by Cat Clarke
“Your mum was right,” I say to Ellie. “This place … it’s special.”
There’s a pause, and when Ellie speaks I can hear the smile in her voice: “I’m not sure Steve would agree with you. But yeah, I can see why she loved it so much.”
“She was … I liked her a lot.”
“She liked you,” Ellie says.
“Sometimes I used to imagine that I was part of your family,” I tell Ellie. “I imagined those big Sunday dinners and barbecues and in‑jokes were something I’d grown up with. Because I was always made to feel so welcome, right from the start. And that was down to your mum. I never … I never got to thank her for that.”
There’s silence above me, and I think I shouldn’t have said that. Shouldn’t be bringing up all those memories. I’m about to apologise when Ellie says, “She would have been so angry with me.”
I struggle into a sitting position. My limbs aren’t working so well. They feel heavy, and there’s a time lag between my brain telling them to move and them actually moving. “You’ve done what she asked, El,” I say. “She wouldn’t be angry.”
“I’m not talking about that. She would have been angry with me for breaking up with you. She’d have been furious. I can hear her, sometimes. The exact words she’d say in the exact way she would say them. But recently I … I can’t seem to remember Mum’s voice. I don’t have any of her old voicemail messages. There’s old videos, I guess. From family weddings and stuff like that. But I shouldn’t have to watch a video to remember what her voice sounds like … should I?”
“I think that’s normal, El.” I have no idea if this is true, but it sounds about right.
“I shouldn’t have done it,” Ellie says. My heart jolts, and then she adds, “I shouldn’t have broken up with you.”
So there it is. I look up at the stars, trying to remember the name of one constellation at least, but my mind is blank. My brain is a black hole.
“Why did you do it?” I ask.
10.51 p.m.
I still have the message on my phone. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve read it. “I can’t do this any more. I’m sorry.”
It was a month after Ellie’s mum died, and my first thought was pure panic. I misunderstood Ellie’s message completely, thinking she was talking about suicide. I picked up the phone and tried to call her, but she didn’t answer. I tried four times, then gave up and typed a message of my own: “I’m here for you, OK? We can get through this. Together. Talk to me. Please?”
I stared at my phone for what felt like an age, and then finally Ellie’s next message came through. “I can’t be with you any more. It’s not working.” And those words hit me like a sledgehammer to my stomach.
I tried calling Ellie again, but of course she didn’t answer. I messaged her over and over, begging her to talk to me. I turned up at her house, but no one ever came to the door. And then I just … stopped. I let the numbness and the nothingness consume me.
“Ellie?” I say now. “Why did you break up with me?”
I half expect her not to answer, but she does. “It … it seemed like a good idea at the time?” she says, sounding sheepish.
I laugh – so loud that Steve shifts in his sleep. “Wow,” I reply.
“I was a mess, Agnes,” Ellie explains. “You saw that. And I … I was trying to figure out how to live without Mum. I was looking after Dad, and my aunts were calling me all the time and crying … always crying. As if they missed her more than I did. It was … it was all too much. And you … you were so understanding. You were so kind to me … and I couldn’t stand it.”
I say nothing. It doesn’t make sense.
Ellie continues, “Yeah, I know. It doesn’t make sense now that I’m saying it out loud. I think … maybe I was punishing myself?”
“OK,” I say.
I hear movement from above and see Ellie’s head poking over the edge. I can’t make out her facial expressions, but perhaps that’s a good thing. “I was being a dick,” she says, “and I messed up the only good thing in my life. I’m sorry. Look, I know this isn’t the time or the place. It’s all wrong. But … I miss you. Every day I miss you.”
My heart is pounding now. Is she really going to say it?
She clears her throat. “I didn’t plan for any of this. Obviously, with Steve … I feel terrible about what’s happened. But this has all … I don’t want to waste another minute. I want to be with you.”
She said it. She said the words. And it’s nothing like how I imagined it would be.
“Agnes? Agnes!” Ellie shouts. “You’re not asleep, are you?”
“I’m awake,” I say.
“So … what do you think? Is there any way you could … I don’t know … give me a second chance? Give us a second chance? Earlier I thought you were going to … I thought you wanted to kiss me. I’m not wrong, am I?”
No. She’s not wrong.
The day Ellie told me she loved me was probably the best day of my life. I felt validated. She saw me. She accepted me. It felt miraculous. She said it first, too. That was important to me back then. She chose to say those three little words to me. And I chose to say them right back.
“Agnes?” Ellie calls. “You’re kind of leaving me hanging here. Can we … can we try again?”
