Chapter 17
I’m as giddy as a schoolgirl going on her first date, dressed like I’m heading on an Arctic expedition.
Jameson and I laugh and strike poses as we pull on ski gloves, waterproof trousers and massive ski jackets borrowed from the Morrows’ impressive collection of outdoor gear. I tuck wrist-warmers between my mittens and the cuffs of my coat, and Jameson yanks a buff over his head.
He grins, mirroring my eagerness to be out in the wilds and weather. To be alone together.
Becca wanders in wearing in her robe as I’m double knotting the laces of my hiking boots. ‘You will be careful, won’t you?’
Jameson taps the compass hanging round his neck.
With no phone reception or 4G we’ll have to navigate the old-fashioned way.
Somehow, that excites me more. Not that there will be a need for much navigation – we’re only planning to walk out to the loch through the forest, then head up onto the ridge that separates Tarnmore from the nearest village, and loop back over the fields to the house.
It shouldn’t take more than a couple of hours, even accounting for snow hampering our pace.
‘There are some nasty ravines,’ Becca warns.
‘We’ll be fine, don’t worry.’ Jameson sounds confident and I feel safe heading out with him.
I know the path we’re planning to take – a stunning waterfall spins down through a deep cleft cut in the rock. It will be treacherous underfoot in this weather, but beautiful.
‘It’s easy to get disorientated,’ Becca says, pursing her lips. ‘You might slip.’
Jameson gives her a reassuring smile. ‘I promise, we’ll be careful, Bex.’
We cross the frozen courtyard, climb a low gate barricaded by the weight of snow banked against it, and set off into the woods.
It’s bliss out here, the silence broken only by the crunch of our boots in the snow.
The solitude is beautiful, liberating. The light is something special – luminous, almost blue where it brushes the snow.
The air is cold and crisp. In the forest, like yesterday, the going is easier.
Here the snow is only ankle-deep, so much of it caught in the arms of the massive fir trees spanned above us.
‘This is perfect,’ I say, feeling the stretch of my muscles as the trail starts to climb up through the forest. The fresh air is blowing away some cobwebs too. Along with my lingering doubt about whether any of this is a good idea.
‘It really is,’ Jameson agrees. ‘I don’t know about you, but I needed to get out of the house for a bit.’
‘Absolutely.’
Only his eyes are visible in the band between hat and buff.
They sparkle with a sort of mischief, as if we’re doing something naughty – which I suppose we are, subverting Becca’s carefully laid plans.
‘They’re a lot, aren’t they?’ Hastily, he adds, ‘I mean, I like them all individually, of course …’
‘I know what you mean.’ They’re all on top of their game – maximum effort, maximum energy, all seeking to be top dog. Out here, just Jameson and me, peace settles into my heart.
‘It’s strange,’ Jameson muses softly. ‘How we hold on to friendships for what they used to mean. If you look at it objectively, I have nothing in common with any of them now.’
I look at my feet, concentrating on the twists and turns of the path, the tree roots lurking beneath the snow. ‘I wouldn’t know.’
‘Sorry, that was insensitive.’
I shake my head. ‘No, it’s okay. It was my choice to go.’
He stops, turns me to face him. ‘You know I’m not angry with you, right? You did what you needed to do.’
‘Thanks … that means a lot.’
I’ve held on to a lot of guilt from that night and it would be nice to let it go. Maybe I can accomplish that this week if nothing else.
Wind scours my face as we step out of the cover of the trees and confront a landscape impossibly altered, sculpted by all the snow that’s fallen these past twenty-four hours – hard to believe it’s only been that long. I come to an abrupt halt. ‘Wow.’
Jameson stops beside me. The path to the loch is lost beneath the snow and there’s just an unbroken sheet of white, like a vast expanse of white icing unrolling towards the slate water.
‘How do we get down there, without being able to see the path?’
Jameson grins. There’s a hint of cockiness in his expression now, but in a good way; he’s in his element. My stomach flip-flops again. ‘Follow me.’
With the wind, conversation is impossible now. When we reach the bank of the loch, the spot where we once dived off, the wooden planks of the jetty are slick with ice. ‘I’m still sorry … for leaving. I just want you to know that.’
‘You don’t need to apologise, Eilish. You were traumatised. I understand that now. It took me a while to realise, but then I thought about the way your mum died, and how that night on the beach must have affected you, and—’
My head snaps up. ‘How do you know about that?’
