The One We Fell in Love With (4 page)

‘I’ve just met Mr Templeton’s grandson!’ I yelled, shoving open first Eliza’s bedroom door and then Rose’s. ‘Oh my God, he’s gorgeous!’ I
cried from the landing, straddling the space between their two bedrooms. ‘But don’t even think about stepping on my toes because he’s having lunch with me tomorrow and
I saw
him first
!’

Eliza was lying on her bed, half asleep, and barely looked up at me. Rose just tutted under her breath and continued with her homework at her desk.

It was only later, when they met him, that they realised what they’d lost, but by then it was too late. I’d already staked my claim on him.

Angus and I spent the whole day together that Saturday, wandering around Manchester after lunch and ending up at a pub until late into the evening. I was initially attracted to his looks and I
was pretty sure that he fancied me as much as I fancied him, but there was so much more to him than that. We clicked immediately and made each other laugh. As the day progressed, our jokey banter
transformed into more heartfelt conversation, and he confided in me about his family. I learned that he never knew his dad and his mum had raised him singlehandedly – he doted on her. She
lost her job recently and couldn’t afford the rent on their apartment in Brighton, so moving in with his ailing granddad seemed like a good solution. But Angus was gutted to be leaving his
home and his friends. He didn’t have a girlfriend. I asked. He had been seeing someone, but they’d broken up a few months ago.

Towards the end of the evening, our looks became longer and the sense of intimacy between us increased. The kiss we shared on the footpath outside our homes was sweet, and from that moment on,
we were an item. Neither Eliza nor Rose ever stood a chance.

‘Don’t you think Angus and Eliza are better suited than he and I are?’ I ask Josie now.

‘
What?!
No!’ she spluttered. ‘Of course they’re not! Why on earth would you say that?’

‘They have so much in common. They’re both such homebodies – he’s thrilled to be moving back to Manchester, but he’s dragging me, kicking and screaming. I’d
give anything to come and do another stint here instead,’ I say wistfully, looking out of the window at the mountains shrouded in darkness.

I like my job as a translator, and there’s big money in interpreting. It’s a high-pressure thrill to listen to a conversation through headphones in one language and then repeat it
simultaneously into a microphone in another, and I do have a knack for languages: I’m fluent in French, German and Spanish, now.

But when we move back to Manchester, I plan to make a start on my book. I’ve had an idea kicking around in my head for years, about a girl who falls for a modern-day magician. I’ve
kept notepads practically all my life and I still jot down my thoughts occasionally, in the hope that they’ll come in useful for future characters or settings.

But as I sit here now, I realise that even writing – however much I love it – pales in comparison to the rush that I used to feel when I lived here for those few months in the
mountains.

Dad always used to tell us to find our passion and then work out a way to do it. I haven’t climbed in so long. Have I lost sight of what I love?

I continue with what I was saying to Josie. ‘Also, Angus and Eliza are both really into their music, and you know how he’s always refused to try rock climbing. He won’t even go
skiing, for pity’s sake.’

‘Shut up,’ Josie interrupts me. ‘That’s all completely inconsequential. Angus loves you and you love him. It would be boring if you were the same.’

‘Maybe,’ I reply, and then Josie gasps, ‘Finally!’ at the sight of our approaching food.

As I move my wine glass aside to make room for the waitress, my thoughts drift back to when we first came here nearly a decade ago...

Josie and I had hit the ground running from the moment we’d arrived. After circulating our CVs to everyone under the sun, we walked straight into jobs as chambermaids for
a small hotel. We had a minuscule two-bedroom apartment in Cham Sud, nicknamed The Ghetto, in a dark-wood-clad six-storey apartment block. Our days kicked off early, when we’d trudge through
the snow with our pick-axes for a six-thirty start. We’d open up the hotel kitchen and lay out breakfast, then make beds, clean bathrooms and try to avoid the temptation of crawling under the
soft duvets to catch up on some sleep. By eleven thirty we’d be ready to head up the slopes with the eclectic group of Swedish snowboarders we’d fallen into step with. Sleep in the
early evening was an irritating necessity, but by nine thirty we’d be hitting the bars, drinking free shots and usually end up dancing on the tables. Midnight would see us move on to a club,
and at around four a.m. we’d head home for a quick kip before beginning it all again two hours later.

