Chapter Eleven
Angus
We march through the fog in silent misery.
Priya and Lila have fallen back, keeping to themselves, but Ewan is still gripping on to me for dear life, leaning most of his weight on my arm.
I know if I take away even an inch of support, he’ll collapse.
He’s in that much pain. His lips are pinned shut, his eyes focused only on the ground directly underneath his feet. But he limps on.
I’ve taken similar tumbles before. Been in similar situations. Hurt myself and powered through, too stubborn to let on how bad it felt. Too afraid of seeming weak to let myself stop. Wrap my pride around myself as if pride alone would be enough to protect me.
I try not to do that so much anymore. But it’s hard. I have to work at it. To remember that being human doesn’t mean being nothing. That an injury doesn’t mean I’ve failed.
Ewan hasn’t said a word since he snapped at Rowan.
He isn’t likely to either. I’ve been there before too.
I know keenly the feelings he’s grappling with: the anger, the frustration, the shame.
At her, for questioning him, for trying to force him to admit his vulnerability, at himself, for losing control, saying things he can’t take back.
When I was his age, I had a whole world of anger inside me. A maelstrom hiding beneath the surface, that could emerge at any second, at any small trigger. That wanted to destroy everything.
Fuck. I still had that world of anger in me.
Anger at my Ma, who walked out on us, who found farming life too hard and went off in search of an easier life.
Who left three boys and our Da to fend for ourselves.
Anger at my Da, who gave up, flung himself down bottle after bottle and not once looked back to see who he was taking with him.
Anger at myself, for failing to hold us together. For not being someone worth sticking around for.
Ewan stumbles, and I hoist him up. His fingers grip my arm like iron spikes, but I don’t make a noise. Pain is good. Pain keeps you focused. Steady.
And every time I look at him, I can’t help but see myself at his age. Angry. Lost.
“Lad…” I say at last.
“I know,” Ewan replies tightly. His jaw clenches. “I’m a prick. Fuck. I know.”
We crest another hill. With the view blocked by the fog, I can only tell by the feeling of the ground levelling out beneath my feet. Based on where I think we are, and how fast we’ve been walking, I reckon we had one more valley before we reach Ewich Forest, and a spot to stop for lunch.
We stagger on, Ewan’s weight grows heavier with every step, as he fights against gravity and his swollen, unsteady ankle and the weight of his pack.
But after one last, torturous climb, I see the first trees of the forest ahead and send up a prayer of thanks that my estimations were right.
As we pass under the canopy, the rain eases, a welcome relief even in my layers of waterproofs, and I can hear Priya and Lila exclaiming happily behind us.
A little further down the path, a spot opens to our right, where a tree’s fallen on the grass. It’s the perfect height for sitting, and while it’s a little damp, it isn’t soaked despite the shitty weather.
“How about a tea break?” I ask, projecting my voice loud enough to be heard by Priya and Lila behind.
“Lunch! Lunch! Lunch!” Priya dances past, shedding her pack like an otter slipping from the water, and leaps onto the trunk, clapping her hands.
Lila follows, a wry smile on her face. “I guess we’re having lunch then,” she says, dropping her own pack with a happy groan, and flipping the top to produce two squashed sandwiches and a pack of crisps each.
“Yeah, go on then,” Ewan says, not looking at any of us as he lets go of my arm and limped over to the trunk. The look on his face when the weight leaves his ankle is pure relief, and I spare another second of worry for the lad, and the damage he might be causing himself.
I look around as I retrieve my own lunch – two sausage rolls, a wedge of cheese and bread, a couple of carrots and some cured meat for good measure.
I’ve stuffed the pockets of my bag full of snacks as well: mixed nuts, raisins, dried mango, and a load of jerky.
I hate getting hungry, especially when the mileage is this high, so I always make sure to come prepared.
No sign of Rowan. She isn’t a fast walker, so I’m a little surprised we haven’t caught up to her yet. Then again, we aren’t exactly covering ground apace with Ewan’s ankle and making sure we don’t go too fast for Priya. I’ve never hiked with this many people, never gone this slowly before.
I hate it less than I thought I would.
When the sandwiches have been eaten and washed down with sips of water and a flask of peppermint tea Lila produces as if from nowhere, it’s time to get going again.
The rain, thankfully, has stopped, and a small gap of sunlight peeks between the clouds.
