The One We Fell in Love With by Paige Toon Page A

seven.’
    ‘You’re an identical triplet!’ he said suddenly, his face lighting up as he remembered.
    ‘How did you know that?’ I asked with surprise. I’m sure I never told him myself.
    ‘Swedish Pete mentioned it,’ he explained, pursing his lips. That was the nickname we had for one of our wacky snowboarding friends.
    ‘Aah.’ I nodded at him. ‘Well, my sisters and I are very different. I took to climbing straight away, but Rose and Eliza struggled to get to grips with it. Rose didn’t
want to go in the first place, but my dad insisted and then she hurt her hand and gave up.’ Rose had sat on the pavement in a sulk for ages, I remembered affectionately, although Dad had been
less than impressed with her lack of effort.
    ‘Eliza did try, but she kept slipping and bashing her knees. She’s not the most co-ordinated person in the world, bless her, but she kept going and then suddenly, near the top, she
freaked out. She was paralysed and started to scream and had to be rescued. She’s still afraid of heights to this day,’ I mused sadly, glancing at Remy. Was I boring him? I didn’t
think so, from his expression.
    ‘Anyway, climbing became the thing that I did with Dad. We went back to the wall time and time again.’ He had taught me all of my climbing techniques and all of the various hand,
finger and foot holds, everything from a knee bar to a pinch grip. ‘Then he started taking me hiking with a bit of scrambling thrown in.’ Scrambling was the link between mountain
walking and rock climbing and it was excellent preparation for Alpine climbing, which involved routes with both rock and ice and snow. It took us away from paths and rock walls and was often a
sanctuary for rare plants and animals, so I used to get a lesson in nature as well, remembering always to take care with my footsteps. ‘Scrambling graduated to bouldering.’ This meant
climbing big boulders without safety ropes and only a crash mat and Dad to catch my falls. ‘And when I was old and strong enough to belay Dad, we’d go full-blown mixed ice and rock
climbing.’ In this case, Dad used to lead and fix bolts as he went, while I belayed him from the bottom – feeding the rope out and supporting him should he fall, which was incredibly
rare. He would then wait at the top for me to climb up behind him.
    ‘Sometimes we’d spend whole weekends away in Wales or Scotland, just the two of us, and our family holidays usually took place near well-known rock climbing routes, so we’d
escape together when Mum would let us.’ These times alone with my father were among my happiest memories. ‘How about you? How did you learn?’ I asked Remy, suddenly feeling bad
for hijacking the conversation, although he didn’t seem to mind.
    ‘Big brother,’ he replied. ‘Well, half-brother – my father’s son from an earlier marriage. I grew up in a little village, surrounded by national parks. The Gorge du
Tarn was my climbing playground. My brother used to take me when he came to visit. Amelie followed on when she was sixteen. My aunt blamed me for her new hobby, of course,’ he said with a wry
smile. ‘A safer one would have been preferable.’
    ‘Stop thinking about it,’ I said firmly as he shuddered again.
    ‘Do you have any photos of your sisters?’ he asked, changing the subject. It was an age-old question. People always wanted to see photos, and then they’d become obsessed with
meeting all three of us at once.
    ‘They look exactly like me,’ I replied, but indulged him by digging into my pocket and bringing out my phone. He leaned in close while I showed him.
    ‘Whoa,’ he murmured, staring first at the pictures and then at me with fascination.
    I laughed lightly, trying to ignore my butterflies as I placed my phone on the coffee table.
    ‘What’s it like, being a triplet?’ he asked.
    ‘I get to see what I look like from behind,’ I replied flippantly.
    ‘Do you play a lot of tricks on people?’
    I