Shared by the Highlanders

by Ashe Barker

  “You’ll attract a few stares I should think; everyone admires a fine man in a kilt. But no one will say anything and there should be no bother. It’s a lot less of a big deal to stand out here. Or should that be now? We’ll need to get you some modern clothes as soon as we can, but you’ll be fine as you are. When we reach Glenridding we’ll just head straight for my car, assuming it’s still there, and get out of here.”

  Robbie is walking behind me. “Your what?”

  “My car. I suppose it’s the twenty-first century equivalent of a carriage, or coach. No horses though. It has an engine.”

  “Ah.”

  I glance over my shoulder. Robbie’s quizzical expression tells me he’s not much wiser, not that he seems to care. He flashes me one of his brilliant smiles and we drop the subject.

  A few minutes later Will stops and crouches to scrabble in the springy grass beside the path.

  “What are you doing?” I peer over his shoulder.

  “I saw something. It was glinting, caught in the sun, then it disappeared.” He pulls the heather to one side. “There, look. What is that?”

  “Shit! It can’t be.” I stare at the object, half buried, concealed in the thick vegetation. My phone, the one I dropped when Robbie grabbed me. I last saw it five days ago, or four and a half centuries, depending how you regard the matter. Just the top half is visible, the rest of it sunk into the earth. It’s unmistakable though, an iPhone 5.

  Will grips the edge that is showing and gives it a tug. He has to wriggle it around and scrape away a little more earth, but it comes free. He holds it in his palm, looking from the bedraggled object to me.

  “You say you recognise this? It’s yours?”

  I nod, my brain racing as I take the item and turn it carefully in my hands. The screen is cracked, the once-white casing discoloured and stained. The slots on the sides are encrusted with dirt. It was almost buried under years of accumulated plant decay. No way has this phone lain here for just five days. Which leaves but one possibility as far as I can tell.

  “It’s mine, yes. My phone. I dropped it when Robbie grabbed me. Back then.”

  “Right? So, what are you saying? That it’s been here for…?”

  I nod. “Yes, I think it must have been. I dropped this four hundred and forty-nine years ago, and by the look of it, it’s been here ever since.”

  “Now, that’s quite something to contemplate,” breathes Robbie. “So, what is this object’s purpose? Or what was it?”

  “It’s a mobile phone. A communication device. It’s linked to other similar devices, and you can talk to other people, wherever they are in the world. Or send written messages instantly. It’s very handy.”

  He furrows his brow, but looks doubtful. “I imagine it would be. Does it still work?”

  I give a dry laugh. My unfortunate phone has faced rather more than a bit of water damage over the years. “Hardly. I’ll need to get a new one. You’ll both need them too. Everyone has a phone here.”

  “You can talk to anyone, anywhere in the world, you say?” Will sounds awed. Just wait till he encounters the Internet.

  “Yes. Anyone.” I reach to shove the battered phone in the rucksack on his back. “Come on, we need to get to Glenridding and hopefully find my car.”

  After an hour or so I call for Will to halt, and I consult my map. We have a further eight miles to walk, and we need food. Water is less of an issue as the terrain is crisscrossed with streams and rivulets, but we are all hungry. Ullswater is visible below us, and either of the men could supply us with fish if it comes to it. We decide to make a detour down to the water’s edge.

  A few minutes later the sound of voices somewhere ahead stops us in our tracks. Will’s hand goes to the hilt of the dagger tucked in his belt with an alacrity I find disconcerting. Robbie steps forward, in front of me.

  “It’s okay. Just hikers. They’re no threat. In fact, we may be able to do a deal…” I shove Robbie out of the way, with some difficulty, just as three figures in brightly coloured anoraks come into view. I dig my elbow in Will’s ribs. “For Christ’s sake, get that bloody knife out of sight. You’ll get us all locked up if you start brandishing an offensive weapon at any strangers you meet.”

  “Who are you calling offensive, lassie?” he grumbles in response. But he does as I say and the knife is soon secreted about his person somewhere.

  “Smile, and be nice, both of you. They may have food we could buy,” I mutter under my breath as I step forward, beaming at the oncoming group.

  The lead hiker, a middle-aged man, smiles at me and nods a greeting. “Morning. Nice day for it.”

  “Certainly is,” I agree. “How’s it going so far?”

  “Champion.” He gazes up into the sky. “It’s going to be a grand day. And you?”

  “Not bad. We’ve been camping, up by Red Tarn. Headed down into Glenridding now.”

  “Right, well, enjoy.” The man makes to step past us, his entourage of two women ready to follow.

  “I wonder, could we trouble you for a little help?”

  He stops turns back to face me, looking concerned now. “If we can. Is something the matter?”