Hopefully the afternoon will be less wet than the morning,
Except it very quickly becomes clear that Ewan can hardly stand, let alone walk.
“Fucking fuck fuck fuck,” he chants, as he tries to lever himself off the tree, almost immediately falling back onto it when his ankle buckles in protest. He tries again a second time, his entire face screwed up, the muscles on his neck standing out like metal rods, but again he falls. “FUCK.”
He shouts it loudly enough that a bird, panicked, flies out of the canopy and almost collides with a tree, dropping grey feathers as it swerves at the last moment and bursts into the sky. Water drips onto our heads, dislodged from above.
“Ewan,” Lila strides over to stand in front of him, hands on hips. “Sit down.”
“I can’t.” He tries again to muscle his way to standing, but it is clear to all of us that he is spent. He looks panicked. Grey-faced, sweat shining on his forehead, his eyes wild. “Don’t you understand? I can’t sit around. I can’t stop. I have to finish this.”
He covers his face with both of his hands and screams into them.
“Lad.” I put a hand on his shoulder. “Stop.”
I can feel him vibrating beneath my touch. A ticking bomb. A storm.
Lila kneels at his feet, and puts a hand on his boot. “Do you mind if I take this off?” she asks gently.
“Why? You a doctor or something?”
“Dentist, actually. So not quite.” She begins untying his laces with a deft touch.
“But I do have first aid training, and an extensive armoury of medical supplies with me. From my limited knowledge, I’d guess that you sprained your ankle in that fall yesterday.
If you were at home, I’d say you need rest, elevation, compression and ice.
But as we’re here,” she gestures at the woods around us, “I think compression and some painkillers are probably the best we can do. It might be enough to get you mobile again. At least long enough to reach camp. So?”
Ewan reluctantly nods, his hands still covering his face. “Alright. Yeah. Go on then.”
Lila finishes unlacing his boot and draws it off. Even that’s enough to make him grit his teeth and hiss.
“Priya, honey, could you grab me the bandages and ibuprofen from the pack?”
Priya leaps to it, for all the world as if she helps bandage strange men’s ankles every day.
“Here, take two of these,” she says, handing them to Ewan, along with Lila’s flask of peppermint tea.
“What the fuck is this?” he gasps as the hot liquid touches his mouth. “It tastes like mud. Dying plants and mud. Ugh! This is disgusting!”
“It’s peppermint.” Priya sounds offended. “It’s anti-inflammatory. It helps with gas and indigestion. And it’s delicious! Maybe your taste buds are broken?”
Ewan screws up his face and repeats back, in a high-pitched voice. “Maybe your taste buds are broken?”
“Fighting with a ten-year-old? Nice,” Lila says as she slides the bandage onto his swollen appendage. “Is it your intention to drive away all the people who are trying to help you, or is that an unfortunate by-product of your shitty mood?”
I fold my arms and raise an eyebrow. Damn, but the dentist can be sharp.
Ewan sucks in a breath, but then the fight leeches out of him. “I’m sorry, Priya,” he says in a small voice. “Thank you for the tea.”
“You’re welcome,” she replies primly, taking a sip and smacking her lips. “Delicious!”
“All set.” Lila finishes checking the bandage on Ewan’s foot, and gently places his boot back on, tying the laces in an efficient double knot. “Do you want to try that?”
Once again, Ewan lowers his feet to the ground, grimacing in preparation for the pain. When his weight sinks onto it, he lets out a low hiss, but this time manages to stay upright. I pass him his stick, and lend him my arm, tucking it under his other shoulder to help.
“Thanks,” he gasps. Then he pauses, clearly trying to decide whether to say something.
I wait, silent.
“It’s for my friend, alright,” he says eventually, pulling his phone out of his pocket and flicking on the screen. “That’s why I have to do this.”
There’s a picture of a boy around Ewan’s age, not quite pushing twenty, with ears that stick out of his mop of messy, curly hair, and a nose he will never grow into.
He’s wearing a shirt that’s clearly two sizes too big and squinting at the camera with a gap-toothed smile, holding a beer up to cheers whoever is taking the photograph.
He looks loose, relaxed, like he’s about to tell a joke he knows will land.
“Is he meeting you at Fort William?” I ask, already knowing with a sinking feeling that he isn’t.