‘Oh.’ That hurt more than he liked to admit to. Lyssa had thrown a bon voyage party and hadn’t invited him—surely she should have, if only for old time’s sake.

‘There were just a few of us there,’ Edie said, reading his mind. ‘Mainly family.’

‘And Pip.’

‘Yeah. And Pip. Is he okay?’

Jake shrugged. ‘He’s fine.’

‘Oh. Good,’ she said, tucking her hair behind her ear. ‘Good. Give him my regards.’

‘Yeah,’ Jake said. ‘Will do.’

Edie followed him to the door, a now placid and probably bug-ridden Archie trailing in her wake. They faced each other uncomfortably.

‘Thanks for everything. And for the fish fingers. They were great.’

‘Charmer,’ Edie said as she wrapped her arms round him.

Jake hugged her tightly. How could he have screwed this up so badly?

‘We love you. You’re family. Come round anytime. You know you’re always welcome. Except if you hurt my big sister again,’ she warned. ‘Then I’ll kill you.’

Chapter forty

Chapter forty

Last night’s meal was obviously a fluke. Today—as I’d been warned by my mother, my sister and all of my office colleagues—the dish of the day is dried yak. And I have to say, contrary to popular rumour, it isn’t half bad. Saffron, who I’m still convinced is a closet vegetarian, is certainly tucking in again. The yak casserole is accompanied by noodles, plates of green beans and copious amounts of rakshi, the local distilled rice wine. It all makes for a heady mix. Maybe it’s the mountain air or maybe it’s because it’s exactly like rocket fuel, but the rakshi is going straight to my head. The other thing is, because of all the IVF stuff, I’ve been on a strict diet of abstinence for longer than I care to remember—no alcohol, no blue cheese, no raw eggs, no tuna fish. Now this is no longer an issue, bring it all on! I say. Particularly the alcohol.

After dinner we take our fold-up stools out into the night air and I think it’s telling that the group already leave a space for Dean beside me. Some of the local villagers have come to join us for the evening, walking a mere two miles to entertain us, and bringing with them traditional drums and penny whistles. The Sherpas bring the kerosene lamps out of the dining tent and gather round, laughing boisterously in a way that shows they too have been enjoying the raw warmth of the rakshi. Some of the younger men start to lead a dance in the middle of the group as the villagers sing and clap. They twirl madly, twisting their bodies, spinning and spinning. The few women porters on the trek huddle at the back, eyeing them shyly. The huge sweep of the Milky Way provides the disco lights above us, sparkling brightly from horizon to horizon.

‘Come and dance,’ Dean says.