Black Cairn Point

by Claire McFall

  Much to my relief, Dougie shook his head.

  ‘It wasn’t you,’ he told me. ‘You were like my hot water bottle. I give you permission to sleep in here any time.’ He sighed. ‘I couldn’t stop thinking.’

  ‘About Martin,’ I guessed.

  Dougie nodded and I bit my lip, abashed. The thrill and embarrassment of sleeping in the same tent as Dougie had driven our friend out of my mind. Once again I felt the sting of shame.

  ‘I mean, maybe Darren’s right. I’d just feel better if I knew for sure.’ He sighed, pushed his hands through his hair in a nervous gesture.

  ‘I know,’ I said. ‘I keep thinking that he wouldn’t have just gone, not without saying.’

  ‘As soon as Darren’s up I want to take the car up to the main road, hunt for a signal.’

  ‘Before breakfast?’ I could easily imagine how Darren would react to that one.

  ‘I’d go now if I could.’

  ‘Well –’ I thought about it. ‘Why can’t we?’

  Dougie looked at me quizzically.

  ‘How?’

  I shrugged. ‘Can’t you drive? We could just take the Volvo up ourselves. We’ll probably be back before either of them appears.’

  I watched Dougie consider my suggestion. He made a face, but it was obvious the idea was appealing to him.

  ‘I know how to drive,’ he said slowly. ‘And it’s not as if there are likely to be any police cars out here in the middle of nowhere. Not this early. We’ll be lucky if we even see another car.’

  I smiled, pleased Dougie was coming around.

  ‘Where did Darren put the keys?’ I asked.

  ‘Behind you.’ Dougie pointed to the back of the tent. ‘In the black holdall.’ I reached round and started to yank at the zipper. ‘No,’ he called over my shoulder. ‘The side pocket.’

  But my hands had frozen. There, untidily stuffed around Darren’s things, was a very familiar red jumper. I pulled it out. Underneath that were a glasses case and a pair of corduroy shorts that Darren would never be seen dead in.

  ‘Dougie …’

  I’d found Martin’s stuff.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Now

  ‘It seems to me that with Martin out of the way you had what you wanted, Heather. Time with Dougie.’

  I glower at Petersen, not dignifying his comment with a response.

  ‘Tell me, how did you feel when Darren found Martin’s things?’

  ‘How do you think I felt?’ I snarl, goaded into speaking. ‘It was –’

  Then I catch what he’s just said.

  ‘It was Dougie and me who found Martin’s things,’ I tell him, my voice very deliberately calm and level once more. My fingers curl into my palms, nails digging into soft flesh, as I fight to rein in my emotions. ‘Me and Dougie, not Darren.’

  ‘Dougie?’ Petersen raises his pitch along with his eyebrows, turning it into a question. ‘That isn’t what you told me before.’

  ‘Yes, it is,’ I snap back.

  ‘No. I have it here, Heather. In your session transcripts.’ He grabs up my folder and draws out the stapled bundle of paper, then drops it back into the file before I can focus on the neat lines of type across the page. ‘Darren, you said.’

  That’s a mistake. It must have been Helen. She was probably sucking up to Petersen as she typed, flirting, angling for a pay rise.

  ‘It was Dougie,’ I tell him again. ‘Dougie and I found Martin’s things. In Darren’s bag.’

  Then

  It took Dougie all of five seconds to take in the objects nestled on top of Darren’s gear and put two and two together. Swearing loudly, he spun on his heel and stormed away from the tent. I struggled to escape from my sleeping bag then scrambled out after him. By the time I’d got outside he was already hauling open the zipper on the other tent. I heard squeals of protest from Emma. Though the sky was light, the sun was yet to break the horizon. It must still be very early. I hoped that was the only reason.

  ‘What is your problem, Dougie?’ Darren’s voice, sleepy but aggressive.

  ‘What’s my problem?’ Dougie was shouting; it was easy to hear him as I trotted across the cool sand, straightening my pyjamas as I went. ‘We found Martin’s stuff, Darren!’

  Silence. I reached Dougie’s side in time to see Darren’s expression curdle. He looked both belligerent and shamefaced, although there was far too much defiance and not enough contrition to satisfy me.

