Shared by the Highlanders (22 page)

Still, if anyone can handle it they can. I shove the leftover packaging from our meal in the top of my rucksack and get to my feet.

“Nothing. It’ll be fine. It sounds as though I’ve only been gone for two days. Come on, you two. Next stop Glenridding.”

The rooftops of the bustling village come into view a couple of hours later as we crest the final hill before the valley drops away. A few yards further and we can make out traffic, and see people wandering along the main road that links Glenridding at the southern end of Ullswater with Pooley Bridge at the northern extreme. Will produces my binoculars from somewhere on his person and pauses to inspect the scene below.

“What are you looking for?” I ask him.

“Christ only knows, lassie. I prefer to have a notion what I’m walking into though.”

“You can relax, and for heaven’s sake, keep that knife of yours out of sight. The most dangerous thing in Glenridding is the prices at the hotel.”

He lowers the binoculars and eyes me narrowly. Robbie is more relaxed, throwing an arm across my shoulders.

“Lead on, wee Charlie.” I get the impression he’s enjoying himself.

It’s mid-morning by now so all the shops are open as we amble through the main street. The most disconcerting thing for Will and Robbie is the traffic, which is already quite heavy with day-trippers heading for the north lakes of Scotland. The cars are moving reasonably slowly in the village, maybe twenty miles an hour, but Will is still suspicious.

“Are those the carriages you spoke of? Without horses?”

“Yes. Cars, and vans. Also that big one is a coach—a lot of people can ride in it. Stay back. Do
not
step into the road.”

Will’s expression suggests he thinks I may be quite deranged. “Wouldn’t bloody dream of it, girl.”

Will and Robbie attract their fair share of curious attention themselves, though none of it hostile. Once they get sufficiently accustomed to the motion of the traffic to turn their attention elsewhere they are both fascinated by the goods for sale in the shops, though it’s mainly hiking gear or tourist tat.

“So you can just go in, pick up what you want, and walk out?” Robbie is incredulous at such a seemingly casual way of conducting trade.

“You have to pay, either with cash or a card.” I know what’s coming next so I forestall the question. “A credit card. It means you sort of borrow the money from a bank. They pay the trader, and you have to pay the bank back later. It’s better than carrying lots of cash around, especially for larger purchases.”

“What’s a bank, and why would it buy things for you?” Robbie has his nose pressed against a shop selling traditional sweets.

“It’s a long story. Look, do you want some of those?” He seems to have his eye on a slab of coconut ice, cut into cubes about an inch square.

“Aye, maybe. I have money.” He hefts the heavy purse that he carries tied to his belt. The jangle of silver would be encouraging in his century but is of no use at all to us here.

“Come on. I’ll pay.” I open the door and step into the shop. Robbie follows me, while Will stations himself outside, presumably to fight off any stray tourists. I get the impression he remains deeply suspicious of this new environment.

“Can I have a quarter of coconut ice, please?” I ask the shop assistant, a rather bored-looking teenage girl dressed in a long stripy pinafore and a fancy little Victorian-style hat. Despite her own questionable attire, she lifts a curious eyebrow at Robbie. Or maybe she just fancies him.

I dig the required two pounds thirty-five out of the side pocket of my rucksack and hand it over in exchange for the small bag of confectionery. Robbie seems well pleased with the purchase and crams a piece into his mouth the moment we get back out on the street. By his astonished expression and beaming smile I get the feeling he likes it. Will demands a taste too, and I grin at them. Talk about small boys in a sweet shop…

I have more weighty matters on my mind than coconut ice, most particularly whether my car is still where I left it. I arrived in Glenridding on April fourteenth, so my car should have been in the main car park for two days now. I was expected back at the youth hostel last night, and when I didn’t arrive they should have registered that fact. They wouldn’t necessarily go on full alert straight away though; I’m known to be an experienced hiker and the weather conditions have been fine. But they probably will send out the rescue team by the end of today. I need to show up, make some excuse for my tardiness, then recover my car and go.

