisters. We’re honestly and truly sisters. That’s why I came up the mountain. I had to tell you.”
Jess frowns. “Becky, you’ve had a bump on the head . . . you’ve probably got a concussion—”
“It’s not that!” The louder my voice rises the more my head throbs, but I can’t stop myself. “I know we have the same blood. I know it! I went to your house.”
“You what?” Jess looks appalled. “Who let you in?”
“Jim. I saw your rock cupboard. It’s identical to my shoe cupboard in London. Identical. The lights . . . the shelves . . . everything!”
For the first time ever, I see Jess’s composure slip a little.
“So what?” she says in brusque tones.
“So we’re the same!” I sit up eagerly, ignoring the swirling in front of my eyes. “Jess, you know the way you feel about a really amazing rock? That’s the way I feel about a great pair of shoes! Or a dress. I have to have it. Nothing else matters. And I know you feel the same way about your rock collection.”
“I don’t,” she says, turning away.
“You do! I know you do!” I clutch her arm. “You’re just as obsessed as me! You just hide it better! Oh God, my head. Ow.”
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