Shadow of the Mountain (9 page)

A
ngus leaned back, elbows propped on the wooden bench behind them. ‘Mum wants you to come for dinner,’ he said, his eyes fixed on the game. ‘She says she’d like to get to know you properly.’

Geneva took a sip from her polystyrene cup. The coffee was sludgy and barely lukewarm. A ragged cheer turned her eyes towards the hockey pitch: the Wakefield team had scored a goal. She didn’t know much about hockey, but it had felt like a lifeline in fog when Angus texted to say he was coming to Waimana to watch the district semi.

Putting the cup between her feet she folded her arms on her knees, hunching against the breeze that gusted
sporadically
around the end of the stand. The wooden seat creaked as Angus shifted and Geneva turned her head to look at him.

‘What do you think?’ she asked.

‘It’s up to you. She can be fairly intense, but personally I’d be more worried about the cretin.’

Despite some bizarre phone conversations, Geneva
doubted
Blair could be as bad as Angus made out. It was the big picture that worried her: she wasn’t sure she was emotionally resilient enough for a full-on family dinner. And aside from that, it felt as if they were leap-frogging something.

‘Do you want to go somewhere when this is over?’ Angus asked, changing the subject. ‘Or we could go and see Kitty if you want.’

Geneva shook her head sharply. ‘She made it fairly clear, last time, she doesn’t want me to visit.’

‘How come?’

Geneva swallowed. The memory was still too fresh.

‘Hey,’ Angus said, nudging his shoulder against hers. ‘Are you okay?’

Geneva nodded. ‘Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just — she’s angry, I guess, and I happened to be in the firing line.’

He nodded. ‘Don’t let it get to you. She’ll get it sorted.’

Geneva straightened. She hadn’t realised how tightly she’d been folded in on herself.

‘People aren’t always rational,’ Angus said.

Remembering her panic in the hospital, Geneva nodded. Angus shot her his lopsided grin. ‘So …?’

She smiled, the shadows receding ‘We could drive out to Kincaid Beach,’ she suggested. ‘It’s not far from here.’ The last time they’d been there had been with Kitty and Jax, and she’d thought that Angus was going to kiss her.

Angus grinned. ‘This’ll be over in a couple of minutes. How about we get out now, before the rush?’

Maybe he was thinking about their last visit to Kincaid too. She smiled. ‘Fine by me,’ she answered. ‘Actually, I think I lost the thread of the game somewhere along the line.’

‘Yeah,’ he grinned. ‘So did the school team.’

The waves were tall and grey, collapsing down on the shingle in an explosion of spray and sound. Last winter a tourist had drowned here, dragged into the water by a freak wave as she walked along the beach.

Geneva and Angus sat in the car, safe from the risks — or those risks. Geneva’s stomach felt uneven. They’d talked on the drive, about hockey and school and climbing, but as soon as they turned into the empty parking area above the beach a silence had fallen over the car like a net.

Angus was holding the steering wheel, his thumb tapping a rhythm as he studied the wide sweep of ocean beyond the thundering breakers. He cleared his throat. ‘You know when you rang the other day, and Blair answered,’ he began, then hesitated, his arm, his whole body, stiff. ‘When he came to find me, he said my girlfriend was on the phone.’

Geneva nodded. Blair hadn’t bothered to wait till he was out of earshot before he’d yelled for Angus. She’d assumed that he intended it that way.

Angus turned to look at her. ‘I told him we were just friends.’

Geneva looked away, unable to think of a response.

‘I wouldn’t mind if you were,’ Angus said.

‘What?’ Her eyes swung back to him. ‘Just a friend?’

Angus studied his thumb.

‘Or, not just a friend?’ she added.

‘Yeah. That.’

Geneva felt as if her insides were being unwound. ‘I wouldn’t mind either,’ she said.

Angus grinned, his eyes still on the steering wheel. With a sudden burst of energy he sprang out of the car and bounded
round to the passenger side, his fingers tapping the bonnet as he passed. Opening the door he took hold of Geneva’s hands and pulled her upwards.

‘Needed some air,’ he murmured, as he linked his fingers through hers.

