The village where the photographer is staying is only a twenty-minute drive away, but I leave early to give myself plenty of time to find Lark Rise Farm where he said to meet. I’ve programmed my sat nav, but from past experience, I’m not overly confident it will find a farm. As luck would have it, once I’m through the village, Lark Rise Farm is the first place I see, and indicating right, I pull into the driveway and park in a neat stone courtyard next to an old red pick-up truck. Several chickens are pecking around near the house, and even though I’m ten minutes early, I climb out and head up to the front door, ready to interview Aiden Byrne.
A plump, smiling lady of about 50 answers, and I’m surprised by how well she fits the stereotypical image of a farmer’s wife. Her dark hair is drawn back into a bun and she’s wearing an apron with her sleeves rolled up, and flour all the way up to her elbows.
‘Hi,’ I say brightly. ‘I’m here to see Aiden Byrne. He should be expecting me.’
‘Oh, he’s not here, my love. He’s down by the river.’ She raises a floured hand and points to a gate at the corner of the courtyard. ‘If you go through there and down the hill, you’ll find him.’
‘Oh, great. Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome, my love. And you can tell him I’m making scones if he wants one later. They’re his favourite.’
‘Okay. Will do.’ I grin as I leave her standing in the doorway, and head down towards the gate. I’m slightly alarmed by the steepness of the path down to the river, not to mention the muddiness, and looking down at my heeled patent leather Chelsea boots, suspect that I may not have chosen the most sensible footwear for interviewing a wildlife photographer.
Still, at least they’re boots and not stiletto heels. Bravely, I make my way down the path, which is lined with purple foxgloves and tall, overgrown shrubbery with spindly foliage that snags on my clothes and catches my hair. A sheep baas suddenly from the field on the other side of the bushes, making my heart leap in fear. Clutching my chest, I laugh breathlessly and carry on down, holding on to branches as I go so as not to slip on the slimy earth. I’m relieved when I reach the bottom and find the ground flat and dry beneath my feet, sheltered by the trees that tower above me. I see the river glinting ahead, but no sign of Aiden Byrne. For some reason, I’d expected him to be waiting for me at the bottom, ready and waiting for his interview. I look around before spotting a khaki-coloured bell tent nestled between the trees.
‘Hello?’ I call, my voice sounding too loud in the quiet forest. A crow caws above me before taking flight, causing bits of greenery to fall from the tree.
I wait for an answer but there is nothing but birdsong and the rush of the river. Confused, I take another look around me before walking over to the tent.
‘Hello? Mr Byrne?’
The tent flap is open and I can’t help but see what’s inside. There’s a camp bed with a sleeping bag and two canvas storage cupboards; one with clothes spilling from its shelves, the other neatly stacked with pots and pans and tins of soup. A basket of vegetables sits on the floor and a folded-up camp chair lies on its side. Surely he doesn’t live here? I stare for a moment, shocked that anyone can live so sparsely. I don’t mind camping, but I like to have a few home comforts. There’s not even a tent carpet on the floor, just a plastic groundsheet. I wince and back away, realising I’m intruding on his personal space.
There’s still no sign of him, so I walk down to the river and watch the water rush around the rocks and boulders on its way downstream. It’s much shallower here than in town, and the water is so clear you can see the flat brown pebbles lying on the bottom. In town, it’s brown and so deep that all manner of dubious items lurk in its depths. You wouldn’t want to swim in it, let alone drink it, but here the water looks so fresh and clean that I’m tempted to scoop some up and taste it.
The opposite bank of the river looks much wilder than this side, a dark tangled place where ash and sycamore trees compete for space, their roots poking through the river bank where the water has eroded the soil. A few trees have become so unsteady they grow outwards, their boughs and sometimes even their trunks leaning out low across the water. On this side of the river, the trees are more spaced out and uniform, growing upright, tall and proud. It’s a very pretty spot. Peaceful. I spy a small waterfall a little way upstream and decide to get nearer to take a photograph.
