by George Rufus
HE
By
George Rufus
HE
Copyright © 2015 George Rufus
All rights reserved.
No parts of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. Under no circumstances may any part of this book be photocopied for resale.
This is a work of fiction. Any similarity between the characters and situations within its pages and places or persons, living or dead, is unintentional and co-incidental.
Cover Photography by Geoff Robinson
Thank you to my children, who are an inspiration every day.
HE
Dartmoor is the only place you can legally wild camp in England.
A place of such stunning beauty.
There can be no better place.
Chapter One
The car park at Lane End had only two other cars parked, as Ian pulled in. He grinned at Freda, pulled her towards him, breathing in how good she smelt and planted a passionate kiss on her full soft lips. He could not help smiling inwardly, at how lucky he was.
Two years on, after an emotionally crippling divorce, he finally felt, like his world was back on total Saturday's. His father has said all along, when he was at his lowest point, that when one door closed for good, another would open. He had wanted to tell him to shut up every time he had handed out this stupid, infuriating advice but he had to admit right now he knew he had been right all along.He only wished he'd thanked him before he had passed away.
He had a new job in a different part of the county, just far away enough from his ex-wife, a decent place to live and a girlfriend who was gorgeous by everyone's standards. She was also unbelievably into the same stuff he was and so easy going, he couldn't believe his luck.
Feeling unbelievably smug, he started to unload their back packs from the boot of his ancient old Skoda, the last remnant of his disastrous marriage and the only thing Michelle hadn't demanded as part of her financial settlement. Of course, she hadn't wanted the camping stuff either or his climbing gear but then that was testament to the fact they shared very little in the way of interests.
They were visiting his old school mate, Steve and his wife in Tavistock, in the West Country and were taking a night out to wild camp on their own, as Steve had to work the next day. It also meant they got out from under the feet of his wife Charlotte, as she tried to cope with their young twin boys. Steve had welcomed them to stay for a few days but both Freda and Ian were beginning to feel the disapproval of his overtired, stressed wife.
The weather was perfect, sunny and settled. They were excited about the minimal wild camp. Ian had researched with Steve a great spot near to Tavy Cleave. They had taken their map to the local pub and had a nostalgic night planning the best place, choosing a remarkable pitching site where few visitors seemed to collect. It was a place of untamed beauty, with a leat of fresh bubbling water that lead you through a valley of lush dark green ferns, vibrant purple heather and a twisting river of endless granite rock pools that dared you to jump in. The water there was clear and cool, refreshing and clean enough to drink after a long walk. Both he and Steve had been there many times before, growing up in the area had had some real advantages, if you liked outdoor life.
The moor had an underrated wild beauty, that never failed to make Ian feel like he had discovered a new world, that must be the best kept secret in the UK. He could never live too far away from the moor as it had been such a constant source of joy in his life. The moor had a mighty presence, dominating the landscape was a constant, with such majesty and age that he felt drawn to it. His dream was to own, however humble a place, somewhere within walking distance of the open moorland.
The granite tors were beacons to relate and guide you, when travelling around the hilly roads that threaded across the national park. Each turning would constantly reveal another seasonal delight in terms of colour, the lush green ferns in stark contrast to the desert parched yellow grasses across the expanses of higher gradients.
The favourite car parks, dominated by visitors were always littered with weathered coloured ponies, being admired and photographed. While the shaggy, grubby looking sheep remained largely ignored, except when they slowed down the traffic, with their refusal to be hurried. The only time they fled in dramatic fashion, was at the sound of the farmers quad bikes regrouping them for farming purposes.
Ian soaked up the familiar quiet, the vibrancy of the colours and the reassurance the moor had to offer, as he walked hand in hand with Freda along the stoney path, after locking and leaving the car.
He had no qualms that his car was perfectly safe overnight, as the car park was adjacent to a farmhouse, with a large black Labrador, who had barked furiously at their arrival and would no doubt do the same if anyone arrived with mall intent toward the car that night.
The innocence and simplicity of the moor made him feel like an intrepid explorer and with Freda by his side, he couldn't wait to share such outstanding countryside with someone, he knew would relish it as much as he did.
They walked along the leat admiring the scenery, laughing at the recently shorn sheep and lambs with their Dalmatian spotted legs and pink sprayed horns. The sun continued to shine, the warmth heating up their skin and making the clear, refreshing cool of the fast running leat, seem so inviting.
As they walked along, Ian glanced up to see another lone walker, traipsing along the higher path.
The sun was in his eyes but he could also make out a huge buzzard circling high above them in the sky.
They followed the valley, looking for a good spot to set up their camp. Ian already had his ideal place in mind, it had to be near enough to the river, yet flat enough to set up their tent. He wanted the best view ever and to eat, as the sun set, over a simple campfire.