It was
sooooo
much fun.

I didn’t want to leave at Christmas, even temporarily, but our apartment was being rented out for the week by its owners and Mum and Dad would have been gutted, so I didn’t have much
choice. But the whole experience back home was hard.

For a start, I felt unusually disconnected from my sisters. I’d felt incredibly close to each of them individually for my entire life and I loved and trusted them more than anyone, but for
some reason, when we were back together again, we jarred. At the time, I wondered if we’d taken to our newfound independence to such an extent that we struggled to find ourselves back in each
other’s pockets.

Rose was certainly itching to get back to university in Portsmouth where she was doing a nursing degree. She rubbed me up the wrong way a few times, looking unimpressed when I talked about
dancing on tables and doing free shots. She acted like I was a silly girl, whereas she’d matured and grown up. She was a bit full of herself.

But Eliza was especially distant and cold towards me. I assumed at the time that she blamed me for leaving her, and I felt bitter in turn about being made to feel guilty. After all, she was the
one who chose to stay in Manchester to pursue her music career – nobody forced her.

The other thing that happened at Christmas was Angus and I broke up properly. Back in September, we had made a tearful but,
we
thought, mature decision to take a break from what had
been a very intense relationship. We had been distraught knowing we were going our separate ways – him to university in London and me to Europe before settling for the winter in Chamonix
– but we convinced each other that if it was meant to be between us, we would pick up again when I returned.

But, at Christmas, we decided to make the break permanent. We had barely been in touch during the three months we’d already spent apart, and Angus felt that he’d been putting his
life on hold for me and wanted a clean break. I was more upset than I let on, and I couldn’t wait to escape back to France.

I met Remy in January. He was French, but lived a couple of hours away in Turin with his Italian girlfriend and would come through the Mont Blanc tunnel on weekends to snowboard. He knew some of
the guys in our group so he hung out with us occasionally, but we didn’t speak much. Sometimes Josie and I would see him in his bright yellow ski jacket expertly navigating the slopes and we
wouldn’t be able to look away. When he was out of sight, we’d flash each other knowing grins. Remy was cool and talented and different to the other guys we knew with their piercings and
crazy-coloured hair. I adored them as mates, but I didn’t fancy any of them in the slightest.

Remy I was attracted to, I’ll confess to that. But I stayed out of his way because he had a girlfriend and, anyway, it would have been too soon after Angus.

Josie did hook up with a guy when we returned to Chamonix after Christmas, and when he went home to Birmingham in February she moped for weeks. We’d initially planned to remain abroad
until April, but she called it quits in March. He didn’t appreciate her dedication, sadly – they broke up soon afterwards.

I was sorry to see her go, but for me, my love affair was still with the mountains and I realised I had no immediate reason to leave. It was around this time that I became friends with
Cécile and she encouraged me to move into her apartment in Argentière, the next village along. I traded chambermaiding for a job behind a bar at
The Savoy
, a brilliant
après-ski venue that hosted live bands on a regular basis. But what I really wanted was to work on the Aiguille du Midi like Cécile. I couldn’t believe it when I landed the
contract.

The skiing and snowboarding my friends and I had done in winter gradually turned into rock climbing, hiking and mountain biking in the spring and summer. But the thought that I’d have to
go home and start university in London was always at the back of my mind.

I sigh and look out of the window again at the dark night beyond, while Josie tucks into her meal beside me. I’m no longer as hungry as I thought I was.

If things had turned out differently, I could still be living here. I can’t believe it’s taken me until now to return.

‘Phoebe?’

I glance away from the window and straight into the glacier-blue eyes of the one person in the world who I should be avoiding.

‘Hello, Remy,’ I reply, feeling oddly at peace as I stare back at him.

Rose

There’s a strange sort of melancholy in my heart as I gently place Eliza’s diary down on my stomach, trying not to dislodge any of the old concert tickets or scraps
of paper that meant something to her years ago. It’s late at night and I’m lying in bed, my eyes sore from the strain of keeping them open. Mum seemed keen for company after dinner, but
I was desperate to get back to my clandestine reading.

