Chapter Six
Rowan
I wake neither bright-eyed nor bushy-tailed, but instead feeling like a troll who has been dragged backwards out of her cozy bridge nest and forced to sleep on a road paved with nails.
It’s still early when I pull myself out of my tent, my bones individually creaking as I munch on a Hobnob in the vain hopes that the sugar will wake me up.
To say I’ve slept poorly is the understatement of the century. I spent half the night trying to shut off the highlights reel of failure my brain insisted on playing, and the other half unable to find a comfortable spot on the ground.
I’m sleep-deprived, grouchy, and in dire need of a coffee.
But the nearest coffee shop won’t open for at least two hours and while Erica did lend me a stove, I didn’t remember to buy a lighter and I have no idea how to work it.
I can feel the mental clouds gathering. Grey and oppressive, despite the lavender morning. I need to brush my teeth. I need to get changed. I need to pack down my tent.
You need to go home. This is too much for you. You can’t do this. You can’t do anything. Go home and you’ll feel better. Get back in the burrow and everything will be alright.
Except it won’t. Because I don’t have a home to go back to. And the safe pair of arms I thought would hold me has thrown me straight back into the traffic.
It’s time to bring out the big guns.
I scrabble through my clothes for what I need: my armour. On the bottom half: lime-green shorts and pink running socks with a watermelon pattern. On the top: pink sports bra under even pinker vest with a skull holding a wheel of cheese on it that reads: To brie or not to brie.
When in doubt, the answer is always a pun.
“I like your vest.”
The daughter from last night hovers nearby, holding two mugs, one filled with tea, the other with a dark liquid that looks like a lot like coffee.
Her hair’s done in two plaits that sweep forward over her collarbones and hang almost to her belly button, and she’s wearing an all-saffron ensemble that compliments her brown skin.
“Thanks! I designed it myself.” The smile comes more naturally than I expected. “I like your cap.”
Her hat is monogrammed like mine. Only, where I’ve gone for a fruity theme, hers reads, in cursive letters: Take it Bach. She spins in a circle to let me admire it, revealing a small violin on the back.
“I chose it myself.” She regards me seriously.
“Mum sent me over to ask if you wanted a coffee.” She holds out the coffee cup, and it takes everything I have not to snatch it out of her hand, drain it, and sweep her into a bear-strength hug.
I refrain for obvious reasons including that the coffee is steaming hot and I don’t want her mother to call the police.
“I would love a coffee.” I wait for her to hand it to me, patting myself on the back for my restraint. “That is incredibly kind of you. Please tell your mum that she is my new hero and I will worship the ground she walks on forever more. Thank you…”
“Priya. And my mum is Lila.” She holds out her now free hand solemnly, and I shake it with equal seriousness. She’s perhaps ten, and carrying the last of her childhood clearly in her face.
“Lovely to meet you, Priya. I’m Rowan.” I blow across the top of the coffee. “Are you and your mum hiking the West Highland Way too?”
Ah, Rowan. Queen of the obvious questions.
But Priya doesn’t scoff or roll her eyes.
Instead, her grin lights her face. “Yes! We go walking every summer. Usually, Dad comes too, and then it’s all three of us, but he had to work this year.
” A cloud crosses over her expression. She clears it with a shake.
“But that’s okay, because this way Mum and I get even more time together.
We’re going to Inverarnan today. How about you? ”
“That’s the plan.” I frown. “Although I heard that this is the hardest part – there’s loads of roots or something?”
She shrugs. “Mum hasn’t mentioned anything like that. But if we get stuck, the angry-nice man might help us again.” A small, embarrassed smile touches her lips. “He’s handsome.”
“The angry-nice man?” I have a suspicion that I know who this is, but I don’t want to give Angus any credit. Not after he snubbed me last night.
“He left early this morning. I saw him packing when I went to brush my teeth.”
“Priya! Could you come help me?”
Priya glances her mother’s way, clearly torn between politeness to the stranger in front of her – and a desire to make sure I don’t run off with their second cup – and obedience to her mother.
“I’ll wash this up and bring it over when I’m done,” I say, and she smiles and runs over to help Lila fold their fly sheet.
Speaking of which. I turn back to my own tent and sigh. I need to do the same. But at least now I have coffee.
Packing up the tent is no harder than assembling it, although it does take me two tries to wrestle the plastic sheet back into its bag, as it seems to have absorbed every hint of moisture in the ground overnight.
