Shadow of the Mountain

by Mackenzie, Anna

  Geneva shook her head. ‘I won’t come in,’ she said. ‘I’ve got a present for her.’ She lifted the kitten from the bag. ‘You don’t have to tell her it came from me.’

  Sonya’s smile stayed in place but her face somehow regained its exhausted expression.

  ‘She’s had her shots and that, but I haven’t named her,’ Geneva added, the kitten squirming in her arms. ‘I thought maybe Kitty might like to do that.’

  Sonya tucked the kitten into the crook of one elbow, from where it immediately escaped to climb onto her shoulder. ‘Thanks, hon. I’m sorry that you two —’

  ‘Me too.’ Geneva said quickly. She wished there was some other comfort she could give, but there wasn’t. ‘I’d better get going. I’ve got an assignment to finish,’ she lied, slinging her bag back onto her shoulder.

  Sonya nodded, looking resigned. ‘Thanks, Genna. For everything.’

  As she headed home, Geneva tested herself, prodding at the emptiness Kitty had left behind, but it no longer seemed to matter that their friendship was over, and the only pang she felt was one of pity. In the distance Kaitiaki was dressed in a shawl of cloud, almost translucent, like a veil. She studied the mountain as she pedalled, still feeling it above her when she dipped into road cuttings and gullies. At the gateway she bumped across the iron grid of the cattle-stop, letting the juddering rattle right up to her teeth.

  At the back of the double car-shed stood a wall of cupboards, built when the house had been renovated. The plan had been to store things until work on the house was finished, but many had proved forgettable as soon as they were out of sight. The refuge for flotsam had been topped up over the years until all the space was filled, so that the cupboards offered an eclectic mix of passing fads and junk.

  Geneva knew exactly where to look for her gear bag: high up at the far end, pushed behind a box of books and an awful silver tea service of her grandmother’s. She remembered shoving it to the back and slamming the door; remembered the rage she’d felt. As she lifted it down, dust leaping out to haze the sunlight that filtered in through the open doorway, she still felt the weight of sadness but the anger had gone.

  Everything was in the bag, just as she’d thrown it. The carabiners clanked as she dropped it on the floor. Inside, tangled skeins of rope mingled with the lurid stripes of polyprop: too many memories. Geneva closed the bag quickly and slung it over her shoulder. She’d sort through it later. For now it was enough to know it was there.

  24.

  A spate of westerlies draped the mountain in shredded tatters of cloud and roared and shuddered through the macrocarpas. Her father offered to drive her to school, and on days when the gusts would have made the ride a battle, she accepted.

  Despite the wind, Geneva felt as if she’d stumbled into an eye of calm. The silences she and her father shared had lost their ragged edge, easing instead into a comfortable familiarity. School had settled into a dull routine: she was up-to-date with her work at last, and Leonie’s crowd had finally found fresh targets for their taunts.

  Geneva had gone into town with Dayna one afternoon after school in search of an anniversary present for Dayna’s parents. After toying with a range of options they’d settled on a dinner voucher and included the offer of their shared services as babysitters. It had proven a hit and Geneva had enjoyed the evening. Dayna’s home was a revelation: neither volatile like Kitty’s nor pathologically quiet like her own, while her experience of her twin cousins proved useful in managing Dayna’s younger siblings.

  It was only Angus who wouldn’t conform to trend. Geneva refused to think about it. There’d be time to deal with it when she no longer had unresolved issues hanging over her.

  While she waited for the westerlies to pass, she decided to check out the gym at the Harbour Centre, telling herself it wasn’t Angus she was avoiding but the threatened ‘chat’ with Keith. The decision to return to Kaitiaki on her own felt right, but it was private: it was something she had to sort for herself. And she would. She just didn’t want to talk about it.

  The climbing walls at the Harbour Centre were less challenging than RockZone’s, but they were enough to maintain her form. Geneva kept her distance from the regulars, partnering whoever was free. She’d considered asking Dayna along, but in the end decided it might raise more questions than she cared to answer.

  Geneva made a dozen climbs, pushing herself on the last couple, honing her focus. It was good to have a change of scene.

  ‘You’ve done this before.’

