Читать книгу The Blame Game - C.J. Cooke - Страница 22

It’s decided: we’ll spend the next three nights in Chamonix learning stuff like what to do in an avalanche (‘Duck?’ Theo offers), crevasse rescue (‘It’s called chucking a rope down there, mate,’ Luke says), and belay techniques, or in other words, we’ll be drinking our body weights in vodka and singing German folk songs, with some token ice pick swinging in between.

This morning we’re joining a crowd of fifteen other climbers led by a mountain guide named Sebastian who is taking us up the Aiguilles Rouges for some mixed climbing techniques. This part of the Alps reminds me of Ben Nevis in Scotland, or the Lake District – a palette of earthy brown and velvety green, with gentle rises and pockets of snow in the nooks of distant peaks. Mountains stretch as far as the eye can see, no sign of human life anywhere. Just our little group swallowed up in the mountains.

It’s a warm sunny day without much of a breeze, but Sebastian has us all geared up as if we’re approaching the summit – helmets, crampons, ice picks, the lot. Still, I get to watch the sun rise over the mountains, a rich, yolky light breaking over the crystalline towers, bright rays the length of motorways pouring across the valley. It’s pretty awesome. Enough to make me feel more at ease around Helen.

‘Where did you meet Luke and Theo?’ she asks me amiably, once we’ve settled into our stride. ‘I mean, I know you all go to Oxford but did you know each other before?’

‘Nah. We’re all on the University rowing team,’ I tell her. ‘Ugly here got us all into climbing. Didn’t you, Luke? We did Ben Nevis last year.’

He grins. ‘Dragged you and Theo kicking and screaming up Ben Nevis, more like.’

‘We’re doing Kilimanjaro next. Then Everest,’ I tell her, and she looks impressed.

‘Wow, Everest,’ she says, glancing at Luke, who clearly hasn’t mentioned any of this to her. ‘I don’t think I’ll be going on that trip!’

Oh, are you sure? I want to say in a voice dripping with sarcasm. What a pity.

‘Come on, you lot!’ a voice shouts. The guide, Sebastian. He’s made the group stop on a massive rock ledge overlooking a sapphire lake. We take off our helmets and rucksacks and start to set up the stove, but Sebastian shouts at us again.

‘This is not the lunch stop,’ he says. ‘First, we learn how not to die. Second, we eat. OK?’

Sounds fair.

Helen stands close to the front of the group, watching Sebastian as he demonstrates how to make a top managed belay site.

‘If you need to lower into a gorge, you need to set up an anchor,’ he says, looping a figure eight of rope around a tree by the edge. ‘You clove hitch yourself into the shelf which enables protection at the edge. My belay device clips into the masterpoint. I need two lockers on the masterpoint – use a small carabiner for this to redirect the brake strand, OK?’ He holds up a carabiner and links it to the shelf. I take a peek over the edge. Quite a distance to the bottom.

‘Now, for a demonstration. Who will be my volunteer?’

A nervous laugh ripples among the crowd.

‘You,’ Sebastian says, gesturing for me to step forward.

‘What, me?’ I say, glancing around.

‘We’re going to cover what happens in the event of an arête shearing your rope, OK?’

Luke laughs and shoves me forward. One of the more outspoken blokes in the crowd – the South African fella with purple dreads – raises a hand. ‘An arête? What is this?’

‘An arête is a knife-edged ridge,’ Seb says. ‘If your rope is rubbing back and forth on this, what do you think will happen?’

‘It’ll break,’ everyone murmurs.

He holds up a worn piece of rope and demonstrates. ‘Snap!’ He turns to me and gestures at me to lower down off the side of the cliff. I’m not feeling overly confident about this right now. Still, I hook myself to the rope and try not to look too terrified as I lower down, eyeing the rope fearfully as it tightens around the tree. He lowers me down about twenty feet – which feels like a hundred feet – when suddenly I feel the rope go slack. My feet slip against the smooth rock and I scramble wildly to find something to hold on to. There’s a chink in the rock face and I dig my fingers into it, my heart thumping like there’s a box of frogs in my chest.

A few moments later, Sebastian shouts at me to climb back up. The rope tightens and I scramble back up there like Spiderman.

