They all shook their heads.
‘Hmm. Well, it’s a bit tricky today.’ Blue T-Shirt nodded towards his companion. ‘We’ve done it many times, but today got a bit hairy.’
‘Regulars, are you?’ Paul asked. He’d hooked his fingers into the belt-loops on his shorts, and was rocking back and forth on his heels.
Red Jacket nodded. ‘Yeah, I suppose we are. We’re both from Northampton but we live in Geneva. We work for the WHO.’
‘Oh wow,’ said Ginny, sidling closer. ‘That must’ve been so exciting with all the crazy pandemic stuff going on? What’s the real story about the virus? Was it—’
Tristan cut her off. ‘Is there a problem with the route? I looked it up and it seemed to be doable for a bunch of amateurs like us.’ He laughed, but the two men didn’t laugh back. They looked tense. Stressed. Not like two men who’d just enjoyed hiking a trail they’d done several times before.
‘Personally,’ Red Jacket said, ‘I’d choose a different one if you’re not regular hikers. I mean, sure, the views are incredible. But there are huge swathes of the trail hanging loose today, on the trickier parts. You’ll be fine on the gravel like this, and through the meadow. But the stepped part up the face is slippery, and there’ve been a couple of small rock falls overnight, so you really need to be careful.’
‘I slipped,’ Blue T-Shirt said, turning sideways and lifting his shorts to show a nasty graze. ‘I was lucky,’ he added, with a wry smile.
Cat adjusted her rucksack on her back; it felt heavier than before. The burden of the hike adding weight all of a sudden. ‘Rock falls? Like avalanches? I thought they only happened in the winter?’
Red Jacket looked her up and down, his eyes lingering too long on her tight t-shirt. ‘Not anymore. Don’t you listen to Greta? Climate change is genuinely causing problems. The permafrost is melting, meaning that rocks are dislodged. We’ve had a few bad slides lately, down as far as the road.’ He gestured down towards the road they’d driven in on. ‘The main road was blocked off for a day just last week, while it was cleared.’ He shrugged. ‘It’s lucky no one’s been killed yet.’
‘There’s a lot of work going on,’ Blue T-Shirt continued. ‘Putting netting up, that sort of thing. But that’s for the roads. Up here, it’s more of a gamble.’
‘Maybe we should choose a different path,’ Ginny said, looking at Tristan. ‘I’m honestly not sure I’m up for this. You said it was a casual walk – this sounds like a bloody rock-climbing expedition!’ The fear was evident in her voice. This wasn’t just her usual whine about wanting to spend the day in the hot tub. Well, tough, Cat thought. It was about time Ginny moved out of her comfort zone. She’d had life far too easy for far too long.
Tristan pulled the map out of the plastic covering and unfolded it. The hikers gathered around him, closer. Blue T-Shirt ran a finger across the map. ‘This is the part that’s down today. Someone from the Refuge will probably come and try to clear it later, but you can avoid it by going here . . .’ He pointed at another part of the map and Tristan nodded.
‘Fine,’ Tristan said. ‘So just a bit of a detour? The rest is OK?’
The two hikers looked at each other. Red Jacket spoke. ‘Technically, yes. But as we said, it all just feels a bit looser today. You know . . .’ He looked at Cat again, and she really didn’t like the lecherous expression on his face. ‘Maybe I can go with you? As a guide? I was only heading back home to go out with some friends, but that can wait . . .’
‘I don’t think so,’ Cat said, fixing him with her gaze. ‘We’d prefer to go it alone.’
He ran his tongue over his lips. ‘Sure. It was just a thought.’
Blue T-Shirt looked confused for a moment, sensing the change in the atmosphere. He slapped his companion on the back. ‘We do need to get back, actually. But look, the sun is heating the rocks now. We had a really early start. It was all still slippery with dew. You’ll be fine if you keep to the trail, and avoid that one part I mentioned.’ He paused. ‘Just be careful, OK?’
‘Of course,’ said Tristan. ‘Careful is my middle name.’
Five
SATURDAY MIDDAY
Careful was not his middle name. His full name was Tristan Frederick Lytham, and he was certainly not known for being careful. If he was careful, then Ginny wouldn’t have found that receipt in his jacket pocket for a night at the Berystede Hotel near Ascot, on a date when he’d claimed he’d been two hundred miles away in Manchester at a work conference. If he’d wanted to invent an accurate middle name starting with C then ‘cliché’ would be one of them, and another option would rhyme with ‘hunt’。 Not that Ginny would ever say such a word. Not out loud.