Chapter Twelve
Rowan
Sophie’s wedding is at Angus’ farm. I can’t get my head around it. What are the chances? What are the odds?
What am I going to do?
I can’t pull out. Sophie would literally murder me, given that I’ve already failed to show up to her hen do, still haven’t responded to her last message, and am, in short, the worst maid of honour ever to live.
So no, I can’t bail on my sister on her wedding day.
Can I?
I couldn’t read the look on Angus’ face when we realise what this coming weekend would bring, but when I locked eyes with him, the intensity of it sent shockwaves through my body.
Even the barest signal from this man does dangerous things to me.
And at a wedding? The most romantic place in the world?
Freshly single and heart-sore? With an open bar and a live band?
Not to mention the fact that I find the idea of him working the land unbearably hot, and am barely able to stop picturing him shirtless in a field wielding a scythe.
(Then again, I’ve probably watched Poldark too many times, and if Angus has converted his farm into a wedding venue, I imagine he isn’t personally ploughing too many fields these days.)
Note to self: should not have thought of the word ploughing.
All in all, it’s a recipe for disaster. Hot, panty-melting disaster.
The only upside is that the panic of our upcoming predicament gives my legs a speed I didn’t know they possessed, and I find myself whizzing through the second part of the day, ensuring there’s at least two metres between me and Angus until I have myself back under control.
The group falls into a new rhythm as we walk.
Ewan is clearly exhausted, but plods on with steady determination.
Priya dances alongside, bringing him flowers and leaves, making him feel them, teaching him the Latin names of everything they see.
He doesn’t seem like the type to care about botany, but he indulges her, nodding along to her explanations, and asking questions quietly, in between groans.
Lila brings up the rear, smiling gently at her daughter and the scenery around, seeming happy to be left in her own world.
And I stomp ahead, feeling mildly guilty for immediately abandoning my promise to help Ewan, but physically unable to face Angus again.
As we come into sight of our campground, which is a patch of grass diagonally across the bridge from an old, white-washed hotel, on the sloping banks of a gushing river, I realise that I’ve spent the afternoon obsessing over Angus and hardly thought about Ethan at all.
Is that normal? Or is there something wrong with me, that I’ve forgotten my cheating ex-boyfriend as soon as a sex-on-legs Scottish hiker comes along?
It still hurts. Of course it does. But the pang when I picture him without me is less intense.
There’s something else there now.
Something that feels a lot like relief.
Luckily, I don’t have to grapple too much with that, as I’m quickly taken with the business of setting up camp: choosing a spot, dropping my bag, pitching my tent.
It takes less time than yesterday, and far less than the day before that, and as I stand there afterwards, pride wells up. I did that. Me. Rowan. By myself.
Besides the hotel, only a railway station and a few other buildings – a church and a couple of cottages – break up the rolling hills.
I wander to the bridge and listen to the water rushing underneath.
Mountains rise in the near distance, brown and purple with heather, a few clouds dusting the tops like candyfloss, tinged pink in the dimming light.
It’s quiet. Birdsong floats from the trees lining the water, and a motor revs and then falls silent.
Now that I’ve dropped my pack, weariness radiates across my body. My feet throb. My toes are nubs of stabbing pain. I’m afraid to take off my boots and see what’s happened to the skin underneath. I’m sure it isn’t a pretty sight.
But more urgently, my stomach is rumbling, a deep, angry growl that tells me I have about thirty minutes before hunger truly hits. I think of my stove, my lack of lighter, the idea of begging someone to help me cook.
My eyes catch on the hotel. Warm light spills from the windows, and an instrument twangs as a couple amble through the front door. Stove be damned. That is what I want. A comfortable chair, and a cosy fire, and someone to bring me something piping hot and delicious.
I find Lila and Priya sipping on cups of tea.
Ewan’s collapsed inside his tent; his sticking-out boots the only parts of him visible.
And Angus is crouched by his, frowning at his own stove as he stirs a pot of brown mush.
He doesn’t look happy about it, but then again, when does he look happy about anything?
“I think I’m going to eat at the hotel,” I say to Lila.
She returns my gaze solemnly. “That’s nice for you.”
I open my mouth, and the corner of hers twitches. She knows exactly what I want, and she is still going to make me say it.
“Do you… Would either of you like to join?”
“Can we get chips?” Priya immediately pipes up, eyes wide with excitement.
“As long as you order something green as well.”