“This way.” I set off in the direction of the main square where the youth hostel and car park are located. We reach the crossing to get to the other side of the road and the two Scots are again fascinated as I press the button, wait for a green man to light up, then all the cars stop to allow us to cross. As I lead the way across the road I spot my faithful little Renault tucked away in a corner of the car park. So far so good.

The entrance to the hostel is at one end of the car park. I turn to Will and Robbie.

“This is the place I was supposed to be at, the night after I met you two. Obviously I never arrived, so they’ll be wondering where I got to. If I don’t tell them I’m safe, they’ll send a search party out onto the fells. I’ll just be a minute. Will you two be all right waiting here or do you want to come in?”

“We’ll stick with you, wee Charlie.” Robbie is emphatic. I’m not certain it’s his own welfare or mine uppermost in his mind right now, though he does seem reasonably content that we’re in no imminent danger. Either way, we all three troop into the hostel.

It’s the work of just a few moments to report my whereabouts to the receptionist, who confirms they had an amber flag against my name and would have alerted the fell rescue team if I hadn’t returned in another four hours. That crisis averted, I thank her and herd my escort back outside. I march off in the direction of my car.

It’s nothing special, not really, but it looks pretty smart with its black paintwork and contrasting orange-red roof. I open the driver’s door, my keyless entry system working perfectly despite the fob having been jettisoned through over four centuries and back again.

“Is this yours?” Robbie is circling the vehicle, inspecting it from all angles.

“Yes. One of you can ride in front with me, the other in the back.”

“Are you sure it can carry us all? It looks a bit wee, if you don’t mind me saying so.” Will is less impressed than Robbie, clearly.

“Yes. Definitely.” I lift up the boot lid and help Will to stow my bag in there, then I open the rear door and gesture him to get inside. I stifle a grin at the sight of him attempting to fold his long, muscular legs into the space behind the driver’s seat.

I get in myself and reach across to open the passenger door for Robbie. He also looks distinctly ill at ease. Just wait till we reach the M6.

“You need to fasten your seatbelts.” I spend the next few minutes insisting they comply with the law, and showing them how to buckle the belts across their bodies. At last we are ready to leave. I press the start button, and the engine purrs into life. Both men lurch in their seats, and I suspect would have leapt from the car had they not been fastened in. I glance in my mirror, and sure enough, Will has his knife in his hand again.

“What’s that? That noise?” Robbie is peering under the dashboard as though the source of this mysterious din might be found there. I suppose he’s not far wrong.

“It’s just the engine. It makes the car go. And please, Will, put that knife away before you get us all arrested.”

I turn to face them both. “Look, I’m an advanced driver, right? It goes with being a paramedic, ambulance crew and all that. I know what I’m doing, and we’re perfectly safe. Just sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride. Okay?”

Their apprehensive grunts suggest they remain unconvinced, but they seem ready to give me the benefit of the doubt. For now. I put the car in gear and reverse out of the bay.

Our journey back along the Kirkstone Pass is enjoyable. Will and Robbie recognise the scenery having traversed this route many times, though of course the landscape has changed to some extent. There are more farmsteads, though not that many. The wind farm, of course, and the drystone walls are new. Well, newish.

At Will’s request I pull into the car park opposite the Kirkstone Inn. He fights his way out of the seatbelt and emerges from the car to stand and gape at the old building.

“I know this place. Well, some of it. That bit, there…” He points to the oldest part, a long, low wing where the main bar is now housed. “I spent several nights here, over the years. It was a smaller place then…”

“Yes, it’s been extended at some stage.” I turn, my back to the inn and gaze over the opposite hillside. I can just make out the skeleton of our oak tree, high on the incline, and the smudge of dark alongside that must be the ruined hut. “Look, over there. That’s where it all happened.”

We all three stand in something like reverent awe. I doubt I’ll ever understand the forces at work that caused this bizarre set of circumstances, but whatever happened, it brought me here, to this point, with two men I have come to adore. Life is unpredictable, certainly, but right now it promises to be a great deal of fun.

“Come on, it’s time to get you two home. We have some planning to do.”