Geneva nodded, shivering in the bitter wind. Angus leaned forward and kissed her lightly, like a question. His breath was warm and she smiled, taking in the details of his face as he drew back. The wind whipped her hair into her eyes and Angus raised his hands and caught it, holding it captive behind her neck. Geneva slipped her arms experimentally around his waist. When he kissed her again, she kissed him back. Thoroughly.

‘I’ve been wanting to do that for ages,’ he said eventually.

Geneva nodded. ‘I’m glad you finally did.’ A few spots of rain fell onto her face. ‘It’s going to rain.’

Angus stared skyward and nodded. ‘Yep.’ With his hands on Geneva’s hips he turned and slid into the passenger seat,
pulling
her after him.

There was no room for her knees. She swivelled inwards, closing the door. ‘I don’t think these seats are designed for two,’ she said. ‘Are you sure I’m not squashing you?’

‘I’m not complaining,’ he said, wrapping his arms around her waist.

Geneva traced the scar on his jaw with one finger. ‘How’d you get that?’ she asked.

‘Fight with a corrugated iron fence when I was a kid.’

She grimaced.

‘I had about eight stitches. The doctor said an inch or two either way and I’d have cut my throat or lost my nose.’

‘Lucky.’

Angus tightened his arms and she settled back against his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heart against her shoulder. The rain fell steadily, slashing in against the windscreen and running in complicated rivulets down the glass.

‘Last time we were here was with Kitty and Jax,’ Angus said at last.

Geneva nodded. She hadn’t been thinking about Kitty, not directly. Angus lifted her hand from where it lay in her lap, exploring her palm with his thumb. ‘It’ll work out all right,’ he said.

She nodded, trying to find a way into what she wanted to tell him; to words that held the key to the panic she’d felt in the hospital. She looked up. His face was so close she could see the pores of his skin and a tiny patch of stubble he must have missed when he was shaving. Talking was suddenly the last thing she felt like doing. Nothing mattered, next to this, Geneva thought, tilting her face to kiss him.

The next time she noticed it, the rain had settled into a steady rhythm and the sky held a shadow of pink on its grey belly.

Angus cleared his throat. ‘You can’t bike home in this.’

‘I haven’t got any wet weather gear,’ she agreed, ‘but you’ve got to have the car back by six.’ She studied her watch. ‘It’s already after five.’

Angus nodded. ‘We should get going.’ As she started to move, his arms tightened around her. ‘Soon,’ he added.

W
hen they pulled up on the gravel in front of her house, Geneva hesitated. ‘Do you want to come in?’ she asked.

Angus shook his head. ‘I’d better not. Mum’ll do her “you’re-letting-yourself-as-well-as-others-down” speech if I’m too late. Say hi to your parents for me.’

Geneva nodded.

‘See you Wednesday?’ Angus asked.

She smiled.

Geneva’s father was in the kitchen, his arms immersed in a sink of froth. ‘I was worried you’d be washed away,’ he said, nodding towards the window. ‘I rang to see if you wanted to be picked up but your phone was off.’

Geneva nodded. ‘Angus drove me. I mostly keep the phone switched off.’ She hesitated. She hadn’t talked to anyone about the anonymous messages. There hadn’t been any more. ‘I got a few weird texts,’ she said. ‘I’m pretty sure they were from a couple of the girls at school.’

Her father frowned. ‘Weird silly or weird abusive?’

She reached for a tea-towel. ‘Weird childish.’

‘The culture of the young,’ her father mused. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I think mobiles are great in certain circumstances,
but I’ve never understood the texting thing.’

Geneva watched the bubbles slide down the side of a baking dish.

‘So, if you know who’s sending these messages, can you report them?’

She was beginning to wish she hadn’t raised it. ‘I haven’t had any since Kitty’s accident. I think it was a friend of hers, jealous I guess,’ she said. ‘It’s no big deal.’ That wasn’t the way she’d felt when she’d first read them, but it would take more than the memory of a few childish insults to dampen her present mood. She bent to put the dish in the cupboard
beneath
the sink. ‘Have we got mice?’ she asked, judiciously changing the subject. ‘It’s a bit stinky in here.’

