Working Wonders

by Jenny Colgan

  ‘If there’s any point,’ said Rafe.

  ‘I slept in a car and missed Frasier for this,’ said Gwyneth. ‘We’re going.’

  Build a way of crossing the river using ONLY the materials provided. If you do not complete the task within forty-five minutes you will not reach the camp ground before nightfall and thus will fail the challenge. It is not recommended that you try to cross the river by other means. At this time of year the temperature will bring early onset hypothermia and death is likely.

  Arthur read the note aloud.

  ‘It’s amazing, isn’t it,’ said Cathy, after a while when nobody spoke, ‘the way they make things seem realistically dangerous.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Arthur, slowly. Marcus, meanwhile, was carefully unstrapping his watch.

  There were four planks of wood and four stumps. Obviously they were not wide enough to form a bridge over the river on their own.

  ‘I wish this was the problem about the farmer and the fox that eats the chicken and the corn,’ said Marcus. ‘I’m brilliant with things like that.’

  ‘You’re the engineer,’ said Arthur to Sven. ‘You must be able to sort it out, surely.’

  Sven made the kind of face usually seen at garages when you don’t know what’s wrong with your car. ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Well, you know, if it was ice, I could probably help you.’

  ‘Yes, we could walk across it,’ said Arthur, a tad sharply.

  ‘Forty-two minutes,’ said Marcus.

  ‘You’re not going to start doing that,’ said Arthur.

  They stared at the river and again at the pieces of wood.

  ‘Maybe you’re supposed to build an enormous catapult and propel yourself over,’ said Sven.

  ‘And you wonder why we didn’t make the finals of Scrapheap Challenge,’ hissed Marcus.

  ‘Shut up,’ said Sven. ‘I would have done if it hadn’t been for your inferior robotic ability.’

  Arthur decided not to enquire into this any further. ‘Could we build a bridge as we go?’ he said. ‘Plant the logs and pick the planks up behind us as we go?’

  They considered this.

  ‘You’d need to be very bendy,’ said Sven, contemplating his toes, which he could only just see underneath his belly.

  ‘And steady on your feet,’ said Cathy in a slightly trembling voice.

  ‘Thirty-nine minutes,’ said Marcus.

  ‘Well, come on, then,’ said Arthur, and stalked towards the water’s edge.

  Four of them – plus Sandwiches, who had adopted his playing dead position around Sven’s neck, thus giving Sven the aura of a man wearing a Megadeath t-shirt and a very expensive stole – were perched on a plank a quarter of the way out into the river, having rather belatedly realized the obvious.

  ‘Maybe if I threw the next log … it might land the right way up and we could balance the next plank,’ suggested Arthur.

  ‘We don’t know how deep it’s going to be,’ said Marcus. ‘My guess is it’s too deep.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Arthur, shamefaced. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t suppose Sandwiches can swim, can he, Sven? He could take the logs and …’ His voice tailed off as Sandwiches lay stock-still, not even twitching when his name was mentioned.

  ‘Okay, I guess that idea’s out.’

  ‘Shall we go back?’ said Marcus. ‘I don’t want to sound like a coward, but we’re standing on a fragile plank in the middle of a freezing river.’

  They managed to retrieve both logs by dint of Arthur getting wet to the knees and leaning over a very long way, and reassembled on the bank. Marcus was concentrating very hard on not looking at his watch.

  ‘I didn’t want to say before,’ said Cathy, ‘but I don’t suppose you could join the planks together … this is stupid, really … and make some kind of a raft …’

  The others looked at her, stupefied.

  ‘Why … why didn’t you think to mention it before?’ said Arthur finally.

  ‘Oh, I didn’t want to be a bother, you know.’

  Arthur shook his head. ‘Cathy, you are – you are the exact opposite of a bother.’

  Cathy smiled and flushed. ‘Gosh! I don’t know what to say!’

  ‘Yeah, what would you do if he paid you a real compliment?’ said Sven – but he was already on his hands and knees, pulling up long reeds that seemed strong enough to tie the logs together.