  She glanced at the owner of the voice. He was a few years older, his expression frankly admiring. Geneva nodded and turned away, offering to belay a girl who was standing to one side.

  One of the instructors pinned her down as she handed in her harness. ‘Nice to see a new face. We run advanced sessions twice a week, Tuesdays and Sundays, if you’re interested.’

  Geneva shook her head. ‘I just like to keep up to speed,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to get serious.’

  ‘Fair enough, but you should check out the options — grab a leaflet before you go.’

  Geneva shied away. The last thing she wanted was to get embroiled in another club. As she headed towards the changing rooms a slow drawl stopped her in her tracks.

  ‘Well, hellooo there.’ It was Simon. ‘Long time no see.’

  ‘Hi,’ she replied automatically, feeling her gut clench.

  ‘So how come you’re hiding over here and avoiding us?’ Simon asked. ‘Or, maybe I shouldn’t ask?’

  Geneva forced a smile. ‘I’m off biking till the winds die down so I thought I’d check this place out.’ Simon looked amused. ‘It’s not as good as RockZone,’ she added, trying to throw him off the scent. ‘How about you? What brings you here?’

  ‘Tink’s idea. She thought we should see what’s on offer.’ Geneva did a rapid scan of the bodies milling around them but there were no faces that she knew. ‘Bumping into you was an unexpected bonus,’ Simon added. ‘We’ve missed you. At least I have.’

  She glared, searching unsuccessfully for a retort that would wipe the smugness from his face. Simon grinned. ‘So, how’ve you been? I hear there’s been a kink in the course of true love.’

  ‘Piss off, Simon,’ she said, turning away.

  ‘Hey, Geneva! Good to see you!’ Tink’s smile was genuine at least. ‘You joining us?’

  Geneva shook her head. ‘I’m just on my way home.’

  Tink hesitated. ‘Simon, go and warm up, drive someone else mad.’ She shook her head as Simon smirked and disappeared. ‘He’s a walking cliché that boy.’ She paused. ‘It’s a shame Angus couldn’t make it.’

  The sounds, sudden squeaks and thuds, that echoed off the high ceiling and the planes of glass that fronted onto the harbour seemed louder than before. ‘What’s up with you two?’ Tink asked. ‘It’s not the end of the world, if you had an argument. If it helps, he’s mooning around like a lovesick calf,’ she added.

  Geneva shuffled uncomfortably, aware of a group of familiar faces emerging from the changing rooms. ‘I’ve got to get going,’ she said.

  Tink’s expression was speculative. ‘Well, keep us on your visiting file,’ she said finally. ‘And, if you want to talk, you know where I am.’

  The five day forecast announced a period of settled weather, with winds blown out by Sunday. Geneva sorted her gear and packed a bag, planning a route, studying maps, double checking the equipment that had sat unused for a year. By Saturday afternoon she was hyperactive with nerves. Even her mother seemed to notice something was wrong: Geneva twice caught her staring, a frown drawn tight between her brows.

  On Sunday the weather gurus proved themselves wrong. Rain splattered in against the glass of her room and she scowled in dismay at the dark cloud that greeted her. She felt sick with disappointment.

  The rain lasted three days. ‘This’ll be the last of it,’ her father said as he drove her to town on Wednesday morning. ‘They’re already starting to talk about a drought this summer.’


  Geneva didn’t reply. She didn’t want her father to know just how much it mattered.

  ‘Genna,’ he started. She turned at his tone. He changed gear as the ute pulled up the incline from the creek. Geneva’s eyes slipped to his hands on the wheel, broad farming hands, the skin weathered and cracked. ‘Next month,’ he said as they crested the brow, ‘it will have been a year.’ The words carried the unsaid: Stephen. Her father’s voice was hoarse.

  Geneva thought about the last year, then turned her thoughts as quickly away, fixing her eyes on the rain hitting the windshield. She was not going to cry.

  ‘I thought we should — all of us — do something, find some way of …’

  His voice petered out. Geneva fought against the lump in her throat. A year, and still her father couldn’t say his name. She nodded and shoved her hands beneath her thighs.

  He was right. They should do something. But before that, Geneva had her own pilgrimage to make — though pilgrimage wasn’t the right word: it would be more of an acknowledgement, and a farewell. Once she’d done that, she could cope with the rest, all the other quiet goodbyes, all the anniversaries passed and the memories layered over.