For the first time in hours, I don’t feel cold. I don’t feel worried or scared or panicked. A sense of peace has wrapped itself around me like a blanket. I’m perched on a rocky ledge on the side of a mountain, but I feel like I’m home.
I open my mouth to speak.
“No,” I say.
11.03 p.m.
It surprises me. That I say no instead of yes. But as soon as the word is out of my mouth, I know it’s the right one.
If Ellie had asked me yesterday, or even this morning, the answer would have been different. I wouldn’t have even let her finish asking the question before shouting YES. But things are different now. I’m different.
Ellie says nothing, but I know she heard me. I wait to feel guilty, but it doesn’t happen. Maybe I’m a terrible person not to give her a second chance, maybe not. I’ve spent the last few months of my life doing nothing. Mourning for Ellie as she mourned for her mother. I thought I needed Ellie. I thought I couldn’t live without her. I was wrong. I can do things without her. I can climb fucking mountains if I want to. (I don’t.)
There’s a sniffing sound to my left, and I whip my head round. Steve. Shit.
I move closer to him, fitting myself into the gap between him and the mountainside. My body brushes up against Steve’s in several different places. In any other situation, I’d be embarrassed.
I expect to see Steve crying, but his eyes are dry. He blinks slowly and starts shivering.
“How much did you hear?” I whisper.
“Enough,” he says through chattering teeth.
“I’m sorry.”
He sniffs again. “Not your fault. You’re … you’re kind of a badass, aren’t you?”
I laugh. No one has ever called me a badass before. I don’t believe him. Not for one second. But maybe I could be one. Perhaps today could be the start of something for me. The start of me figuring out the kind of person I want to be.
“Steve?” I say.
“Yes?” he replies, and his teeth are chattering so hard now I worry they might shatter.
“We need to try to keep you warm, so I’m just going to …” But instead of explaining any further, I just do it. I sort of drape myself across him, careful not to touch his leg. I put my arms around Steve and hold him tight. The weirdest thing is that it doesn’t feel weird.
“Thank you,” Steve whispers.
It takes a few minutes, but his teeth‑chattering eventually stops and his breathing slows.
“I think I’m going to sleep again now,” Steve says.
“You do that,” I tell him. “I’ll stay awake and make sure you don’t fall off this stupid mountain.”
Steve smiles. “Thank you.” Then he
grips my hand. “I mean it. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t been here.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I say. “You get some rest.”
He squeezes my hand and then lets go.
Steve sleeps. I wait.
12.37 a.m.
I can’t feel my legs. Or my hands. The numbness crept over my body so slowly I didn’t even realise it was happening. I should probably be more worried about that, but I’m so very, very tired.
For the last twenty minutes, I’ve been calling for Ellie. Quietly, so I don’t wake Steve. She hasn’t answered. And I hope it’s because she’s upset and angry and hurt, even though I don’t want her to be any of those things. I hope she’s up there hating me. Because the alternative is too awful to think about. She must be so cold up there on her own.
I don’t want to be with Ellie, but I still want her in my life. I still want to watch terrible movies with her and argue over the best pizza toppings, and I still want to be there for her when she needs me. I just don’t want to be her girlfriend. I don’t need to be her girlfriend. I think, for the first time ever, I’m OK with just being me. I realise I’m smiling and I don’t even care how nuts that is. I’m … happy.
A flash of blinding light comes out of nowhere. My first thought is total confusion. My mind can’t make sense of anything other than darkness. My second thought is that I’m dying. And that makes me fucking furious.
A gruff voice starts shouting, but I can’t understand the words any more than I can understand the light.
“Miss! Miss!” the voice shouts. “Are you OK?”
Ms, I think. Don’t call me Miss.
I hear Ellie’s voice. She’s crying. Sobbing.
Then there’s the crackle of a radio and the voice again: “We’ve got them … Yup, all three. Just checking on them now.” A loud, piercing whistle is followed by a shout. “Over here! We’ve found them!”
They’ve found us.
Steve wakes up, confused, and I tell him that help is here. He bursts into tears and says, “Thank God. Thank God,” over and over again.
They’ve found us.
Ellie’s dad must have raised the alarm after all. Maybe today he decided not to have a drink because he wanted to be sober when his daughter returned from scattering his wife’s ashes.
They’ve found us.
Someone calls down to us, asking Steve about his leg. He answers the questions through his tears.
A couple of minutes later, a woman starts climbing down towards the ledge.
They’ve found us.
I’ve found me.
All I had to do was climb a mountain. And learn to let go.