The Hike by Susi Holliday
Few circumstances are more afflicting than a discovery of perfidy in those whom we have trusted.
—Ann Radcliffe,
The Romance of the Forest (1791)
Prologue
SUNDAY MORNING
He is in much worse shape than she is. Half of his face is obscured by dried blood and muck. One of his eyes is puffed up and squeezed shut. His shorts and t-shirt are ripped. Muddied. Bloody. She knows she doesn’t look too great herself. Sweat patches under the arms of her sweatshirt. Grazes on her knees. She tries to stay focused. Keep the pain at bay.
They’re sitting, far apart, on the steps outside the wooden chalet-style building that allocates most of its space to an outdoor equipment shop. Only the small blue sign stuck on the wall to the right of the glassed entrance gives away what’s inside. She swivels around to read it, wincing as her back protests.
POLICE
Below that, another small sign stating that tourist-season opening hours are 11 a.m. to 12.30 p.m. and 3.00 p.m. to 4.30 p.m. Three hours to wait.
She turns back around, rests her elbows on her knees. Takes in the empty street. It’s still early in the village. Most people are probably tucked up in bed, while the early risers are starting on the croissants and coffee as they scroll through their phones and glance out of the windows, soaking up the views.
He coughs. ‘What now?’ His voice is ragged, hoarse. His breathing laboured. He needs medical attention.
She stands up, wipes a hand across her face, smearing the mud and tears that have replaced her make-up. She walks carefully around him, leans in close to the sign next to the door. ‘There’s a phone number here. For emergencies.’
He coughs again.
‘We don’t have phones, remember?’
She sighs. Walks away from him, glancing up and down the street. ‘Something must be open.’ She pauses. ‘I could go to the hotel.’
He shakes his head. ‘Not sure that’s a good idea, is it? You said we need to stick to the plan.’
She hesitates. Unsure. ‘Yes, but . . .’ Her eyes travel over him. His injuries. His pain. After everything that’s happened, maybe this is too much. ‘I could go somewhere else. Get help. We need assistance now, not in three hours . . .’ She walks further away from him, takes in the street filled with closed shops, hotels still sleeping, no public phones in sight. She starts to walk along the street. Her heart starts to beat faster. She could change the plan. It’s not too late. Is it? She glances back. He’s clinging on to the railing, trying to stand up.
He calls out to her, his voice barely a rasp. ‘Don’t leave me here. Please.’
She stops walking. She is torn. She turns back fully and takes a long look at him. He’s broken. Maybe enough is enough. She walks back to him, sits down on the step again. Lays a hand on his arm, guiding him back down. She shuffles across, lets him lean against her. Feels his warm body against hers. His breathing slows.
‘Thank you,’ he whispers.
Side by side they sit, waiting. They are in this together.
One
FRIDAY EVENING
If someone had asked Cat Baxendale to draw a typical Alpine village, then Villars-sur-Ollon would be it. Pointy-roofed wooden chalets, swathes of lush greenery. Pine trees as far as the eye could see and, behind it all, framing the scene, the jagged-topped mountains; majestic and looming. The August heat was stifling, but the Swiss Alps remained snow-capped all year round. In winter, the whole vista would turn from green to white. But on this blue-skied summer’s day, cold weather and ski boots were the last things on her mind. All Cat could think about was a glass of chilled white wine outside one of the pretty Alpine bars, soaking up that killer view.
Cat had spent a lot of time planning this trip, making sure that every little detail was perfect. It was almost a shame that things would inevitably end on a sour note, but she’d had enough. She wasn’t going to put up with the situation for one day longer. Well, two days, actually. At least this evening would be fun for them all before she lit the touchpaper.
The drive from Geneva Airport had been quicker than expected, hardly more than an hour. The tall grey buildings and advertising billboards on the fringes of the city had soon made way for open roads and parched green fields. The ascent up the mountain had been exhilarating and twisty, and often precarious, but before they knew it, they’d arrived in the village and Cat was inwardly bouncing with excitement before they’d even stopped the car.
She had never been to Switzerland before, but her year-long stint in France as an exchange student meant that her language skills should just about hold up, as long as the group didn’t veer into the German-or Italian-speaking regions. Her three companions – her husband, Paul, her younger sister Ginny, and Ginny’s husband, Tristan – seemed less enthused. Paul, because he’d been green with travel sickness since they’d got into the hire car, and the other two because they’d been bickering since the departure lounge at Heathrow. It wasn’t unusual for Tristan and Ginny to fall out, but luckily it usually passed quickly, like a cloud on a windy day. Cat’s plan would definitely lead to more than a bit of bickering, however, and the thought of that cheered her even more. Her sister, of course, remained oblivious, despite Cat’s obvious glee.
‘Let’s just dump the bags and head out,’ Ginny said, yanking her small suitcase out of the back of the car and dropping it on the pavement. ‘I have an urgent need for cheese and wine.’