  Emma peeked out from where she’d had her face hidden in the pillow, trying to escape the light.

  ‘What’s going on?’ she complained.

  ‘Darren hid Martin’s things,’ Dougie explained, his voice hard. ‘He didn’t pack up his stuff and leave. Christ only knows where Martin is, but we should have spent the night looking for him, not barbecuing burgers and shacking up!’

  ‘All right, so he left his things behind. But he still might have hitchhiked out of here,’ Darren replied, his jaw set. ‘We don’t know where he is.’

  ‘That’s right, we don’t know,’ Dougie spat. ‘But you had no bloody right to lie to us! He might be lying somewhere in a ditch right now. It was freezing last night! He could be bloody dead, Darren!’

  Dougie was screaming. I put a hand on his arm and he broke off, breathing hard. Emma looked between the pair, her eyes wide as saucers. They widened even further, though, as she watched Darren slither out of the tent, climb slowly to his feet. He wore nothing but a pair of boxers and his physique was impressive. Even more so because he was quivering with rage. His hands curled into fists. I resisted the urge to take a step back. His anger wasn’t directed at me. Maybe it wasn’t aimed at Dougie, either.

  ‘Specky was nothing but a pain,’ he spat. ‘All he did was moan, and let’s face it, he made it a crowd, not a party. If he was stupid enough to get himself into trouble, that’s his lookout. If something’s happened to him, it wouldn’t be much of a loss.’

  I stared at him, agape. Even Emma looked shocked.

  ‘So if he’s hurt himself, if he’s dead, that’s just no big deal then?’ Dougie’s voice shook with barely controlled fury.

  Darren shrugged. ‘I won’t lose any sleep over it.’

  Emma’s quiet ‘Darren!’ was lost under the roar of anger that emitted from Dougie’s chest. He launched himself forward, hands clenched in fists of his own, aiming for Darren’s face.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’

  It was the fourth time I’d asked and once again my question was met with a curt ‘I’m fine.’

  We were hiking up the road towards civilisation, the Volvo waiting idly in the car park at our backs. Darren had refused to let us take it. Dougie, blood still streaming from his nose where Darren had smacked him hard in the face, had been uncontainable. It was all I could do to convince him to wait the three minutes it took me to claw on my clothes before he took off, storming away from the campsite.

  ‘Would you like a tissue?’ I asked, trotting to keep up.

  ‘No.’ Dougie wiped his lower face on his sleeve, coating his white top in vivid red blood.

  I fell silent then, concentrating on keeping up, avoiding the deep pot-holes that rutted the surface of the road. My calves were burning and hunger sapped my energy. I didn’t want to ask Dougie to slow down, though. Not when he was in this mood. To be honest, I was a little frightened of him right now. He seemed out of control and though I couldn’t hear what he was saying, I saw his lips trembling as he muttered under his breath.

  Then suddenly he stopped short and whirled to face me. I made to back away but then steadied myself.

  ‘I mean,’ he exploded, continuing a thought I hadn’t heard, ‘I know he doesn’t like Martin, but for God’s sake! He spent the whole night last night knowing Martin was missing, properly missing, and he didn’t bat an eyelid. All he could think about was getting Emma into the damned tent. What is wrong with him?’

  I looked at him anxiously, uncomfortable with the
idea of having to reply, nervous of saying the wrong thing.

  ‘And I can’t believe he wouldn’t let me have the car,’ he went on when I didn’t respond. ‘We could be up there right now, phoning him. Instead we’re hiking halfway across the frickin’ countryside. And if he doesn’t answer …’

  Dougie trailed off, looked away out over the sea, a darker blue today now that the sky had clouded over. I understood. If Martin didn’t answer, how the hell would we know what had happened to him? How would we find him? We’d already retraced his steps, what else could we do?

  ‘Come on,’ I said gently. ‘Let’s just get up there, find a signal.’

  Dougie took a deep breath, blew it out and then looked at me and nodded, a ghost of a smile about his mouth. His shoulders dropped and the expression on his face became more like the boy I knew. Apart from the blood.

  ‘Are you sure you don’t want a tissue?’ I asked as we started walking again, at a much more sedate pace this time.

  Dougie reached up to tentatively assess his nose. He winced and dropped his hand quickly.

