by Jenny Colgan
Flora swore loudly. For God’s sake. The most awful thing about it was that it would just confirm everything her family already thought: that she’d become soft with her city-living ways; that she didn’t even know how to walk up the bloody fell. Oh God. She looked down at the dog.
“There you go, shh, don’t worry,” she said. She could hear his heart beating through his chest, very fast. His breathing was shallow, and he was shivering miserably.
“My poor Bramble,” she said, burying her face in his fur. She realized that she was very cold. Too cold. The sun had misled her; it was still spring in the very north of Britain, which meant it was still dangerous.
Well, at least she had the dog to keep her warm, if they cuddled together. But she couldn’t spend a night out here; that was a mad idea.
Her life, Flora decided crossly, was a mad idea.
She saw the clouds coming in. Of course she did. It was the oldest saying in the world: if you don’t like the weather in Scotland, just wait five minutes. The rain darkened the hills across the bay, hiding them from view. Soon the coastline had vanished too under the dark sheet. The wind brought the fresh, unearthly smell of forthcoming rain. Bramble whimpered as if he knew something bad was about to happen. Flora reflected that at least he had his fur. Otherwise things looked pretty grim.
She tried hoisting the dog up. He weighed a ton soaking wet. It absolutely didn’t help that he was panicked with the pain in his paw and scrabbled desperately to escape her arms, which meant the entire thing would be impossible.
The first drops of heavy rain started to fall. Flora realized she was wearing her London coat, which was absolutely fine for popping out in a light shower, but utterly useless for being up on top of a Scottish mountain in the middle of a storm.
When would the boys start to worry about her? she wondered. They’d probably assumed she’d gone to meet Lorna in the pub and wouldn’t expect her back for hours. Dogs were allowed in the pub, so it wouldn’t worry anyone particularly that Bramble wasn’t there, even if they noticed.
Flora took her jacket off and put it over her head—it didn’t even have a hood—but the water was running down her neck regardless. She said every single swear word she knew, over and over again, but it didn’t help. In fact, it precipitated a rumble of thunder somewhere in the distance.
Shelter, she thought. She needed to find shelter. She thought about the layout of the mountain in her head, from her childhood running up and down its paths, picking wildflowers for her mother, who would glance at them distractedly before looking around for a vase, which they didn’t have, and dunking them in a mug.
There was, she remembered, a cave about two hundred yards downhill and round the other side, facing inland. She had drunk cider and made out there with Clark when they were at school—he was now the island’s policeman, which showed how things had changed—and cigarette butts and bottle tops had littered the ground then. She wondered if it was still like that. Probably. There weren’t that many places on their tiny island where you could get away from prying eyes. If she could make it there, they could shelter until . . . well. Until she thought of a better idea.
She took a deep breath. Once she was down this mountain, she was going to tell the boys . . . well, she was going to tell the boys to stuff it. They could get on with everything themselves, eat beans out of a can if they wanted, she no longer cared. She hated this stupid place and its stupid mad weather and its stupid tiny bunch of people who all knew each other and had opinions all the time. She was done. She was out.
Bramble nuzzled her foot.
Maybe she would take Bramble with her. Mind you, moving a huge, ancient dog into a tiny London rental . . . Well. Okay, maybe. Maybe she could come visit. Maybe . . .
Bramble whined.
“Stop that, dog,” she said. “Oh God. Right. Okay.”
The best way, she worked out, after some slightly muddy and ungraceful scrambling in the soaking undergrowth, was to lift Bramble over her shoulder, like in a war film, trying to avoid his damaged paw. He struggled to begin with, then seemed to realize she was trying to help him.
Now utterly drenched from head to toe, with mud covering her almost completely, she made a growling noise at the sky and started skidding and slipping back down the hill.
“For CHRIST’S sake, you STUPID dumb dog!” she shouted, marching ferociously, using her anger to propel her forward. “If you weren’t so DAMN greedy and always wolfing up all the leftovers, I wouldn’t be nearly KILLING myself carrying you. And you probably wouldn’t have been trapped in that waterfall if you were a proper HEALTHY dog.”
“Aoww,” agreed Bramble mournfully, lifting his head and covering her face with another layer of mud.
If she hadn’t known it so well, she would have missed the cave altogether, given that it was out of the way round the back end of the hill and had a hefty spray of early-season heather growing in front of it. She staggered toward it through the sheeting rain, continuing to lecture the dog as she went, her feet in their utterly unsuitable—and now ruined—Converse becoming ever more sodden. She nearly dropped poor Bramble as she pushed her way through the trailing greenery into the relative safety of the cave.
“BLOODY BLOODY BLOODY HELL,” she said, depositing him as gently as she could manage on the sandy floor. She was puffing and sweating now as well as utterly drenched and furious. It was not a good look.
“Hello,” came a quiet voice.
Chapter Eleven
Flora could barely see. The darkness inside the cave plus the stream of water plastering her hair over her head and across her eyes meant she couldn’t focus at all. She blinked, then rubbed her hands over her face to try and clear her vision.
Then she did it again, in the hope that what she had seen would go away.
