The first thing I notice is the peace. I smile and then let out a little sigh of happiness. My smile fades almost at once as the ratcheting ear-splitting screech of a chainsaw echoes down the hillside towards me. Why today? I haven't been here in six years and the one time I want to head up the mountain, someone is out to ruin it for me.

If I hadn't driven for two hours, I might not have minded so much. If this wasn't my last chance in God alone knows how long, I could have just turned around and gone back. I could have tried again another day.

But if I don't get the house today, I'll be homeless. Then I'll have to sell the car and then I might never get a chance to come back this way. The noise dies then builds again. How dare they!

Given an eviction notice on the anniversary of my mother's death. There was someone out there with a sense of humour about such things but it was all at my expense.

I had been given one month to find somewhere new and time was running out. There aren't many places that'll take an unemployed project manager and her cat. No provable income and a pet. So while already job hunting like mad, I had to house hunt at the same time. Yesterday I got rejected for a flat with peeling wallpaper, mould in the kitchen and no window in the bedroom-cum-living room. I'd laugh if it weren't so tragic.

Today is my last shot before I'm homeless. Evicted with nowhere to store my possessions. Sell the car and I might be able to pay for storage for at least a couple of weeks but what then?

So with the stress weighing heavy on me, I took one last trip, a pilgrimage of sorts. I had an excuse. The place I'm going to look at is just the other side of the mountain, edge of the village where I grew up. An old house that's falling down with two liveable rooms inside. It'll do. It's that or the streets.

I had the paperwork on the passenger seat, the eviction notice, the viewing details, the bank statements they'd want to see. I left it all there and got out at the car park, wanting just an hour of peace and solitude, a chance to remember Mum on the mountain where we used to walk together.

Was that too much to ask?

Apparently so as the noise of the chainsaw grew overwhelming. I set off up the path, the last of the autumn sun on my legs. It was warm enough to wear a skirt and strappy top, the heat on my skin the only pleasant thing about the stroll. I wanted birdsong and leaves rustling in trees. I got the roar of machinery and it was driving me mad.

Around another corner and I saw him, chopping branches off a dying tree. "Can't you give it a rest!" I shout.

He doesn't hear me of course. He's got a helmet with ear defenders. He's probably quite happy, can't hear a thing.

I can't help myself. I storm over to him just as a chunk of tree thuds to the ground next to him. "Oi!" I say, waving my arms in his direction.

At last he looks up, sees me, then puts the chainsaw down. He lifts the helmet from his face as I scowl at him. "Do you have to do that now? It's spoiling my walk."

The scowl is already falling from my face. I find it hard to be cross with him glaring back at me. I cower almost at once. He runs his hand over his brow before standing up straight and stretching his back. He narrows his eyes as he looks me up and down, pulling off his gloves at the same time.

I wince, ready for him to patronise me. It's happened many times before. Still he doesn't talk and I'm weakening further. He's tall, muscles that threaten to burst out of the arms of his shirt. Beard that doesn't hide the rugged face behind it. His trousers are slung low, a hint of skin visible when he stretches upwards again. As he does so, my eyes are drawn down to a flash of black hair, just a glimpse but enough to make me wonder what else is lurking down there.

"Got to be done," he says at last and I realise I'm still staring down at his crotch. I look up and blush. "You know you're in the wrong clothes for a climb, right?"

I scowl again, hoping to make him wither. He just looks amused. We talk for no more than a minute and he makes no attempt to apologise for the noise. In the end I give up and walk away with a muttered curse, marching up the hill as he continues to try and talk to me.

"Watch out for the weather," he calls after me. "Fog's coming in." I ignore him, too angry to think about anything but getting as far away from him and that chainsaw as I can.

Within a minute, the noise starts up and it only fades when I'm in sight of the top summit.

I sit on a rock and look at the view, the distant hills fading as cloud begins to descend. I hate the fact he might be right, the weather could be getting worse. Already I'm cold, a breeze that wasn't there at the foot of the mountain is growing fast. I shiver, wrapping my arms around my shoulders as I think about Mum and me. We would sit here together after a climb that took forever, my feet aching, my head swimming. Then she'd feed me from the picnic in her rucksack and I'd be bursting with energy again.

All our troubles fell away up here. I missed her. All of a sudden, the wound of losing her was fresh and raw.

It had been four years since she'd died, two since my step-father had thrown me out of the family home, leaving me on the mercy of my contracts. Project managing was good work, until the recession hit and building stopped up and down the country.

My savings were long gone. All I had was the car and the cat and my memories.

I shiver again as the clouds roll in closer. The view is disappearing into grey, black in places as rain looks like it might start at any minute. I'll go back down soon. I just want a little longer in our place. If I don't get the house, I might never get to come back. This will be my last memory of the place.