Chapter 7
Up on the moor at eight in the morning, Gabe had been unsurprised to discover that his merry band of tree-pickers had dwindled in number slightly. When he’d started the job six months before, he’d worked out quickly that the hard physical nature of the job, not to mention the repetitiveness of planting tree after tree after tree could be a bit much to deal with.
The advert he’d answered online had said that a good sense of humour was a pre-requisite, as well as the ability to work with others. It was strange, because most of the day was spent with only your own thoughts for company, and the sound of birds wheeling overhead. If you were lucky, you might catch sight of a stag on the moor or startle a hare and watch as it leapt off in horror, instinctively fearful of humans. But at the same time you had to be able to take orders, work in a gang, keep an eye on what your fellow workers were doing… oh, and be ready for any kind of weather.
‘Was it something I said?’ he said, laughing, as he counted heads and prepared to get everyone set up for the day. ‘Or do you think the weather forecast has put them off?’
They were three people down. The young lads who’d arrived in a converted van and had been excited to discover that the local pub was only a five-minute walk from the yard where they’d be situated for the season. The old boat repair yard had running water, a basic but functional shower, and an all-important electricity supply for charging their phones and electrical equipment.
‘They seemed quite happy in the pub last night,’ said Ed, who had appeared and was standing, his thick blonde brows furrowed, looking over the plans for the morning’s planting.
‘Maybe that’s the problem,’ said Tor, one of the villagers who worked as a tree planter in the winter and as a wildlife tour guide in summer. ‘Perhaps they’re still fast asleep.’
‘I had a feeling they wouldn’t last,’ said the pink-haired girl, who was wearing a set of faded red overalls. She folded her arms, looking around at her co-workers with a faintly superior air.
‘You might have spoken too soon,’ said Ed, tapping Gabe on the shoulder so he turned around. In the distance, slowly crawling up the winding road on the hill in what looked like a painfully low gear, was the battered green van that belonged to the lads.
‘Fair play to them,’ laughed Gabe. ‘Although if I had to take a guess, it looks like they might be spending their first week’s wages on a new clutch for that van.’
Ten minutes later the lads had arrived, loaded up their tree bags and were hard at work planting today’s tiny young seedling trees. A year from now, hopefully, they’d be a good foot taller, and not choked out by bramble or gorse, both of which grew like mad in the acidic peaty soil of the Highlands.
The rain came and went in five-minute bursts, stopping as suddenly as it started as the bright sunlight broke through the huge, towering purple clouds. He’d quickly grown accustomed to the weather in Applemore, where you could expect four seasons in one day – often in more than one rotation. Now that spring was slowly creeping in, the hillwalkers were returning, following in the footsteps of the most determined who would climb in all weathers.
Stan barked as he spotted a couple in the distance. He’d been full of beans that morning, and Gabe had suspected that he’d be happier out and about sniffing the scents left by wildlife and keeping him company than snoozing in the back of the pick-up truck. Gabe whistled him back to heel and watched as the couple trudged up the track below them, pausing on the ridge to unfold a map which ruffled in the wind and almost flew out of their hands, making them both laugh. He raised a finger to his forehead in greeting then turned and bent back to the soil, tucking one of the millions of trees he’d planted into its new home. Stan returned to the important task of sniffing for rabbit trails, his plumed black tail wagging furiously and his long ears trailing on the ground as he followed a scent.
Gabe gazed down the valley, looking at the other workers all diligently planting. Everyone seemed to be getting on with the job happily, which was a relief. He felt a strange sense of responsibility for his groups, having been charged with inducting them after giving the health and safety talk that was necessary before heading out onto a planting site.
It was a strange thought to think that he was making a difference with this planting – that they all were. In that moment – all over the Highlands and Islands – forestry workers were hard at work, reforesting land that had lain bare for hundreds of years.
He was lost in thought when he heard a shout a while later, vaguely aware that there was a voice somewhere in the distance, carried away by the wind.
‘Gabe!’
He turned to see Pete, second-in-command at the forestry business, shading his eyes against the low slanted sunlight and beckoning him with a gloved hand.
‘Sorry,’ said Gabe a few moments later, puffing from his climb over rough ground. ‘Didn’t hear you.’
‘No worries,’ said Pete. ‘I’ve got a call with a client in five minutes, but Donald’s been on the phone asking if someone will pick up the mapping for the Lochbrannich Estate job. Would you mind nipping down for me?’
‘Sure.’ Gabe swung the half-empty planting bags off his shoulders. ‘Is he coming here to collect them?’
Pete nodded. ‘Think he’s got to swing by and have a meeting with the duke himself, so he said he’s printed off new copies of all the plans. The other ones are covered in notes – and if I know Donald, which I do, probably coffee cup rings and mucky fingerprints as well.’
Gabe grinned. ‘Mission understood. Are they in the office?’
‘Yeah, Una should be in there with them ready. Do us a favour and nip into the shop and get something for lunch break while you’re down there?’
‘For you or for everyone?’ Gabe reached down to pat Stanley, who’d jumped up at his legs and was keen for attention.