Staring straight at her were about a dozen twelve-year-olds and a large, pink-faced man, all wide-eyed and gazing at her in bemusement. Some of the children seemed quite frightened. Flora wondered if she looked very peculiar.
Probably. She was plastered with mud from head to foot and had just dumped a gigantic whining dog on the floor.
She tried to think of a way to pass all this off in a casual fashion, as if it was the kind of thing one did all the time on Mure, but Bramble was whining pitifully, and the eerily quiet children were staring at her like she’d been deliberately torturing him.
“Uh. Hi,” she said. The man stepped forward carefully, in the calm way you might approach a dangerous animal.
“Are you all right?”
Outside, the rain pounded the hillside.
“Of course I’m all right,” Flora said, then realized she could hardly breathe and bent over.
“I was talking to the dog,” said the man. His accent was local, but when Flora lifted her head, she found she didn’t recognize him.
She blinked the last of the water out of her eyes.
“Sorry . . . are you guys some kind of lost tribe?”
But the man had already knelt down and was making soothing noises, gently stroking Bramble’s panting flank.
“It’s his paw,” said Flora. “Don’t touch it. He got it caught in some rocks.”
“He’s out of shape,” said the man, scratching behind Bramble’s ears.
“Don’t insult my dog,” said Flora sharply.
“Right. Sorry.”
He looked up at her. He was large, broad-shouldered, and heavyset, with thick hair; his eyes were a penetrating blue and he didn’t look very pleased.
“So why have you got him marching all over a mountain in a storm?”
“I could say exactly the same about you and your albino dwarf army,” muttered Flora.
“Do you always climb mountains in shoes like that?”
“Yes,” said Flora. “I like to feel the mud between my toes.”
The man’s face lost its stern expression for a moment.
“You’re from round here?” he said.
“Not really,” said Flora, lying. “
What are you doing?”
“Charlie MacArthur,” said the man, sticking out his hand. “Outward Adventures. We’re on a trip.”
“And this is meant to be fun, is it?”
A ragged cheer went up from the little band.
“Of course,” said Charlie. “We’ve been far too hot today.”
“What’s wrong with your dug?” said one of the boys shyly. His accent was rough and westerly; Glaswegian, Flora would have said.
“I don’t know,” said Flora. “I think he’s broken his paw.”
There was a general murmur of sympathy from the assembled group. As Flora focused on them a bit more closely, she noticed they were a wary-looking collection, not noisy and confident like the large groups of children she saw marching up and down on the harbor wall, shouting and yelling at each other cheerfully, hurling chips for the seagulls, and generally acting like they didn’t have a care in the world, which they didn’t, because they were twelve.
This bunch was different. She’d been right: they were pale; they were scrawny too, swamped by their huge, obviously borrowed waterproofs. She glanced up at Charlie again.
“Can the lads pet your dog?” he said. “We’ll get him home for you. If you want. You know. If you don’t have a plan sorted.”
Flora straightened up and looked at him with narrowed eyes, not wanting to let her sudden relief show too much. She had enough annoying males patronizing her around here; she certainly didn’t need another one.
She shrugged.
“If you like,” she said.
“Oh, if I like. If I like. Well, that’s very gracious of you.”
He looked outside.
“We’ll wait till the sheeting rain stops, I think. No point in giving us all hypothermia.”
He glanced over to where the children were gently patting the dog. Bramble had finally settled and was stretched out, his breathing slowing. He looked like he was going to sleep. Flora’s brow furrowed.
“He’ll be all right,” said Charlie. “Looks more like a bad sprain than a break; it hasn’t swollen. He’s just falling asleep, don’t worry.”
“I knew that,” said Flora. There was a silence. Flora knew she was behaving badly toward someone who was clearly trying to help her, but somehow her bad mood today was infecting everything and she didn’t know how to get out of it.
They sat staring at the rain.
“So, what, you do Outward Adventures for children in howling storms?” said Flora eventually, when it became clear that Charlie was perfectly happy with silence for as long as it took for the rain to stop.
He shrugged. “Weather’s all part of it, isn’t it? We’ll put our tents up in here if it doesn’t let up, although I’d rather we were outside. Can’t light a fire in here.”
“Isn’t it a bit miserable?”
“You think we should all be in five-star hotels?”
“For holidays, I would think so.”
Charlie shook his head. They were well out of earshot of the children, who were still being unusually quiet.
“Neh. Not for these ones.”
“Who are they?” said Flora. They looked like such mites, some of them.
Charlie shrugged. “They’ve all got a parent in prison. At least one. This is a chance for them to get away from everything . . . well. A lot of them have all sorts of things going on. There’s a charity that sends them to us.”
Flora was incredibly taken aback.
“Oh,” she said quietly. “I didn’t realize.”
“Why should you?” said Charlie. “They’re just kids.”
Flora blinked.
“They look like they’ve had it tough.”
“Some of them, aye. Very tough. A few nights under canvas, even if it is raining, isn’t the worst thing. This is their first night. Wait till you see them in a few days. You won’t recognize them. They’re not sure what’s going on yet.” He smiled. “Once we get the fire lit, things warm up.”
