Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
There was no sign of the other two as Rosie and Ant rejoined the main path, which led onwards past the church and alongside a river.
As the track widened, Wainwright was let off his lead again and Rosie took his place, falling into step beside Ant.
There was no sound save the crunching of their boots, and it began to feel awkward – at least, it did to Rosie.
‘Companiable silence’ was something she rarely managed to achieve, perhaps only with her father.
‘Have you always lived up here?’ she asked.
‘Yes, apart from university.’
‘Oh – which uni?’
‘Edinburgh.’
‘Even further north!’
(Silence.)
‘What did you study?’
‘Geology.’
(Silence.)
And did they perchance teach you how to extract blood from stones?
‘That sounds interesting. And probably quite relevant for you.’ Her eyes rose to the blanket of cloud. ‘Apparently there are mountains here.’
(Silence.)
The path came out at a narrow lane, and a short way along Ant crossed over to a stile next to a wooden gate.
‘We can cut across this field back to the hotel grounds,’ he said. He clambered over the stile, not bothering with the step on the other side, landing with a thump. Wainwright followed with equal agility.
Rosie was about to step up when she saw Ant frown at the stile. Then there was a rattle of metal as he unchained the gate and opened it.
‘Oh. Thanks,’ she said, passing through.
He thinks I can’t climb a stile.
He closed it behind her, and she stood still, hands on hips, blocking his way forward.
‘Ant – it might have been helpful for me to attempt the slippery stile in the boots, don’t you think?’
He looked taken aback. ‘Oh. Right, yes. Good point. Do you want to–’
‘No, but if there are any more stiles, or stepping stones, or rocks, between here and the hotel, that could be useful.’
‘Okay.’ Ant looked at her feet. ‘How are they feeling?’
‘Like a second skin, actually.’
Ant reattached Wainwright’s lead. ‘There’s sheep in this field,’ he said, pointing to a flock of white sheep with black faces.
‘I know what a sheep is.’
At last, Ant chuckled. ‘Sorry.’ He looked at her for a moment. ‘Follow me – short diversion.’
He set off across the field with long-legged strides, heading up a slope towards a rocky outcrop. Rosie had trouble keeping up; the grass was wet and tussocky and there was mud, but at least her feet remained snug and dry.
At the base of the outcrop, a slab of rock rose gently, becoming steeper near the top.
‘Leave your bag there,’ Ant said, then he scrambled up – ran up, in fact – Wainwright at his side. Rosie’s mouth dropped open as she watched.
‘Up you come,’ he called from the top.
‘How did you do that?’ Rosie scanned the rock. There was nothing to hold on to. The grey stone was smooth and wet, with a few cracks running through it. But Rosie had a point to prove.
Carefully she placed one foot on the rock, then took a few small steps upward, her arms stretched wide, bracing for her feet to slip. The wind whipped her hair across her face, and she wobbled as she attempted to tuck it behind her ears.
‘Lean forward, trust your boots,’ Ant called.
They held fast, even as the slope became steeper. ‘Oh!’ She was gaining in confidence as she moved towards him. ‘I’m Spiderwoman!’
The slope became steeper still, and she stopped, putting her hands down in front of her, looking up at him. The last part looked almost vertical. ‘What do I do now?’
He crouched down and held out a hand. ‘Nearly there – grab my hand.’
She inched forward, stretched up, reached out and took it, and her feet left the ground as he hauled her on to the top of the rock. For a moment she felt weightless, before her boots met solid ground again and she straightened, letting out a whoop.
‘Well done,’ he said, smiling at her.
‘That was … so cool!’ she said, panting from the effort. ‘The grip on these babies!’ And the strength in your arms!
‘Shame we can’t see the view,’ he said, releasing her hand. Those fells were still invisible behind the clouds.
‘What? No – it’s lovely.’ They were looking down on the church, and beyond it the village, surrounded by a patchwork of green fields stitched together with dry stone walls.
Woodland lined the river winding its way to the lake.
Although sunshine was only a memory, the air seemed filled with a light.
‘With mountains tomorrow, maybe,’ she said.
They were quiet as she caught her breath, and it no longer felt awkward.
Perhaps he was beginning to reconsider the pigeonhole into which he’d immediately shoved her.
As she sucked in a lungful of fresh, clean air, so different to London’s particle-laden health hazard, she found herself saying, ‘It feels good to escape the train wreck of my life. I guess a bit of distance helps put things in perspective.’
Ant didn’t pry, just said, ‘Distance is good, height’s even better.’ He bent down to pat Wainwright. ‘Right, boy?’ The collie nuzzled his hand.