With no one else in view, they left their backpacks and decided to climb to a higher peak that would give them more of a panoramic view of the area. They walked to the highest point and admired the stunning, almost Scottish looking scenery, indeed Freda compared it to a visit to the Isle of Skye she had recently done with her parents and then laughed at Ian, as he defended his moorland, saying it was firmly Dartmoor and unique. They realised they could no longer see their camping bags, which they had left at the bottom of the valley. Ian didn't want the camp ruined by anything untoward, so he suggested they headed back. It took them a while having walked further than planned, so they started a more direct descent on the uneven boggy, rocky ground.
Freda dramatically stumbled on a loose stone and went awkwardly sideways on her ankle, yelping as she fell clumsily down the embankment.
"Is it broken, oh god are you okay?", Ian stammered rushing to her side.
Freda winced as he touched her sore ankle but feeling the weight of his expectations of the trip, tried to play down the injury.
"We should go back," he stuttered, " Get you to A and E, get an ice pack, get something..."
"Ian, please, take a breath, I am fine".
At times her Swedish no fuss background shone through and she quickly dissipated his worries. Sitting down, after trying to put weight back on her ankle, she accepted his help to clamber back down the remaining distance to their chosen camp site and they started to unloa
d their packs and set up a cosy camp before dusk.
A simple one gas burner for pasta, with a ready-made sauce were soon ready and eaten with relish accompanied by more than a few glasses of red wine, generously donated by Steve. He bathed himself in the uncomplicated warmth and companionship that radiated from her. Even as the wine hit home and he began to lose focus in the diminishing light, he tried to take a mental picture of the complete happiness he was experiencing. Reluctantly, as Freda shivered with the cool of the evening, Ian put up the tent, laid out the mats and sleeping bags and collected a few pieces of relatively dried wood to make a small fire, using the few firefighters and lighter he had thrown in, as a concession to truly wild camping.
He also romantically pulled out some citronella candles to ward off the insects and collected some purple ferns, which he presented to Freda, who was sat up against a large granite boulder with her foot on a backpack. She seemed more relaxed and in less pain since drinking the wine and taking the pain relief that Ian had offered her, from his small first aid kit. The sun had set and the fresh coolness of the evening meant the impending warmth of the tent and a sleeping bag seemed more inviting.
“Except for the fact your ankle hurts, this is just perfect, "he crooned. Kissing her rather fiercely on the lips and almost knocking her sideways. The wine had obviously hit him too, on top of the fresh air, as he felt really woozy.
"Steady on tiger", she replied kindly. "Some of us need a little more TLC!"
"Sorry"' he hastily replied.
"Would madam like a lift into bed now?",
"No madam needs to crawl on her arse, somewhere private and have a pee, so she doesn't need one in the night."
"Okay, I get the message, I will turn the other way. Actually, I will wait in the tent but don't be long I am feeling l'amour".
"Feel all the l'amour you like buddy, I am now cold, in pain and knackered after all that walking, so don't hassle me, or else," joked Freda, dashing Ian's hope just a little, to the perfect end to a perfect day. “Also, I have a small and very single sleeping bag waiting for me".
It was by now dark and decidedly chilly, the wine box was empty and feeling amorous but decidedly tipsy and a little dehydrated, Ian resolved to strip off, jump in his sleeping bag and wait for Freda's return in the hopes she would feel more frisky after a pee.
Freda waited until he had disappeared in the tent and decided to get nearer to the river to relieve herself, the noise of the river rushing over the rocks, hiding any noise she might make.She found herself entranced by the spectacular stars in a cloudless navy blue sky and sat still in her chosen spot, before clumsily rearranging her clothing to pee, as risk free as possible. With only one pair of trousers there was no way she wanted to wet herself or wear stained trousers tomorrow. She heard a noise nearby that made her jump, she held her breath saw the silhouette of a sheep and continued to pee as delicately as she could while angled precariously with all her weight on one leg.
Again she heard a sound behind her, but she could not turn and risk unbalancing herself as she relieved herself. That was her very last thought.
Ian lay sleepily in his cosy bed, smelling the freshness of the moor and anticipating Freda's return, he was tempted to call out but didn't as he did not want to hassle her. He waited patiently, his eyes slowly drooping, as the day’s fresh air and a healthy dose of red wine encompassed him into a deep sleep.
Chapter Two
She stuffed her fingers in her ears again, to stop the noise of the vicious rows infiltrating her mind. She waited for the crescendo of the pointless barbed words to hit another heated hiatus that would lead to more screams and destruction. Her mass of anxieties were daily occurrences, which she managed only by her plan to be skinnier and happier. At sixteen her emaciated appearance seemed to have slipped the notice of her parents, ironically both medically trained, but unable to see the terrible effects that their home situation was having, on their own flesh and blood.