Chapter Thirteen

Both men are relatively quiet as we make our way down the fells and into the hectic tourist town of Windermere, then join the dual carriageway heading toward the motorway. As we reach the wider, faster roads and pick up speed, even Robbie falls silent, after observing that he intends to get himself one of these fine machines at the earliest opportunity. I make a mental note to put driving lessons at the top of our bucket list. The motorway stretch gives me an interlude of relative peace to further consider our options. An idea has started to form, though I’m not sure my men will go for it.

“I’m starving. Where can we get some food?” Will’s voice brings me back to the here and now. I glance at him in the rear-view mirror, still intent on watching the scenery flash by.

“What do you fancy?” Daft question, come to think of it. They have no idea what might be available.

“Some bread? Cheese perhaps? Is there an inn or tavern where we could buy some sustenance, or some such thing?”

I smile to myself. Not on the M6 there isn’t. What there is though, is Charnock Richard services, complete with Burger King, KFC, Costa, the lot. It’s a couple of miles ahead of us. I decide to throw caution to the wind and introduce them to an important slice of twenty-first century culture.

“I know just the place.”

Five minutes later I pull up in the vast acreage of car parking in front of the modern glass and chrome building. Robbie stares at the place, whilst Will is more interested in the people milling about in the entrance.

“What is this?”

“Motorway services. For travellers. You can get food, drinks, use the toilets. Some have hotels. Come on, let’s get a burger.” I unclasp my seatbelt and get out. They follow, looking uncertain. I smile at them and attempt to offer encouragement. “You’ll like this place, I know it.”

They follow me into the building, both of them stepping back in alarm when the plate glass doors glide apart as we approach.

Robbie mutters under his breath as we stride though and into the brightly lit concourse. “Hell’s teeth, girl, no wonder you were mistaken for a witch. How did you do that?”

I grin and decline to answer that. “We can just get a coffee and a cake at Costa, or if you fancy it you could try a burger. They do great fries at Burger King.”

Will turns through three hundred and sixty degrees, whistling through his teeth. He grins at me. “Wee Charlie, we are in your hands.”

Now there’s a thought.
I head for the escalator, which will take us up onto the bridge spanning the motorway. The main fast food outlets are located up there, with stunning views of both carriageways. I shouldn’t show off, and I am trying not to. But I can’t quite help myself.

I lead the way upstairs, and along the corridor to the familiar red, blue, and yellow sign. Outside the franchise are several tables with seats. I spot an empty one by the windows.

“You two wait there if you like. I’ll sort out the food.”

For once they do as they’re told, making themselves comfortable and continuing to survey their surroundings with keen interest.

I approach the counter and order three whoppers, one with bacon and cheese, one made of pulled pork, and the third a steakhouse. I get a coffee, a diet Pepsi, and a carton of orange juice for our drinks, thinking it might be good for them to sample a range of things. Burger King might not be the finest example of twenty-first century cuisine, but it has its attractions. Talking of which, I load up on the fries.

I carry the tray back to our table and set it down. Robbie and Will have their faces pressed up against the glass, watching the traffic hurtling past below us. Even I have to agree the sight is pretty amazing. I take a few moments to see it through their eyes, savouring the newness, the excitement of this crazy, frantic world they have landed in.

The scent of the burgers distracts Robbie. “Ah, you have food? Do you?” He peers hopefully at the carton, though his expression registers some doubt as to whether what I have brought could reasonably be described as food. He’ll learn.

We each select a carton and the fries are piled in the middle. Will starts to reach for his dagger.

“No, leave that where it is. You eat with your fingers. Like this.” I open my carton, find I’ve got the steakhouse, and take a bite. I grab a handful of the fries and drop them into the lid of my carton. “I got different drinks. Try them all, see what you like.”

“Is there no ale?” Will peers in some consternation at the carton of juice.

I shake my head. “Not here, at least I don’t think so. Generally, alcohol and motor vehicles are a considered to be a bad combination. Pull the straw off the side and poke it through the top. That silver bit, there.”