Everyone applauds and I try not to faint.

‘So, you see,’ Sebastian informs the group. ‘It’s important you know how to make a secure anchor when descending, but even more important is making sure your rope doesn’t run over any sharp edges. If you find yourself in a no-fall zone, the number one rule is …?’

‘Don’t fall!’ everyone shouts.

Back in Chamonix, Luke announces at the bar that he’s paid for us all to sleep in one of the dorms – we’d been camping outside but he says it’s a better idea to stay indoors. ‘Call it insurance,’ he says. ‘We don’t want somebody forgetting to stub out their cigarette because they’re too drunk to think straight. We might all end up without any gear.’ We both turn to Theo, who says, ‘What?’

‘Don’t play innocent,’ Luke says, shuffling a deck of cards. ‘You know you almost set the house on fire last weekend. Every time you get drunk you set your cigarette on the edge of the sofa or on the frigging mattress.’

‘Don’t remember,’ Theo says with a shrug.

‘Don’t remember?’ Luke laughs. ‘The corner of the sofa was on fire, mate. It was starting to climb up your trouser leg. I grabbed a glass of water that turned out to be vodka, almost chucked it over you. You can imagine how that would have gone.’

‘You going to deal or what?’ Theo says, a fag bobbing between his lips, nodding at the pack of cards in Luke’s hands. He begins to deal.

‘What are we playing?’ I ask.

‘What are we drinking?’

‘Gin.’

‘Gin rummy, then.’

‘Why not poker?’ Theo asks.

‘Fine, poker.’

‘Where’s Helen?’ I say. ‘Isn’t she joining us?’

Luke deals. ‘She’s reading. Doesn’t want to impose.’

The gin has warmed me up, broken down my hostilities. ‘Mate, I don’t mind if she wants to come.’

Luke gives me a dark stare. ‘I don’t know what drug you’re taking but it’s making lies fall out of your mouth.’

‘I’m serious. Where is she? Invite her down here.’

Luke shakes his head. ‘She won’t come. She’s got an early start with one of the trainers on the slopes.’

‘She’s training?’ Theo says.

‘Yeah. She doesn’t want to rely on me when we’re doing the tough parts. She’s independent, mate.’

I sit with that for a moment. A sense of guilt has crept in, my words about her being a leech and a millstone starting to nip at my conscience. I figured that she was Luke’s trophy girlfriend, but with every hour that I spend in her company I find all my assumptions being scratched away. She seems hard-working, independent, and pleasant to be around. Even better is that so far Luke has been on top form, joking around and insisting on paying for everything. I’m putting it all down to Helen being here.

I stare at my cards. Not a great hand. My high card’s the queen of hearts.

‘You seem really into this chick,’ I tell Luke, only realising once I’ve said it how childish it sounds.

‘Thanks, mate. She’s my girlfriend so it’s probably a good thing that I’m into her. If you know what I mean.’

‘How long you been … you know …?’

‘Seven months.’

‘A long time to keep her away from your best mate,’ I say. I think about mildly accusing him of either lying or being possessive but think better about it.

He shrugs. ‘She lives in London. And when she’s in Oxford we don’t exactly want any extra company, if you know what I mean.’

Theo and I share a look. ‘So, we probably shouldn’t bring up any of the one-night stands you’ve had in that time?’ Theo adds.

‘Not unless you want me to mention the essay I helped you write for Comparative Literature last term. The Dean might not like that so much.’

I play my queen of hearts. Luke sets down a queen of spades and an ace.

He wins.

The next day the three of us are badly hungover. Luke and Theo say they’ll give the training a miss, but I spot Helen, all geared up in a fluorescent pink shell suit heading off to the practice slopes with the rest of the climbers.

‘Hey! Helen! Good morning!’ I say, waving like an idiot.

She turns to the sound of her name. Sees me, waves. ‘Hi, Michael. Have a good night?’

I nod and slap my forehead. ‘Paying for it now, though.’

Another smile.

I am restless all day. Even when I join another climbing group with some French dudes who are eager to practise rope skills I feel distracted, my thoughts spiralling off in all directions.