When Nights Were Cold (19 page)

‘Parr,' called Locke, ‘if Farringdon has checked and thinks that this is wrong, why don't we check again?'

‘No need to worry. Cheer up, everyone. We'll soon be back at the hotel and I'll treat us all to a good bottle of champagne.'

‘Cheer up, indeed,' muttered Locke.

Parr turned to me, dug one heel into the snow to steady herself. ‘See? Now they don't trust me.'

‘Never mind,' I tried to say, but my face was tight with cold. I couldn't make the words come out. I patted my cheeks and lips with my gloves. I was thirsty and gulped down mouthfuls of snow. It hit my insides with a shock then made me burn and feel feverish but I scooped up more and more to quench my thirst.

I began to fear now that we would not get home safely and, though we were all tired and Hooper was sick, I tried to quicken our pace.

‘It's all right, Farringdon. You don't need to be so scared. We've made a simple navigational error. I think we've come down at the wrong angle so we're rather off our path.'

Parr slipped then and tried to gain her balance by reaching out her right foot and planting it firmly on the snow. She misjudged. She was on a snow plug over a small crevasse and she fell right into it with an angry scream. I leaned back, struck my axe into the snow and dug my boots in. I tried to hold Parr's weight, but I had not expected her to be the one to fall and so had not been prepared. Pain tore through my thighs and back. My shoulders twisted and, though I needed to pull back to hold her weight, I could not move my feet or legs. The pressure of the rope on my ribs made it hard to breathe. Hooper and Locke grabbed the rope's end and pulled. I kept my eyes on the top of Parr's hat, the brim just visible to me, and somehow managed not to slip. Within seconds, the rope loosened. Parr had stuck her axe into the snow and found a foothold. I fell back and sat gasping for breath as she climbed up. She kneeled, clutching her ankle, face and eyes screwed up. A line of blood ran across her cheek, thickened and began to drip. Locke took a small piece of cloth from her pocket and pressed it to the wound.

Parr rose to her feet and, limping with her ice axe as a walking cane and with the bloody cloth stuck to her cheek, walked on. The rope tugged at me and I followed. Weak and confused, she didn't look like Cicely Parr any more.

But the snow fell faster and harder as we marched on. Eventually we found ourselves at the foot of another peak but could not see its summit or judge its size.

‘Pollux?' I said. ‘It must be.'

Parr shook her head. ‘The Lyskamm.'

‘Surely we have not come so far.'

‘I don't know.'

‘What are we going to do?'

‘I think it's too late to go further now. We'll camp up here and keep warm.' Parr's voice was as loud and clear as ever, but she looked bad. Her skin was off-colour and her eyes unfocused. The scrap of cloth on her cheek wavered in the wind. Anger and sympathy mixed up inside me.

‘If you think it's safer to stay till morning, that's what we must do,' I said.

‘Yes, but I can't – I don't know where. Anyway,' she gathered herself, ‘I've slept on my back on snow with nothing more than a cloth over my face for protection. Let me think.'

‘Parr, we should make decisions together. There'll be more snowfall in the night and we should get further down so Hooper can breathe better.'

‘Not in this light. One of us will fall.'

We walked on and found a small cave. We built a wall of snow to make it bigger.

‘Hooper and Locke, this is yours.'

‘Can't we all stay together?'

‘It isn't big enough. Farringdon and I will find another place but you'll be well protected here.'

Parr went further up the slope to a large overhanging rock and made it our shelter. She gave the others a couple of lumps of charcoal and some matches. Then she and I climbed into our den and settled. We put our feet into our knapsacks for warmth, tied our bootlaces to our axes so that we could not lose them. We lay on our axes and covered ourselves with our spare clothes and our rug. The wind screeched and the cold gnawed at our skin and bones. I worried about our fingers and toes, kept rubbing them together to be sure that I could feel them. I should have known that I would end up just like Father. I pulled the rug up to my chin, making sure that I was not taking any from Parr. I remembered then that we had left the other one at the hotel.

‘They haven't got a blanket.'

Parr moaned. ‘You can't go out there now.'

‘I know but—'

‘This is a blizzard, you fool. We just have to make it through the night, that's all, and hope the others do too.'

