‘Catwoman,’ I reply, confident I’ve got this one right, at least.
‘Victoria Adams,’ Rachael says, frowning at me.
‘Who the fuck is Victoria Adams?’ I ask, forgetting for a second that Parker is in the car. I am thoroughly confused. ‘I thought you were Catwoman. You know, from the 1940s comics? Always thought you’d got your decade wrong, or the only thing you had hanging in your wardrobe happened to be a latex catsuit …’
We exchange a look that seems to convey my thoughts about said outfit.
‘Fraser, you arehopeless,’ she accuses me. ‘I was Victoria Adams, circa the “Say You’ll Be There” music video?Pleasetell me you’ve heard of the Spice Girls?’
‘Wait!’ Parker says, sitting bolt upright and then leaning forward from the middle back seat. She grabs both of our shoulders as if she has finally pieced all this together, like the chief inspector in a murder mystery. ‘Dad went as Brooklyn Beckham’s dad, and you went as hismum? You two basically went to this party as a married couple!’
She lets us both go, falls back and rolls around laughing. ‘It’s like you fell in love with the wrong pop star, Dad!’
This is endlessly amusing, apparently.
‘Parker, your dad is a brilliant man, but this level of pop culture complexity is well beyond him.’
Rach touches me on the arm as I swing onto the turnoff to the mountain trail. ‘To give you credit, Frase, that was a good line. Remember the one about my eight other lives?’
It hadn’t got a rise on the night. What with my ineptitude over the brewing brawl with Connor, my woeful lack of culturalknowledge, and ice and water raining down from the deck overhead, I’m amazed she even recalls it.
According to the hiking notes online, the final climb to the summit involves a series of steep metal ladders bolted to the side of vertical rock faces. If your legs haven’t already given out, your nerve might, and there are warnings to avoid the ladders if you’re anxious. Parker scurries straight up the first one without even taking a breather after our punishing climb.
‘After you, Mrs Beckham,’ I say when Rach and I have caught our breath and had some water.
She shakes her head and takes another swig from the drink bottle. ‘I think I’ll wait here—you two go ahead.’
‘Oh, Rach, you can’t give up now!’ Parker begs from above. ‘Please come with us!’
Rach is the fittest out of the three of us, but I forgot she has a thing with heights. Audrey used to talk about the time they had to be relocated when they’d inadvertently purchased the nosebleed seats at a concert in one of Sydney’s Darling Harbour theatres.
‘You don’t have to,’ I tell her before looking up the ladder and calling out, ‘Don’t pressure people to do things they don’t want to do!’
Rachael glances upwards, squinting and shielding her eyes from the sun, then back at Parker. And at me. ‘I could go a little way up? Just give this first ladder a try?’
It’s probably part of her newfound resolve to extend herself. The fertility treatment. Emigrating. Settling down in some picture-postcard cottage with a rugged Irishman and his good craic, delivered with the kind of irresistible lilting accent that leaves the rest of us—
Where am I being left, here, precisely?
‘Dad will help,’ Parker says, scurrying up the second ladder. ‘I’ll get the content for TikTok.’
‘Please don’t, Parks!’ Rach begs, turning me around so she can stash her drink bottle in my backpack.
She takes the first few steps up the ladder, and I watch from the ground. So far, so good, as she makes it to the first landing. I follow her up and wait while she tackles the next one, watching as she slows her pace, hands gripping the railings tightly.
‘You’re fine,’ I call from below. ‘One step at a time.’
She’s gone quiet. Then she makes the mistake of glancing down, and I see her press herself forward on the ladder, both feet on one rung, frozen.
‘Fraser,’ she says, her tone urgent. I step up behind her, two rungs at a time, until I reach her lower legs.
‘You’re okay. Take a step down.’
She shakes her head, and I pull myself up until my feet are planted a rung below, my body right behind hers.
‘Come on, Rach!’ Parker shouts from well above.
‘Just ignore her,’ I say, calmly. ‘There’s no rush.’
