She made her way down the first part of the slope, and then saw the next part, and stopped dead.
Paul came up beside her. ‘What’s the matter?’
Cat pointed.
Paul sighed. ‘Right. OK. Well, to be honest, I’m not sure this is anything worse than we’ve already endured. I’ll go down first, and you can follow. That means I’ll be beneath you if you slip.’
Cat noted the heavy chain that was bolted to a rock, and to other rocks further down. The path underneath was thick, churned mud. The gradient was Black Run level. If only they had skis. It was clearly enough of a hazard that someone had seen fit to attach the chain, to help guide people down.
That flip in her stomach again. She’d forgotten about before. The dizziness. That strange feeling low in her abdomen. Ginny’s taunts. If there was a baby in there, then it was making itself known once again. She sucked in a breath, let it out slowly. She could do this. It was so close to the finish line now. Just one final push . . .
Paul walked carefully down the slope backwards, gripping the chain. Practically abseiling. She thought of Tristan then. His equipment in his bag. Him scaling down to find Ginny . . . and then what had Paul said? He’d found her and pushed her further? He couldn’t know that for sure. He was only guessing that Ginny had fallen on a ledge because he’d fallen on a ledge, and Ginny’s necklace – well, that could’ve fallen off regardless, couldn’t it? She closed her eyes for a moment, squeezing them tight. She didn’t want to think that Tristan could be so cruel. So . . . evil.
But she was hardly one to talk. It wasn’t like she hadn’t planned all this. Shut up, Cat. Stay focused.
‘Clear!’ Paul’s voice seemed to come from very far away, and she realised that he’d made it down the steep, chained descent and was standing on a flatter area, a hundred metres or so down. He waved up at her. ‘Come on. It’s fine. If I can do it . . .’
She turned to face into the mountainside, stepped across and took hold of the chain. Then she made the mistake of looking down at Paul. From that angle, it looked very, very steep. A wave of dizziness passed over her, and she blinked it away. Took another breath in fast, then out long and slow.
She took small steps, keeping her toes pressed hard into the mud. She ignored Paul’s encouraging calls. Tried to zone him out. She was sick of hearing his voice. She wasn’t sure she wanted him to reveal the truth now – about what had happened with the woman at work. As far as everyone was concerned, there was no case, and therefore no evidence. He said, she said. And he said he didn’t touch her. That she was the one making it all up, because her job was on the line and she needed to distract the company into keeping her on. They’d hardly sack a woman who’d accused a male employee of groping her in a lift after the work Christmas party. Not in these times. As everyone was always pointing out – a court case for something like this would drag the woman’s reputation through the mud. Why on earth would anyone lie and put themselves through that?
The verdict from the employer’s investigation had implied that she did lie – or, at least, she had misremembered. Paul was a model employee. They were both drunk. It was all just a bit of fun. So he said. Just bantz. A bit of flirting, from both sides. It was nothing.
He absolutely did not touch her. He said.
Cat remembered exactly what she’d been doing when the photograph had popped up on the screen of her MacBook. She’d been looking into luxury breaks in the Maldives. She’d thought the two of them needed a bit of time away, after the pandemic had scuppered their travel plans for so long. Her finger had been on the ‘Buy Now’ button on the ridiculously overpriced flights. Then the image had appeared, stopping her in her tracks.
‘That’s it, you’re nearly there.’
Paul’s voice broke through her thoughts, and she blinked the image away. But it was timely that she’d been thinking about it now. Because it was going to help explain things when they made it to the police station.
She slowed down, keeping her toes pushed into the mud. She slipped a couple of times. It was so damp and wet under the trees. No sun made its way in there. But she kept her hands tight on the chain.
The photograph had been perfectly clear. A selfie. Two people in a lift. The man in a white shirt, partially unbuttoned. His hair mussed, his eyes a little unfocused. He was holding the phone up high in his left hand. In his right, he was holding the woman. Her face was pressed up against the mirrored wall of the lift, slightly to the side. Her hands were pressed on the mirror. Her blouse was loose, her skirt pushed up at the back. She was wearing a thong. But only the top string was visible, as the one that went underneath her was obscured by the man’s right hand.