The Atlas of Us

by Tracy Buchanan

  They disappeared into the bar, laughter ringing out from inside. Claire stood where she was for a few moments, face flushed, heart thumping. Then she whistled for Archie and headed to her room, desperate to disappear into the pages of her novel again and forget all about gun-toting farmers with unbearably handsome faces.

  The clouds hovered above like bin bags ready to burst as Claire walked outside the next morning. It was nine; she’d made sure not to show her face before then. If she went for a walk with Milo, how would that look? This was a work trip after all and she wanted to hurry up and get home. Then there was everything that had passed between her and Ben the past two days. It wouldn’t be right.

  But as she rounded the corner, the first person she saw was Milo, his hands in the pockets of his wax coat as he leaned against a wall, a small smile on his face. Her traitorous lips tried to form a smile in response. She forced them into a grim line instead.

  ‘You’re a bit late,’ Milo said, looking at his watch.

  ‘I never said I’d meet you.’

  ‘But you’re here now.’

  ‘No, I’m heading out for a walk alone, with my dog. I need to take more photos for the magazine.’

  ‘Oh, come on. Doesn’t the part of you that bought those earrings want to see Narnia?’ he said, referring to the striped tribal earrings Claire’s dad had got her when they were in Zanzibar.

  ‘Narnia’s a million miles away from where I got these earrings,’ she said, thinking of the red dusty roads and cracked pavements, tiny children dressed in torn jeans and filthy T-shirts reaching their hands out to her as she passed in the four-by-four her dad had hired. Then there was the other side: the soft golden sands of the affluent coastal resort of Mangapwani; the scent of expensive suntan lotion mixing with exotic spices; couples walking hand in hand as the sky turned orange on the horizon, the same sun that was setting on those children just a few miles away. It was something Claire saw in every place she visited, excruciating poverty in sharp contrast to nauseating wealth. She always tried to touch on it in her writing, her little way of helping in some way, but the lines she wrote were inevitably cut out at subbing stage, her publishing director scolding her as he told her she didn’t work for ‘bloody Oxfam’.

  ‘Narnia might be far from Zanzibar,’ Milo said, snapping her out of her reverie. ‘But it’s just a thirty-minute walk from here.’

  He shot Claire a smile, teeth white and crooked, brown eyes sparking, and her stomach rippled. She wrapped her arms around herself, pressing the handle of Archie’s lead into her middle. She wasn’t supposed to react like this to another man.

  Milo raked his fingers through his dark hair. ‘Look, I feel bad about what happened yesterday. I’m doing this to make it up to you. No tourists know about this place, you’ll love it. Really. You can write about it in your magazine.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said, peering towards the path she’d taken the day before.

  ‘Fine,’ he said, putting his hands up as he backed away. ‘I get the message. I’m going up there anyway so feel free to join me. If not, I guess I’ll see you across the river on your official path in a couple of hours.’

  He strode away and Claire stood where she was a few moments. It would be good to write about something a little different. She’d got a letter from a reader the other day moaning that all the magazine ever wrote about was information they could get in guide books anyway.

  She decided to follow him after all. Maybe that reader would rue their words this time?

  Milo slowed down when he heard her footsteps and let her fall into step beside him, shooting her a smile.

  ‘How long have you had him?’ he asked as they watched Archie stop at each place Milo’s dog did, resolutely covering his scent with his own.

  ‘Five years. No one else would have him at the rescue place – too snappy apparently.’

  Milo raised an eyebrow. ‘So you’re a fan of the underdogs, then?’

  Claire thought of the other children she’d try to play with during her travels as a kid: strays and waifs with hidden troubles. ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘Holly told me how you stuck up for her in front of Henry.’

  ‘Is Holly an underdog?’

  His face clouded over. ‘In some ways.’ Archie jumped up at his legs and his face softened. ‘So how old is he?’

  ‘Seven.’

  ‘He still looks like a pup.’

  ‘Everyone says that. But he sees himself as a man dog.’

  Milo laughed. ‘Man dog. I like that.’