Unfortunately, further on, the trees that I thought so nicely spaced and uniform grow as wild as the ones on the opposite bank. Leaves brush my face and brambles snag on my trousers, winding around my legs as though they’re alive. As I push one away, another one takes its place. It feels like the vegetation is out to claim me for its own and I’m already regretting my decision. My heels sink into the soft earth and catch on the gnarly roots, making me stumble as I struggle with the brambles. Deciding the waterfall isn’t worth it, I turn to go back the way I came and put out a hand to steady myself on a nearby tree trunk. I expect to encounter rough bark, but instead feel soft material and the unmistakable warmth of a human arm.
There’s a man standing against the tree in full camouflage, wearing a balaclava.
My scream rips through the air and everything is a blur of leaves and sky and ground as I try to run. There is no calm appraisal. No logic. It’s fight or flight, and I choose flight.
I only get a few metres before I step in a rabbit hole. A blinding flash of pain and a crunch, and the ground comes up to meet me, knocking the air from my lungs.
‘Owwwww! Ow, ow, owwwwww!’ I clutch my lower leg. The pain from my ankle is unbearable.
‘Hey, hey, hey!’ The camouflage man approaches slowly, palms outstretched to show he’s no threat. ‘Shhh now. Calm down. I’m not going to hurt you.’
He speaks softly with an Irish accent, and dimly, through the panic and pain, it dawns on me that this is bloody Aiden Byrne. Oh Christ, why did I have to get the weirdo to interview on my first solo assignment? I think of all the normal people in normal places I’ve interviewed when shadowing Phil and think how unfair it is that I get the guy that plays hide-and-seek in the woods.
Aiden squats a few feet away from me and removes the camo-print balaclava. He doesn’t look so scary without it. He’s in dire need of a shave and his dark hair is crazy long and wild, sticking out in all directions, but his green eyes are kind and creased with concern.
‘I’m so sorry,’ he says. ‘I was asleep, else I would have let you know I was there.’
‘You were asleep?’ I prop myself up on my elbow and peer at him, still panting with pain and shock. ‘But you were standing up!’
‘Makes no difference to me.’ He shrugs. ‘I can sleep anywhere. I was waiting to photograph the owl that lives in that tree. It’ll occasionally come out in the afternoon and sit on a branch but I’d been waiting for ages and must have drifted off. Are you hurt?’
‘Yes, obviously! My ankle …’ I try to move it, but pain slices through me making me close my eyes and gasp.
‘Oh shit. You don’t think it’s broken, do you?’
‘I don’t know.’ I feel like crying, but I can’t, not here, now, in front of the man I’ve come to interview. It’s hardly professional behaviour.
‘What are you doing down here, anyway?’ he asks. ‘Are you lost?’
What? For crying out loud!
‘No, I’m Orla Kennedy, from the Hawksley Gazette. You’re Aiden Byrne, right? You agreed to an interview?’
‘Oh! Friday at three?’
‘That’s right.’
‘But today’s … Wednesday?’ He looks questioning, like he knows that’s probably not right but he doesn’t have a clue what day it is.
‘No, today’s Friday.’
‘Really? Christ, I’m so sorry!’ He pushes back his hair from his face. ‘I completely lost track of what day it is. Here, let me help you up.’
‘Oh no, I don’t think I can.’ I shrink away from him, not wanting to move or be touched or anything. I feel sick and dizzy and just want to sit here f
or a minute and compose myself.
‘Well, you can’t stay sitting down there like that. We’ll have to do something.’
‘Yes, I know, but just give me a minute. Maybe it will pass.’
He raises an eyebrow and stands up. He’s very tall, at least six foot. For the first time, I notice the camera that hangs on a cord around his neck. He’s younger than I expected. For some reason, I thought he’d be about 40 or so, but he looks to be in his late twenties. Maybe I should have researched him more thoroughly before coming out here.
‘I was expecting a man, actually,’ he says. ‘I spoke to someone called Phil on the phone.’
‘Yes, he had another appointment so you’ve got me instead.’ I shuffle backwards slightly and bend my good leg ready to support my weight. ‘Okay, I think I’m ready to try and stand. Can you help me up?’