  ‘Do I look terrible?’

  ‘Red’s not really your colour.’

  It was a poor attempt at being funny, but Dougie laughed nonetheless, though the sound was sour.

  ‘Here.’ I dug a pack of Kleenex from my pocket and held one out to him. ‘People with hay fever always carry tissues,’ I explained, catching his quizzical look.

  ‘Right.’ He took a tissue and tilted his head, using it to try to stem the trickle of scarlet that was still dribbling from his nose. ‘I’m not going to forgive Darren for this,’ he mumbled through a face full of paper.

  I understood that he meant the whole situation with Martin, not the bloody nose. Still, that was something to add to the list. Darren was the world’s biggest git. I had no idea what Emma saw in him, besides his muscles. She had been upset with him after the fight, mostly because Dougie was bleeding rather than the fact that he’d lied about Martin, but now she was down there at the beach with him, not up here with us. That spoke volumes.

  Dougie was right, we didn’t see a single car all the way to the main road. When we reached the top, the only noise came from an electricity generator buzzing quietly. Dougie checked his phone: no signal. Mine was the same. After several minutes, a white van zoomed by. Five minutes after that, an old couple in an aged but spotlessly clean Mercedes came ambling along. They actually stopped, the man rolling his window down to check that we were all right, but his cheerful demeanour cooled rapidly when he caught the sight of Dougie’s bloodied face and they didn’t linger long.

  ‘Maybe Martin did catch a ride,’ Dougie murmured as the car disappeared around the corner.

  Perhaps.

  We climbed a fence and walked halfway through an empty field. It was the highest point for miles around and we reckoned if we were going to get a signal, it would be there.

  ‘Well?’ I asked as he held up the little rectangle. My own phone still showed zero bars.

  ‘Hang on, it’s searching,’ he replied. He held it a little higher, eyes on the screen. ‘Ah-ha!’ He grinned at me triumphantly. It looked a little manic on his blood-spattered face. I smiled, making a mental note to hand him another tissue as soon as we’d spoken to Martin.

  And I told myself we would. It was the only way I could stop from feeling sick with worry.

  Dougie held the phone to his ear, gaze fixed on me.

  ‘It’s ringing,’ he mouthed.

  I waited, my pulse throbbing painfully, heart thudding in my chest. I couldn’t hear the rings but I counted them in my head, matching each one to the surge of adrenaline-filled blood pumping around my system. One. Two. Three. Four. Any second now Dougie’s face would stretch into a broad grin. Five, six, seven. Any moment, any moment now. Eight, nine, ten. Why wasn’t he answering?

  My stomach twisted uneasily as I watched Dougie’s face cloud. Slowly he dropped the phone.

  ‘It went to the answer machine,’ he whispered.

  ‘Try again,’ I urged.

  He obeyed me silently and I began my count all over again. I tried to hope but already I knew what the result would be. It was still a blow when Dougie shook his head, his expression grim.

  ‘Nothing,’ he said, confirming my fears.

  ‘What do we do?’ I asked. I felt lost, like a child. ‘Should we phone his parents?’

  Dougie made a face. I knew exactly what he was thinking. If we rang anyone’s parents, or the police, it made it real. Terrifying. I wasn’t sure that I was ready to admit that Martin was really missing.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Dougie echoed my hesitation. ‘What would we tell them?’

  I twisted my mouth to the side. Was there any way to check if Martin was home without revealing that we’d lost him, that there was any danger? If he wasn’t there I didn’t want to frighten his parents, not when there was still a chance he might be hunkered down somewhere, ankle twisted or broken, waiting impatiently for us and annoyed that we hadn’t found him yet.

  ‘Don’t tell them it’s you,’ I suggested. ‘Pretend to be someone else. Ask if he’s home.’

  Dougie looked doubtful. ‘You don’t think they’ll realise it’s me?’

  ‘I’ll call then,’ I said, though my insides squirmed at the thought. ‘I’ve never even met them.’

  To my surprise Dougie let out a laugh. A real one this time.

  ‘Trust me, if you phone up they’ll be suspicious. Martin doesn’t get calls from girls.’

  ‘Oh.’ I smiled uneasily. ‘Right.’

  ‘Okay,’ he sighed. ‘Okay, I’m calling.’

