White

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‘Sounds like a waste of good climbing time to me.’

Sam laughed. ‘Could be. Do you reckon you’re going to get to the top?’ With Finch to treat your frostnip and your constipation, and monitor you for oedema on the way, you bullet-headed bastard?

Rix leaned forward. He was red-faced with beer and the drink made his Yorkshire accent even more pronounced. He put his big, meaty hands flat on the table. ‘Listen up. I know what people say. The old brigade of professional climbers who had bugger all in their back pockets and that mountain in their dreams, who clawed their way to the summit or died in the doing. I know they say the South Col route is a yak track and that any fat fucker with fifty grand to spare can get himself hauled up there if he can be bothered to go to the gym twice a week for a couple of months beforehand. They claim that Everest’s been turned into an adventure playground for software salesmen by the commercial companies dragging along anyone who can pay the money.

‘And that may well be true, mate. All I know is that I’ve dreamed of standing on that peak since I was a snotty kid at home in Halifax. I’ve climbed Makalu and Cho Oyu and Aconcagua, and enough peaks in the Alps, and I’m still as hungry for Everest as I was when I was a lad. I was out here this time last year and I got turned back by the weather at 25,000 feet. But I’ve made my money and this is the way I choose to spend it, and no bugger’s going to stop me. I’ll climb the hill. It’s not a question for me.’

‘No,’ Sam said thoughtfully.

Adam was three-quarters drunk now. He propped his blond head against the wall. ‘Rix’s right. I know it. I know that feeling. Ever since I started, from the first climb, it’s what I’ve existed to do. It’s been the focus of my life. Every time I reach the summit of a new mountain I know no one can take that away from me. It’s concrete. Like, there it is. Mine. And you know’ – he waved his hand along the group around the two tables – ‘there’s this family. If you’re some Yank kid lost in a Swiss school where you can’t even talk to the class losers let alone the cool kids, and your old man’s always travelling and your mom goes shopping, you can go climbing and you find people who’ll be with you. You’re in the mountains and you’re not lonely any more. It’s …’ His head rolled and his eyes drifted shut. ‘Hey, I am wasted … it’s everything you need in the world.’

There was a small silence, then Adam’s eyes snapped open again. ‘You know what I’m saying, man. You climb yourself.’

Seven pairs of eyes looked at the newcomer.

‘Yes,’ Sam said.

Much later, by the time the bar was closing, everyone except Ken Kennedy was drunk. ‘Come on, the lot of you. Get to your beds,’ he ordered.

Adam and Sam made their way unsteadily down the stairs together, Adam’s arm looped over Sam’s shoulder.

When the thick-scented air hit them they staggered a little and Adam coughed with laughter. ‘Need a scotch to settle my gut after all that beer. You coming back to the hotel for one more?’

Even with his head spinning, and his ears and tongue clogged with the dull wadding of jet lag, Sam was just able to work out that it wouldn’t be clever to present himself at the Buddha’s Garden in this condition and risk bumping into Finch.

‘Nope. But I’ll come by tomorrow and see you.’

‘Don’t make it too early,’ Adam groaned.

It was past noon when he strolled back through the leafy garden. The strong sunlight laid wedges of indigo-blue shadow under the trees. Sam had slept for ten hours, then dressed in a clean white shirt and pressed chinos. He was not going anywhere or doing anything else until he had tracked down Finch Buchanan and made her promise to have dinner with him.

In the lobby Ken Kennedy was sitting under a ceiling fan with a balding man Sam didn’t recognise. They were frowning over a sheaf of papers and Sam passed by without interrupting them. The desk clerk gave Sam Adam’s room number and pointed to the stairs. Sam ran up two shallow flights and found the number he was looking for. He knocked on the door and was greeted by a wordless mumble that he took as an invitation to come in.

Adam was lying on a disordered bed, naked except for a pair of shorts. One limp arm hung over the mattress edge, the other shaded his eyes from the dim light filtering through the closed shutters. ‘Uh, it’s you.’

‘What’s up?’

‘God knows. I’ve never puked or shat so much in my life. Can’t just be the beer.’

‘That’s rough. Can I get you anything?’

‘How about a gun to put to my head? Jesus.’

Adam hauled himself half upright and vomited a couple of greenish mouthfuls into an enamel basin. Sam grimaced and tried to look in the other direction while Adam spat and then sank back on the pillow. ‘You could go down to the bar and get me a couple of bottles of water. Room service doesn’t do much in this place.’