‘Of course.’ He reaches down and pulls me upwards so I’m standing on my good foot. As a rule, I don’t like getting too close to people I don’t know well. I like my personal space. But I feel so light-headed and unsteady that I need to lean against him to steady myself. Gingerly, I try to put my left foot down but can’t put any weight on it at all.
‘Oh, sweet Jesus! You can’t walk, can you!’
I shake my head, teeth gritted with the pain.
‘Here, I’ll help you. Come on.’ Hitching my arm over his shoulder, he wraps his arm around my waist, supporting my weight as we hobble forward. I don’t know how I’m going to get back to his tent let alone my car. We shuffle a few more paces but the pain is too much and I have to stop. ‘Alright, okay,’ he says, and then scoops me up into his arms. With a yelp of surprise, I wrap my arms around his neck in case he drops me, but he’s surprisingly strong and carries me easily through the trees, stepping over the foliage that caused me such difficulties a few moments ago.
It’s a strange sensation being carried by a total stranger, and if it wasn’t for the pain, I’d be screaming for him to put me down. I can hear him breathing and feel his heart beating through his shirt. It’s much too intimate for my liking and I hold my breath in case he smells bad. He looks a bit grubby and his hair might be unwashed. But when I eventually have to breathe, he doesn’t smell unpleasant at all. He just smells like the forest: of wood and leaves and fresh air.
We arrive back at his tent and he stands there, just holding me, deliberating what to do with me now we’ve arrived. ‘Thank you,’ I say stiffly, hoping he’ll put me down.
‘What for? Scaring you to death?’
‘Not leaving me lying on the floor, waiting to be eaten.’
‘Ah, I never thought of that. That could have been an idea.’
‘What, eating me?’
‘Not me.’ He chuckles and sets me down in front of his tent. I stand on one leg, clinging on to his lean, sinewy frame as he reaches inside and brings out a dark green camping chair. ‘Here, sit on that. No, I was thinking more of the animals I could film eating you. Foxes and badgers and stoats and—’
‘Charming! Thanks very much,’ I say, sinking down into the chair. ‘Badgers are herbivores, aren’t they?’
‘No, omnivores.’ He fetches a small folding stool and gently lifts my bad leg to rest on it. ‘Can you take your boot off?’
‘Yes.’ Leaning forward, I unzip my boot and ease it off. It hurts like hell and as I slip my sock off, I see it’s already starting to swell. A purple and yellow bruise is spreading across my foot.
‘Can you wiggle your toes?’ He squats and peers closely at my foot and ankle. I try and though it hurts a lot there is some movement. ‘Ah good. I doubt you’ve broken it then, but you’ll have to get it checked at the hospital.’
‘I don’t want to go to hospital! Besides, how would I get there?’
‘Same way you’ll get home, I expect. I’ll take you. The main problem is getting you up the hill to my truck. You saw how steep it is when you came down so I don’t know if I’ll be able to carry you all the way up.’ He places a hand gently on my knee as he peers again at my ankle, then removes it quickly as though realising what he’s doing. I’m not offended by his touch though. It doesn’t feel inappropriate, especially since he’s just carried me bodily through the trees. ‘Really you should ice it. I’ll run up to the farm and see if Ivy’s got anything we can use, but in the meantime I’ll wet a towel in the river. The water’s pretty cold and it might help with the swelling.’
‘Okay. Thank you.’
He roots in the cupboard in his tent and pulls out a blue towel before going down to the river. I watch him through the trees, squatting on his haunches as he submerges the towel, long hair falling around his shoulders. He looks like how I imagined Jesus when I was a child. I’m hoping he can perform a miracle and make my ankle better so I can drive home. I really don’t want to go to the hospital.
The wet towel is freezing cold and I flinch and squeal when he lays it over my ankle. He cringes and squats next to me. ‘I’m sorry. I’ll get the ice.’
‘No, leave it. This will do.’ I pant a little as I get used to the sensation of coldness and he reaches for my hand and squeezes it. Strangely, it seems to help and we sit for a few moments in silence, just holding hands. ‘We may as well do the interview now,’ I say when it starts to feel weird. ‘Who knows, I might feel better by the time we’re done.’