  Claire felt a stab of guilt. Ben had come up with that phrase. She wondered how he’d feel about her walking their dog with a man who looked like Milo. Maybe he wouldn’t care.

  ‘So how do we get onto this better path?’ Claire asked, shrugging the thought away.

  ‘Over that.’ He pointed towards the river.

  ‘We have to cross the river?’

  He put on a mock scared face. ‘I know, rivers can be terrifying, all that water trickling over little scary pebbles.’

  She smiled. ‘Enough of the sarcasm! I just meant there’s no bridge and the sign said the river’s deep.’

  The sign said.

  She felt her face flush with embarrassment. Milo probably thought she was a right wuss.

  ‘It’ll be fine,’ he said. He looked down at her wellies, just shin-high and covered with fat pink flowers. ‘They’re waterproof, right? And the part of river I’m thinking about isn’t as deep as here. I’ll show you.’

  She followed him down towards the bank, watching as the river gushed over clusters of rocks.

  ‘See, doesn’t look so bad up close,’ he said, smiling to himself. She noticed he got a small dimple in his right cheek when he smiled. ‘Still scared, city girl?’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘City girl, as if! I’ve seen plenty of countryside, and not just in the UK either. I’m more worried for you actually. If you fall in, I’d have to jump in and save you, wouldn’t I? My hair goes all curly when it gets wet, it’ll be a pain to re-style it.’

  Milo blew his fringe out of his eyes. ‘You think this fringe isn’t a nightmare after a dunk in the river?’

  Claire laughed.

  ‘And as for the city girl thing,’ he said, looking her up and down. ‘I was only joking. It’s obvious you’re not.’

  Claire looked down at what she was wearing: the purple leggings she’d discovered in a Californian flea market, the holey jumper Ben had bought her in Belgium and, of course, her flowery wellies, all the way from Scotland.

  She smiled. ‘I guess not.’

  ‘So you going to put those flower power wellies to use then?’

  She felt a funny little thrill in the pit of her stomach, like she was at that waterfall again. But that was ridiculous, it was just a bloody river! ‘Why not?’ she said.

  ‘Blue!’ Milo shouted, pointing to the other side of the river. His dog peered up then bounded across the river, paws splashing into the water, tail wagging. Archie went to chase after him but Claire pulled him back, leaning over to pick him up. He’d be belly-deep in water if she let him walk across.

  ‘Interesting name for a dog,’ she said as she looked at Milo’s dog.

  ‘Colour of his eyes.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘It’s a narrow ridge,’ Milo said, stepping into the water. ‘One step left or right and you’re both under.’

  She stepped in after him. It wasn’t so deep after all.

  He peered at her. ‘Told you it wouldn’t be so scary.’

  ‘I’m disappointed. Nothing like another life or death situation to make a girl’s holiday go with a zing.’

  Milo stepped onto the river. ‘Try milking a herd of pre-menstrual cows at five am.’

  ‘You were doing that this morning?’ Claire asked as she carefully followed him, feeling the squelch of her soles against the water.

  ‘I do it every morning before the sun rises. We have over a hundred cows so it can take a couple of
hours. Then I have to feed and clean them. By that time, it’s nearly ten. But no stopping there, then it’s time to feed the young stock.’

  ‘Lambs and calves?’

  Milo smiled. ‘Yep. Wriggly little buggers but once they’re calm and feeding, it’s quite peaceful. The rest of the day I’m mucking stables out, repairing fences, retrieving livestock that have decided to go wandering … knackering work really, but worth it.’

  Claire breathed in the air, taking in the smell of grass and brine. ‘Have you been farming all your life?’

  ‘Yep, the farm’s been in our family for generations. My older brother Dale joined the Forces when I was thirteen, so our parents relied on me and my sister Jen to help out. When they passed away, they left the farm to Dale – it always gets passed down to the oldest son.’

  Claire thought about what Henry had told her about Milo’s grandfather committing suicide. ‘When did your parents pass away?’ she asked softly.

  ‘When I was seventeen. Dad had a heart attack and Mum died not long after from a stroke. Jen reckons she died of a broken heart.’