  “Yes, sort of. We had a mishap with our supplies. Dropped the whole lot in the bloody lake.” I cast an accusatory look in Robbie’s direction. He manages to assume an air of pretend innocence, playing his part to perfection. “So, we’ve had no food since yesterday. I don’t suppose you have a couple of sandwiches or something that we could buy from you? Just to tide us over till we get to the village.”

  One of the women, the younger of his companions manages to drag her gaze from Will’s torso long enough to answer me. “Oh, of course. We’ve got loads. Mum always packs enough for an army. We can spare a few butties.”

  “Only if you’re sure…”

  The older woman has already shed her backpack and is rummaging deep into the interior. “We are. It’s no problem, none at all. And you’ll not be paying us for them either. We wouldn’t hear of it. We fell walkers look out for each other, isn’t that right?”

  “That’s very kind of you. It really is. You won’t be leaving yourselves short, will you?”

  She is already thrusting a pack of homemade sandwiches at me. “No, we have plenty. We’d only end up carting half of this back down with us. Is beef all right? Or we have egg.”

  “Beef is fine. Thank you so much. Are you sure we can’t give you anything for these?”

  “Don’t be daft, love.” She is repacking her bag, ready to move on. “You’ll stand us a drink later perhaps, in the hiker’s bar?”

  She’s referring to the bar annexed to the Ullswater hotel, right beside the lake in the middle of Glenridding. It’s a hostelry set aside for hikers and campers, does a roaring trade in hot soup and potatoes, and the dress code is somewhat more relaxed than would be found in the main hotel. They don’t throw a fit at the sight of muddy boots and dripping cagoules so it’s a popular watering hole after a day spent out on the fells.

  “Right, right, we’ll look out for you in there.” I’m already exchanging hearty handshakes with the little party as they move off, clearly keen to be on their way. “Oh, one last thing, you don’t happen to know the right time, do you?”

  The younger woman checks her watch. “Nearly half past eight.”

  “Right, thanks. And … the date?”

  Now she looks more surprised. “It’s the fifteenth, I think. Is that right?”

  “Sixteenth, love,” her mother corrects her. “Our Danny’s birthday.”

  Her daughter nods. “Right, yes. The sixteenth then.”

  “Of April?”

  All three are peering at me, their expressions more nervous.

  “Yes, April. Are you quite all right, dear?” The older woman is clearly baffled by our apparent ignorance.

  “Yes, we’re fine. Thank you.” I decide to throw caution to the winds and truly perplex them. After all, our paths are unlikely to cross again. “And the year is�
�?”

  “What?” This from the man, now regarding us with more than a little suspicion.

  “What year is it? Please?” I affect my most innocent and harmless look, whatever that might amount to, but it seems to do the trick.

  “Twenty fourteen. Now if you’ll excuse us…” He’s heard enough and can’t get away fast enough. I think we’ve arrived at the same conclusion.

  “Of course, and thank you again for the food. You’ve been very kind.”

  Will and Robbie follow my example, further sweetening the deal with their rather winning smiles and expressions of undying gratitude. If our benefactors find it at all odd to encounter one bedraggled young woman who apparently doesn’t know what day it is, and two gorgeous men in Highland dress halfway up Helvellyn, they are too polite—or maybe too stunned—to make comment on it. We wave them on their way, then as soon as they are out of sight we sit down on the heather to eat our sandwiches.

  “So, is everyone in this time so generous? We only had to ask them and they gave us their food.” Robbie makes the enquiry around a mouthful of beef on wholemeal.

  “Not everyone, but most people are nice enough.”

  Will grunts and swallows the last of his sandwich. “They seemed a mite disconcerted when you asked them the date. Can’t say I blame them probably, though it’s a good thing you got the food from them first, wee Charlie. We might have had to get more direct with them otherwise.”

  I fix a hard stare on my face. They’ve done the strict ‘do as I say’ thing with me back in fifteen sixty-six, now it’s my turn—minus the spankings, of course. “No, we wouldn’t. You don’t go robbing hikers for their dinner, not round here.”

  He shrugs. “Shame.”

  Robbie finishes his meal too. “Did you arrange to meet them later? In a tavern, unless I’m mistaken.”

  “It was a loose arrangement. I said we’d buy them a drink if we do see them, which seemed only right. We won’t see them again though. If my car starts all right I think we should just go to my flat, and from there work out what to do next.”

  “Why would it not start, this car of yours?” Will looks at me, curious.

  I flatten my lips. If Will and Robbie are to stay here, there are going to be so many new things for them to get their heads round. I found their century a challenge, so they are really up against it. At least I had some notion of what life was like a few hundred years ago, some frame of reference. For Will and Robbie, everything is new.

  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. Eith
er 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.”