Her father bent beside her. ‘I’ll put some baits out.’

They’d always had a problem with mice, kept in check through Geneva’s childhood by two lean tabbies they’d rescued from the SPCA one Christmas. ‘Maybe we should get another cat,’ Geneva suggested.

‘Mmm. And a new number for your phone,’ her father said. Geneva gave a mock groan and started on the plates. ‘You’ll tell me if you have any more problems, won’t you?’ he persisted.

She smiled. Having her father back might prove a mixed blessing, but on balance she preferred his misplaced concern to the vacant space where her parents should have been. And one was better than none, she decided.

‘What?’ he asked, watching her expression.

‘Nothing.’

And suddenly they were both laughing.

There was a litter of kittens, shades of ginger and grey, as well as a row of adult cats in unappealing metal cages. Geneva stood in front of them, her thoughts tangled. Just as they left, Sonya had rung to say that Kitty was back at home, propped on the couch with a stack of DVDs. Geneva had found the unspoken invitation to come around easy to ignore. After Kitty’s outburst at the hospital, she had no illusions about the welcome she’d receive.

Standing in front of the mewling kittens, Geneva found herself wondering how both mother and daughter would cope.

‘What do you think?’ her father asked. ‘Can you be bothered with toilet training, or should we get a full-grown cat?’

‘Kitty might like one too,’ Geneva said.

Her father turned. ‘Did Sonya say how long she’ll be off school?’

‘A few weeks — it depends. She might need another operation later on.’ Suddenly impatient, Geneva tossed her head and moved away down the row, stopping in front of a black cat that prowled quietly at the back of its cage. Kitty’s accident had already absorbed too much space in her life. She didn’t intend to let it take up more. ‘How about this one?’ she suggested. ‘Are you a good mouser?’ she asked the cat.

‘Fine by me,’ her father replied. ‘We can get a kitten as well, if you like.’

Geneva took the cat from the woman in charge of the shelter. When she ran her hand along the animal’s spine, it accepted her caress as no more than its due.

‘This one came to us from a good home,’ the woman
explained, closing the cage door, ‘a couple who were moving overseas. I’m sure you’ll find her an easy addition to the family. Her name’s Inez.’

Geneva stroked the cat under the chin, wondering how her mother would feel about a pet, and whether they should have asked her before they made the decision.

‘Hey, Inez,’ she said.

‘Has she had her shots and been spayed?’ her father wanted to know.

Geneva walked back to the cage containing the kittens as he sorted out the details, Inez eyeing the tumbling mass of fur disdainfully from the security of her new owner’s arms. Next time Sonya rang, she’d mention the kittens.

M
iriam handed Geneva a stack of plates. ‘Thanks for helping with this. It’s amazing how a good example improves the level of local co-operation.’

Angus pulled a face behind his mother’s back before
turning
to rattle noisily in the cutlery drawer.

‘I’m sorry Daniel can’t be here — I know he’d love to meet you. He’s spent a lot of time off-shore this year: it’s really a bit much.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘You’re lucky you lead a more settled life.’

Geneva forced a smile.

‘And what about your friend,’ Miriam said. ‘How’s she getting on? I read that the young man involved in her accident has been charged with dangerous driving.’

Geneva nodded. Miriam’s barrage of questions was enough to induce claustrophobia.

‘I take it from the paper that he wasn’t badly injured,’
Miriam
continued. ‘Not that you can rely on the news media for accurate information.’

‘As far as I know he was only in hospital for a couple of days,’ Geneva said.

Miriam sighed. ‘He must feel awfully guilty,’ she said. ‘Young people just don’t seem to be getting the message about the
risks of combining cars and alcohol.’

‘Not just young people,’ Angus put in, his tone suggesting it was a debate they’d had before.

Geneva didn’t want to talk about how bad Jax must be feeling. ‘Do you mind if we —’

‘Of course!’ Miriam cried, flinging up her hands as if in surrender. ‘I’m sorry. It’s a bit raw still, I suppose.’

Startled by the dramatic pose, Geneva nodded dumbly.

