The clouds are growing thicker as we walk along the empty streets, and I can feel spots of rain on my face. I’m aware of Jim shooting me the odd concerned glance.
“You’ll be all right, back in London?” he says eventually.
“I guess.”
“Have you spoken to your husband?”
“No.” I bite my lip. “I haven’t.”
Jim pauses, and transfers his potatoes to the other shoulder.
“So,” he says easily. “How did a nice girl like you end up with a marriage in trouble?”
“It’s my own fault. I did some… stupid things. And my husband got really angry. He said… he said he wished I were more like Jess.”
“Did he?” Jim looks a bit taken aback. “I mean, Jess is a fine lass,” he hastily amends. “But I wouldn’t have… anyway, that’s not here or there.” He coughs and rubs his nose.
“That’s why I came up here. To learn from her. But it was a stupid idea.”
We’ve reached the end of Jess’s street, and Jim pauses for a rest before climbing the steep incline. The gray stone houses are glistening in the drizzle, stark against the distant misty hills. I can just see a flock of sheep grazing high up, like dots of cotton wool on the green.
“Too bad about you and Jess,” says Jim, and he does sound genuinely sorry. “It’s a shame, that is.”
“It’s just one of those things.” I try to keep the disappointment out of my voice. “I should have known all along. We’re so different.”
“You’re different, all right.” His face crinkles in amusement.
“She just seems so… cold.” I hunch my shoulders, feeling a familiar resentment rising. “You know, I made every effort. I really did. But she never showed any pleasure… or feelings, even. She doesn’t seem to care about anything! She doesn’t seem to have any passions!”
Jim seems surprised.
“Oh… Jess has got passions,” he says. “She’s got passions, all right. When we get to the house, I’ll show you something.”
He picks up the sack of potatoes and we resume walking up the hill. As we get nearer Jess’s house, I start to feel tiny prickles of curiosity. Not that she’s anything to do with me anymore, but still.
As we reach the door, Jim roots in his pocket for a large key ring, selects a Yale key, and unlocks it. I walk into the hall and look around. But the place doesn’t give much away. It’s a bit like Jess herself. Two tidy sofas in the sitting room. A plain white kitchen. A couple of well-tended potted plants.
I head upstairs and cautiously push open the door to her bedroom. It’s immaculate. Plain cotton duvet cover, plain cotton curtains, a couple of boring prints.
“Here.” Jim is behind me. “You want to see Jess’s real passion? Take a look at this.”
He heads over to a door set into the wall of the landing, then turns the key and beckons me over.
“Here are the famous rocks,” he says, swinging the door open. “She had this cupboard made especially to house them. Designed it herself down to the last detail, lights and all. Makes an impressive sight, don’t you think…” He trails off in surprise at my face. “Becky? Are you OK, love?”
I can’t speak.
It’s my shoe cupboard.
It’s my shoe cupboard, exactly. The same doors. The same shelves. The same lights. Except instead of shoes displayed on the shelves, there are rocks. Rows and rows of carefully labeled rocks.
And… they’re beautiful. Some are gray, some crystal, some smooth, some iridescent and sparkling. There are fossils… amethysts… chunks of jet, all shiny under the lights…
“I had no idea… They’re stunning.”
“You’re talking about passion?” Jim laughs. “This is a true passion. An obsession, you might say.” He picks up a speckled gray rock and turns it over in his fingers. “You know how she got that leg injury of hers? Clambering after some blasted rock on a mountain somewhere. She was that determined to get it, she’d risk her own safety.” Jim grins at my expression. “Then there was the time she was arrested at Customs, for smuggling some precious crystal in under her jumper… ”
I gape at him.
“Jess? Arrested?”
“They let her off.” He waves a hand. “But I know she’d do it again. If there’s a particular kind of rock that girl wants, she has to have it.” He wrinkles his brow in amusement. “She gets a compulsion. It’s like a mania! Nothing’ll stop her!”
My head is spinning. I’m staring at a row of rocks, all different shades of red. Just like my row of red shoes.
“She keeps all this pretty quiet.” Jim puts down the speckled rock. “I guess she thinks people wouldn’t understand—”
“I understand.” I cut him off in a shaky voice. “Completely.”
I’m trembling all over. She’s my sister.
Jess is my sister. I know it more certainly than I’ve ever known anything.
I have to find her. I have to tell her. Now.
“Jim…” I take a deep breath. “I need to find Jess. Right away.”
“She’s doing the sponsored endurance hike,” Jim reminds me. “Starts in half an hour.”
“Then I have to go,” I say in agitation. “I have to see her. How do I get there? Can I walk?”
“It’s a fair way away,” Jim says, and cocks his head quizzically. “Do you want a lift?”
Twenty-one
I KNEW WE were sisters. I knew it. I knew it.
And we’re not just sisters — we’re kindred spirits! After all those false starts. After all those misunderstandings. After I thought I would never have one single thing in common with her, ever.
She’s the same as me. I understand her.
I understand Jess!
Everything Jim said chimed a chord. Everything! How many times have I smuggled pairs of shoes in from America? How many times have I risked my own safety at the sales? I even got a leg injury, just like her! It was when I saw someone heading for the last reduced Orla Kiely purse in Selfridges, and I leapt off the escalator from about eight steps up.
God, if I’d just seen her rock cupboard earlier. If I’d known. Everything would have been different! Why didn’t she tell me? Why didn’t she explain?
Abruptly I have a memory of Jess talking about rocks on our first-ever meeting… and again at the flat. And I feel ashamed. She did try. I just didn’t listen, did I? I didn’t believe her when she said they were interesting. I said rocks were… stupid. And boring. Just like her.
“Can we go any faster?” I say to Jim. We’re rattling along in his ancient Land Rover, past grassy slopes and drystone walls, heading higher and higher into the hills.
“Going as fast as we can,” he says. “We’ll be in time, easy.”
Sheep are scattering off the road as we thunder along, and small stones are hitting the windscreen. I glance out the window — and quickly look away. Not that I’m afraid of heights or anything, but we seem to be approximately three inches away from a steep drop.
“All right,” says Jim, pulling into a small parking area, with a crunch of gravel. “This is where they’re starting. And that’s where they’re climbing.” He points to the steep mountain looming above us. “The famous Scully Pike.” His phone rings, and he reaches for it. “Excuse me.”
“Don’t worry! Thanks!” I say, and wrench open the door. I get out and look around — and just for a moment
