And now it seems we’re bringing one of Luke’s groupies along. This Helen. It was only meant to be the three of us. I’ve never even met her. She lives in London and Luke only sees her at weekends. I’ve nothing against girlfriends, or girls for that matter. I’m sure girls can climb just as well as blokes. But she’s never climbed before, and I know exactly what’s happened: she’s one of these possessive types that can’t let Luke out of her sight. He tends to date girls who’re messed up and needy, the ones who only came to Oxford because their folks pressurised them, wanting to make good on years of private school fees, but who are starting to go slightly crazy from the pressure. His last girlfriend got him into cocaine. I’m no angel but I draw the line at the hard stuff. That, and I don’t have any money.
Anyway, the point is that this trip is no stroll in the park. It takes training, strength, stamina and experience – with a good dollop of common sense – to climb Mont Blanc, and if I’m honest even I feel a wee bit intimidated. People have died doing this climb. I’ve spent the last three months training to make sure I’m up to it. What if she has an accident, or freaks out? What if she decides halfway up that she wants to go home? It’ll wreck the trip. A once-in-a-lifetime trip that’s costing an absolute fortune. Luke and Theo’s folks are loaded, so they don’t care how much it costs. But for some of us this means living on beans and toast for the next six months.
I thought Luke was kidding when he first mentioned about a girl tagging along. When it seemed he was actually serious, I tried to get him to see sense. Gently, then with more muscle. Meaning that I plied him with vodka.
‘This new girlfriend,’ I said, once he’d knocked back the fifth glass. ‘The one who’s apparently coming with us to the Alps. Won’t she feel a little like a third wheel?’
‘Fourth wheel,’ Theo corrected.
‘Don’t get what you mean,’ Luke said, lighting a cigar and swearing when the match burnt his fingers.
‘Not exactly a girl’s thing, is it? A twelve-day peregrination up a mountain.’
Luke sniffed at this. Peregrination was his word. He’s such a snob when it comes to language. Why say ‘trek’ when you can say ‘peregrination’?
Luke took a drag on the cigar and blew a thick O of smoke in my direction. ‘Helen’s up for it,’ he said. ‘She’s into that kind of thing.’
‘There aren’t any showers in the Alps. Twelve days without washing, mate. Girls can be a bit funny about that kind of thing. You sure she’s up for that?’
Luke leaned into me until his nose almost touched mine.
‘Michael, my love, she’ll be fine with that.’
‘Can she actually climb?’ I said.
A grim look. ‘Can you?’
‘This isn’t a walk in the park, Luke. It’s the highest mountain in Europe.’
‘It’s the highest mountain in Europe,’ he parroted in a high-pitched voice. ‘She’s fitter than you are, mate. She’s a ballet dancer. Fit as butcher’s dogs, those girls.’
‘I’m sure Helen’ll love being compared to a dog,’ Theo said.
‘Dancing’s hardly climbing, Luke.’
‘What I mean is, she’s athletic …’
‘I’m not risking my neck with an amateur.’
He frowned. ‘So you’re saying you won’t go if she does?’
I took a long drink of my beer, enjoying watching him sweat, his eyes turning nervously to Theo. The thing is, we work very well together as a trio, particularly as Luke finds his twin boring and strange. He spends most of his time trying to palm Theo off on to someone else, occasionally paying other guys to take Theo out for a beer, but Theo prefers to be in Luke’s shadow. And I’ve a knack for getting on both Theo’s and Luke’s level, so I’ve assumed the role of go-between, a stepping stone for their disparate personalities. I’m able to bring out the best in Theo, thus making his constant presence (‘like a frickin’ tumour,’ Luke likes to say) bearable and occasionally pleasant.
‘Come on, Mikey,’ Luke said, backpedalling. ‘This is our epic adventure. It won’t be the same if you don’t come.’
I shrugged, gave him a look of sorry-but-that’s-how-it-is.
He leaned back in his chair, glanced at Theo. ‘We could ask Oliver if he’ll take Michael’s place.’
Theo nodded.
‘Oliver?’ I said. ‘Who’s Oliver?’
‘He’s in Theo’s Old Norse class. Said he’d like to come. He could take your place, Mike. You could maybe even sell your plane ticket to him …’
‘What?’ I said panicking. ‘No! I mean …’
Luke grinned. He knew he had me. He knew better than I did how much I wanted this climb.
‘We’d prefer you to go instead of Oliver, mate,’ Luke said, wrapping an arm around my neck and putting his cigar to my lips. ‘But if you’re a widdle bit afwaid of a girl …’
I shoved him off. ‘Alright,’ I said. ‘I’ll go. But on one condition. We stick to the walking trails. No climbing. No abseiling.’
‘Piss off,’ Luke said. ‘You’re suggesting we don’t actually climb the mountain? What would be the point in going?’
Luke raises his head as I make my way towards the table. He gives me a big cheesy grin and actually stands up to give me a big ‘come here, you’ bear hug which we both know is an attempt to butter me up. I was sure she wouldn’t come. Luke is all-or-nothing, always acting on impulse, so it was likely that his spur-of-the-moment decision to bring her along would be dropped as fast as it was raised.
‘This is Helen,’ Luke says. I grin at the girl beside him, who blushes and says hello. She’s tall, about five foot nine, blonde hair worn in a plait, skinny but not anorexic. A bit shy, and preppier than I expected, with a slender face and high cheekbones, a look of a librarian about her. ‘I’m Michael,’ I say, offering a hand as she seems the sort of girl who does handshakes. A surprisingly firm grip. ‘Nice to meet you,’ she says, and I try to force out the same response but can’t. She’s pretty, though, in a way I didn’t expect. She seems … normal.
‘Nice to meet you, too.’
The words stick in my throat. After all, I finished with Nina a month ago on the basis that I’d be heading off to the Alps for a fortnight and wanted to be free to do as I pleased. Nina might have mentioned that she wanted to see other people the night before but that isn’t the point. I made sacrifices, dammit.
‘I hope you don’t mind me gate-crashing your trip,’ Helen says, sliding her eyes to Luke who shakes his head as if to say, of course not. Git.
‘Yeah, not at all,’ I say, lying through my teeth. ‘The more the merrier, right?’
Later, we head outside for a practice climb up one of the crags ten minutes from the village. It’s the size of a skyscraper but still looks puny compared to the mountains. Seems we’re not alone in this idea, either – about a dozen other climbers are scaling the crag with us. An older couple from New York City, a bunch of tie-dyed, weed-smoking hippies from Portugal, and some plaid-wearing members of a Welsh photography club.