Not Far From Aviemore

by Michael Reuel

XIII

  Whisky Trail

  With much of Aviemore and the surrounding villages looking for a missing child, rumours of bad matters afoot and more snow on the way, the thoughts of locals and visitors alike were wrapped up in seeking to prevent a tragedy. Except, that is, for the two men who were negotiating the southern flank of Ben Macdui, regretting the distance they had wandered from their homes in pursuit of sampling as much Highland brew as they were able.

  Back when Adam had first met Affleck at The Old Bridge Inn a casual drinking session had led to more ambitious plans for the two young men, which resulted in a major jaunt over the mountains they had grew up in sight of but never tread beyond (only by car or train) – the same jaunt that resulted in Affleck asking Adam and Becky if they had seen any sight of them.

  A walk taken in spite of brooding weather reports, Clyde and Hamish (or Jim as he was known), had in fact been on an expedition far more ambitious than anyone might have guessed; the northernmost town of John O’Groats no less being the aim. Stopping at Highland pubs to remain nourished and, most importantly, drunk, along the way, with a notion that they should probably phone and inform their parents at some point – which had not been achieved.

  Moving from pints to shorts had warmed their bones before they set off and so the cold did not phase them, which was probably the key to their enthusiasm lasting over so many miles. To liquored minds of special thinking, the result would have been considered a feeble disappointment, but they had nevertheless walked quite a stubborn distance, even if it seemed a while since it had been enjoyable. The first night’s walk had gone as planned, reaching the town of Huntly where they knew the local pub’s owners anyway and would be able to re-warm themselves with more whisky for the next stretch. Then their paths turned north towards the port town of Nairn, where they planned to cross the Moray Firth by boat and so onwards to Scotland’s most northerly regions.

  Had the plan proceeded as imagined they would have a drunken adventure to rival anyone in the Highlands; as they saw it, since a notorious stag do in the town of Oban resulted in a village statue removed from its stand and transferred to a neighbouring isle (sailors greet the unretrieved statue to this day as they come and go). In the event, however, they moved into unknown territory once they were north of Chapeltown (home to another inn they occasionally frequented) and thereupon felt lost without a map. Plus, in their drunken state, they decided that taking known paths defied the point of the adventure and would earn them the least respect, but they soon became lost, tired and hungry, having taken little in the way of sustenance, at the same time as having to handle the effects of a delayed hangover. The final nail in the coffin of their aspiration had been finding another inn on the route, that they had heard of but never seen, closed for refurbishment. Speaking with locals, they learned they would need to walk another fifteen miles north before coming to the next homely house and, with the snow thickening, were left looking disappointed at each other and knew that, on yet another occasion, they would return home proven idiots rather than adventurers. That night they had found a burnt-out barn for shelter, getting some rest despite the cold, before making the long walk back over land that seemed far more arduous on sober legs. It had taken them the entire day to do so and the sky had long since gone dark as they rounded the southern edge of Ben Macdui. By then their conversation had descended from what John O’Groats might look like at this time of year to whether Jim’s mother would be too angry to make them a cup of tea on their return.

  Indeed it was Jim who was due to be in the most trouble; he was supposed to represent the more responsible side of the two and was only in such a scenario because he had taken a week off work. Clyde’s parents, on the other hand, were used to him gallivanting all over the place and coming home with all kinds of tales that were only predictable in the fact that none of them included looking for a job.

  It was at this point that Jim stopped to consider the peak of Ben Macdui, as they had not when setting out on their journey, and wondered why bedside stories of the Big Grey Man had been playing on his mind; he had not paid much attention to them before or in any of the Celtic myths his mother so treasured. Perhaps it was because sobriety made him feel guilty at leaving his mother alone for two nights; it would be just his luck if the old tales turned out to be true and the giant came to abduct them as punishment for causing his mother worry. Then he remembered why it was on his mind; the English guy who had spoken to Affleck in the bar on the evening they left had mentioned the Fear Liath Mòr. In fact, had it not been for the notion that a lone visiting Englishman was having more dangerous Highland adventures than they ever had, they might not have even begun discussing one of their own. As a group of four they began to debate which was the best place to visit rather than returning home once the pub closed and, when their two friends had scorned the idea of walking to Nairn, they chose somewhere even more ambitious to cause them further shame.