  It wasn’t the best raft in the world. It wasn’t even the best raft within an eight mile radius. And by the time they’d loaded Sven on, it didn’t even sit above the waterline. But as long as they paddled like fury – starting off with branches, but moving on to hands and paws – and ignored the feeling of the icy water and the speed of the current (already it was clear they were going to land far downstream on the opposite bank) then it would get them across.

  ‘More starboard!’ shouted Sven, as they paddled away.

  ‘Er?’

  ‘Which the hell’s that?’ said Arthur, having to shout above the sound of the roaring water.

  ‘Right!’ shouted Marcus. ‘Hey, Sven, in life or death water situations, maybe keep your smart-alecky Viking terms to yourself?’

  ‘I’m not sure trekking towards God knows where is the ideal pastime for the Welsh mountains in February,’ said Gwyneth, as they clambered over a five-bar gate.

  ‘Nonsense,’ said Rafe. ‘I haven’t felt this good in ages.’

  His face had gone ruddy and his eyes clear with the wind and bright cold sky. Gwyneth smiled, and enjoyed how beautiful and at home he looked.

  ‘It’s true,’ she said. ‘I’m really enjoying it as well, actually.’ She cunningly circumnavigated an enormous pile of dung. ‘I forgot how much I love the countryside.’

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ said Rafe, but he was looking at Gwyneth.

  ‘There’s poo everywhere,’ Marcus was saying, hopping from foot to foot to keep warm.

  ‘Yes, we know you hate the country,’ said Arthur. ‘But can you get the map out?’ He looked up to the sky. ‘Those clouds look like they’re rolling in.’

  ‘Oooh, hope it rains again,’ said Sven with feeling.

  Marcus held the map up. ‘Okay, it’s marked – there’s a funny sort of hill thing.’

  ‘What do you mean, “funny”?’ said Arthur. ‘That doesn’t sound good.’

  ‘I can’t … it just looks strange, that’s all.’ Marcus set off towards the west. ‘Well, better go check it out.’

  And they followed him over the rolling green hillocks and bumpy stone walls.

  The clouds were indeed rolling in, and the going very quickly became much harder than Arthur had imagined. They were headed almost entirely uphill, and the marks on the map seemed to lead them through the boggiest, rockiest parts of the entire county. All of them were exhausted – Sven was sweating in quite an alarming fashion – but Arthur felt compelled to keep up the lead. Every muscle in his body was screaming at him, and all thoughts had been driven out of his head apart from the gut sense of putting one foot in front of another. It occurred to him that he had no idea how or why people climbed Everest.

  ‘How much further?’ Cathy asked plaintively.

  Marcus squinted at the map – under the dark sky it was quite difficult to see anything. Arthur had thought earlier he had caught a glimpse again of the black hot air balloon, concealed within the dark clouds, but hadn’t mentioned it to the others.

  ‘It’s a long way,’ said Marcus finally. ‘We’re about halfway there.’

  It was two thirty in the afternoon. Not that long until darkness, and all of them were tired to the bone. Cathy handed round the rest of the chocolate, and they drank from a stream.

  ‘There’ll be food for us at the campsite tonight, won’t there?’ she asked anxiously.

  ‘I’m sure there will,’ said Arthur, not sure at all. ‘After all, it’s not like any of us can catch rabbits.’

  Sandwiches whined.

  ‘Come on,’ said Marcus. ‘If we don’t keep moving, that’s it. We’ll be dis
qualified by nightfall.’

  Arthur stretched out his arms. ‘That is not going to happen.’

  The others looked at him.

  ‘Of course not,’ they said, marching on.

  ‘Hmm,’ said Rafe, looking at the bounding river.

  ‘So much for the balloon guidance,’ said Gwyneth.

  ‘And the Toblerone wrapper!’ said Rafe. ‘That had to be them.’

  ‘True,’ said Gwyneth. ‘And we must be much faster than they are. I can’t imagine Sven being much of a hill walker.’

  They sniggered at the thought of it.

  ‘Look!’ Gwyneth pointed. Downstream, washed up on their side of the shore, was the remains of what must have been their raft.

  ‘Great!’ said Rafe. He headed down to fetch it and dragged it back up. ‘We’re on the right track.’

  ‘The water is freezing,’ he said.

  ‘And they made it across … on that?’