I never told him how Mum died. Didn’t tell any of them … except Genevieve.
Jameson falters. ‘Gen told me. Don’t be mad.’
I shake my head. There’s no point being angry with him. No point being angry with Gen either, not now. But I do find it strange that she told him my biggest secret – I thought we trusted each other completely.
I should have told him myself. I thought about it several times, but the words always got stuck. I was worried he might think less of me, somehow. For not saving her.
The same way I was certain Mitch and my father felt about me.
The way I felt about myself.
Jameson steps onto the jetty, holding his arms out to find his balance on the slippery surface.
I catch my breath, suddenly afraid he’ll slide and fall into the loch.
He holds out a hand. I slip my ski-gloved paw into his and let him pull me up beside him.
This is where Alex sat, moodily smoking a joint while we splashed and swam in the peaty water.
Jameson turns me gently so I’m facing out across the loch. My breath is shallow, my heartrate rapid. He wraps an arm across my chest, drawing me against his body. ‘I’ve got you,’ he murmurs. ‘You’re safe. Just look …’
The water is choppy and grey, wind ruffling its surface like fingers through a wolf’s pelt. ‘It’s stunning, isn’t it?’ Jameson says. ‘You know, this was the happiest I’ve ever been, that night … right here.’
Me too, I think. I swallow, lean into him, feel the thud of his heart through layers of Gore-Tex and fleece.
I can almost feel the warmth of his torso along my back and his breath warm on my cheek.
It’s getting difficult to pretend we are just old friends catching up, hard to hide the attraction I’m almost certain now is mutual.
‘I’m sure your girlfriend wouldn’t like to hear you say so,’ I say, unable to help myself.
I need to know if that girl from the photographs on his social media is important.
Jameson steps back and I feel like a little kid on ice-skates for the first time.
I wobble and hold myself stiffly on the icy planks.
He takes my hand again – our padded gloves awkward – and helps me off the ice.
His brow furrows. ‘I don’t have a girlfriend, Eilish.
I split with someone last summer and I’ve been single since. ’
‘Oh.’ I feel like an idiot. I’ve been too obvious, exposed myself. I tentatively look up at him, I couldn’t bear to see pity in his eyes. But he’s smiling – at least I think he is – I can only see his eyes.
But that’s all I need.
No trace of pity. Just warmth, and … hunger.
‘I was heartbroken when you left,’ he murmurs. ‘Even though I understood why you did. I’d been thinking you were going to take me back that night.’
‘I was.’
He sighs. ‘I’ve really missed you, Eilish.’
He turns away then, helping me back to the relative safety of the bank.
‘I missed you too,’ I say to his back as we begin the walk up the valley. Facing into the wind, my words are torn away and I’m not sure if he hears me.
*
The hillside is exposed, and the snow has drifted, making each step unpredictable and arduous.
We pass a deep ravine, one of the hazards Becca warned of, and skirt the edge of the drop with no problems. The waterfall is sluggish now, weaving between hanging snowbanks.
I can imagine how it will rush and tumble once the snow all starts to melt and the water rises.
We cross carefully over the falls, stepping stone to stone.
We hold hands, which I’m not sure is strictly necessary or safe – if one of us were to slip we’d both plummet off the edge – but we both pretend it’s completely essential.
On the other side, Jameson casts a look at the sky – quick, but enough to spark my anxiety.
From that brief look at the forecast on Euan’s phone, I know there’s supposed to be a decent window in which to venture out.
Neither of us wants to be caught up here in a blizzard.
‘I think we should skip the ridge and head back down the side of the waterfall,’ Jameson says. The light has changed, turning ochre. The sky is heavy. ‘I think it’s going to snow again sooner than expected and I’d like to be on lower ground.’
It’s the sensible thing to do, but I am disappointed. I don’t want this walk to end. I want to hike the ridge, climb to the top of the highest hill and get lost in the cloud. I want to be out here with him for as long as possible.
But Jameson is an experienced hillwalker, and he’s undoubtedly right.
I know it would be madness to go further.
It’s tricky getting down the side of the river, but fun too.
It’s like a puzzle, trying to work out where to place our feet on the tumbled stones, half-buried in snow.
I manage better than Jameson, being lighter and having smaller feet.
The snow stays off for now, but it feels like we’re trying to outrun it.
Like we’re being chased by the storm, which adds a sense of urgency, adventure.