by Sara Foster
‘My family have put quite a few in there over the years,’ Georgia replied as she watched him. ‘Couldn’t tell you which ones, though.’
Leo hunted around and found a large stone. He set the coin’s tip against a small section of empty bark and tapped it lightly a few times. Then with one swift movement he brought the rock down hard.
‘There,’ he said, satisfied.
The force of his blow had made Georgia jump. She had expected him to hammer it in little by little, like her family always had. From memory it had taken them a while to get a coin in far enough to stay put, but Leo’s two-pence was now buried deep in the wood.
He smiled at her. ‘Shall we go?’
She nodded. On the tip of her tongue was one of the other stories of the money tree: that if you could drive a nail or coin into a tree with one blow you earned a kiss from your sweetheart. But she didn’t say it.
After they set off again, they didn’t speak for a while. They crossed a small bridge over a trickling stream and left the woods behind them. The path began to head back to the car park, winding amid a few gentle grassy inclines.
Suddenly Georgia felt desperate. If Leo didn’t suggest that they met up again, this could all be over in a few minutes; she wouldn’t see him unless they crossed paths on a run or she began to turn up at Tarn Hows every morning, and that seemed a bit too much like stalking. As she tried to keep up with him, she racked her brains for something to suggest, and had an idea. ‘You said you hadn’t been on a fell run, right?’
Leo slowed down, staying just ahead of her. ‘Not yet.’
‘I could take you on one if you like – if you’re game.’
He turned to her and pulled a face of mock terror. ‘Is that a challenge?’
‘Definitely.’ She relaxed as she saw how interested he was. ‘If you haven’t done it before, you don’t know what you’re in for.’
‘All right,’ he said, smiling. ‘How can I refuse? I’m in.’
Georgia tried not to grin like an idiot as they continued, and felt slightly deflated when he checked his watch and began to speed up. ‘What time is it?’ she asked, worried she’d lost track and her mother would be sending out a search party.
‘It’s just gone nine. I’ve got an appointment this morning – I have to get moving.’ He turned to her and grinned. ‘Race you to the finish.’
She was so grateful when they arrived back at the car park that it was an effort to walk – not stagger – over to a nearby bench. Leo had made the whole thing look so effortless, she had expected him to go straight into a cool-down, but to her surprise he threw himself onto the bench beside her, his arms loose by his sides, his chest rising and falling heavily.
‘I’m not normally this worn out,’ he said after a while. ‘It must be because you were chasing me!’
‘Hardly! I was practically walking for the last bit!’
They both stared at the sky for long enough that Georgia began to make out the stealthy scudding of a few obese clouds.
‘It’s going to rain,’ she said absentmindedly.
‘I’m getting used to that here.’
‘Where did you live before?’
‘Dorset.’
Georgia wasn’t exactly sure where Dorset was but she knew it was south – a long way from the Lakes. She was about to ask him why he had moved to the Lake District, but Leo was glancing at his watch.
‘I really have to go,’ he said. ‘I need to get home and take a shower.’ He turned to her. ‘This has been great, Georgia – it’s been a change for me. Part of the reason I like running is that it gives me the chance to be alone, clear my head, but I enjoyed teaming up with you. When can we do the fell run?’
‘Whenever you want.’ She wanted to add Tomorrow? but stopped herself. ‘Friday or Saturday?’ she suggested.
‘Saturday sounds good.’ He dug his car keys out of his pocket and stood up. ‘Where are we going?’
‘I’ll make a plan and text you.’
There was a pause that neither of them seemed sure how to fill, then he gave her a quick wave and smiled. ‘So, I’ll see you soon,’ he said, then turned and jogged to his car.
She had stayed on the bench for a while, and only the first drops of a light rain squall had been enough to get her moving. She had been giddy from excitement. Surely this was the start of something big.
• • •
‘Georgia.’
Her mother’s voice intrudes on her memories. Reluctantly, she comes out of her daydream, surprised to find herself sitting on a bench in school. The hallways are much quieter now. How deep had her mind wandered, and for how long?