‘Sure,’ Sam said.

It took ten minutes to locate a barman, pay for the mineral water and make his way back to Adam’s room. This time he opened the door without bothering to knock.

Finch was standing with her back to him, staring at her watch and holding Adam’s wrist loosely in her hand. After another five seconds she finished counting and turned her head to see the intruder. She was wearing a sleeveless khaki body-warmer with pockets and a white T-shirt with the Mountain People’s logo on the front. She looked less tense and therefore younger than she had done on the Vancouver flight.

‘I brought him some mineral water.’ Sam smiled. ‘It’s nothing serious, I hope?’

‘This is the doc,’ Adam said.

She was looking at Sam, the total surprise in her face distinctly shaded with irritation.

‘What are you doing here?’ Finch asked coldly.

‘I told you. Bringing the sick man some water.’

‘Do you mind leaving us alone while I examine my patient?’

‘It’s okay. He doesn’t have to go on my account. Do you two know each other?’

‘Yes.’

‘No. Now then, how long ago did the vomiting start?’

‘Twelve hours.’

‘Right.’ Finch took a phial out of her medical bag and shook out a large capsule. ‘I’m going to give you something that should stop it.’

Adam held out his hand and gestured for the bottle of water.

‘Not orally, you’ll vomit it straight up again. It’s a suppository. To be inserted in your rectum. I can do it for you, or you can deal with it yourself, whichever you prefer?’

‘I’ll manage.’

‘Good. Try to drink some water over the next few hours, don’t eat anything.’

Even the mention of eating started up another bout of retching. There were dark sweat streaks in Adam’s blond hair. Finch watched him with her fingers resting lightly on his shoulder, then she took the bowl from him and rinsed it in the bathroom.

She’s an angel, Sam thought. If I were ill, would she look after me like this? Put her hand on my shoulder?

‘Okay, Adam. It’s food poisoning. You should start feeling better soon. Try and rest, and I’ll be back to see you at about six. Your friend will stay and keep you company I expect.’ Finch smiled sweetly.

‘Actually, I was hoping …’ Sam tried.

She snapped her bag shut. ‘See you later, Adam. Goodbye … um …’

‘Come on, you know my name.’

Finch was already halfway out of the door.

‘Wait a minute. Look, I’ll be back,’ he called over his shoulder to the wan figure in the bed.

Adam had covered his eyes again with one arm. ‘Don’t mind me,’ he muttered.

Sam ran down the corridor after Finch. Realising that she wasn’t going to shake him off so easily she turned with a flicker of anger and confronted him. ‘Right. So here you are in Kathmandu. What do you want, exactly? I’m busy, I’ve got a job to do.’

‘I want to take you out to dinner. Is that too much to ask?’

‘Did you follow me all the way out here?’

‘Yes. I got here twenty-four hours ago.’

‘Why?’

‘That was how the plane times worked out.’

‘Don’t try to be more of an asshole than you are already. Why did you follow me?’

Sam hesitated. ‘Look, I know it seems flaky. I met you, we talked, I wanted to see you again. But it isn’t as weird as that makes it sound. You talked about Everest and I loved the way it lit you up. My life is at a kind of static point right now, so taking off out of it for a while seemed a good idea and I thought, why not here? I’ve never seen Kathmandu before.’

‘That’s not what you told me.’ She did look faintly mollified now.

‘Why would you have told me where you were staying, if I hadn’t claimed some familiarity with the place?’ Candour, he thought, was probably the best defence.

They were standing in an angle of the main stairway. Rix, Mark Mason and Sandy Jackson came up the stairs from the lobby, and each of them gave Sam a friendly greeting as they passed.

‘Hey doc, how’s the patient?’ Sandy enquired over his shoulder.

‘He’ll live.’ She returned her full attention to Sam. ‘You know everyone.’

He shrugged. ‘Well, sort of. How about tonight?’

Finch sighed. Her hair was tied with what looked like a bootlace and he wanted to slide his finger underneath and hook it off.

‘Listen …’

‘Sam.’

‘Yes. I do remember. Listen carefully, Sam, and save yourself from any more impulses to do with me. One, I am responsible for the health care of a total of twenty people on this expedition. Two, I am here to climb as high as I can go on Everest. I don’t expect to make the summit, necessarily, but I want to do myself justice. I can’t afford it, but I have saved up the money to pay for this. I’ve made a lot of physical and mental preparations. I don’t have room for anything else in my life right now. Nothing.’

