by Ashe Barker
I turn to face them both. “Look, I’m an advanced driver, right? It goes with being a paramedic, ambulance crew and all that. I know what I’m doing, and we’re perfectly safe. Just sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride. Okay?”
Their apprehensive grunts suggest they remain unconvinced, but they seem ready to give me the benefit of the doubt. For now. I put the car in gear and reverse out of the bay.
Our journey back along the Kirkstone Pass is enjoyable. Will and Robbie recognise the scenery having traversed this route many times, though of course the landscape has changed to some extent. There are more farmsteads, though not that many. The wind farm, of course, and the drystone walls are new. Well, newish.
At Will’s request I pull into the car park opposite the Kirkstone Inn. He fights his way out of the seatbelt and emerges from the car to stand and gape at the old building.
“I know this place. Well, some of it. That bit, there…” He points to the oldest part, a long, low wing where the main bar is now housed. “I spent several nights here, over the years. It was a smaller place then…”
“Yes, it’s been extended at some stage.” I turn, my back to the inn and gaze over the opposite hillside. I can just make out the skeleton of our oak tree, high on the incline, and the smudge of dark alongside that must be the ruined hut. “Look, over there. That’s where it all happened.”
We all three stand in something like reverent awe. I doubt I’ll ever understand the forces at work that caused this bizarre set of circumstances, but whatever happened, it brought me here, to this point, with two men I have come to adore. Life is unpredictable, certainly, but right now it promises to be a great deal of fun.
“Come on, it’s time to get you two home. We have some planning to do.”
Chapter Thirteen
Both men are relatively quiet as we make our way down the fells and into the hectic tourist town of Windermere, then join the dual carriageway heading toward the motorway. As we reach the wider, faster roads and pick up speed, even Robbie falls silent, after observing that he intends to get himself one of these fine machines at the earliest opportunity. I make a mental note to put driving lessons at the top of our bucket list. The motorway stretch gives me an interlude of relative peace to further consider our options. An idea has started to form, though I’m not sure my men will go for it.
“I’m starving. Where can we get some food?” Will’s voice brings me back to the here and now. I glance at him in the rear-view mirror, still intent on watching the scenery flash by.
“What do you fancy?” Daft question, come to think of it. They have no idea what might be available.
“Some bread? Cheese perhaps? Is there an inn or tavern where we could buy some sustenance, or some such thing?”
I smile to myself. Not on the M6 there isn’t. What there is though, is Charnock Richard services, complete with Burger King, KFC, Costa, the lot. It’s a couple of miles ahead of us. I decide to throw caution to the wind and introduce them to an important slice of twenty-first century culture.
“I know just the place.”
Five minutes later I pull up in the vast acreage of car parking in front of the modern glass and chrome building. Robbie stares at the place, whilst Will is more interested in the people milling about in the entrance.
“What is this?”
“Motorway services. For travellers. You can get food, drinks, use the toilets. Some have hotels. Come on, let’s get a burger.” I unclasp my seatbelt and get out. They follow, looking uncertain. I smile at them and attempt to offer encouragement. “You’ll like this place, I know it.”
They follow me into the building, both of them stepping back in alarm when the plate glass doors glide apart as we approach.
Robbie mutters under his breath as we stride though and into the brightly lit concourse. “Hell’s teeth, girl, no wonder you were mistaken for a witch. How did you do that?”
I grin and decline to answer that. “We can just get a coffee and a cake at Costa, or if you fancy it you could try a burger. They do great fries at Burger King.”
Will turns through three hundred and sixty degrees, whistling through his teeth. He grins at me. “Wee Charlie, we are in your hands.”
Now there’s a thought. I head for the escalator, which will take us up onto the bridge spanning the motorway. The main fast food outlets are located up there, with stunning views of both carriageways. I shouldn’t show off, and I am trying not to. But I can’t quite help myself.
I lead the way upstairs, and along the corridor to the familiar red, blue, and yellow sign. Outside the franchise are several tables with seats. I spot an empty one by the windows.