Parr turned on her side with her face near mine. Her breath brushed my eyelids.

The racket above was like the brass and percussion sections of an orchestra. Behind them rose the wail of a lone soprano. Snow fell and fell. At some point in the night, a ledge of snow collapsed onto my face. It took some time to manoeuvre my axe without disturbing Parr, but I managed it and pushed away the snowfall. Parr shivered in her sleep. Though I wanted to take our rug to Hooper, when I thought of Parr in her lonely slumber, exhausted and humiliated by her error of judgement, I could not steal it from her.

Yet I worried about Locke and Hooper in their ice cave. They might freeze in the night or suffocate. I put my head out, let my eyes adjust to the dark. Snow was heaped up just where they had made their camp. I pulled myself from the shelter, tied my bootlaces and stood.

The night was too big, too angry. I managed only a few paces. I called out their names but there was no reply. Silhouettes of mountain peaks grew grey in the moonlight and they began to haunt me, as though ghosts had entered and possessed them.

Ice cracked like gunshot. I turned, lost my footing and glissaded some fifteen feet down the mountainside, with no axe to halt my fall. I landed on a soft ledge and lay still until I was sure that I had not broken any bones. The drop was too steep for me to attempt to climb back up in the dark. I wanted to cry, but I shook my head and ordered myself to stay calm. This was how men gave up and died. I dug myself a ledge in the snow and tried to keep sheltered for what was left of the night. The wind raced over me, berating me for my stupidity. I was at the edge of the world and felt as though I could be blown up to the stars or into the centre of the Earth. All I could do, and all I had to do, was survive till daylight.

Voices muttered, nagged and wailed in my head all night, the voices of my family and friends and some I recognized but could not place. I had fitful rests, floating on water and occasionally dipping under its surface but never deep or for long. Sometimes the cold felt like a kind of fire, burning at my skin, my bones. When a thin light washed over me, I lifted my head to see the sky bubbling and grey, like a vast sea. A new voice called.

‘Farringdon?'

Parr was somewhere above me. I pulled myself to my knees. My body was convulsed with cold and it took time to stand. I could see the tips of my hair and eyelashes, white with rime. I tried to call out but began to cough. It hurt my ribs and throat but I could not stop. Parr called out again and I saw her boots in the snow.

Parr's cheeks and nose were blotted with pink patches. Her lips were cracked and bled when she spoke. When I reached her she took my arm and led me to the white mound where Locke and Hooper lay.

‘I don't want to see,' murmured Parr. I shoved her out of the way and began kicking at the snow.

They were curled up together in their white nest. Their faces had no colour. Locke's hand was balled into a fist against her cheek. I knelt beside her, my dearest friend with her lovers and her bright green dresses, her room of flowers and her funny, ridiculous play set in the future. I had brought her to my world, without even understanding it myself, and what for?

I dusted snow from her face.

‘Leonora.'

Locke opened an eye, screwed up her face. She and Hooper were rigid with cold but they were alive. We helped them to their feet, hardly able to speak. Parr crouched in the shelter, made a fire from our last few bits of charcoal and some rhododendron twigs she had carried. We drank lukewarm tea made from melted snow and winced as the heat hit our fingers and lips. We gnawed on frozen bread and cheese. I rubbed my feet again and again, making sure that I could feel every bit of them. I let the tea fill my mouth and warm my throat and I watched Cicely Parr. She was staring into the fire, muttering something I could not hear.

The sky turned blue and the landscape that had confused us in the blizzard became clear and bright with mountain peaks piling up to the sky, like giant cakes of coconut and cream. We were a long way from our route and would have to cross a glacier pitted with deep crevasses. Our limbs and joints were stiff, at first, and we could not walk but sat rubbing our arms and legs to warm them. When we saw distant clouds forming, we gathered our things and set off, all on one rope.

The glacier was steep and each step sent pain through our thighs as we tried to dig in and keep our balance.

‘Will you be all right, Hooper?' Locke asked.

She nodded. ‘I think so. Don't go too fast. My head is very sore indeed.'