  ‘That must have been a tough time.’

  ‘Yep. They had us pretty late so they weren’t exactly spring chickens but to lose them within a few months of each other …’ He sighed. ‘To make matters worse, Dale had just recovered from his injuries after getting back from the Falklands.’ By injuries, Claire wondered if he meant psychological injuries too, considering what Henry had so indiscreetly told her. ‘He was desperate to get back to army life but he had to stay and look after the farm. He did really well at first actually,’ Milo continued. ‘The farm’s turnover nearly doubled, the animals were happier than they’d ever been – fewer visits to the vets, more births. Then this whole BSE thing happened.’

  ‘Were there any cases on the farm?’ Claire asked as they reached the middle of the river. It was very dark there, the trees bending right over both sides of the river.

  ‘No, but once a link between BSE and vCJD was made, that was it, milk production and beef sales nosedived. Dale’s really struggled to hold things together.’

  ‘But the farm’s still here, your brother did well to ride the worst of it. And the profits from the inn must help too?’

  His shoulders tensed. ‘Hardly. We barely get anything from that.’

  ‘But Henry implied—’

  ‘That he was our saviour?’

  ‘Not in so many words …’

  ‘Don’t worry, he tells us himself whenever he gets the chance. Yes, the share we get of the profits helps. But if we’d kept the land we sold to him a few years back, we’d have got a much better price for it now. Bloody Henry!’

  He quickened his step, striding across the rest of the river so fast Claire had to jog to keep up with him. As they neared the other bank, her foot scooted out from under her and she nearly stumbled. He turned, grabbing the tops of her arms, steadying her. ‘Careful now.’

  She peered up at him, taking in the fine stubble on his chin, the slight bump in his nose she hadn’t noticed before. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple rising and falling, and she imagined placing her lips on it.

  She turned away in surprise, face flushing. Where on earth had that image come from?

  ‘Come on, we’re on the other path now,’ he said. ‘The better path.’

  She followed his gaze towards a small path weaving its way from the bank up into the hills. Blue was already some way up the path, front paws on a tree stump as he looked down at them. Maybe she should turn back? She should have followed her instincts and not come with Milo. She was vulnerable after what had happened between her and Ben, her mind all a fizz. But how would it look if she turned back now?

  One walk, she thought, then that’s it, I’ll avoid him for the rest of my stay.

  Claire let Archie down and followed Milo up the bank. Viewed from the path Claire had walked along yesterday, this area had looked like a mass of wild trees and bushes.

  ‘So where’d you grow up?’ Milo asked Claire.

  ‘Everywhere. My dad was a travel writer too, freelance though,’ she explained. ‘We tagged along with him all over the world as he was paid by different newspapers and magazines to write about the places we visited.’

  ‘What about school?’

  ‘Mum’s a teacher, she home-schooled me and my sister.’

  A memory struck Claire then, from when her family had visited the Japanese city of Osaka when she was ten. They were staying in a hotel overlooking the river so they could watch the famous Tenjin Matsuri boat festival the next day. After coming back from lunch one day, Claire had seen a group of school kids chasing each other down the path below her hotel room. She remembered thinking she’d give up all her travels to be one of those kids, secure at school and surrounded by friends. But the next evening, as she’d watched the beautifully lit boats glide down the river below, she’d thought what a fool she’d been to think that. This was the battle that had always raged inside, her yearning for normality versus her wanderlust.

  ‘Do you have any siblings other than your sister?’ Milo asked.

  Claire snapped out of her memory. ‘No, just Sofia. She has a kid about the same age as Holly actually, Alex. He’s great. Holly’s your niece, right?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘What about her mum?’

  His eyes slipped away from Claire’s. ‘She left a few years back. Dale got sole custody of Holly.’ He leaned down to pick up a pebble, cleaning it on his sleeve. ‘So did your dad get you into writing?’

  ‘Yeah,’ she said eventually, noting the change of subject. ‘He even got one of my articles published when I was just thirteen.’

  ‘Impressive. What was it about?’

