Chapter 40
Chapter 40
A strange silence had settled on the children, as they huddled under the tiny unzipped sleeping bag tent. Skellan and Denise were trying their hardest to keep the fire going by the entrance to the cave, but it was hard work, with little light and heat coming from it, but a great load of choking smoke, and they were fast getting through their firelights and matches. They were also conferring closely with one another. Finally, Denise nodded and Skellan handed her the radio.
Mrs. McGinty, on the other hand, seemed to have lost her head completely. Instead of doing what she normally did—bark orders at children in a seemingly random fashion—she was sitting, numbly, not responding.
Struan kept telling himself they’d be fine. They were in Britain for goodness’ sake. One of the most mild and friendly climates in the world. He thought of the climbers every year who got caught out by unseasonable weather and inappropriate footwear, and were rescued anyway. These kids were in supermarket trainers.
Yes, he told himself again. But that was the odd climber here and there. This was a whole party of schoolchildren. They’d activate the entire RAF if they had to; of course they would. It would be a national scandal. So. There was no point in dwelling. They would be fine. Oksana was on the brink of tears and he didn’t want them to become infectious, as these things so often did.
“Come on then,” he shouted, putting a snowball over the cave. “Snowball competition! Let’s see who can get it furthest off the ledge!!” and of all people Jimmy came out to join him.
“Me!” he said loudly, and before too long most of the children were venturing out, jumping up and down and gathering snow up in their mittens. Denise narrowed her mouth; she wasn’t keen on their hands getting wet in this cold, but on the other hand, they were rushing around and taking their minds off things, and that was the best thing for them. She glanced at Skellan, who nodded, looked at Mrs. McGinty, who was holding her lifeless phone in her hands and staring at it. A look passed between them, then Denise moved toward Struan.
“Uhm,” she said. “Okay, I think... Skellan is going to climb down.”
Struan looked beyond the ridge edge. It was absolutely terrifying out there. “You’re kidding. In this?”
“He knows it really well and he’ll be very careful.” She flushed, proud of her partner.
“Yes, but why??”
“We’re worried about the plane. It won’t be able to land if the runway is too snowy. He can put out the landing lights. And he wants to take a look at the cliff.”
“Why?” said Struan, who hadn’t given it much thought at all. As soon as the snow stopped he reckoned they were just heading down the hill again. He hadn’t thought about the cliff at all.
“If it’s iced over...” Denise shrugged. “It can be pretty tough to get down.”
“When you say tough?”
She blinked. “The kids couldn’t do it.”
Struan frowned.
“But what does...”
“Skellan’s going to take a look,” she hissed. “Don’t say anything. And don’t tell her .”
She clearly meant Mrs. McGinty. Struan nodded, but suddenly he found himself a little more scared.
“I’m going to focus on the fire,” she said. “Try and get a kettle boiling.”
This seemed unlikely with the pathetic flickering of the flames, but there didn’t seem much else to say.
“Keep them moving and engaged,” said Denise. “But maybe... not with their fingers out. In case of frostbite.”
S KELLAN MOVED CAREFULLY. He had been a professional climbing guide for twenty years.
He knew this mountain like the back of his hand, in every wind and weather. Which is why he knew better than to disrespect it, even for an instant. Without a wink of sleep and no coffee, it was difficult. But not impossible. And down at the base camp there were more firelighters, flasks—everything they’d need. He could fill a rucksack and make his way back, he was sure of it. Plus, he could light the landing lights for the plane. He had a lot of respect for Morag and Ranald, but knew they wouldn’t be out on a day like today if there was any choice in the matter at all.
Denise was on the radio. The wind was like a knife on his face, especially when he circuited on the narrow path round the north face. There, the full fury of the snowstorm hit him, over and over again; straight down from the North Pole, to a rock in the middle of the ocean; a wind, screaming, “You don’t belong here; you are not part of this! This is not for humans! Leave! LEAVE!” like the wrathful mermaid herself, back from the grave, no longer looking through the telescope for her earthly lover, who would never return.
And Skellan, who respected the elements, bowed his head into the wind and agreed. They should not be there. “But please,” he muttered under his breath, “please spare the children.”
But the wind was making no promises. And when he saw the cliff, he drew in a sudden intake of breath.