  ‘I wonder what happened to that English guy?’ Jim said.

  ‘That’s a good point,’ said Clyde, seeming to be on the same plain of thought, ‘I bet he didn’t get as far as we did.’

  ‘Yeah, but he wasn’t on a trek, he was looking for ghouls and ghosties.’

  ‘Ah, I think he was having a laugh of some kind. Still, quite brave to approach Gandalf out of the blue, I’ve been trying to avoid him all my life.’

  ‘Well he only turns up when you’re in trouble,’ Jim agreed; Gandalf being their secret nickname for Affleck, of course, because of that very reason – something they sincerely hoped he never found out.

  It was pleasing to know they were almost in sight of their homeland, especially as the snow was then falling thick and fast, while a howling wind caused them to raise their voices to be heard. Clyde had been tempted to head towards the Corrour Bothy, which they would soon be passing, but Jim’s heightened sense of guilt meant he was beyond considering any further delays and so their attention turned to the snowy valley ahead once they had negotiated their way over the curve of Ben Macdui’s spine. Knowing the mountain fairly well, they knew that a short climb would result in a shorter journey once on the western side of the peak, though they would have been risking some falls had they been unused to the terrain and the snow did present them with a dilemma that they should not have taken the longer route.

  It was on reaching the highest point of this climb when fortune turned against them and they would learn the flaw of this wisdom. At first Clyde was grateful for the downward trajectory and the start, as he saw it, of the final stage, but he was then surprised to see Jim seeming so over-excited by the sloping ground that he began to run, partnered by something Clyde interpreted as a yelp of excitement.

  ‘Steady on, Jim; way to go yet… Jim?’ but as Clyde called to his friend he found that Jim was not listening and was also speeding up, soon difficult to make out in the snowfall and shifting mist that had grown more prominent as they climbed Ben Macdui.

  Brain still numb from alcohol, Clyde had no idea what was happening or what had caused Jim to run, but knew that this was no terrain to be attempting such a feat. The intention had been to complete the walk with the kind of care that even Affleck would have been proud, drawing on their knowledge of the mountain and all they had heard from climbers concerning risks and pitfalls. Neither claimed to have been so certain of the route as to take it at high speed and, feeling he had no choice but to set off in pursuit, Clyde soon heard exactly what he feared. Ahead of him Jim let out a cry he knew could only be the result of a fall – and so their endeavours reached new levels of idiocy.

  Pursuing his friend’s tracks, Clyde spent several moments wondering how to break it to Jim’s mother that her son had fallen to his death. Indeed, at first he found no reason to suppose this had not happened, finding the tracks led to a vertical drop where Jim had clearly tripped and disappeared – his friend would have known that many sudden drops were nearby but had been running too fast to react before his feet connected with the rocks and ensured
only one outcome.

  Peering down through the mist, Clyde saw exactly what he dreaded, the body of Jim lying motionless some fifteen feet below. Without daring to contemplate what the piloc had done, he rounded the precipice and descended as quickly as the snowy heights would let him without falling to an end of his own. Relief would wash over him when movement from Jim prevented any further lingering moments of uncertainty. With a groan his friend stirred, not so much of agony but more as if asking, ‘What have I gone and done?,’ which turned out to be exactly what Clyde asked of him.

  ‘What have you gone and done, Jamie boy?’

  ‘I’m alive…’ for some reason Jim found it necessary to say. ‘I’m winded; it’s less than I deserve but I think I’ve broken my ankle.’

  ‘It could have been a lot worse with a fall like that, man. The snow probably saved you worse.’

  ‘No, the snow only hid the rocks that I battered my ankle on.’

  ‘We’ll have to go to the bothy now then.’

  ‘No, I need to get home,’ Jim whined.

  ‘Sod that, I don’t love you enough to carry you all the way to town.’

  ‘Go on without me.’