“Is it just you?”
“Oh no, I’ve got a partner. She’s gone down to get extra waterproofs. Normally I’d send the kids to help, but I don’t want anyone with bronchitis.”
“Oh,” said Flora, wondering who this saint was out in the rain getting waterproofs for underprivileged children when she herself had been having a temper tantrum about nobody liking her dinner. “I’m Flora, by the way.”
“Charlie.” He reintroduced himself. “Nice to meet you.”
They shook hands again. His hand was rough and weathered, and large, like the rest of him. There was something solid about him. She could see if you were a child far from home, you’d trust him straightaway.
“So how come you get to be the one sheltering in the cave?”
Charlie shrugged.
“We take turns. Plus, this is a lads’ session. They need a bit of time with a chap. They tend not to see very many.”
“What do you mean?” said Flora.
“Ah. A lot of them have no dad at home. Female teachers, female social workers; sometimes the first time they come in contact with a man is through the police service. Or a gang.”
He got up then and headed back to see what the children were doing with the dog. Quickly he sent two of them out to gather branches, and when they came back, wet and giggly, he showed them how to make a makeshift field stretcher, using a tarpaulin from his backpack and giving them all pieces of rope to practice knots on. In no time, they’d rigged up something entirely passable; now the only challenge was getting Bramble onto it. Finally relaxed, he had fallen asleep licking his paw.
Charlie opened up his first aid kit.
“What are you doing?” said Flora.
“Trying to work out the right dose of ibuprofen for a dog. He is quite fat, you know.”
“You said,” said Flora. She frowned. “You do this all the time?”
“Oh no. We take lots of management dickheads too, don’t worry. Helps us afford to have this lot.”
Flora smiled. Charlie peered outside.
“I think it’s clearing up.”
“It is not clearing up!”
“Anything that isn’t stair rods is still fighting weather, I reckon.”
He turned round to the group of lads.
“Who’s hard enough?”
The boys all cheered.
“Who reckons they can get the dog down the hill to the vet’s?”
“ME! Me, sir! Let me! I’ll do it!”
“Don’t let him do it, he’ll drop the bloody dog like he dropped his sandwiches!”
“I didn’t drop my sandwiches!”
The group collapsed in laughter at some hapless freckled soul up at the front, who had turned bright pink.
“Settle down,” said Charlie in a voice that brooked no argument. “Right, lad, what’s your name again?”
“Ethan,” whispered the boy. He had a drawn look, and shadows under his eyes that didn’t belong in one so young.
“Did they taste all right, those sandwiches?”
“Yeah, if you like mud!” shouted someone.
“Oi!” said Charlie. “Enough!”
He bent down to the little fellow.
“Look,” he said. “It’s going to get dark soon. This animal is injured and we have to rescue him. It’ll be wet and heavy and difficult.”
He paused.
“Can you help me?”
The boy nodded fiercely.
Charlie knelt by the dog’s head with a couple of ibuprofen.
“He won’t eat those,” said Flora, who had long memories of her mother attempting to worm Bramble.
“He will in this,” said Charlie, crushing them into a peppermint pattie. Sure enough, Bramble snoozily opened a bloodshot eye and lazily licked up the treat without even noticing.
“That’ll help him out. Okay, lads.”
Charlie pointed out a few others to help Ethan—none, Flora noticed, of the ones who’d made fun of him—and the chosen group moved carefully to line the stretcher.
“Come on,” said Charlie, and he and Flora knelt down to roll the dog onto the tarpaulin.
“This dog is—”
“Too fat. Yes, you said,” said Flora. “Thanks once again, Captain Do-Gooder.”
He eyed her up.
“That’s a new one. Normally people are generally quite grateful when I help them out up a mountain.”
“Are they?” said Flora, who was cold and hungry and thoroughly ungrateful. She thought about it. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it,” said Charlie drily.
Bramble scuffled a little on the stretcher, but Flora soothed him. Charlie took off his belt, and Flora watched in astonishment as he put it gently round Bramble’s rotund middle to attach him to the stretcher.
The rain was definitely moving on now, and it was possible to see down the mountain to the little harbor nestled in its embrace, the fields that led almost down to the dunes, the water chopping up in the firth.
“Time to go,” said Charlie. “Right, boys. On my count, lift gently and slowly . . .”
Just as the boys were readying themselves, a shadow fell across the cave entrance. Flora blinked. There stood a large woman—not fat, just a presence, a suggestion of broad shoulders and a strong chin. Her waterproof hood was pulled and knotted tightly around her head; a stray drop of water was hanging off her nose.
“All done,” she announced cheerily. “Tomorrow you’ll all be helping, rain or shine. We’re only taking pity on you because it’s your first day. And it’s nearly time for mud rounders!”
The boys cheered. The woman blinked as she caught sight of Flora.
“Who are you?” she said. “We don’t have any parental accompaniment, I think we made that quite clear.”
“Oh no, I’m—”
“And if you’re an inspector, we need two weeks’ notice in writing, not that it would matter when you turn up, because our standards of service are perfect.”