  Gwyneth had a point. The loosely bound logs weren’t the picture of seaworthiness.

  ‘They’ve got more balls than I gave them credit for.’

  Rafe gave her a look. ‘Well?’

  ‘Well, if they can do it …’

  Rafe held the raft steady as Gwyneth knelt on it. Cold water came running over the top.

  ‘Ooh CHRIST!’ she said. ‘How come this water doesn’t freeze?’

  ‘It moves,’ said Rafe. ‘What we need are those artificial ice people.’

  For a moment, Gwyneth thought about their trip to Denmark and she remembered the old man’s house. But the shock of the cold water as they started to paddle put everything out of her mind.

  The current became stronger as they neared the middle of the river, and the going was harder with only two people. The wind was stronger now, too, with the clouds blowing across the sky.

  Gwyneth looked at Rafe and managed a grin. ‘Oh God, I hope we’re not going to turn into one of those sad folk songs about people who get drowned crossing rivers …’

  But Rafe wasn’t looking back at her. ‘WATCH OUT! THE ROCK!’

  A maelstrom of water broke over the raft. Gwyneth, not even consciously thinking, grabbed hold of one corner so tightly she drove splinters into her skin. Everything went black and cold as the piece of wood tipped over, and she felt herself being swept along. Then, as quickly as it had flipped over, the raft righted itself again. It barged into the far bank, and she realized she’d made it, wet, still holding on, but alone. She stumbled up the weeds and pulled herself onto the bank.

  ‘RAFE!!!’ she screamed out into the wilderness, terror grabbing at her heart. ‘RAFE!!!!’

  And the raft dislodged itself from the bank and bounced off down the river, turning over and over again.

  It was near nightfall by the time the main party stopped at the foot of the mountain. Every bit of them wanted to lie down and sleep, but they had carried on, through the dark day, with its sporadic rainfall and gusts of wind from which only Sandwiches, with his low centre of gravity, had been immune.

  Marcus craned his neck to look at the towering edifice above his head. ‘It’s these weird shapes on the map,’ he said. ‘I don’t understand it.’

  ‘Um …’ said Cathy. And she held up another large yellow envelope. ‘I think that may be deliberate.’

  Gwyneth ran along the bank the way they had come, desperately scanning the roiled up surface of the water.

  ‘RAFE!! RAFE!!’

  There, some yards away, she saw it. If she hadn’t seen it before in her life, she wouldn’t have known what it was, but she had seen it before, on a dark dawn in November. She recognized straightaway that the bone-white shape, outstretched, pushing through the reeds, reaching up from the tumultuous water, was a hand.

  The last of the weak sunlight was sinking behind the horizon as they sat on the ground and tried to figure out the latest set of instructions. Inside the yellow pouch was a single, tiny, but surprisingly powerful, torch and a piece of paper with further instructions.

  ‘It should now be dark,’ the instructions read.

  ‘Genius,’ murmured Sven.

  ‘The Welsh Mountain Service does not recommend anyone climbing outside of daylight hours and cannot guarantee their safety.’

  ‘Owwwwooo,’ said Sandwiches.

  ‘Inside you will find a single flashlight. You will presumably have already noticed the series of carved ledges going into the hillside.’

  ‘So that’s what they are,’ said Marcus.

  ‘Please climb these and cross at the top. You should be able to see the campsite.’

  ‘Well, that doesn’t sound too difficult,’ said Arthur.

  Gwyneth waded in waist-deep, the water so cold she couldn’t stop herself yelping from the shock. She shut her eyes briefly, and waded on to where she’d seen the hand break the surface.

  ‘RAFE!!’ she shrieked again, her words disappearing, carried downriver by the barrelling wind.

  Nothing. Silence. She couldn’t go any further; the water was up to her chest. She took a deep breath and, swallowing hard, pushed her face underneath the water. At first the cascade of bubbles and reeds made it impossible to see anything. Then she caught sight of a white – very white – shape, scrabbling about in front of her. She reached out her arms and grabbed the first thing that came to her.

  They burst above the surface at exactly the same moment, coughing and spluttering up into the break between the water and air. How Gwyneth dragged them both to the side of the river, she could never afterwards have said. Rafe was as white as a sheet and staring straight ahead.