  ‘Oh shut up and see if you can stand,’ Clyde told him, feeling there was no need for how dramatic his friend was being.

  So it was that their drunken adventure took a detour towards the Corrour Bothy after all, with Clyde supporting Jim on his shoulder as he limped. It was not long before they accepted that an attempt to make the village would have to be abandoned for the night. Movement clarified to Jim that he had done himself some damage and, as many wanderers before them would testify, it was fortunate that the bothy was available.

  Even the shorter journey proved arduous. They had walked many miles that day already and Clyde had to settle for looking forward to when his friend had fully recovered before he could make fun of him. In The Old Bridge Inn the mirth at Jim’s foolishness might last several months, he thought, until he heard Jim try to explain his behaviour. (The one question he asked on their way in spite of the great strain they were under was, ‘What were you running for anyway?’)

  ‘I was running from the man.’ Jim replied.

  ‘You were running from a man?’

  ‘A big fucking man.’

  This made no sense of course and Clyde assumed that whatever fever had taken over his friend’s mind hadn’t been dispelled by falling fifteen feet – nevertheless, the tale might actually be remembered in the pub for several years. Knowing Jim as well as he did, however, he thought little more on his words; everyone accept Jim’s mother knew that he smoked too much of the wacky backy and this seemed like proof that his capacity for dimness remained intact even when he wasn’t under the influence.

  When at last they arrived at the bothy they were thoroughly exhausted and flirting with the idea of giving up drink completely. Finding the shelter empty, Clyde was relieved to be able to dump Jim on the sofa bed, which he did quite unsympathetically, before hunting around for the light then finally stopping for a well needed breath of air. Aching limbs told him that more evenings should have been put aside to exercise different muscles than his liver; Jim didn’t let him rest straightaway though.

  ‘Block the door!’ he told Clyde.

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘Seriously man, there’s a big fucking man about.’

  ‘Whatever man, no more cider for you.’

  But he wouldn’t stop whining until a small chest of drawers had been moved in front of the door, only then was Clyde able to fill the kettle and attempt to make a cup of tea as satisfying as Jim’s mother could. As for his injured friend, he lay back with his eyes closed until the adrenaline of the climb began to wear off and his ankle became more and more painful – he was also debating whether he had broken a rib.

  ‘You think I’ll need a hospital?’ he asked.

  ‘Of course you’ll need the hospital, you great eejit.’

  They talked no more about what Jim had seen, falling quiet as Clyde debated with himself whether it would be of use to make the walk right away to the village and bring help back somehow, or whether it was more sensible to wait until the morning. As Jim’s discomfort grew, he began to approach the conclusion that after his drink he would have to go and find someone, probably Affleck, and accept all the aggravation for their stupidity – whereas Jim would probably now get sympathy.

  Before he could speak his mind, however, matters became more complicated. There was a loud knock at the door; Jim sat up in fear, clearly attributing its sound to the same presence he claimed had caused him to run and fall.

  ‘Shit, I told you I saw someone. Ignore it.’

  ‘I can’t ignore it, it could be someone out in the snow.’

  ‘It could be the Grey Man.’

  ‘Oh shut up, Jim,’ Clyde replied, making his way to the door. If he had told the truth, he would have admitted that the spooky tales of the mountains were then making him nervous also but, determined to shrug off superstition, he moved the cabinet and opened the door an inch to see who was outside. A tad edgy Clyde might have been, but behind him Jim’s eyes were wide with alarm, believing his friend would not have had the courage to open the door had he seen what he had witnessed. The monstrous hands of Ben Macdui’s giant did not appear, however, instead only the light and friendly – if tired – voices of two other folk out on the mountain in the escalating snow. One of those voices was deep and muffled, but it was the other that surprised him for, despite the high-pitch gale, it was clearly American. To an ear that had grown up associating US accents with the glamour of Hollywood, its sound was somewhat angelic, heard as it was from the midst of peril. Jim was in love before he had even seen the face the voice belonged to.

  ‘Are you going to let us in or have us turned into snowmen?’ he heard the voice ask.

