Sophie Kinsella's Shopaholic 5-Book Bundle (135 page)

I head upstairs and cautiously push open the door to her bedroom. It’s immaculate. Plain cotton duvet cover, plain cotton curtains, a couple of boring prints.

“Here.” Jim is behind me. “You want to see Jess’s real passion? Take a look at this.”

He heads over to a door set into the wall of the landing, then turns the key and beckons me over.

“Here are the famous rocks,” he says, swinging the door open. “She had this cupboard made especially to house them. Designed it herself down to the last detail, lights and all. Makes an impressive sight, don’t you think . . .” He trails off in surprise at my face. “Becky? Are you OK, love?”

I can’t speak.

It’s my shoe cupboard.

It’s my shoe cupboard, exactly. The same doors. The same shelves. The same lights. Except instead of shoes displayed on the shelves, there are rocks. Rows and rows of carefully labeled rocks.

And . . . they’re beautiful. Some are gray, some crystal, some smooth, some iridescent and sparkling. There are fossils . . . amethysts . . . chunks of jet, all shiny under the lights. . . .

“I had no idea. . . .They’re stunning.”

“You’re talking about passion?” Jim laughs. “This is a true passion. An obsession, you might say.” He picks up a speckled gray rock and turns it over in his fingers. “You know how she got that leg injury of hers? Clambering after some blasted rock on a mountain somewhere. She was that determined to get it, she’d risk her own safety.” Jim grins at my expression. “Then there was the time she was arrested at Customs, for smuggling some precious crystal in under her jumper. . . .”

I gape at him.

“Jess?
Arrested?
”

“They let her off.” He waves a hand. “But I know she’d do it again. If there’s a particular kind of rock that girl wants, she has to have it.” He wrinkles his brow in amusement. “She gets a compulsion. It’s like a mania! Nothing’ll stop her!”

My head is spinning. I’m staring at a row of rocks, all different shades of red. Just like my row of red shoes.

“She keeps all this pretty quiet.” Jim puts down the speckled rock. “I guess she thinks people wouldn’t understand—”

“I understand.” I cut him off in a shaky voice. “Completely.”

I’m trembling all over. She’s my sister.

Jess is my sister. I know it more certainly than I’ve ever known anything.

I have to find her. I have to tell her. Now.

“Jim . . .” I take a deep breath. “I need to find Jess. Right away.”

“She’s doing the sponsored endurance hike,” Jim reminds me. “Starts in half an hour.”

“Then I have to go,” I say in agitation. “I have to see her. How do I get there? Can I walk?”

“It’s a fair way away,” Jim says, and cocks his head quizzically. “Do you want a lift?”

Twenty-one

I knew we were sisters. I knew it. I
knew
it.

And we’re not just sisters—we’re kindred spirits! After all those false starts. After all those misunderstandings. After I thought I would never have one single thing in common with her, ever.

She’s the same as me. I understand her.

I understand Jess!

Everything Jim said chimed a chord. Everything! How many times have I smuggled pairs of shoes in from America? How many times have I risked my own safety at the sales? I even got a leg injury, just like her! It was when I saw someone heading for the last reduced Orla Kiely purse in Selfridges, and I leapt off the escalator from about eight steps up.

God, if I’d just seen her rock cupboard earlier. If I’d
known
. Everything would have been different! Why didn’t she tell me? Why didn’t she explain?

Abruptly I have a memory of Jess talking about rocks on our first-ever meeting . . . and again at the flat. And I feel ashamed. She did try. I just didn’t listen, did I? I didn’t believe her when she said they were interesting. I said rocks were . . . stupid. And boring. Just like her.

“Can we go any faster?” I say to Jim. We’re rattling along in his ancient Land Rover, past grassy slopes and drystone walls, heading higher and higher into the hills.

“Going as fast as we can,” he says. “We’ll be in time, easy.”

Sheep are scattering off the road as we thunder along, and small stones are hitting the windscreen. I glance out the window—and quickly look away. Not that I’m afraid of heights or anything, but we seem to be approximately three inches away from a steep drop.

“All right,” says Jim, pulling into a small parking area, with a crunch of gravel. “This is where they’re starting. And that’s where they’re climbing.” He points to the steep mountain looming above us. “The famous Scully Pike.” His phone rings, and he reaches for it. “Excuse me.”

“Don’t worry! Thanks!” I say, and wrench open the door. I get out and look around—and just for a moment I’m floored by the scenery.

Craggy rocks and peaks are all around, interspersed with patches of grass and crevasses, and all are overshadowed by the mountain—a stark, jagged outline against the gray sky. As I peer across the valley, I feel a sudden swooping, a bit like vertigo, I suppose. I honestly hadn’t realized quite how high up we are. There’s a little cluster of houses visible far below, which I guess is Scully, but apart from that, we could be in the middle of nowhere.

Well, come to think of it, we
are
in the middle of nowhere.

I hurry across the gravel to a small level patch where a table has been set up, with a banner reading
SCULLY ENVIRONMENTAL GROUP ENDURANCE HIKE, REGISTRATION
. Behind the table two yellow flags mark the foot of a path leading up the mountain. A man I don’t recognize is sitting at the table in an anorak and flat cap. But apart from that, the place is empty.

Where
is
everybody? God, no wonder they don’t have any money, if no one turns up for the sponsored walks.

“Hi,” I say to the man in the anorak. “Do you know where Jess Bertram is? She’s one of the walkers. I really need to speak to her.”

I’m totally wound up with anticipation. I cannot wait to tell her! I cannot wait to see her face!

“Too late, I’m afraid,” the man says, and gestures up the mountain. “She’s gone. They’ve all gone.”

“Already? But . . . the hike starts at eleven. It’s only five to!”

“It started at half past ten,” corrects the man. “We brought it forward because of the poor weather. You’ll have to wait. It’ll only be a few hours.”

“Oh.” I subside in disappointment and turn away. “All right. Thanks.” It’ll be OK. I can wait. I can be patient. It’s not that long, really, a few hours.

Yes, it is. A few hours is
ages
. I want to tell her
now
. I gaze up at the mountain in frustration, only to spot a couple in matching red anoraks, a few hundred yards up. They’ve got bibs with
SCULLY ENVIRONMENTAL GROUP
on them. They’re part of the hike. And look, a little beyond them, there’s a man in blue.

My mind is working quickly. They haven’t got that far. Which means Jess hasn’t got that far either. Which means . . . I could catch up with her. Yes!

This kind of news can’t wait a few hours. I mean, we’re sisters. We’re real, genuine sisters! I have to tell her immediately.

I hoist my Angel bag firmly on my shoulder, hurry to the start of the steep mountain path, and look up at it. I can climb this. Easy. There are rocks to hold on to and everything. I take a few tentative steps—and it’s not hard at all.

“Excuse me?” The man in the anorak stands up in agitation. “What are you doing?”

“I’m joining the hike. Don’t worry, I’ll sponsor myself.”

“You can’t join the hike! What about your shoes!” He points at my turquoise kitten heels in horror. “Do you have a cagoule?”

“A
cagoule
?” I pull a face. “Do I look like someone who would have a cagoule?”

“What about a stick?”

“I don’t need a stick,” I explain. “I’m not
old
.”

Honestly. It’s only walking up a hill. What’s the fuss?

Just to prove it to him, I start clambering up the path in earnest. The ground is a bit slimy with drizzle, but I stick my kitten heels into the mud as hard as I can and grab on to the rocks lining the path—and in about two minutes I’m already past the first bend.

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 blows 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!