‘A morale booster for the troops – grab a load of cookies or something. And if you can grab me a pasty or a pie and a can of Coke as well that would be great. I was planning on heading down for a meeting, but it’s been called off and I’m starving.’
‘On it,’ said Gabe, fishing in his trouser pocket to find the keys to the pick-up truck.
With Stan sitting happily on the passenger seat beside him, he started the steep descent down the twisty moorland road back down to Applemore.
When he’d arrived six months ago, he’d been resolute that he wanted this job to be nothing more than the most straightforward of manual labour, the absolute opposite of his previous career. He’d get up, spend all day doing an honest day’s work, and go home exhausted but with nothing in his head but thoughts of what he’d have for dinner that evening. It was as simple as that.
Or so he’d thought. Somehow – by accident or design, he wasn’t sure – he’d found himself being given responsibility here and there that he hadn’t sought out. Running a crew, taking his first aid in forestry training certification and then a weeklong chainsaw training course so he had his ticket – the forestry term for a certificate - for felling trees and a ticket for brush-cutting which meant he could clear areas for planting. Donald, the easy-going owner of the business, was even making noises about sending him out on a fencing job so he could learn more about that. It was starting to feel like he was embarking on an entirely new career at the age of forty-nine, which was a pretty strange thing to happen when you didn’t expect it.
But there was no arguing with the fact that life here in the Highlands was a dream. Where else could you have a commute to work like this – where the sky lit up golden at night as the sun set over the distant islands, and the air that filled your lungs was so clear it almost hurt to breathe it in deeply?
Applemore itself was a thriving little seaside village. He’d arrived at the end of the summer and caught the tail end of the madness that was the peak of tourist season – the little High Street was packed with visitors taking advantage of an unusually warm October. As he made his way down to the bottom of the glen and drove through the edge of the village he passed the little building which hosted the volunteer operated fire service and the tiny petrol station and garage where a tractor was currently parked. The door was hanging open and a black and white collie looked out at him.
It was starting afresh now. The weather was changing for the better and already there were cars lining the road by the side of the bay and a few little groups of visitors wandering about. A delivery lorry was parked across the entrance to the forestry office, so he turned at the end of the road and parked the truck down a side street.
‘You stay there – and don’t bark at any passing tourists,’ he warned Stan, who wagged at him with an innocent expression.
Una was sitting behind her desk, a blue and white spotted scarf tied around her neck and a green gilet over her sweater to guard against the draught from a door that didn’t quite shut properly. The huge printer was chuntering away in the corner, copies of the maps she was printing slowly piling up as the job was completed. She stood up and marched across the room, tucking the pen she’d been using behind her ear.
‘Let me double check they’re all there. I did the first batch and the blooming printer jammed.’
Gabe looked around as she counted under her breath. The walls of the office were covered in huge Ordnance Survey maps of the Highlands and Islands, some of them marked with coloured pins to designate sites that were being worked on. By the door there was a jumble of spare boots and shelf with a stack of neatly folded sweatshirts with the forestry logo on, alongside polo shirts in a dark forest green.
‘Take one of those while you’re at it,’ said Una, turning to see Gabe looking at them.
‘I’m okay,’ he said, brushing down the dark blue sweater he was wearing. It was a traditional fisherman’s jersey knitted from wool, warm and breathable and waterproof. He’d bought it when he first arrived from the outdoor clothing shop at Applemore House, and it had proved itself a hundred times over.
‘You’re a bit pine-y,’ said Una, heading towards him and plucking fir needles from the front of his chest, ‘and more to the point if you’re off to the big house I think Donald will want you in your best finery, so I think we can splash out on a sweatshirt for the occasion.’
‘Oh I’m not off to the big house,’ Gabe began, but Una had bustled off and was carefully doubling over the printouts, muttering to herself again as she searched in the stationery cupboard.
‘I swear those plastic folders vanish when I’m not looking.’ She passed him the huge sheaf of printed maps. ‘I’ll need to get an order done for some more. Meanwhile, I can rely on you getting these up to Donald in one piece, can’t I?’
Gabe shook his head. Una was a whirlwind and a law unto herself. She’d obviously got the wrong end of the stick about him going with Donald up to the Lochbrannich Estate to meet with the duke, but there was no point arguing the point.
‘You can rely on me, yes,’ he said, feeling the edges of his mouth twitching in laughter.
‘Right.’ Una unwrapped the sweatshirt from the shelf, shaking it out and passing it to him. ‘That’s you all sorted. Donald told me he wanted two copies of everything, so I’ve done three. I know what he’s like and he’ll get coffee or goodness knows what all over them before you’ve got up to the big house, and the Duke of Lochbrannich is very posh indeed and I’m fairly sure he’ll not want filthy scraps of paper all over his big expensive walnut desk.’ She paused for breath.
‘Have you been to Lochbrannich House?’ Gabe tucked the new sweatshirt under his arm along with the folded maps.
Una shook her head, reaching under the desk and re-emerging with a tin of colourful boiled sweets. ‘I have not. But I imagine that if you’re a duke, you’ve probably got a very fancy desk. Want one?’
‘I’m okay, thanks.’
‘Don’t get them dirty,’ said Una darkly as he left.
‘On my honour,’ said Gabe, laughing.