Be that as it may, as Rosie spotted Grasmere Heights down below, her thoughts turned to Ant’s colleague, to that glint – that promise?
– in those ridiculously sexy dark eyes. Perhaps Dale was already in a cosy corner of the bar with a northern ale, a Xanadu beside it, waiting for her.
She wondered if he’d managed to shake off Madison.
If the star was being paid to ‘host’ the weekend, she surely couldn’t justify sitting around drinking with some random cute guy from the local village?
Seriously? piped up Rosie’s sensible side. You think he’d turn down a star for you?
Be off with you. I’m on a mission, and I’m feeling lucky.
Lucky. Remembering the black cat from the shoe shop, Rosie resolved to switch boots before heading into the bar. ‘Let’s go,’ she said.
‘Is this your first time in the Lakes?’ asked Ant, as they set off down the grassy slope back to the path, collecting Rosie’s bagged-up Docs on the way.
‘It is, yes,’ she said. ‘I’ve been to the Peak District, but that is of course some distance south of here, and I believe the peaks are smaller than the fells.’
Ant bit his lip. ‘Yes, it’s quite different.’
‘Not so many lakes, I’d imagine.’
‘Reservoirs, mainly, from memory.’
They reached another stile, and just along from it was a small hole in the wall which Wainwright tugged Ant towards.
‘No, you daft dog,’ said Ant, letting him off his lead again. ‘You’re too big for that.’
Wainwright did an about turn and easily managed the stile.
‘They should make the dog tunnels bigger,’ said Rosie.
‘It’s a smoot,’ said Ant. ‘For rabbits and badgers and other little animals.’
Rosie paused in her ascent of the stile. ‘A smoot? For the little critters?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did Beatrix Potter invent them?’
He smiled. ‘No. It’s an ancient word. Norse, or maybe middle English.’
‘I think I’d like to live somewhere with smoots.’
Soon they were back at the stepping stones. ‘Piece of cake,’ said Rosie. Wainwright went first, then Rosie hopped across, followed by Ant.
‘Which is your favourite lake?’ she asked as they walked up the gravel track to the hotel.
‘It’s impossible to pick just one.’ But after giving it some thought, he said, ‘Perhaps … Buttermere. Quite remote, fewer tourists than Windermere and Grasmere. Very pretty.’
‘But does it have gnomes?’ said Rosie. ‘Ashley at the hotel says Westwater–’
‘Wastwater–’
‘– has a secret underwater gnome garden.’
‘No gnomes in Buttermere that I’m aware of.’
‘What a shame.’
Ant gave her a look. ‘That was all very silly. Wastwater’s very cold and very, very deep.’
‘No! It’s a great story,’ said Rosie. ‘I’m going to include it in my piece. Ashley said there was even a picket fence.’
Ant gave one of his sighs. ‘People died, Rosie.’
Jeez. ‘People die crossing the road, Ant.’
They reached the door to the bar, and on the step outside, Rosie began unlacing her boots. ‘I think we’re meant to take them off,’ she said, glancing up at Ant, who was looking out across the lake.
‘I’m not stopping,’ he said. A pang of disappointment took her by surprise. ‘But they allow boots in the bar here,’ he said, ‘as do all the best establishments. Just give them a wipe.’
‘Oh, why not stay for a drink?’ She pulled off the walking boots and took her Docs out of the carrier bag.
‘Come on,’ she pressed, putting them on.
‘Look how cosy it is in there.’ Through the doorway she could see a fire flickering in a stone hearth, and a dozen or so people at the bar and scattered around the room, sitting in deep armchairs.
‘No dogs,’ said Ant.
‘Pah,’ scoffed Rosie. ‘I’ll have a word with my close personal friend Ashley.’
Ant at last cracked another smile. ‘No, it’s fine. Wainwright gets overexcited around too many people, and I’d rather not leave him outside. Plus I have plans for later.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Best be off.’
‘Do you live in Grasmere?’ asked Rosie, wondering what people round here did for entertainment on a Saturday night.
‘Bit further out.’ He shoved his hands in his pockets and scuffed his boots on the step. ‘Well … I hope tomorrow goes okay,’ he said, looking at her sideways. ‘No doubt Dale will tell me all about it.’ He met her eye properly, and – dammit – she felt seen.
‘Keep the boots, by the way,’ he said. ‘Just mention Hill and Dale in your piece. Make the most of them – come up here again.’ He nodded at her, lifted a hand, and left.