Shopaholic And Sister Part 42

"It's just one of those things." I try to keep the disappointment out of my voice. "I should have known all along. We're so different."

"You're different, all right." His face crinkles in amus.e.m.e.nt.

"She just seems so . . . cold." I hunch my shoulders, feeling a familiar resentment rising. "You know, I made every effort. I really did. But she never showed any pleasure . . . or feelings, even. She doesn't seem to care about anything! She doesn't seem to have any pa.s.sions!"

Jim seems surprised.

"Oh . . . Jess has got pa.s.sions," he says. "She's got pa.s.sions, all right. When we get to the house, I'll show you something."

He picks up the sack of potatoes and we resume walking up the hill. As we get nearer Jess's house, I start to feel tiny p.r.i.c.kles of curiosity. Not that she's anything to do with me anymore, but still.

As we reach the door, Jim roots in his pocket for a large key ring, selects a Yale key, and unlocks it. I walk into the hall and look around. But the place doesn't give much away. It's a bit like Jess herself. Two tidy sofas in the sitting room. A plain white kitchen. A couple of well-tended potted plants.

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 pa.s.sion? 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 s.h.i.+ny under the lights. . . .

"I had no idea. . . .They're stunning."

"You're talking about pa.s.sion?" Jim laughs. "This is a true pa.s.sion. 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 amus.e.m.e.nt. "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 c.o.c.ks 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.

G.o.d, 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 gra.s.sy 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 gra.s.s and creva.s.ses, 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 cl.u.s.ter 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? G.o.d, 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 antic.i.p.ation. 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! G.o.d, 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. G.o.d, 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 G.o.d. 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.

"s.h.i.+t!" 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 b.l.o.o.d.y 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 G.o.d. 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 cl.u.s.ter of rocks and grab on to a bush for support, wincing as it p.r.i.c.ks 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?