A cold shiver crept across her shoulders, icy fingers pressing into the flesh. ‘What?’
Tristan was buckling his belt. ‘I swore I would never—’
‘Never what?’ She threw the sheet off and jumped out of bed, grabbing at her own underwear and hastily stepping her feet through the holes. She threw her dress over her head, not bothering with her bra.
‘They were on their way to the solicitors to finalise the new will. They were changing it back, Cat. Ginny overheard them talking. Seemingly they’d seen through her plan, realised that she was trying to push you out. They were planning to fix the will, then call round to see you, take you to dinner. They felt bad for listening to Ginny’s lies. Believing her when she said you weren’t interested in them, or her. That you thought you were better than them all . . . that you didn’t need them.’ He hung his head. ‘She only told me this the day before the party. That’s why I kept trying to get your attention when I saw you. I wanted to talk to you . . .’
‘I thought you were being sleazy. I thought it was a wind-up.’
‘I know you did.’ He ran a hand through his hair. Sighed. ‘She had to stop them, Cat. She couldn’t let them change the will. Couldn’t risk them bringing you back into their lives. What if they cut off her allowance, too? She wasn’t working then, remember?’
‘What did she do, Tristan?’
He sat down on the chair, hard. ‘She cut the brake cable on that old car of theirs. Said she had to look up a video on basic car maintenance just to find out where the cable was.’
Cat thought she might be sick. She’d been on her way to see them. Her mother had left a message that morning that Cat had thought strange, so she’d jumped in her own car and was on her way. She replayed the message in her head, realising now that she’d got it so, so wrong.
We’re so sorry, darling, please forgive us.
Cat had been the one who’d found them. Their car was concertinaed into a bridge at the sharp bend at the bottom of the private road that led to their house. Ginny would have known there was no way they could have made that bend without braking. She would have known that their dad always drove too fast down that private road.
If I can’t speed on my own land, then where can I!?
By the time Cat had found them, it was already too late. The car engine belching smoke, the shapes of her parents hunched over the crushed dashboard. There were no airbags in those old cars. She’d called an ambulance straight away, but she knew it was pointless. And all the time, Ginny had been behind it. Sweet Virginia – the naive, innocent one.
The deceitful little bitch.
‘I think you should leave now.’ Cat didn’t want him to see how much she was shaking.
Tristan nodded. ‘I’ll message you, OK?’ He kissed her on the cheek, whispering, ‘You don’t have to deal with this alone. I can help you, Cat. With Paul too. Whatever it is that he’s done.’
Another piece of the jigsaw slotted into place. Another conversation from the night before. Tristan asking, ‘So why did Paul really leave? I never bought that burnout story . . . calmest trader I knew, that one . . .’ And she had told Tristan that Paul had had a one-night stand – still protecting Paul from Tristan learning the whole truth about the sexual harassment claim – and now Tristan must think her pathetic, to have her sister and her husband both betray her, and she just accept it. Well, she thought. Maybe I don’t have to accept it at all.
He turned to her once more, his hand on the door. ‘I like you, Cat. Let me help you. We can work on a plan . . .’
And then he was gone. But the seed had been planted. She laid her head back on the soft pillows, pulled the duvet up over herself again. Within moments, she was fast asleep.
And then the dream faded away, and she was cold, and in pain.
‘Open your eyes, Cat. Please. Wake up!’
A familiar voice. Urgent, in her ear.
She opened her eyes, and she was back on the mountain. The sky was cloudless and blue, the sun high and bright. She laid her hands flat, grasping for something. Hoping for soft sheets but finding dirt and parched grass. Her head was pounding.
‘What the . . . ? Where am I? Tristan?’
A face loomed over her. Battered, bruised. One side of his head was matted with blood and hair. Bloodshot eyes. A strong smell, like a frightened animal’s. ‘Cat, it’s me – can you see me? How many fingers am I holding up?’
She blinked, trying to make him go away. She tried to float herself back into that huge, soft bed with the crisp white sheets. That room in the hotel where she and Tristan had started all this. But she couldn’t get there. Her mind wouldn’t take her there. She knew where she was. This was the end. A literal rock bottom.