“You two wait there if you like. I’ll sort out the food.”
For once they do as they’re told, making themselves comfortable and continuing to survey their surroundings with keen interest.
I approach the counter and order three whoppers, one with bacon and cheese, one made of pulled pork, and the third a steakhouse. I get a coffee, a diet Pepsi, and a carton of orange juice for our drinks, thinking it might be good for them to sample a range of things. Burger King might not be the finest example of twenty-first century cuisine, but it has its attractions. Talking of which, I load up on the fries.
I carry the tray back to our table and set it down. Robbie and Will have their faces pressed up against the glass, watching the traffic hurtling past below us. Even I have to agree the sight is pretty amazing. I take a few moments to see it through their eyes, savouring the newness, the excitement of this crazy, frantic world they have landed in.
The scent of the burgers distracts Robbie. “Ah, you have food? Do you?” He peers hopefully at the carton, though his expression registers some doubt as to whether what I have brought could reasonably be described as food. He’ll learn.
We each select a carton and the fries are piled in the middle. Will starts to reach for his dagger.
“No, leave that where it is. You eat with your fingers. Like this.” I open my carton, find I’ve got the steakhouse, and take a bite. I grab a handful of the fries and drop them into the lid of my carton. “I got different drinks. Try them all, see what you like.”
“Is there no ale?” Will peers in some consternation at the carton of juice.
I shake my head. “Not here, at least I don’t think so. Generally, alcohol and motor vehicles are a considered to be a bad combination. Pull the straw off the side and poke it through the top. That silver bit, there.”
He makes a production of getting the straw in, then gives me a blank look.
“Put the end in your mouth and suck.”
He tilts his head, his expressive blue eyes alight with sensual teasing. I flush, suddenly uncertain how things stand between us here.
“Ah, Charlie, you do look so pretty with your cheeks aflame. Maybe we’ll bring a similar blush to your bottom soon enough, eh?”
Right, they stand like that, do they? Fair enough. I take a bite out of my burger and chew, and pretend to ignore him.
Robbie ignores the byplay between myself and Will, preferring to devote his attention to his burger. He has the whopper with bacon and cheese, complete with mayonnaise and slices of tomato oozing from the bun. He lifts the lid, takes an experimental sniff.
“So, wee Charlie, what manner of meat is this then?”
“Bacon.”
He lifts an eyebrow and prods the burger with his forefinger. “I recognise a piece of bacon when I see it. What is this?”
I find myself unable to come up with an answer to that. Privately I don’t believe the relationship between the burger and any manner of meat is all that clear.
“It’s nice. Try it.”
Robbie quirks his lip at me, and takes a bite from the sandwich. He chews, then peers at me from under his brows.
“Wee Charlie, I do believe I’m going to like this century of yours.”
The rest of the journey is uneventful, if you disregard the constant hissing, ducking at the sight of other ve
hicles coming toward us, and the white-knuckled death-grip Will insists on maintaining on the back of my seat. Robbie is more gung-ho, clearly enjoying the ride. His eyes are darting everywhere, surveying the landscape whizzing past, other vehicles, the buildings. He’s fascinated with all the sights, firing a nonstop barrage of questions at me the whole time. A leather-jacketed biker roars past us on a powerful machine and his excitement is almost palpable. Will just settles for crossing himself.
We reach the outskirts of Manchester and the rural landscape gives way to an ever more dense urban setting. The traffic snarls up, the sounds and bustle of a major city all around us. I know Edinburgh was a busy place even back in the sixteenth century. London too and they have been frequent visitors to both. They can be no strangers to crowds, but I suspect this is different. Everything is more manic, more rapid-fire, impatient even to my more jaundiced view.
We reach Salford where I live and I navigate the familiar streets on autopilot. Just as well because Robbie is once again asking questions—What’s that? How do they…? Does everyone …? I answer as best I can, but even I struggle to explain the rationale underpinning Media City to two guys who have never even seen a television.