Hooper turned her back, crouched down and rested her cheek on her hand. I sighed. We wanted her to hurry so that we could get her safely to the hotel. She slumped forward onto her knees and threw up into the snow. She coughed and sobbed as we stood waiting, not looking now, not speaking. Locke and I fiddled with the rope and Parr pretended to examine a small stone as Hooper was sick again, this time with loud, painful retches. I wondered how we would manage if the only way to get her down was to carry her. It would not be possible, surely, but we would have to try.

Eventually her breathing calmed. She sighed, shivered and wiped her face with both hands.

‘Much better now,' she whispered. ‘Sorry about that.'

‘No, no,' we said. ‘You mustn't be sorry.'

She stood, stretched her legs a little, took some hearty breaths and we set off.

Locke and I went first. We spoke about the night and how frightened we had been. Locke was behind me and talked loudly so that I would not have to turn.

‘I knew we'd be all right,' she called. ‘But it was such a long night.'

‘I thought it wouldn't end.'

‘You were brave to try and find us by yourself.'

‘Foolish, perhaps.'

‘No. A good friend.'

It became impossible to make our way around the many crevasses and so we moved from the ice to an exposed area of rock where, though there was a steep drop, it would be easier to move. We decided that it would be safer to go in pairs. Locke and I roped up together. We didn't pay much attention to the others but we assumed that they were roped up too. Hooper was, after all, moving slowly and needed support; Parr was the best person to look after her and the most experienced with ropes. Even so, we could have looked back just once. It would have been the correct thing to do. Locke and I were making our way along the edge, a few feet ahead of Parr and Hooper. We could hear their boots and their breaths. We moved as quickly as we dared, desperate not to be here any more but trying to be careful with our steps. The rope was like an arm around my waist, tender and protective. Each time it tugged, I was warmed and comforted by the knowledge of Locke's presence, her weight as counterbalance.

But the other rope was still a floppy coil across Parr's shoulders, tied to nobody. When Hooper lost her balance and slipped, there was nothing to hold her. We heard a shriek and turned to see Hooper stumble backwards to the edge of the rocks, arms swivelling. The moment seemed to last as long as my whole life and yet there were not five seconds for me to run and save my friend. Locke was close to me. I felt the rope loosen. The sky seemed to grow wider, bluer. I remember Parr clutching her face with both hands, red-nosed, claw-fingered. I had one foot on a stone that rocked and wobbled, but I did not move because I was already too late. Hooper rolled off the edge and plummeted. I saw her knapsack as it turned in the air, smashed against rocks and bounced downhill out of sight.

The church bells rang and people crossed themselves in the street. A small party of guides set out from Zermatt to find Hooper because we had not been able to see where she had landed. The hotel boy stood alert and pale behind the desk. I remember him staring at all the people coming and going with news. He gave us a frightened smile as we passed and later brought us cups of golden génépi to calm us. I think he must have stood in the doorway for some time, wanting to help us but not knowing what to do. I have a memory of his shadow at the door, finally leaving. The Matterhorn, hidden the previous day but now bold and clear, resembled the head of an old man, puffing balls of cloud from his pipe as though nothing had happened. I pulled the shutters over my window and banged my head against them, shouting and pleading for Hooper to come back.

Chapter Fourteen

I took some bread and jam to my room, wrapped a blanket around my feet and sat at the writing desk. My pen hovered over the paper as I tried to think what I should say. A blob of jam fell on the first sheet so I screwed it up and tried another. I began to imagine all the letters I might write.
Dear Mr Shackleton.
No, but I was not interested in the Antarctic for now. I had been home for only a few days. I needed time to think about the South Pole and whether or not I still cared about it.

Another sheet.
Dear Parr,
but I heard Locke's voice from her bedroom at the Monte Rosa accusing Parr of causing the accident. Locke was flat on her bed, staring at the ceiling. She said that Parr had not wanted to rope up with Hooper. She knew that Hooper would slow her down or make her fall, so she never intended to use the rope. I told Locke that this was too harsh. There had been no time to think, nor for Parr to do any such thing. She had forgotten to use the rope. If anything, the fault was with Locke and me for setting off without checking that the others were ready, but Locke raged through the night and the next day, sobbing with her pillow over her face. I thought that Locke exaggerated Parr's guilt through grief – we must all share the blame – but her anger had affected me too and now I felt strangely towards Parr. I didn't write to her.