‘Are you okay? You were lost in thought there.’
‘I’m fine, Mum.’ She runs a hand through her hair and looks around, noticing a couple of girls gawking at them as they pass by, hating the audience. ‘Can you just give me some space?’
‘Of course,’ her mother replies, infuriatingly matter-of-fact, as always. ‘Mrs Jessop is going to speak to Mr Freeman about the race tomorrow. He might try to talk to you later about it, Georgia, so please think about whether you’re up to it. I’m sure no one will blame you if you want to pull out.’
A mix of emotions rush at Georgia. Anger. Fear. Frustration.
‘Stop interfering, Mum.’ It’s an effort not to shout, and she still raises her voice higher than intended. ‘I will be running. End of story.’
Her mum backs away, her sadness obvious. ‘Okay, Georgia, I’ll leave you alone.’
When she has gone, Georgia turns to the view again. But the memories won’t come back. They are lost in a jumble of worries, and she finds she is shaking.
9
CALLUM
As Callum parks in the hospital grounds, he decides to leave his coat in the car and instead grabs his bright blue and red fleece jacket. It’s an instant favourite of his by virtue of the fact that Zac and Georgia bought it for him last Christmas. When Georgia had pointed out they’d chosen Superman colours, he could still hear the strange sound Anya had made – something between a laugh and a snort.
What might have been more useful, however, was a crystal ball to warn him just how many things would be coming his way this year. It was the McCallister incident that had started everything. Callum had argued with Anya that morning six months ago, and she had accused him once again of neglecting the family. They had each got ready for work in silence, but as he had driven along the twisting country roads he kept hearing the pleading echo of her voice. He had felt his hands grow clammy at the thought of driving all the way to the office at Barrow, his breathing quickening as he pictured himself at his desk. His gaze had been drawn to the hills in the distance, and he had pulled up at the side of the road, called work and feigned sickness. After that, for a few minutes he hadn’t even had the energy to turn the key in the ignition.
Eventually, he had re-started the car and changed direction, determined to traverse a fell that day, hoping that somewhere amid a panoramic view he might find a clearer perspective on things. He needed a challenge, a sense of accomplishment, and there was only one place for it: Bowfell.
He was grateful he kept boots and jacket in the car for rescues, so he didn’t have to go home. After a quick supermarket stop it took about twenty minutes to reach the car park at Dungeon Ghyll, which was more than half full despite the early hour. It was a good sign. Bowfell wasn’t for the inexperienced or inattentive rambler; it was one of the longest fell walks in the Lakes, so important to set off early. Callum had lost count of the number of rescue team call-outs from people who hadn’t managed to navigate off the crags before nightfall. Challenging enough by day, the rocky outcrops and steep scree slopes were highly dangerous in poor visibility.
He looked up at Crinkle Crags in the distance, the mini rollercoaster of peaks that marked the way to the Bowfell summit. It was one of those early spring days, the sky a promising backdrop of cornflower blue, but the sun still too insipid to warm the air. From this distance, the view was
a picture postcard, but in a few hours he would be up there, and those sleek-looking crags would have transformed into a complex scramble of rocky inclines and gullies, while the place he stood now, with the hotel and fields close by, would all be recast in miniature.
As Callum set off, his breath formed mist clouds that floated and fell along with the rhythm of his feet on the gravel track. With each exhale he felt his head clearing, his body relaxing, the cares of the day drifting away. The fells had always had this effect on him. He had lived his whole life close to these perennial peaks and valleys, and long felt that strange, perpetual pull they demanded of man, to conquer the breadth and width of them with nothing more than singular strength, stamina and resourcefulness. Their presence could ease his soul beyond the limits of his skin, gathering him into the landscape. A few hours into a climb and Callum always reached a place beyond the realm of time, where there was just the pumping rush of oxygen, the next handhold, the next footfall.