  ‘Oh sorry guys, come on in,’ Clyde replied, after a few moments of staring at the both of them confused. ‘You’re the English guy from the bar.’

  Adam – for indeed it was our two scientists – had been more alert, perhaps thanks to the snowstorm stroking his face, and knew who Clyde was immediately. He recognised him from the inn and knew him to be one of the lads for whom Affleck had been searching.

  Having spent two hours following footprints that eventually disappeared, Adam and Becky were not in much better condition than Jim and Clyde; the Cairngorms had now truly entered the season that experienced climbers warned normal folk away from.

  ‘Jim, it’s the English guy from the bar,’ Clyde introduced them, pleased to dispel Jim’s fears of spooks. ‘And he’s found an American girl.’

  ‘Affleck was looking for you pair,’ Adam informed them.

  ‘What!’ Jim exclaimed. ‘I told you we’re in the shit.’

  ‘We’ve only been out for a walk,’ Clyde told them.

  ‘I wouldn’t worry, he’s more on his mind now,’ Adam told them.

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Have you seen a little girl?’ Becky asked them; the cold and arduous walk had done nothing to reduce her concern for young Alice, so much so that an idle listener might have supposed the child to be her own.

  ‘A girl?’

  ‘Young Alice MacGregor,’ Adam told them, guessing rightly they would know whom he was referring to.

  ‘Alice has gone missing?’

  ‘The police are looking for her. We’re pretty sure we have been following her footsteps though, leading up into the mountain, actually we were hoping she was in here when we saw the light and we’ve no idea if the police are looking in the right place.’

  ‘Why would she be running up the mountain?’

  ‘Something might have scared her, there was a fire at her house and the mother was injured, also… there’s a psycho on the loose.’

  ‘Well we picked a good time to go AWOL,’ Clyde reflected.

  ‘What happened to you?’

  Adam had asked them both the question, but did so with a nod to Jim whose injury was clear �
�� the way he was lying and wincing at his ankle – but they were not given time to answer. No sooner had a second party arrived at the bothy as a third turned up, but there was no knock at the door this time, instead there was a scraping sound, sinisterly applied with the intent of chilling the blood of the occupants inside. No doubt because of the weather, the shelter was drawing anyone within sight towards it, especially now its interior light was visible – but light can attract both good and bad.

  All went quiet as the four of them saw the same nervousness reflected in each others’ eyes; no one rushed to the door. The scraping continued, edging its way, it was clear, from the back of the bothy to the door where the expectation of confrontation now seemed imminent.

  ‘Jim saw a man,’ Clyde whispered, ‘not far away, it caused him to fall.’

  ‘Do you think it’s him?’ Jim asked, though neither Adam nor Becky knew they were referring to the Grey Man.

  ‘I know who it is,’ Adam told them, ‘it’s the bastard who gave me this,’ and he pointed to the scar on his forehead before taking hold of his pickaxe and moving into the centre of the room. Facing the door, he indicated that he would be the first to meet the joker outside, saying ‘I’m not letting him get away this time,’ stepping towards the handle and making ready for his second meeting of the day with Stevens. This time he was intent upon making it the last.

  ‘Careful, Adam,’ Becky told him and Clyde himself grabbed a nearby knife to prepare for what on earth was going on.

  As the scraping neared the door, Adam reached out his hand to turn the handle and meet the attack head on. Had he let the blood rush to his head a bad situation could have ensued, but he held his strike back until he saw the whites of the eyes. It was a wise decision but the sight of Affleck’s face, accompanied by a mock evil laugh, was still effective in causing everyone else in the bothy to jump in fright. They were the subject of a joke after all, one that Affleck alone took great delight in and he was far from apologetic at discovering who the new occupants of the bothy were.

  ‘What are you doing?’ he demanded of them. ‘I thought I told you to get back to your hotel.’

  ‘Jesus, Affleck.’ Clyde exclaimed, as they all breathed a sigh of relief. In truth, Affleck had seen Adam and Becky approaching the bothy and had feigned surprise at their presence – keen to give them a peace of his mind considering he and the police had earlier arranged for their safety – but he reserved the full weight of his fury for the local boys.