I have an unusual urge to give Eliza a hug. She’s still out at her gig and I’m tempted to wait up for her, but I’d only freak her out. She wouldn’t understand the reason
for the gesture and I wouldn’t be able to explain my sudden affection for her.

I had no idea she’d fallen so hard.

‘Fuck.’
That’s her opening word. And then:
‘It’s him. That guy from the park. He’s our new next-door neighbour. And Phoebe has a date with him
tomorrow. How the hell did that happen?!’

I just don’t understand why she never said anything. I mean, okay, Phoebe had lined up a date with Angus within minutes of meeting him and when Phoebe wants something, the rest of us tend
to step aside and offer our best wishes. She has that effect on people and no one holds it against her because she’s personable and popular, not bullish. Well, not usually, although she was
pushing it the day she met Angus with all her ‘I saw him first!’ nonsense.

But that’s the thing. Phoebe
didn’t
see him first. Eliza did. A whole year before he moved in.

She was at the local park and he was on the skateboard ramp. She sat and watched him for ages, but couldn’t pluck up the courage to say hello. She went back looking for him for months
afterwards, but never saw him again. Well, not until he bloody well moved in next door and, within minutes, her cherished Phoebe had got her claws into him.

Poor Eliza. She didn’t even try to fight for him.

Unlike me...

My face burns as a few choice memories flood my brain...

I didn’t meet Angus until the Saturday morning after he’d arrived. I’d gone outside to bring in the recycling box and he happened to be doing the same.
I’d just reached the footpath when I heard his front door slam.

‘Hey!’ he called, jogging lazily down his driveway towards me.

I hadn’t brushed my hair and was still wearing my dressing gown – mortifying.

‘Hello,’ I called back weakly, trying to hide my blushing face. But I caught his smile and couldn’t resist looking at him as he approached.

‘Let me guess. Rose?’ His eyebrows pulled together adorably. He was so tall – towering over me at about six foot two or three.

‘Yes,’ I replied, both surprised and flattered that he’d guessed right. ‘And you’re Angus.’

‘Yeah. No identical siblings to confuse
you
.’

His eyes were curious – stunning. It was both a struggle to look away and to make eye contact. His dark-blond hair fell just so across his forehead and I remember I had a strong desire to
run my fingers through it.

‘I heard my sister is taking you out later,’ I said, wanting to kick Phoebe.

‘Hopefully,’ he replied. ‘If she’s still up for it.’

‘I’m sure she is.’ I
knew
she was. She hadn’t stopped going on about it.

Maybe he sensed the downturn of my mood, because the next thing I knew, he was inviting me.

‘Come along, too, if you like?’

I could tell he meant it and I was genuinely tempted.

‘Oh, thanks!’ But Phoebe would kill me! ‘Um, maybe,’ I added, not committing either way. Perhaps Phoebe wouldn’t mind
too
much. ‘Guess I should go
and get dressed, in any case.’ I bent down and picked up our recycling box.

‘Maybe see you later then,’ he said amiably.

‘Maybe.’

I caught his eye again and my blush intensified.

Phoebe was still at the kitchen table eating breakfast with Dad when I went back inside. I casually mentioned that I’d met Angus and he’d invited me along today.

‘Oh no, you don’t,’ Phoebe said firmly, putting her spoon down in her bowl with a clatter.

‘What’s this?’ Dad asked, glancing up at me.

‘Rose is trying to get in on my date with Angus,’ Phoebe said and her unusually cold tone made me squirm.

‘Rose,’ Dad said, eyeing me with disappointment. I felt ashamed. Phoebe and Dad were very close and she had evidently already told him about her crush on the boy next door.

‘I didn’t say yes,’ I snapped at them both. ‘God!’

I stormed out of the room and we never spoke about it again.

I was still awake when Phoebe came in that night and I went to the landing and watched her moon her way up the stairs. I knew from the moment she looked up at me that they’d kissed. I
tried to be happy for her – I didn’t usually begrudge my favourite sister – but my heart sank. She always got the best of everything.