She’s saying the same things as those guys last night, Sam thought. Climbers. Peak pervs. Monofocal mountain morons. But even so his longing to untie Finch’s bootlace, to put his fingertip to the corner of her mouth, to hear her voice in his ear, never even wavered. Her steeliness only impressed him and made him want to be with her even more than before. He held up his hands and smiled. ‘It’s only dinner. Two glasses of wine and a curry, dessert optional. It’s not an addition to your workload or an emotional commitment.’

She studied him briefly, working out whether he was threatening or harmless, then put her hand briefly on his arm. ‘No. No thanks, Sam.’

She smiled in a finite way and removed her hand again. Sam was not especially pleased with his way with women, but it did strike him that even in circumstances as unusual as these he had never been turned down with quite such cool certainty. There was more here, he thought, than immediately met the eye.

‘Wait. Do you want to do something genuinely helpful?’ she added.

‘Yes.’

‘Then sit down for a while with Adam Vries. I have to check over my supplies because they’ve just come in from the airport.’

‘I’ll make sure he’s okay.’

‘Thank you.’ She inclined her head and walked away down the stairs. Sam followed her with his eyes, remembering her long legs under the ski parka.

Adam had shifted his position. ‘Huh. I shoved the thing up my butthole. How does she know I’m not going to shit before I puke?’

‘Brilliant medical judgement.’

‘Mh. I wasn’t going to have her sticking her index finger up there.’

‘No. Although, I don’t know …’

Adam managed the ghost of a smile. ‘You too? Forget it. Used to know a brutal med student like that at college. The Fridge, we used to call her.’

‘Is that so?’

Sam settled himself in a chair and rested his feet on another. He could see through a chink between the shutters to the top of a tree and the side walls of some houses. On a balcony level with his sightline an old woman was peeling vegetables over a plastic bowl. A plump baby played at her feet until a young woman, hardly more than a girl, came out and swept him up in her arms. The baby’s thumb plugged into his mouth at once and his head settled on her shoulder. The mother cupped the back of it with her hand, stroking his hair. Sam watched until she had carried the infant inside, then sat for a while with unfocused eyes, wondering what Finch would look like with a baby.

Whatever Adam might think she wasn’t a fridge. Something in her eyes, the turn of her head and hips, made him certain of that. When he looked again he saw that Adam had drifted into a doze. He would have liked to slip away and maybe go out for a beer with Rix and the others, but he was afraid that if he moved he would wake him up. He leaned his head against the chair back and let his own eyes fall shut.

Last night had made him think of his father.

Michael would talk about mountains in the same way, using the very same words. He remembered conversations overheard.

Michael and Mary outside the tent on summer nights when he was supposed to be asleep, and the timbre of his father’s voice in response to Mary’s questions why, and what for – and the always unspoken but equally ever-present words within his own head, danger and falling and dead –

‘I need that reality. If I don’t climb, my grip on reality fades and I feel like nothing exists.’

‘Not me? Or your boy?’

‘Of course. But not in the same way, Mary. Nothing’s the same as the way you feel up there with the rock and space. I’m no good with words, you know that. I can’t explain the need for it, the being more alive than alive. But it’s always there, once you’ve tasted it.’

‘So am I always here, so is Sammy. We don’t want anything to happen to you.’

Sam remembered that he would squirm in his sleeping bag, trying to bury his head, to bring his shoulders up around his ears so that he couldn’t hear any more. But the voices came anyway, as much from within his head as outside it.

Michael would give his warm, reassuring laugh. ‘Nothing will happen. It’s concentration. If you keep your mind on it you don’t make mistakes.’

Sam thought of Michael as he was now, moving painfully around the old house, all alone, with only the television freak shows for company. When I get back, he promised the dim room, I’ll see more of him. Maybe it’s time to move the business a bit closer to home. If there still is a business when I’m through with this caper.

An hour later Adam woke up again. ‘I’ve got a thirst like the desert,’ he whispered.

Sam passed him the water, but held it so that he could only take a sip or two at a time. ‘Otherwise you’ll spew it straight up again.’

‘Thanks, nurse.’ He rubbed his cracked mouth with the back of his hand.

Sam went into the bathroom and found his face-cloth, rinsed it in cool water and handed it to him.

‘Nice. But I’d still rather have the doc to hold my hand.’

‘Fuck you.’