By the time I pull up in front of the tower block where I live though I have my plan for addressing our immediate needs pretty well worked out. First things first though.
“Right, this is home. I live on the seventh floor, but don’t worry, the lift works most of the time.”
Robbie scowls at me. “You’re talking in riddles, girl.”
“Sorry. I’ll show you. Come on.”
They follow me to the front entrance where I key in my pass code. “It’s security, to make sure only people who are supposed to be here can get in. I’ll write that number down for you, so you can get in and out.”
Will nods. I think he may approve of this latest example of twenty-first century technology. It was only a matter of time, I suppose.
Once inside I lead the way to the lift and press the call button. Will and Robbie exchange quizzical looks, but their expressions change to something best described as queasy when the doors open to reveal the tiny lift car inside. It is often joked by my neighbours that even coffins come out of this building on end, and I have no notion at all how anyone gets large items of furniture up to the higher floors. I rented my place fully furnished.
I’ve sort of gotten used to the claustrophobic lift in the couple of years I’ve lived here, but I don’t blame my companions for being wary. I step inside and hold the door open as I attempt to reassure them.
“Come on. It holds six people. Look, the sign says so.”
“The sign is demented then. Are there no stairs in this infernal place?” Will crosses his arms and plants his feet firmly on the floor. I know when I’m beat. I step back out into the foyer.
“This way. One of you better carry the rucksack.” I hike off in the direction of the staircase. Seven floors. Shit!
We reach my landing but instead of unlocking my door, I knock on that of my neighbour. “He has my spare key,” I explain to my new flatmates. “Mine is in my anorak pocket, and I’ve no idea what happened to that. I mislaid it somewhere back in fifteen sixty-six. I was due back yesterday, so I just have to hope he’s in or I’ll have to phone the caretaker. Except, my phone’s suffered a bit due to being half buried for over four hundred years, so fingers crossed. And I’ll get two more keys cut.”
The finger crossing does the trick. The door is opened a crack, then flung wide. “Darling! You’re back. I was getting worried.” My neighbour emerges to hug me, then plants noisy kisses on each cheek.
Henry always was somewhat on the demonstrative side. I’ve sort of got used to his quirky ways, a bit like I’ve learned to live with the minuscule lift. His hair is slicked back close to his scalp and he’s impeccably dressed in neat black trousers, a white shirt, and grey pinstriped waistcoat.
“You’re about to go to work, then?” I manage, when he lets me draw a breath. Henry is head waiter at Giulio’s, a rather smart trattoria a few streets away.
“No, love, just got back. I was on the lunchtime shift today.” He catches sight of my companions and clutches his hands to his chest in rapt admiration. “Ooh, and who do we have here then? You brought me presents, you sweet thing. You really shouldn’t have.”
“They’re mine.”
“Both of them? Don’t be a greedy girl.” Henry eyes Will with an expression I would best describe as voracious.
“Yes. Both of them. And they’re both straight, so don’t even go there. Henry, I lost my key. Do you have my spare, please?”
Henry tuts. “Spoilsport. Such a waste. Right, your key. I have it somewhere.”
“Thank you, you’re a star. Has Poppy been good?”
“As gold, darling. We’ve had such a nice time. You really should let her come and live with me, you know. The poor dear deserves better than to spend her life roughing it in there with you.”
“You can get your own dog. As long as you continue to look after mine as well.”
“Ah, such a hard woman. I suppose I’ll have to deliver the little mite back into your vicious clutches…” He turns to go back into his flat, to return a few seconds later cradling my pride and joy. Poppy lets out an excited yap when she sees me and I take her from Henry’s arms. She licks my nose, wriggling around in my arms like the squirmy, affectionate little creature she is.
“Is that a rat?” Robbie seems less than impressed.
“A toy fox terrier. She’s called Poppy. She’s mine.” That last remark sounds a tad defensive, even to me.
“We’re to share our lodgings with a rat then? Well, I suppose it’ll not be the first time…”
“She’s not a rat. She’s—”
“Did I understand correctly? You are holding the keys to this dwelling?” Robbie interrupts my introduction, turning his attention to Henry.