By the time I rinse out the cup, I’m feeling more human – although still in desperate need of more caffeine.
A mirror hangs crookedly above the sink, and I catch a glimpse of myself for the first time since I set out.
I’m… different. Less put together, although I’d never go so far as to refer to myself as polished. My hair is escaping my loose braid in wisps under my cap, and my cheeks are flushed and wind-pinked. There’s a light in my eyes I haven’t seen for a while.
“Thank you so much for this.” I emerge from the bathroom and beeline to Lila and Priya. “You’re a lifesaver.”
“I hear that you’ve promised me the soul of your first-born child.”
Lila’s tall and willowy, dressed in practical walking clothes and wearing the ubiquitous hiker’s brown boots.
Somehow on her they look like the height of style.
She’s tucked a flower behind one ear and even without any make up her face is arresting.
Long, thick eyelashes, a proud nose, and cheekbones to die for.
But mostly it’s the laughter sparkling in her brown eyes that cinches it: she looks like someone who doesn’t take life too seriously, who knows how to have fun.
“You might be waiting a while. Would you settle for my undying gratitude instead? And perhaps an IOU for a slice of cake if we both make it to Inverarnan tonight?”
“Only if it’s carrot or chocolate and absolutely covered in icing. None of that lemon loaf crap.”
“I’ll be sure to hunt down the most decadent slice in Scotland for you.”
“Then we have a deal.”
We share a conspiratorial smile.
How long has it been since I’ve spoken to a stranger like this? Since interacting with an unknown person has felt not only easy, but fun? For once, I don’t want to run away, or hide in my shell, and I’m not waiting for the ball of awkwardness to drop.
We’re just two women, in a field, sharing a joke.
“Excuse me, but is that a violin case?” My eyes snag on Priya, who is tying a careful knot in the laces of her boot beside her bag.
“Er, yeah.” She glances at it, seeming genuinely confused. “What else would it be?”
“Did you bring a violin hiking?” My bag feels like I’m carting around a baby elephant: I’m half-considering jettisoning everything but a single outfit, and this girl is sporting an instrument like it’s nothing.
“I’m going to be a violinist, so I have to practice,” she says. “But don’t worry. It’s not my good violin. This is my Franz Hoffman. So it’s not the end of the world if something happens to it. Right, Mum?”
Lila watches her with tolerant adoration. “Exactly, kiddo.” And to me, she adds, “It’s not ideal, but Priya’s responsible and she really loves the violin. She’s got an audition coming up next week and she didn’t want to miss out on the practice time. So we figured…”
“Mum!” Priya shakes her hands, staring in mortification at the ground. “You didn’t need to tell her that.”
“You’re auditioning for the National Youth Orchestra. That’s huge! You think I’m going to miss any opportunity to brag about my brilliant baby? You’re lucky I haven’t hired a sky-writer to scrawl it over Birmingham. My daughter the genius.”
“You wouldn’t.”
Lila lets Priya hang on for a few seconds, before she releases her with a shake of her head. “Not this time.”
“Mum!”
“It’s not my fault you’re a wunderkind.”
“You promised you’d stop calling me that.”
“I lied. Figured I’d start getting you used to the realities of life.” Lila raises her chin. “How’s it working?”
Priya ducks her head and busies herself with her other lace. “Can’t trust anyone these days,” I hear her mutter in a tone far beyond her years.
Lila looks at me, her eyes expectant.
“I should get on.” It’s my turn to mutter as I shuffle backwards, jabbing a thumb towards my waiting bag. “You know, places to be, miles to cover.”
Wow. I should apply to be a news presenter, what with my eloquence and extensive vocabulary.
Somehow, my bag feels even heavier than yesterday, and I almost trip over my undone laces in my haste to get away.
What is wrong with me? I don’t stop to do up my shoes until I’m out of sight, shame pricking my cheeks.
Lila is nice. She gave me coffee, lovely, life-affirming coffee, and made me laugh.
So why did I run away? But the thought of hours on the trail, small-talk about the weather and the pain in our feet inevitably petering out and turning to difficult-to-answer questions such as “Why are you out here?” or “What do you do?” or “Have you got a boyfriend?” or even “Where do you live?” fills me with dread.
And now instead of a gentle meander along the banks of the loch with a charming woman and her music-obsessed daughter, I’m once again on my own, stuck with the thoughts in my head, which aren’t, when I reflect on it, such good company after all.