From:Aaron
Date:14 February
Subject:Tent-based mountaineering and other heroic deeds
Hi Eve,
You’ll be pleased to know I read your last email three times before replying, partly because it was lovely and partly because your line about “how much silence you were carrying yourself” has been living rent-free in my head ever since. I feel like that should be on a poster somewhere.
Your first-class train strategy was pure genius, by the way. Tactical upgrade. I applaud your refusal to be cornered by someone eating crisps one at a time like it’s a performance art piece. I hope you gave yourself a biscuit the moment you got home.
Also, your email chain analysis sounds genuinely harrowing. Seven messages, no punctuation, and a grammatical crime spree? I’m not sure whether to send condolences or a bottle of whisky. Possibly both.
Thank you, too, for appreciating Bernard’s diplomatic sandwich heist. He’s a seasoned operator. I suspect he could be hired out for subtle sabotage work. And yes, I am unreasonably proud of the beagle-blessing. My shoe may never recover, but the emotional value is priceless.
Now, let me tell you about my brush with greatness. Or at least, with Phoebe.
Will and Katie went out for an early Valentine’s dinner last night, and I offered to babysit their six year old. This was sold to me as ‘a quiet evening with cartoons and pasta,’ which was clearly a trap. Phoebe had other plans. Within five minutes of arriving, I was under strict instruction to assist in the constructionof a base camp (also known as a bedsheet tent strung between two dining chairs and a coat rack). We were climbing Everest, apparently. I was the porter, obviously. She led the expedition with the discipline of a drill sergeant and the imagination of someone who’s read too many books involving heroic marmots. She also informed me I snore ‘like a yeti’ which is both rude and worryingly accurate.
She’s got her dad’s spirit, that one. Will was exactly like that when we were younger. We once decided that being in the army wasn’t quite risky enough, so in our mid-twenties we spent a few years hunting altitude in the Himalayas whenever we were on leave. Climbed a few 6000-metre peaks and came back with frostbite in places I won’t name in polite company. It was thrilling at the time. Addictive, almost. Like chasing proof that you could do something impossible, just for the hell of it.
I don’t have that same urge these days. I think somewhere along the way, I stopped needing to get higher and just started wanting to breathe easier. These days, I still love the mountains, but for different reasons. It’s not about conquering anything anymore. It’s about being in a place where the world gets quiet. You stand up there and everything slows down. It’s the only time I don’t feel like I’m meant to be anywhere else.
Give me a slope, a ridgeline, even just a decent hill and I’m content. There’s something in the altitude that lets me put everything down for a bit. I’ve never found that with the sea. The sea makes me nervous. I know people find it calming, but all that horizon withno edge unsettles me. It feels like the rules are different out there. I like ground under my feet. Even better if it tilts skyward.
So, over to you. Mountain or sea?
And for the record, I’m still glad we met. Especially now that I’ve survived Everest in the living room.
Yours,
Aaron
To:Aaron
From:Eve
Date:28 February
Subject:Belated thoughts and imaginary mountain gear
Hi Aaron,
Apologies for the late reply. I didn’t mean to vanish. Work became unexpectedly intense. One of my clients brought in a rather urgent case involving anonymous threats and a frankly upsetting number of emojis. I ended up working close to sixty hours that week, most of it spent analysing texts that read like a hostile stream of consciousness. I think I’m still unpicking the grammar in my sleep.
But if I’m honest, it wasn’t just work. Your question, mountain or sea, has stayed with me more than I expected. I assumed the answer was obvious. I’ve lived near the Norfolk coast for a long time. I know the tidetimes better than I know my neighbours. The sea has always been there, steady and familiar.
Then, last week, I went for a long walk along the beach. It was cold, grey, and unusually quiet. And for the first time, I found it unnerving. All that water. All that space. It felt less like something peaceful and more like something waiting to swallow me. I don’t know how I never noticed it before. It looked vast and unknowable, and not in a romantic way.
Since then, I’ve been thinking about hills. I watched a short video montage of people hiking in the Himalayas. The sort with dramatic music and very committed camera angles. It looked breathtaking. Terrifying, obviously, but also astonishingly beautiful. There was something about the clouds curling round the peaks that made me pause the video more than once. I almost wish I could see it for myself. Just once. To stand at that height and feel the air thin around you. I can see the appeal now. The quiet, the clarity. The sense that you’re not so much escaping as returning to something you didn’t realise you’d left behind.
So, perhaps I’ve been wrong all this time. Perhaps I’m not a sea person after all. Or not only a sea person.
Phoebe sounds like a force of nature. I admire her leadership style. And your survival instincts. If she ever organises a real Everest expedition, I expect you’ll be roped in, whether you like it or not. You should probably start collecting suitable snacks now.
I promise to reply more promptly next time. Unless I’m busy applying for a passport and looking up hiking boots.
Eve