  ‘And it’s the prodigal boys too I see. I do enjoy dealing with your parents every time you go on a drunken wander. We’ve weirdoes on the loose you know, your parents won’t be sleeping tonight.’

  ‘How were we to know something interesting might happen in Aviemore?’ Jim replied.

  ‘So speaks the dim voice of youth,’ Affleck said. ‘I spend my time trying to stop interesting things happening to dimwits like you; they tend to happen if you don’t respect the mountain – it’s the first week of winter for goodness sake.’

  ‘We saw Alice’s footprints, Mr Affleck, leading up into the mountain,’ Becky interjected, seeing he would otherwise continue for some time. It was a worthy move for it snapped him out of any other issues on his mind and, without even asking him, it was clear he had no optimistic news of the whereabounce of Alice until then.

  ‘Into the mountain?’ he exclaimed, knowing that none of the police searches were being conducted so far away from Aviemore.

  ‘The snow was thickening and we lost them,’ Adam explained. ‘We hoped she was in here when we saw the light but only found these two.’

  ‘Jim saw a man too,’ Becky added, not realising Jim thought he had seen a man of unnatural size (Clyde noticed that Jim kept his mouth shut about it). ‘We should go back out and look for her if he’s still about.’

  ‘No no! We spotted your stalker guy,’ Affleck replied, acknowledging her earlier fear that Stevens might harm the young girl. ‘He was up near the Wells of Dee, I left the police to round him up so he can’t be up here.’

  ‘They’ve got him!’ Becky replied, having waited eight years to hear such a thing. ‘But that’s miles away, how could he have got there so quickly?’

  ‘Who did you see?’ Affleck asked Jim. ‘And what’s with your leg?’

  ‘He fell off the crag the great tit,’ said Clyde, giving his friend away.

  ‘It wasn’t the crag, Einstein; I wouldn’t have survived that,’ he replied.

  ‘Aye, he wouldn’t have survived the crag. You see, he’s brighter than we think,’ added Affleck. ‘So who do you think you saw?’

  ‘I… might have been seeing things,’ Jim replied, with a feeble shrug.

  ‘What a pair of imbeciles!’

  ‘We should go back out and find the girl,’ Becky urged them, though really there was no need, scalding people was merely fuel for Affleck’s thinking and he was already well ahead on where Alice’s feet could have possibly taken her.

  ‘There’s one place she might have found shelter,’ he told them. ‘I would have thought of it before in fact if I’d known she would head towards the mountains, but I didn’t think it possible in this weather. One of the drained tarns on the other side of the Ben Macdui summit; it’s almost as good as a cave if the wind’s blowing the right way. If she went as high up the mountain as you say then that would be the best place she’d come to a stop. Her father took her up there one day before he left for service. I met them up there I remember, it’s a good bet she’d run to the memory of her daddy.’

  ‘I know where you mean,’ Clyde said, eager for the chance of redeeming their drunken wastefulness; turning to fate as an excuse for folly can be a temptation for the best of us.

  ‘Clyde and I should go,’ Adam suggested and the recently established company soon agreed this was the best course of action. Affleck might have felt more secure taking the responsibility himself, but conceded the two youngsters could reach the ex tarn quicker. Becky insisted she was strong enough to go with them, but the persuasive Affleck convinced her she should help with Jim. The warden revealed he had morphine with him which would ease the pain, but he needed Becky’s eyes to read the extent of the break or fracture, for she did have some medical-related qualifications and it made sense to direct half their efforts towards finding Alice and the rest towards the injured companion. There was no knowing how long the search would continue – they all hoped it would soon be over but they would need to attend to Jim’s leg anyway before deciding how to transport him, which could ultimately affect the time taken to return Alice to her mother.

  The course was therefore set by this impromptu meeting at the Corrour Bothy – one they all hoped would result in the end of Aviemore’s anxiety that night.