  Claire smiled to herself. ‘It was just a short article about the Sichuan giant panda sanctuaries in the south-west of China. But I loved seeing my name in print.’

  ‘Wow, you really have been to some amazing places. What was it like?’

  ‘Wonderful. My dad knows one of the managers so we got a private tour. The sanctuaries are spread across the edge of the Qionglai and Jiajin mountains. I remember being in complete awe of the lush green landscapes and imposing mountains. And that’s before we even got to the pandas.’ She laughed. ‘They’re so fluffy, just like they’ve been plucked from a giant toy box. My dad noticed me scribbling away in my notepad so suggested I write an article. He sent it to the editor of a children’s section in one of the national newspapers and he published it.’ Claire looked down at the silver globe pendant hanging from her bag. ‘My dad got me this to mark the occasion, my first ever published article.’

  Milo’s eyes widened.

  ‘What’s up?’ Claire asked.

  He smiled, pulling the collar of his jumper down to reveal a bronze globe pendant hanging from a length of black leather twine wrapped around his neck.

  ‘I didn’t know you were into travelling,’ Claire said, surprised.

  ‘Oh, I haven’t travelled much. I’d like to though.’ He peered down at the globe. ‘This belonged to my grandfather. He was the only James man not to stay and work the farm all his life. He travelled instead after the war, working bars and restaurants, using the experience he got from the inn to hop from one country to the next. Quite a thing to do back then.’

  ‘Would you like to travel like he did?’

  He nodded. ‘There’s a box of letters and photos from his travels that I used to rummage through when I was a kid. It gave me the travel bug.’ His face darkened. ‘But then my parents died and I had no choice but to stay and help on the farm.’

  ‘You have a choice now, surely? I’m sure Dale could cope on his own.’

  He shook his head vehemently. ‘No, trust me, he couldn’t. It’s too much for one person. He needs me.’

  ‘I’m sure he’d rather see you happy than wishing you were on the other side of the world.’

  ‘Nah, I owe him.’

  ‘Owe him? Why?’

  His face grew stiff. ‘Long story
.’

  Claire didn’t push him on the subject. It wasn’t her place. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t pry.’ They were quiet for a few moments then she turned back to him. ‘Okay, let’s pretend you did have the freedom to just travel. Where would you go?’

  His face lit up again. ‘I’d start in Australia and I’d set up a mango farm.’

  Claire laughed. ‘A mango farm?’

  ‘Hey, it’s no joke. My friend Joe has one in Oz.’ He looked wistfully into the distance. ‘It’s perfect. He told me he wakes in the morning as the sun rises and walks out barefoot among the trees, feeling the red sand beneath his feet. He treats those mangoes like his kids, nurtures them until they’re ripe for picking. He reckons the satisfaction of picking each mango, then placing them one by one in wooden carts to be taken away for others to taste is the best feeling in the world.’

  Claire watched him as he talked, saw the passion in his face, felt the incredible desire he had for a life so completely out of reach for him right now. It made her heart ache.

  ‘So whereabouts in Australia is this mango farm?’ she asked, wanting to keep that smile on his face.

  ‘In the Outback, near Ayers Rock.’

  She smiled. ‘I’ve been there.’

  ‘You have?’

  She nodded. ‘I remember the first time I went, it felt like I was on Mars. There’s red sand everywhere you look and this feeling in the air like you’re the only person on the planet. And Ayers Rock itself – or Uluru, as my dad used to call it – is astounding, rising up tall and proud above you, almost beckoning you to go right up and touch it. It has this power to it that I can’t explain.’

  His brown eyes lit up with excitement. ‘I knew it was as good as Joe said! If I ever go, you’ll have to come with me, you clearly love the place.’

  She felt her cheeks flush. She could tell he was just joking but still, it made her feel self-conscious. ‘I’d make a good business partner,’ she said, trying to show she was going along with it. ‘I can do all the marketing and stuff.’

  ‘You’ll get paid in mangoes, that okay?’

  ‘As long as I get an office,’ she teased back.

  ‘Yes, of course. I might even throw in health insurance.’