  He held the phone to his ear, but quickly he was frowning. I watched him pull the handset away, glare at the screen. ‘Oh come on! You were there a minute ago!’

  ‘What?’ I asked.

  ‘Signal’s disappeared.’

  Dougie tapped several different locations on the screen, but the expression on his face didn’t change.

  ‘Want to try mine?’ I offered. I fumbled around in my pocket and drew out my own phone. ‘What network are you on?’ I asked.

  ‘EE.’

  ‘I’m on Vodafone. Let me double-check … Nope,’ I sighed. ‘Not a thing.’

  ‘That’s so weird,’ Dougie said. ‘It was fine a moment ago. I had four bars. Maybe I need to get higher.’

  ‘Higher?’ I said dubiously. We were as high up as it got.

  ‘I could climb a tree,’ Dougie suggested, eyeing up the tall birches that lined the back of the field.

  I stared at him, fighting the urge to say what I thought, that he was clutching at straws. But I didn’t have any better ideas. How far would we have to walk to find a house? If it came to that we’d have to go back and make Darren hand over the keys. And that wasn’t a conversation I was keen to have.

  ‘I’ll give you a leg-up,’ I said.

  With me giving him a punt up to the lowest branches, Dougie was able to scale the sturdiest-looking tree in quick, lithe movements. He paused in the centre, testing out the higher branches with his hands. They swayed easily under the pressure.

  ‘Don’t go too high,’ I warned. ‘The last thing we need is for you to break your neck!’

  He chuckled, but stopped trying to climb higher.

  ‘Any luck?’

  ‘No. Yes! We have lift-off! Hang on, it’s ringing now.’ I waited, both anxious and eager. Then … ‘What the hell?’

  ‘What?’ No answer. ‘Dougie, what is it?’

  ‘My battery just died.’

  I huffed a laugh, though it really wasn’t funny.

  ‘You’re joking?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Hang on.’ I dug into my pockets again. ‘Catch! See if I have signal.’

  I threw my phone up into the tree, wincing apprehensively, but Dougie’s deft hands caught it easily. I watched him jab at the screen.

  ‘How do you turn it on?’ he called down.

  ‘It is on,’ I replied. ‘Is the screen locked?’<
br />
  ‘No. Heather, it’s definitely not on.’

  I looked up at him, mystified. It had been on a minute ago. Maybe my fingers accidentally hit the switch when I threw it, although you had to hold it down for at least five seconds. I described the way to start it up, then waited. And waited.

  ‘Nope, it’s not turning on. Could it be out of power?’

  ‘No. I still had half a battery. That should do me till at least tomorrow.’

  ‘Well, it’s not working.’

  ‘Chuck it down,’ I sighed, exasperated.

  Dougie obediently dropped it into my waiting hand and I plunged my thumb down onto the power key, waiting for the little red Vodafone symbol to dance across the screen. It didn’t.

  ‘That’s not right,’ I murmured quietly. Was it broken?

  ‘I told you,’ Dougie called down.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ I said, raising my voice so he could hear. ‘It was fine a second ago.’ I looked about me. ‘Could it be the generator thing? Can it drain batteries?’

  ‘Dunno.’ Dougie’s voice was closer now. I looked up to see him slipping down through the branches. ‘Just our luck this weekend.’

  He scuttled lightly onto the final branch and hovered there for a moment, judging the distance to the ground. As he bent his knees, preparing to jump, I heard a deep crack resound from the trunk. Dougie’s face dropped in time with the branch and both of them tumbled to the ground.

  ‘Dougie!’ I cried out, already reaching for him. He was sprawled on the ground, tangled up in the whippy, leaf-covered shoots spiking off from the broken branch. Even as his hands tore at the foliage I knew something was wrong. Peeking out from the confusion of glossy green was his ankle, turned awkwardly under him. His mouth twisted in a grimace of pain and he gripped his leg just above his foot. He groaned, still trying to extricate himself from the chunk of tree.

  ‘Are you all right?’ I gasped.

  Dougie huffed. ‘Yeah, I think so.’ I took hold of his hand and hauled him to his feet. He hissed in pain as soon as he tried to put any weight on the damaged ankle. ‘Maybe,’ he amended.