  ‘RAFE!’ She seemed to scream his name a hundred times as he lay on the bank, water seeping from his mouth. As she leaned over to attempt CPR – she’d seen it on TV a lot, so she supposed she knew what to do – he coughed suddenly, his neck jerking up from the ground. Caught off guard, Gwyneth jumped back.

  ‘Are you … are you …’

  He blinked slowly, then coughed a flood of water onto the ground. Eventually he managed to raise his head a little.

  ‘I’m so cold,’ he said.

  ‘How … Who would do this?’ said Arthur, as they inched their way sideways across the ledges, foot to foot like some bizarre line-dancing movement.

  ‘It’s too sheer to climb,’ said Marcus, grunting, slightly further on. He was using the flashlight to discover the next ledge – they sometimes doubled back on themselves, or meandered around the hill. They were like some crazed giant’s staircase.

  ‘So this makes sense.’

  ‘I can’t see the ground.’

  ‘That’s because your stomach’s in the way, Sven,’ said Arthur.

  ‘No, it’s because it’s getting dark. And we’re really high up. And by the way, shouldn’t we have protective ropes?’

  ‘I definitely think a word with the health and safety authorities about this outward bound company wouldn’t be entirely amiss,’ murmured Marcus.

  ‘Cathy? Are you all right?’ called Arthur, suddenly conscious that they hadn’t heard from her since the long climb had begun.

  ‘Uh-huh!’ squeaked a tremulous, extremely high voice. Arthur stopped and looked back for her.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  Marcus flicked the flashlight backwards. Cathy, at the rear of the group, was inching along, eyes tightly shut, clinging to Sandwiches’s tail.

  ‘I don’t really like heights,’ she squeaked.

  ‘No kidding,’ said Arthur, looking at her frozen stance. ‘Why didn’t you tell us? You can at least walk in the middle, and hold onto us.’

  Sandwiches looked somewhat aggrieved.

  ‘I didn’t … I didn’t want to …’

  ‘Cathy, come your next performance review, remind us to have a quick session on what precisely constitutes a “fuss” or a “bother”.’

  ‘Okay, Mr Pendleton.’

  ‘Do you want to come to the middle now?’

  Cathy shook her head frantically.

  ‘Well, what about if I come ba
ck there and take up the rear?’

  ‘Heh, heh,’ said Sven.

  ‘No, thank you!’ said Cathy. ‘I don’t want anyone going past me on the ledge!’

  ‘Okay, then if we just slow down a little?’

  ‘YES PLEASE!’

  ‘Right,’ said Arthur, trying to will away the tiredness in his bones and his desperation to reach the top and see the campsite.

  ‘Onwards, then.’

  She knew what they had to do from numerous public information films, but it didn’t make the process any less embarrassing. Gwyneth found an overhanging rock which provided some shelter from the wind, and unpacked the sleeping bag from Rafe’s rucksack. He was still panting, and his skin was grey. Gwyneth herself was shivering so much she found it difficult to undo the knots, but hadn’t had anything like the dunking Rafe had endured, and had torn off her wet clothes as soon as she could.

  The raft was no longer anywhere to be seen, and by some instinct, Gwyneth had headed for the far bank, which meant they were cut off from any route back and a very long way from home.

  Gwyneth undressed Rafe methodically, trying not to think about what she was doing, even as she peeled the plaid shirt and white t-shirt from his hairless chest. She must concentrate on helping a possibly endangered human being.

  Lying naked, like spoons, in both sleeping bags, sheltered by the hanging rock, she encircled his chest with her arms, and pressed herself to him, closer and closer, willing her warmth into him. He hadn’t said a word since the first mutterings when she had pulled him from the river, and he felt terribly, dreadfully cold.

  There was only the moon to see by when they finally, exhausted, scrambled up the last footstep to the top of the hill.

  ‘The camp must be here,’ Sven was saying. ‘They knew it was going to be dark when we got here.’

  Arthur leaned down and lifted Cathy up the last little way.

  ‘Did you do that whole thing with your eyes shut?’ he asked her.

  ‘Well, I was holding on to Sandwiches,’ she said, still quavering a little.