He couldn’t wait to get going. He strode easily along the first long section of the track, surefooted and determined. Across the gentle green ascent, the path meandered ever upwards, disappearing towards the summit. In the distance, beyond the crags, he could just see the broad shoulders of Bowfell. The view hadn’t changed in his lifetime, making it easy to remember coming here as a child, still young enough to ride on his father’s shoulders.
Callum’s father had introduced his sons to Wainwright’s definitive books on fell-walking early in their lives, and Callum appreciated Wainwright’s encouragement for the solitary walker. On this walk it was soon clear he was in the minority, for he began to overtake small groups marching confidently along the flat paths towards the first slopes, and saw one much larger walking party in the distance. You had to go off the beaten track nowadays to find a truly solitary spot. The sheer scope of the Lake District, the steadfast backdrop of soaring peaks, hid myriad small changes among its slopes and valleys. The influx of tourists, the erosion, the problems with phosphates and algae, the mining waste, they were all playing their part in changing the landscape. The mere mention of fracking – despite political promises of ‘exceptional circumstances only’ – was terrifying. Change was inevitable, and Callum only hoped it wouldn’t be in his lifetime. These pristine panoramas might suggest that some things could defy time, but even the mighty fells couldn’t avoid it forever.
Amid these sobering thoughts, Callum was vaguely aware of other voices fading in and out, but for the most part only the spirit of his father kept him company. Although he and Liam had often grumbled and bickered their way to Lakeland summits as teenagers, ultimately their father had bequeathed his love of the fells to them both. It was one of those precious gifts that was only recognised in hindsight.
Was he passing on his passions to his own children, Callum wondered. He hoped Georgia would keep up with her running, but she seemed determined to go to a big, dirty city university. And Zac was besotted by flashing screens in darkened rooms, which Callum found hard to bear. In truth, nowadays he felt like a spare part within the family. His attempts at being useful only irritated his wife, and his voice was as interesting to his kids as static noise. It was far better to be at the rescue station, where he was so obviously needed.
He wasn’t just struggling at home. It was getting increasingly difficult to spend time dealing with cranky clients in an office that was either freezing or overheated thanks to the temperature zealots among the staff. He would breathe in recycled air and dream of the outdoors.
He thought Anya would back him if he wanted to take a risk – her work would cover the mortgage, and there was enough money left in her inheritance to pay for the kids’ schooling. Still, he struggled with the idea of his wife supporting the family while he dithered on a career change. He could already hear Liam’s jokes about him being a ‘kept man’. Besides, the most satisfying thing he did was his work with the rescue unit, and those positions were a hundred per cent volunteer.
No answers came to him, and yet the air seemed to get easier to breathe as he steadily climbed higher. It took two hours to reach the beginning of the ridge walk, and from that point his experience meant he began to catch up and pass more and more groups, often leaving them with a few words of advice about the route, particularly negotiating the perilous rock formations of the step and the slab. The rock-strewn ridges were a challenge for the inexperienced, but Callum made it past all five of the crinkle crags in a couple of hours – resting by the three tarns and watching the clouds’ reflections rolling across their languid waters, before he turned his attention to the summit of Bowfell.
He was making his way along the section known as Climber’s Traverse when he heard a shout. He had been treading confidently, despite the fact this stretch of track pinioned walkers to the hillside with a steep slope that dropped off immediately from the narrow footpath’s outer edge into a deep and rocky ravine.
He stopped and listened. There was another short cry for help, a high note of anguish that urged Callum into a jog.
He expected to find the caller beyond a dip in the path, and was surprised when no one was there. ‘Hello?’ he called to the empty panorama, his voice a lingering echo across the void.
‘Over here, quickly, please . . .’ came a man’s voice, surprisingly close. Callum got down on his hands and knees and crawled to the edge, aware that if someone had already fallen, then the ground might be loose. Peering down, he found himself staring at a stricken face a few metres below him. The man was perched precariously on a boulder that formed a small ledge, and had found handholds among a few patches of heather.
‘My son, my son.’ The man was desperately trying to catch his breath. ‘He slipped and disappeared, and I can’t find a way down to him. I’ve been calling but there’s no response. Oh God, please help me.’