‘Angus, you take Geneva off and entertain her for half an hour. I’ll call you when dinner’s ready.’

‘Wish I could get her to drop a subject that quickly,’ Angus said as they escaped to his room.

Curious, Geneva let her eyes roam the walls. Ceiling-high shelves overflowing with books and memorabilia took up most of one wall, while a cluttered desk offered a laptop, mp3 player and speakers, CD tower. A row of heavy duty hooks held climbing gear and other sports paraphernalia, the wall behind it papered with posters. A stark view of a rock face fronting a deep blue sky leapt out at her: she’d seen it before. Stephen had had it. Geneva looked away. The bed and floor were tidy — tidier than she’d expected; tidier than Stephen’s room had ever been.

Angus was watching her and Geneva suddenly felt nosey, as if he’d caught her spying. Walking across to the desk, she wondered whether his mother had intended that Angus entertain her in his bedroom — perhaps she thought they couldn’t get up to much in half an hour. Did she want to get up to much?

As she bent to read the spines of the CDs, Angus stretched past her, one hand resting lightly on her shoulder as he reached
for the mp3 player. Geneva felt a flush creep across her cheeks. It felt illicit, being in his bedroom, even with his mother’s tacit consent. Where was she supposed to sit? On the bed?

‘Any preferences?’ Angus asked. She’d shaken her head
before
she worked out that he was talking about music.

As Angus selected a track she was acutely aware of his nearness, and of the privacy of the space they were in. Her nerves disappeared. She did want to get up to — well perhaps not much, but remembering the last time they’d been alone together, at Kincaid Beach, at least that.

Angus returned the player to the desk, glancing at her as the first notes fell into the silence. Something in her
expression
must have communicated her thoughts. She could feel his reaction, flowing across the space between them. Scarcely aware of moving, Geneva lifted her fingertips to his cheek. The point of contact felt cold.

He moved towards her and her thumb touched his lips. Warmer. His hands found her waist. She felt strong, as if the world might do her bidding. Her hand slid down his neck to the firm line of his collarbone. She could feel his pulse jump beneath her palm. Angus cleared his throat.

‘Probably not what my mother had in mind,’ he said.

Grinning, Geneva kissed him.

The dining room was formal, its deep red walls oppressive. ‘Red encourages healthy digestion,’ Miriam said. ‘Did you know that different colours have different effects on the nervous system, Geneva?’

Although her nervous system didn’t seem to be responding
appropriately, Geneva nodded politely.

Miriam passed her a heavy serving platter. ‘Help yourself to more couscous — you must be hungry after all that exercise. Angus tells me you’re a good climber.’ Geneva forced her lips into a smile. ‘I’ve never really understood climbing,’ Miriam continued. ‘From my perspective it looks like consciously putting yourself at risk — but that’s the mother in me
speaking
. You’ll understand, no doubt, in years to come.’

Geneva shifted uncomfortably on the leather dining chair. Abstract paintings on all but one wall added bold splashes of colour to the décor. She wondered whether they each performed specific digestive tasks.

‘How’s your mother?’ Miriam asked, filling Geneva’s silence. ‘I do hope she’s recovered from her fall. Tell me, does she work outside the home?’

‘Just on the farm,’ Geneva answered, though she could scarcely remember the last time it had been true: docking back when Geneva was at primary school probably. She took a mouthful, hoping to put Miriam off asking any further questions.

‘Baaa,’ Blair said quietly.

Miriam ignored him. ‘Of course.’ She smiled. ‘It’s such a different life, isn’t it? Do you enjoy farming, Geneva?’

Swallowing hastily, Geneva nodded. ‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘It’s not what I plan to spend my life doing though.’

‘And before you ask, Mum,’ Angus intervened, ‘Geneva hasn’t yet decided what she wants to spend her life doing.’

‘Oops! I suspect that was a subtle hint from my darling son that I’m giving you the third degree, about which I have already been warned,’ Miriam said. ‘You’ll have to excuse my
curiosity,’ she added, smiling again at Geneva before turning her eyes mockingly towards Angus, ‘although some people call it conversation.’