  She nodded again to answer her father’s waiting silence. ‘Yes,’ she said.

  25.

  ‘Geneva?’ The voice was hesitant but she knew it straight away. Relief set a foolish smile on her face.

  ‘Hi, Angus.’ Geneva perched herself on the edge of the table, then changed her mind and flopped into a chair, her fingers twisting through the phone cord.

  ‘I got your text.’ He hesitated. ‘It was good to hear from you. And … I’m sorry too.’

  She’d thought about it all week, finally texting on Wednesday night — or Thursday morning, to be accurate. It hadn’t just been about the conversation with her father. She knew she hadn’t been fair to Angus; that he had every right to be angry. Then just not going to the club — it had been childish, running away. It was time she stopped running.

  ‘Simon said that he saw you last week,’ Angus said.

  ‘Briefly,’ she answered, wondering how Simon would have presented their exchange. Not in her favour, she suspected. ‘He’s probably annoyed with me as well,’ she said. ‘I told him to piss off.’

  ‘Yeah? That’s not quite how he put it.’

  ‘I bet. Angus?’ She paused. ‘I meant it, about being sorry. And about wanting to see you.’

  He grunted. Grunts could mean a lot of things, but she decided this one was positive.

  ‘I’m dropping Mum and Dad at the airport on Saturday morning. They’re having a weekend away, to make up for all the time he hasn’t been here this year, and there’s some show Mum wants to go to. All of which means I’ll have the car for the day. We could meet up somewhere, maybe…’

  Geneva swallowed. ‘Could we make it Sunday?’ she asked. ‘Only, I’ve got plans on Saturday. It’s something I really have to do, and —’

  ‘Sunday’s okay by me,’ Angus interrupted. ‘No car though. Kat’ll be home by then and she’s bound to claim it as part-payment for mother-impersonation duty. She can be fairly convincing: it’s a little scary. But we could rendezvous in town.’

  Geneva grinned. It sounded like the old Angus. And as long as the weather held, by Sunday it’d be done. ‘I can bike over to your place if it’s easier,’ she said. ‘It’d be really good to see you.’

  ‘Ditto,’ Angus agreed.

  She wondered, for a moment, about confiding her plans; maybe even asking — but no. She’d keep it till it was done. Once she’d said goodbye to Stephen properly, her way, she’d tell Angus; she’d be able to explain it all then.

  ‘Are you coming back to the club?’ Angus asked, breaking into her thoughts.

  ‘I might,’ she answered. ‘We can talk about it on Sunday. There’s lots I want to talk to you about,’ she added.

  Geneva’s mood as she cycled to school on Friday morning was jubilant. Even a brush with Leonie in PE couldn’t dampen her happiness. Dayna noticed it too.

  ‘So, what’s happened to bring you out in smiles?’ she asked at lunchtime.

  ‘I had a call from Angus. We’re meeting up on Sunday.’

  Dayna’s mouth formed an ‘o’. ‘I knew there was something bothering you over the past couple of weeks,’ she said, sounding tentative. ‘You never said it was him.’

  ‘It was my fault,’ Geneva said. ‘We had an argument. I said some dumb stuff —’

  ‘The way you do,’ Dayna interjected.

  ‘The way you do,’ Geneva agreed. ‘I really thought I’d blown it.’

  ‘But it turns out you haven’t?’

  Geneva grinned and shook her head.

  ‘You really like him, huh?’

  She nodded.

  Dayna tilted her head to one side, considering. ‘Well, I hope he’s worth it.’

  It occurred to Geneva that Dayna might resent a boyfriend intruding on their friendship. It wasn’t as if they had years of knowing each other to fall back on — but maybe that wasn’t relevant. It hadn’t meant much with Kitty, when you got right down to it. ‘I think you’ll like him,’ she said, watching Dayna’s face.

  ‘I hope so,’ Dayna grinned. ‘And I’ll be sure to tell you if I don’t.’

  26.

  Closing the door quietly behind her, Geneva hoisted her pack onto her shoulders and headed for the shed. She’d packed food and water bottles alongside her climbing gear, and the sky above the mountain was showing clear in the growing light. Today was the day. Excitement whispered in her belly.