‘Christ, how long’s the interview? Two or three weeks? Have you seen the size of your ankle? That’s definitely a hospital job.’
I scowl. ‘No, it’s probably just a sprain. I’ll be alright. Actually, I’ve got some paracetamol in my bag. That will help.’
Aiden laughs. ‘Ah, optimism. I like it.’
Ignoring him, I find my tablets and pull my notepad from my bag. ‘Okay, are you ready?’
‘No.’
‘But I need to do this interview.’ There’s a note of pleading in my voice that I don’t like, and I cough to try and cover it up.
‘I think you should just rest.’
‘I think I should work. It will take my mind off the pain. Besides, this is my first solo interview. I need to complete it.’
Aiden’s eyebrows shoot up. ‘This is your …? Oh my God! That makes this so much worse.’
‘Yes, I know. Thank you for pointing that out.’ I flip open my notebook. ‘Anyway, it’s really important that I get this interview otherwise I’ll look like a complete failure.’
‘No one can blame you if you’re hurt.’
‘I’m pretty sure they can. So if you wouldn’t mind, I’ve only got a few questions and they’re not especially taxing.’
‘Okay, go ahead.’
‘So, your name is Aiden Byrne and you’re a wildlife photographer, is that correct?’
‘Yep.’
‘Can you tell me a bit about what you’re doing here?’
‘I’ve been commissioned to film and photograph otters, so I made some enquiries and found that this was an ideal spot. Ivy and Bill up at the farm have been great letting me stay down here.’
‘I didn’t even know there were otters around here.’
‘Yeah, they’ve made a big comeback in recent years, and now can be found all over the country. But they’re very secretive animals, coming out mainly at night to hunt and play. It’s not so much that they’re nocturnal, they’re just shy of humans. Around here is great because it’s part of the farm so there are no dog walkers or kids playing or anything else that might disturb them. It’s very quiet so I have more chance of seeing them in the daytime.’
‘Have you seen them?’
He hesitates and scratches his beard. ‘Yes, but not for a while. When I first got here a couple of months ago, I got some great shots of a male and female mating. It’s a miracle really. The timing was perfect. I mean, I was tipped off by the local otter watch. They have people monitoring otter activity along the river and they’d seen the pair together. Not right here’ – he waves his hand at his little stretch of river – ‘but a bit further upstream. So, they phoned me and I got here ju
st at the right time.’
‘How long do they mate for?’ It’s not on my list of questions, but I find myself fascinated by what he’s got to say.
‘A couple of days or so. It’s quite brutal, really. Not the nicest courtship in the world. I was really lucky to capture some of it on camera. The male moved on straight after, so he’s gone now and I doubt I’ll be seeing him again, but I got some good footage of the female on her own afterwards. Some great underwater shots of her hunting for fish too. But then she disappeared, presumably to have her pups, so …’
‘How did you get the underwater shots?’
He turns and looks towards the river. ‘I’ve got underwater trail cams set up in the river.’
‘Oh wow.’
‘Yeah, they stream to my laptop so I can see what’s going on down there. I’ve got hours of footage that I’m still going through. But like I was saying, she disappeared so I assumed she went into her holt to give birth. The problem is, they stay in the holt until the pups are three months old, so basically all sightings of the female have dried up.’
‘Why three months?’
‘Their coats have to be fully waterproof before they can swim, so then the mother brings them out and teaches them how to swim and survive in the wild. That’s the moment I’m waiting for. I’m desperate to get that on camera. I went away for a while, assuming she was giving birth and therefore I had about two months before she reappeared, but I came back early just in case I’ve got the timings wrong or she reappears. So now it’s just a waiting game. Anyway, sorry I’m going on and on. I’m sure you don’t need to know all this for your article, and I told that Phil on the phone that I really don’t want people knowing exactly where I am. I can’t afford to have day-trippers coming down to see what I’m doing or trying to catch a glimpse of the otters. It’s blissfully quiet here at the moment and when I first saw the otters they seemed really relaxed, even coming out in the day. I don’t want that to change, especially if there are pups about.’
The Five-Year Plan: The utterly heart-warming and feel good rom com of 2020 Page 3