Andrea couldn't remember the last day here when life had felt at peace, that she hadn't just been waiting for another dishevelled crash of events played out a full volume at home or in public. All because her father decided his receptionist was worth blowing his twenty year marriage for. Her older brother was at university and had escaped the fall-out of the rows, recriminations and warfare that ensued after her mum found her husband was doing unnecessary overtime with his highly valued co-worker.
Her dad decided not to do the decent thing and leave the house but to stay to mend his mess, but the hurt pile had simply grown into a tangled mass of recriminations that neither of her parents could forgive, forget or move on from.
Hence, she was starving her body unwittingly to try and have some control over some part of her perceived happiness, whilst crying out for attention from her two warring parents.
Today had become increasingly unbearable not only because of another monumental row but because one of her so called mates had just posted a group photo on Facebook where she looked as hideous as ever, overweight, scowling and in an outfit that she knew would make her the butt of the joke when she returned to school in two weeks.
But not if she didn't return to school. Her results were coming out this week and she knew they would be far lower than her parents expected. She could just walk away from school, the rows at home, her two faced friends and the continual cycle of deep despair and unhappiness she felt every waking moment. She needed to leave and it had to be now.
The bag was packed in the bottom of her wardrobe as always, her escape bag. It had been there a while now, a curious mixture of essentials, sentimental necessities and a little cash saved from her summer waitressing job in town.
She had planned regularly to leave but had always chickened out at the last moment, but right now there seemed no choice at all. She had to go and it had to be tonight.
She waited until everyone had gone to bed, her parents now in separate rooms and her father up last, swaying heavily from the vast amount of alcohol he tucked away each night.
She could hear him snoring as she crept from her room. Feeling suddenly overwrought with emotions, she had to fight the urge to burst in his room and to beg him to tell her everything would be alright. She walked on the outside of the staircase, avoiding all the well-known cracks that might alarm her light sleeping mother she was leaving. The cat sat upright and eyed her suspiciously as she stepped over him. She bent down kindly and scratched his head, whispering her love for the daft old ginger Tom, given to her when she was three. Fighting back tears and the loud sobs that were bound to give her away, she crept to the back door that served as the main exit to their cottage and left.
It was nearly midnight, but surprisingly light as the dark blue cloudless sky was lit by a herald of reassuring twinkling stars and a bright full moon acting as a nursery night light as she put one foot in front of the other down the garden path.
This felt all wrong and every instinct was feeling her to head back home to her security, her family, her friends, her life, but that was what drove her on.......what kind of life was it where every day was filled with dread, anxiety and hatred all around her. She felt like a small boat adrift on the sea and open to any oncoming storm. She needed to find a new place where she could forget all this and start again.
The trouble is she didn't know where or how.
When she reached the main road that lead from Mary Tavy to Sourton, she started hitchhiking. It felt like an eternity before anything came along. The first few cars and a lorry ignored her. After an hour a car with a group of loud inebriated boys with music blaring slowed down and invited her to jump in. She froze, declined and started to walk away from the road into the brush of the moor where she was hidden from their view. With a blare of lights and horns, they hastily moved off. Andrea felt small, alone, frightened and her resolve was seriously wavering as she sat on a large lump of granite patting her bag for reassurance, deciding her next move.
Pulling herself together and remembering how her mu
m always encouraged her children to have a plan of action, she decided to walk along a path she had spotted a little way from the road where she could keep an eye out for oncoming vehicles. She was then close enough to run out if she felt it was a good move or remain partially hidden for a little more safety.
Her hyper vigilant state of mind meant at first she jumped at every Boulder, sheep, pony or so lights but eventually she calmed down.
She had to keep going.
The temperature was chilly but bearable if she kept on the move, but she was increasingly tired, alone and needed to cover a greater distance to get to the A30 before light. She didn't have that long. She moved back to the road and decided to thumb a lift from any vehicle that came along next.
It wasn't long before she saw lights approaching.
Chapter Three
Keep your nose out of other people's business, work hard, be strong and you will reap the benefits.
His fathers daily mantra.
A liar, a filthy dirty liar.
He hated all those on who the sun shone. Those who took their safe, happy lives for granted and who were blind to those less bloody fortunate around them.He did not understand their ignorance and could not forgive their interference.
But now it was time to pay their dues. He had waited exactly ten years.
A little toll, a fee for every bit of happiness and luck that they had had, that he had not had. They would pay for every part, they had played in his miserable life so far.
He couldn't remember a time when he wasn't driven by the anger he felt inside. He watched others of a similar age around him and could not understand their light hearted mirth, their ease and their lifestyles. He desperately wanted at times to be like them, to be able to piss it all up the wall, as his embittered father has said he would do with his own life. The way that everyone around him seemed not to fear all that he feared. Did everyone else know something he did not. Where did they get their confidence that life would work out. Was it because they all believed, as his father had drummed into him, that they really believed the world owed them a living and he was going to be the fool that provided it for them.
