Shadow of the Mountain (11 page)

‘That boy,’ her mother’s voice came from behind her. ‘He was here before. At the time I thought — I saw you with him,
by the pool, and I thought —’

All of a sudden Geneva understood. ‘Oh, Mum!’ She turned and wrapped her arms around her mother, feeling how frail she’d grown, her bones poking sharp beneath her skin. She knew, at last, why her mother had fainted — it had been her fault, for not thinking things through. She never seemed to think things through; not the things that mattered.

When Geneva stepped back, tears were leaking slowly, aimlessly, from her mother’s eyes.

‘His name’s Angus,’ she said. ‘He’s a friend — or at least, he was. We had an argument.’

Her mother nodded. ‘He doesn’t look at all like Stephen really,’ she said. ‘It’s just I …’ Her voice trailed away.

‘Mum —’

Her mother waved a hand. ‘I know it’s not … I’m not …’ She turned abruptly and walked out of the room.

Geneva stared after her. Couldn’t her mother see that there was a present as well as a past? That Geneva needed her support, right now? Isn’t that what mothers were for?

It was too much. Turning on her heel she slammed out of the house. Her trainers crunched across the gravel then she was at the gate, her mind a whirl of emotion — anger,
mostly
, at everything and everyone. Turning right she began to run. Her feet carried her up the familiar track past the sheds, alongside the pine plantation, out over the paddocks. She ran till her side ached, till her knees hurt, till she couldn’t suck any more air into her lungs. Finally she stopped, bent double, wheezing for breath.

‘Oh, fuck it, Stephen!’ she gasped. ‘Why did you have to be so stupid? Why?’

Geneva sank to her knees and howled, tears pouring from her in raging gusts, just as they had when he’d died. Her weeping was wild and uncontrollable. She hadn’t cried that way for months.

By the time she’d drained herself of tears, of emotion, the light was beginning to fade and dull streaks of pink were laced through the clouds. Geneva lifted her head from her knees and looked about. Three startled pairs of eyes stared back at her across the brow of the nearest hill.

She gave a bark of laughter, a raw cracked sound. The sheep scattered. ‘It’s Stephen’s fault,’ she told their retreating backs. ‘If only he hadn’t been so damned stubborn, none of this would have happened.’

Wiping her face on the edge of her shirt, she stood up. Her head was pounding and she was shivering with cold. What had he been trying to prove? Slowly Geneva walked to the top of the rise and turned to face Kaitiaki. The dusk had
settled
now so that its slopes had been smoothed into simple planes, hiding the dips and folds. It looked like a child’s
drawing
of a mountain.

‘Stephen,’ she said quietly. ‘I can’t give up on you, not yet.’ Turning towards home, she forced her legs into a jog.

G
eneva jumped the two steps from the library, nearly dropping the book that Dayna had pushed into her hands.

‘You mean you haven’t read this?’ she’d said. ‘You’ve just got to! It is so good, even though it was written more than sixty years ago — which just shows how little changes when you get right down to it.’

Geneva glanced down at the cover. A girl’s eyes gazed back at her. It had been made into a movie, Dayna said. Her and movies! But she said the book was better.

Rounding the corner of the building Geneva came face to face with Kitty. They stood awkwardly, Kitty on crutches, her leg still heavily bandaged.

‘Hi,’ Geneva said at last.

Kitty nodded.

‘How’s the leg? It must be good to have the plaster off.’

Kitty lifted a shoulder. ‘They’re talking about doing
another
operation.’ She spoke as if it was of no great interest; as if it was someone else’s leg they were discussing.

Geneva nodded. ‘They know what they’re doing, I guess. What does your mum think?’

‘Oh, she’s happy. Got me right where she wants me.’
Geneva flinched at the bitterness in Kitty’s voice. ‘Got rid of Jax too. Haven’t heard a peep. That’s the bright side as far as she’s concerned.’

Geneva frowned. ‘I’m sure —’

‘Just forget it,’ Kitty snapped, her bag slipping from her shoulder and tangling with one of the crutches as she turned.

‘Here, let me —’ Geneva was already reaching forward.

‘No!’ It was almost a shout. Geneva drew back, startled. ‘I can manage,’ Kitty added, manoeuvring the bag back onto her shoulder.

A bell rang and the paths around them began to fill. Geneva saw Leonie come out of the tech block and start towards them. She was glad Kitty’s back was turned so she didn’t see Leonie notice them and veer away.

‘Are you going to Bio?’ she asked.

‘Student services. Toddler’s rest time.’

Geneva tried a smile. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘take care.’

There was no reply. As Geneva hurried towards her biology class she considered Kitty’s shell-shocked face, her flash of anger. Both emotions were familiar — too familiar, though in the past the situation had been reversed, with her, rather than Kitty, flailing about at the mercy of her emotions.

After school Geneva cycled to the SPCA. The ginger kittens she’d seen with her father were gone, but from another litter she picked out a small tan creature with dark chocolate stripes on its face and one paw. Its green eyes sparked as she lifted it from the cage.

‘I’d like this one,’ she said.

‘There’s a charge for vaccinations and desexing,’ the woman
said, ‘and you’ll need to fill out the paperwork. We like to be sure they’re going to a good home.’

Geneva nodded, fingers judiciously crossed. It was hard to predict how Kitty would react to anything these days.

Two days later, with the kitten tucked inside her schoolbag, she cycled across town. Sonya answered the door, her face blossoming into a smile. ‘Genna! How lovely to see you. Kitty’s lying down but —’

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.

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.