“Fine,” Priya grumbles. “If I have to.”
“So that’s a yes, then?” I hazard.
Lila beams. “That’s a yes. Ewan, Angus, you want to join us?”
“Fuck yeah,” comes Ewan’s shout from inside the tent. He launches upright and groans when he bashes his head on one of the poles. “Anything’s better than another bloody sandwich. Even more time with you lot. Coming!”
“Angus?” I ask, when he doesn’t respond.
“What?”
“Do you want to come and have dinner with us?”
He gestures to his stove with the fork he’s been using to stir. A few beans cling to the prongs, sticky and uniformly coated in a sauce the colour of mud. “I’ve got dinner.”
Priya creeps up to his side and sticks her face near the stove, inhaling loudly. “It doesn’t look like dinner. What is it?”
“Bean stew.”
“Smells like feet. Are you sure you’re cooking it right?”
The line between Angus’ eyes deepens, his grip tightening on the fork. “Yes.”
“And there’s not very much there either. Won’t you be hungry after?”
“No.”
Lila stands and dusts her hands off on her hiking trousers. “Leave the poor man to enjoy his sad dinner in peace, Priya, as he so obviously doesn’t want to socialise with us anymore.” She turns to me, her eyes glinting. “Shall we?”
“I like being alone, alright,” Angus grumbles. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“Oh no, nothing wrong with that at all,” Lila says. “You enjoy your solitude and your stew. Have a lovely evening.” She turns back to me. “I hope they have fish and chips. I could kill for a battered cod right now.”
“I’m going to ask for a toastie.” Ewan clambers to his feet. “Extra cheese.”
“I thought you said you were sick of sandwiches?” I ask.
He looks shocked. “A toastie’s not a sandwich! What are you on about? It’s an entirely different thing.”
“Two slices of bread, butter and a filling?” Lila joins in. “That sounds like a sandwich to me.”
“No, but it’s toasted. So the filling goes all gooey and melted inside. It’s about the experience, right, and the experience of eating a toastie is completely different to eating a sandwich. A sandwich has structure. Layers.”
“I didn’t realise we were defining things by the experience now.” I amble across the bridge, my rumbling stomach impatient to reach the warm insides of the hotel and get my hands on a menu. “That opens up a world of possibilities.”
“Everything’s about the experience,” Ewan says passionately. “Like what’s hiking and what’s walking?”
“Walking being quite a pleasant, brief wander through some nature, and hiking feeling like you’re spending every day being pummelled by rocks inside and out?”
“Exactly.” He beams. “Now you’re getting it.”
On his next step, his ankle slips again, and he grabs the side of the bridge with a wince.
“Here.” I slide my shoulder under his, ignoring the pain in my own feet, and heave him up.
“Thanks,” Ewan says, suddenly sombre. “You’re all being very nice to me, considering we’re strangers and you’re basically the same age as my grandparents.”
“Ewan, I’m less than ten years older than you!”
“Yeah. Exactly. Bloody ancient.” He falls quiet for a moment. “I’m going to have to get a bus tomorrow, aren’t I?”
I sigh. “How does your ankle feel now?”
“Like someone is cutting it off tendon by tendon with a rusty saw.”
I wince. “That doesn’t sound fun.”
“No. But maybe if I rest up tomorrow, I can join up with the group and we can do the last day together?”
There’s a note of a plea in his voice. He doesn’t want to give up.
Doesn’t want to be defeated. And I don’t want him to either.
Even if it is the sensible thing to do. We’re a group now.
In it together, bonded by the miles we’ve trudged and the travails we’ve overcome.
It’s silly, but if even Ewan, self-proclaims non-outdoorsman and injured besides, can make it through to the end, it makes me believe I can to.
And I want to. Want the satisfaction of walking into Fort William knowing that I haven’t faltered, haven’t given up. That I’ve faced the challenge and won.
It’s been a long time since I felt proud of myself.
Since I challenged myself.
It feels… good. I didn’t expect that.
“Sounds like a plan to me.” I inject as much cheer into my voice as I can. “I’m sure a day of rest will set you right. Then we can walk into Fort William together.”
We reach the hotel door, and Priya holds it open while I manoeuvre Ewan inside and Lila finds us a booth in the corner.
A fire roars beneath a broad stone mantlepiece, and we all shed layers as the heat sends a collective flush to our faces.
The bar is busy, and after we settle, another group of hikers piles in, claiming the only other free table.