“Dwelling? Where are you from, darling?” At a warning growl from Robbie, Henry abandons his attempt at flirting. “Ah, yes. I’m Henry. I live here.” My neighbour gestures to his still-open front door, then fishes in his pocket for my door keys, which he holds out to me. “Here you are, love. Plants all watered and I left some milk in your fridge. You did say you’d be here to see to mine next weekend, didn’t you?”
Robbie and Will look at each other and shrug.
I step in. “Yes, of course. And thank you again.”
Robbie leans across me to take the keys. “Yes indeed, we thank you for your assistance, Mr. Henry, in the matters of plants, milk, and this rat here.” He casts a dubious look Poppy’s way, then extends his hand to Henry. I detect a spirit of resigned reconciliation, though I may be wrong. “My name is Robert Duncan McBride, and this is William Lachlan Sinclair. And we also intend to live here now, so…”
Henry’s expression is less than enthusiastic despite his obvious admiration for my two companions, but I attempt to smooth the way with what I hope is a bright, encouraging smile. Henry frowns, but shakes Robbie’s outstretched hand, then Will’s. “Of course, and it’s just Henry. I was just in the middle of… something, so I’ll love you and leave you. I’ll be seeing you later, I expect.”
Robbie’s eyebrows shoot up, but he lets the loving and leaving remark go. “Aye, that’s likely enough. Good day to you then, Henry.” Robbie hands me the keys. “Shall we be getting inside?”
I juggle keys and squirming dog, and manage to unlock my door. “Please, come in. Make yourselves at home.”
I lead the way down my hall and into my living room, a modest space though it’s always seemed plenty big enough for me and Poppy in the past. It feels distinctly crowded now as Will and Robbie plant themselves in the centre of the room and gaze around them.
Will wanders over to the window to look outside. I have a fabulous view across toward the city centre, but its attractions seem to escape him. He leans on the sill and looks down, then recoils back.
“Shit, this is high. It can’t be n
atural, living up in the heavens this way.”
“It’s not that high, and I like it. So does Poppy. And it’s cheap.” I’m sounding a little defensive again, a fact not lost on either Will or Robbie.
Robbie comes across to stand before me. He cups my face in his hand. “Lass, this is a lovely home you have and we truly appreciate your hospitality. If you’ll just put down that rat and show us where you sleep, we’ll be happy to demonstrate our indebtedness to you.”
“I…oh.” I look up at him, caught up in his azure gaze. “My bed’s rather small. And Poppy’s not a rat. She’s a dog.”
“Aye, so you say. May I take her?” Robbie extricates Poppy from my embrace and sets her gently down on the sofa. “As I recall your tent was a little on the small side too, but we got by. So, your bed…?”
“Sweet Mary, Mother of God and all the saints, what is that!”
At Will’s horrified shriek we both turn to him. He is still peering out of the window, though he is looking at something above the rooftops. The low growl of a jet engine reaches my ears. I rush to the window and lean on the sill, in time to see the distinctive livery of Jet 2 gliding past on its final approach to Ringway airport.
“Ah, yes. An aeroplane. That’s a passenger jet, for travelling long distances. We need to sort out passports for you both. You’ll love air travel.”
“No, I fucking won’t. Are you telling me there are people inside that, that… contraption?”
I nod. “Yes. And it’s very safe. You can get to America in a few hours, and to Australia in about a day, I think.”
“Are you mad? Do you have no ships anymore? If I was meant to fly, the dear Lord would have furnished me with wings.” Will is following the jet’s graceful progress across the sky, his face a mask of pure horror.
“Right, well, it’s up to you. But you might want to travel the world, and that’s the way to do it. We do have ships though as well, if you insist.”
“I’ve already travelled as much of the world as I want to see, and more than most. And kept my feet firmly on God’s green earth in the doing of it.” He turns to me as the plane disappears from view, his arms crossed and his expression adamant. “What’s Australia?”