He pulled a face and nudged Geneva’s foot under the table.

‘Conversation during dinner helps strengthen the social fabric,’ Blair announced, in tones that perfectly mimicked his mother.

‘Thank you, Blair.’ There was a note of warning in Miriam’s voice.

‘Could someone please pass the broccoli?’ Beth asked, her voice small and hesitant. Geneva reached for the red and blue pottery bowl, wondering whether the timing of the interruption was intentional. Somehow she doubted it. Beth had scarcely spoken since Geneva’s arrival, which tallied with Angus’s comment that she suffered from chronic shyness. She mumbled something indistinct as Geneva handed her the vegetables.

‘Bethany, darling, speak clearly,’ Miriam instructed.

Beth stared at her plate. She obviously hadn’t inherited her mother’s ease with communication, but Blair, on a roll, rapidly regained centre stage, allowing his sister to retire gratefully from the spotlight. ‘I haven’t decided what I want to do either,’ he announced, his expression deadpan. ‘I’m currently considering counselling.’

‘Blair.’

He ignored his mother. ‘Any issue can be resolved if you approach it the appropriate way,’ he said fervently, before leaning forward and dropping his voice conspiratorially. ‘Though one always has to acknowledge the role of the troubled childhood.’

‘That’ll do, I think,’ Miriam put in sharply, her tone belying the mildness of the words.

Geneva kept her head down. She had become so used to meals spent in almost total silence that the rigours of full-on family conversation were almost too demanding.

‘Diabolical, or what?’ Angus asked later as they crossed Riverslea Road to follow the curve of the stream it paralleled. ‘You can’t say I didn’t warn you.’

Geneva nodded. ‘It’s different to my place,’ she answered, hurrying on to avoid any questions about how and why. ‘But your brother has impeccable timing. He could have a future as a stand-up comic.’

‘He’s a one-off, that’s for sure. Actually, it’s amazing what he gets away with. I don’t think Mum really knows how to
handle
him — and believe me, that is not the norm.’ He hesitated. ‘Look, I’m sorry about rushing you off but I couldn’t face any more interrogation. Are you sure you don’t mind?’

She pulled a face of mock distress. ‘Just when I was really getting to know your family! I was hoping for some genuine bonding: a game of Monopoly, or charades, maybe.’

‘Don’t joke about it. She’d probably have got around to it, only there’d have been more of a psychoanalytic twist.’ Angus grinned and stretched an arm around her shoulders. ‘What time are you due back at Julia’s?’

‘Not for ages. She didn’t make it specific. I think your mother thought it was cute, when you offered to walk me home.’

‘I was hoping it’d encourage her to lend me the car.’

Above the line of trees that hugged the curve of the stream, the sky was darkening in a wash of pinks and greys, unmarred by the roof ridges and aerials that formed the skyline to either
side. As a car roared past, music thumping towards them in a brief soundbite, Geneva thought how different urban life was to the solitude of the farm.

‘So, tell me about this trip you and Keith are planning.’

Geneva turned startled eyes towards him. Keith had raised the subject after practice that afternoon. ‘Kaitiaki’s always been there, in my face,’ she said.

‘From what I’ve heard it’s a bit of an epic to make the summit, but if we’re just aiming for the Lizard — I guess that’s do-able.’

He’d assumed he was included, which saved any
awkwardness
in asking him. She’d been dreading the need to go into too much detail. There were things she hadn’t told Angus, and it was time she did.

‘It might be too soon,’ she fudged. ‘I’ve only just got into climbing again.’

‘Keith wouldn’t have put a timeframe on it if he didn’t think you were ready. And you’ve still got a couple of weeks.’ He turned to look at her. ‘You’ll just have to come over for some extra practices.’

They were approaching a knot of willows that reached down across the water. As if by agreement, their feet steered towards the seclusion they offered. ‘But next time,’ Angus added, turning to lace both arms around her, ‘let’s flag the family dinner.’

‘Suits me,’ she murmured, her thoughts already far from family dinners, though the words, she realised, held true: Angus suited her just fine. As for Kaitiaki: right now there were more pressing things to think about.