  On the ride she kept her thoughts in neutral, avoiding thinking about what lay ahead. It was enough to concentrate on the road and the ungainly weight on her back. There were no cars — it was too early for that, just hitting six-thirty as she locked the bike out of sight behind a shrubby manuka at the edge of the car park and rearranged her load.

  An hour’s hike to the base of the first climb, and from there she’d follow the course Keith had set, the first few pitches ones she knew she could handle.

  The sun was beginning to warm the rock by the time she reached the face where she’d freaked out, her emotions sent into a tailspin by a falling stone. Geneva rested against the wall of rock, feeling its contours against her back as she stared out across the pleats of distant farmland, and closer, the lower slopes of the mountain. She reached for her water bottle. She’d look at the pitch ahead when she was ready.

  Sweat had gathered between her shoulder blades and her hair was damp with it. Wiping her face on her shirt, Geneva closed her eyes and breathed. Sun-warmed rock, lichen, the sharp tang of the air itself that you could only pick out once you got beyond the tree-line. The water ran in a cold rivulet to her stomach. She ate a snack bar and stretched her arms.

  This time. Second time lucky. ‘It’s nothing to do with luck,’ Stephen said in her head. ‘You can do this. Easy.’

  Adjusting her pack, checking her gear, Geneva prodded at her doubt. The first rule of climbing was that you didn’t do it alone.

  ‘It’s only alone that you really feel it,’ Stephen argued. ‘You felt it already, on the way up here. You felt that pull: just you and the rock.’

  Geneva nodded. Somewhere below a cicada sang, heralding summer. Without asking herself why, she bent and gathered a handful of stones, scooping them into a miniature cairn. There was a proper cairn higher up, marking the place where Stephen had fallen. In her pack she had a stone she’d chosen from the old campsite at the river that she was planning to add to it. This was something different. This was her end of the conversation he’d begun. She wasn’t on her own.

  Turning, Geneva laid her palm against the rock face and smiled.

  She reached the top of the pitch without any difficulty and moved on, eager. She had it now: it felt right, just the way Stephen had described it to her. ‘Flowing with the rock,’ he’d called it.

  There were chocks in place on the next two pitches. Geneva didn’t take any risks. She te
sted every hold but she knew they’d be fine. Everything would be fine. She felt invincible.

  When she reached the cairn she stared at it in surprise, wondering how she’d got there so quickly. It seemed only minutes since she’d left the ledge where she, Angus and Keith had turned back. When she looked at her watch she was amazed to find that more than an hour had passed.

  Dropping her pack, Geneva dug out the stone she’d carried, unwrapping it carefully from the folds of her jacket. The cairn, when she approached it, didn’t seem to mean anything — there was no recognition, no voice, no mystical revelation. There was a plaque. She read it; the name, the dates. It didn’t feel real. She studied the river stone she’d chosen. It was rounded and grey with a swirl of concentric ovals shadowed charcoal-dark along one side. With both hands she laid it carefully on the cairn.

  Nothing. No grief. No epiphany.

  Shrugging into her pack, Geneva looked around. The mountain stretched languorously above, neutral in its judgements.

  ‘Okay,’ she said aloud. The surrounding slopes seemed to absorb her voice. Without being conscious of making a decision, Geneva found her feet carrying her along the track that ran in a thin line across the plateau where the cairn stood. When she reached the foot of the next pitch, she flexed her fingers and reached to find a handhold.

  Hunger stopped her. The climbing had been easy: a few hard pinches, but she still felt unstoppable. Choosing a sheltered cranny she pulled a warm top over her sweat-dampened polyprop and settled down to eat. The wind had come up slightly and clouds were drifting in, high up and unthreatening, but as their shadows touched her the temperature dropped.

  Reaching for the lunchbox she’d filled to overflowing with sandwiches and snack bars, Geneva’s fingers found the necklace Stephen had given her last birthday. At the last minute she’d slipped it in with her gear, tucking it inside her pack to keep it safe. The polished stones felt smooth and cool. She held each one, counting them off like a rosary. One of the largest was similar in tone to the reddish pebbles by her feet. ‘But not from here,’ she said aloud. ‘You never made it this far.’