Callum quickly suppressed his fear – there wasn’t time. The man was visibly distraught, his own situation now as precarious as his son’s. Callum got to his knees and pulled his phone from his pocket, praying there would be coverage here. When he saw one bar on the screen he breathed a sigh of relief. He dialled Les Pickering, cutting off Les’s greeting.
‘Les, I’m on Climber’s Traverse near the scarp of Bowfell, in view of the buttress. I have a distressed father here whose son has fallen from the path. The boy isn’t visible. The dad has tried to climb down and now he’s stuck on a ledge. We need immediate assistance.’
‘I’m on it, Cal – I’ll get your position from your phone.’ There was no need to say more, they both knew the drill.
‘What’s your name?’ Callum asked quickly, searching around for anything that might help the man get off the ledge.
‘Mike – Mike McCallister.’ The man’s teeth were chattering. ‘Please, find my son.’
‘Help is on the way, Mike. Now I need to make sure you’re safe.’
‘No, please, I can wait – find Hugh—’
‘Mike, if you fall from there you’ll be no help to Hugh at all.’
A middle-aged couple came into view, picking their way across the rocks. Callum rushed to meet them. ‘Do you have a rope?’ he asked, knowing the answer before they shook their heads. ‘Then, can I borrow your jackets? There’s a bloke in trouble over there.’ They immediately stripped off their coats. Callum grabbed them and said, ‘Follow me.’
‘How are you doing, Mike?’ he called as he got back.
‘I don’t know how much longer I can hold on.’ Mike’s voice was faint.
Callum took off his own jacket and then knelt on the ground. He was trying to figure out how to tie the clothing together when two more figures appeared, running along the path. Callum’s spirits rose as they neared and he saw what they were holding.
‘We were about to start climbing the buttress,’ the first man said, holding out the rope. ‘We heard a cry, so we hurried back.’
Each man had a rope. Callum tied the first one around himself and abseiled down next to Mike as the other men worked as a team to stead
y him. Then he secured the second rope to Mike, and watched as they pulled him up.
By the time they had winched Callum back to the footpath, Mike had scrabbled forward on all fours and was peering over the edge, yelling his son’s name. Callum held on tightly to the rope that was still around Mike’s waist, in case he took another plunge. He could feel his own throat swell at the panic and despair in Mike’s voice.
When Mike stopped for a moment, Callum took a chance and knelt beside him, putting his arms around the man’s shoulders. ‘Listen,’ he insisted.
In the distance they could hear the chugging sounds of whirring rotor blades, closing fast. The Air Ambulance flew low over their heads, dipping into the valley, circling around and coming to hover close enough that most of the group kept their hands over their ears.
The helicopter was motionless for an unbearably long time as a team member was lowered alongside a stretcher. When they were winched back up, Callum watched Mike raise his head as his gaze followed the helicopter higher and higher, shading his eyes to see.
‘How do we know if he’s okay?’ he asked, dazed, once the helicopter was out of sight.
‘Come on,’ Callum said, coaxing him along the narrow path. ‘We need to go now.’ They said hasty goodbyes to the pale, shocked members of the rescue party and began to pick their way over the rocky terrain. When his mobile rang, Callum answered with his heart pounding. ‘Les, what do you know?’
‘The boy is alive, but badly injured.’
‘He’s alive,’ Callum said to Mike. ‘But he’s been hurt. Let’s get you back down as quickly as we can, and take you to your son.’
They had descended the fastest way Callum knew, to the closest spot accessible by four-wheel drive. For the final section of the journey they were joined by some of Callum’s colleagues from the rescue team, who escorted them to a vehicle. Callum had eventually left Mike in the emergency department of the Royal Lancaster, coming to terms with the news of his son’s multiple fractures. He hadn’t thought he would see Mike McCallister again, let alone that this man would be one of the catalysts that would lead him into this perilous situation with Danielle. But now, as he enters the same hospital in search of his niece, Callum wonders if his life would have been any different today if he had played no part in the rescue of Mike and Hugh McCallister.