  Assembling briefly outside the shelter, they awaited Affleck’s return from his vehicle with the two torches he had promised ‘the boys’ – as he called them – as well as the medical kit he and Becky would need. He was also equipped with flares in case the search returned with no result; a sign for Alice to make for from whatever cold and confused state she might be in, with the likelihood that she was at least in the vicinity. All felt cause for optimism that, as long as she was conscious somewhere, she would soon be found.

  Even while waiting for Affleck to return the three of them spent some time searching and calling from about the bothy, but no sign of movement could be made out. At least they could be grateful that the snow had stopped for a time, though it now lay thick upon every mountain and valley, so much so that in places it would be doubtful if a child as young as Alice would be able to walk through it at all. The wind had also lessened in intensity, although still from an unclear direction, but at least it was not of a strength that might turn the mountain into a nonnegotiable hazard.

  Becky was not planning to exchange any deep words with Adam before he set off, with all efforts directed towards locating Alice without delay, but perhaps it was because their guard was down that she ended up doing so.

  ‘Was thi
s the kind of therapy you had in mind when deciding to come here?’ she asked innocently, but Adam was confused by the use of the word.

  ‘Therapy? Why would I be looking for therapy?’

  ‘You know what I mean,’ Becky said, looking to brush off the comment, but he really didn’t.

  ‘You think I need therapy?’

  ‘No, I… I just want you to get over her that’s all.’

  ‘Over who? What are you talking about Becky?’

  ‘Oh stop playing the closed book, Adam. I know you’re not over Claudia yet.’

  They had been scanning the snowy surroundings for sign of movement as they spoke, but Adam’s surprise at this last comment was inadvertently successful in gaining his full attention.

  ‘Claudia? Becky, I don’t think about her at all.’

  ‘Oh come off it, after what she did?’

  ‘I really don’t care what she did; I found that funny not heartbreaking.’

  The incident they were referring to was not an affair, as one might suspect from the conversation, but rather that Adam’s ex-partner had embarrassed herself with a false accusation that he was having an affair; the situation this caused might still have been retrievable were it not that she also decided to let loose her two brothers on him to administer a good hiding. When at last they tracked him down in a public bar, Adam’s response to having one of his teeth cracked was to put one of them in hospital with concussion and to leave the other with a broken nose. The two bullies – who he had never got on with – were humiliated but Claudia reacted as a loving sister rather than a loving girlfriend, insisting it was his fault harm had been caused rather than being embarrassed for her leading role in the confusion. The effect was that Adam realised splitting up with her would not break her heart and he was gladly able to do so without feeling bad about himself. Subsequently, the melancholy that Becky had detected in him when he turned down her approaches had been wrongly interpreted to be that he was heartbroken. It might have been that Becky could not comprehend exactly what he saw in Claudia – and so she was on to something – but this was a presumption he would have put speedily to bed had he been aware of it. His reluctance to enter a ‘meaningful’ relationship might still have remained ambiguous but, in want of another explanation, the notion that Adam was heartbroken was the conclusion she reached.

  ‘Is that so?’ Becky responded, unconvinced. ‘Then why did you split up with her?’

  ‘Because she was a moron!’

  This last remark was quickly and instinctively delivered so that Becky could not fail to recognise the disdain in his eyes at the memory of Claudia, unburdened by any attachment for that time of his life and, as a result, she was suddenly convinced that he was not in any form of denial. It was the truth Adam was speaking, but this was a revelation to her.

  ‘But…’ Becky started to ask, but then laughter found them instead – for they both agreed that Claudia was a moron – and it pleased Adam that the toil of the day had at least relieved her of this false knowledge. Disbelief in those eyes was a joy to behold, like getting to know her for a second time.

  ‘But then, why…?’ she began again, but even Becky was unsure how she would have finished the sentence had Affleck not interrupted. Arriving with the torches and also a number of one-man tents he bid them to discard along the route, he urged Clyde and Adam to be off without further delay. She had wanted to broach the subject of why Adam had turned down her affections of eighteen months’ previous, but was left to hold on to her curiosities while they dealt with the business of the night.

  Adam turned briefly to look back at her before the mist and falling snow stole him away.