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I can’t believe that I’m going to be mortified in front of the emergency services again. The last time, they showed up at my flat after I experienced the hottest night of my life. Let’s just say, I was on a date with a professional fire-eater that took an interesting turn when he decided to give me a private show in the bedroom.
Looking back, it was probably no great surprise that my former landlord didn’t give me back my damage deposit. I’m sure those scorch marks were really hard to get off the bedroom ceiling.
The only saving grace in that situation was that I didn’t have to call the emergency services myself; luckily for me, the little old lady from the flat above did that for me. Whereas now I get the double whammy of feeling like an idiot when I call them and when they turn up.
It’s frustrating as I can see the farm from here. If only they could see me. But judging how small it looks on the landscape, I won’t even look like a dot from where they are. Not that I want Rosie to find me when I’ve got Alexis’s phone. I need to get out of here and return it to the kitchen table before he catches me and I look like some sort of stalker-slash-thief.
I look around, hoping to see salvation, but all I can see are the sheep munching away in the field below. They don’t seem the tiniest bit bothered and none of them are exhibiting the slightest interest in morphing into a rescue animal like Lassie.
A cool breeze blows over me and I feel myself shiver. I’ve never known a place where the weather changes so quickly. One minute I’m enjoying blue skies and sunshine, and the next the clouds have gone an inky grey colour and the sun has disappeared leaving it bitter and dark. The winds pick up again and if I’m not mistaken, it feels as if it’s about to snow. In May. Good job I’m wearing jeans that are soaked with mud and shoes that are made for walking in hot French summers, then. Even the hoodie, which I thought was the most practical item of clothing I owned, isn’t doing a particularly good job for the near Arctic wind that has descended.
‘Help!’ I shout as loud as I can. ‘Help!’
Not even the sheep look up.
Even if I was close enough to any form of civilisation, I doubt my voice would carry far enough in this wind.
I’m starting to get cramp in my hand as I cling on to a branch, and I’m wondering how long I’m going to be able to hold on.
‘Help, I’m stuck,’ I shout in desperation, as I know that, realistically, I’m going to have to call the emergency services. Yes, it’s embarrassing, but it’s also a matter of life or death.
‘Dear Lord, I know that I only ever talk to you in times of crisis, and we haven’t had a chat since last year when I broke my flip-flops during that torrential downpour at the Notting Hill carnival and I asked for me not to get dysentery as I walked the streets barefoot – by the way, thank you for listening – but I really need some help now,’ I mutter under my breath.
‘What seems to be the problem?’ comes a voice, and I’m so surprised that I drop Alexis’s phone again.
‘Oh, bugger,’ I shout, watching it tumble down the hill, bouncing off rocks as it goes. It’s got to be broken now, surely.
‘Are you OK?’ comes the voice again.
‘God?’ I say, wondering if I’ve actually died of cold already.
‘Um, I tend to go by the name of Jack.’
I look up, straining to see where the voice is coming from, but all I can see from this angle is the big thistly bush above me.
‘I’m down here and I’m stuck,’ I say, relieved that I’m going to be rescued, and I don’t care whether it’s by apparition or a real-life person. A few minutes ago I wanted a sheep to help me – I’m clearly not fussy.
‘Hang on a second,’ says the voice. ‘I’ll come on down.’
Immediately I’m struck by a giggle, as he sounds like he’s a cheesy game-show host. Hang on there, Daisy, I’ll come on down. What game show was that the catchphrase from? I rack my brain to think, but I’m stuck. If only I could ask my friend Google, he never lets me down.
‘Oh, dear,’ says the guy whose voice comes from behind me.
I look down over my shoulder and I recognise the thick woolly hat as that belonging to Big Foot. His eyes are still cold, like the weather, and although his face is contorted into a small smile, it’s of the smirking variety, not a friendly one.
Of all the sodding people to come and find me.
‘Can you help me? It’s a bit uncomfortable like this,’ I say swallowing my pride. As much as I’m loathe to get Mr Grumpy to help me, it’s still better than phoning the emergency services.
‘OK, I’m going to have to grab you,’ he says with as much enthusiasm as if he were about to pick up dog poo.
He sighs and I feel his hands making contact with my bum.
‘Oi, watch it,’ I say, ‘this isn’t the time to cop a feel.’
I feel his hands let go. ‘Fine, if you don’t want any help, I’ll leave you there. It’s just that with the angle of the rock and the way your bum’s hanging over it, it’s the biggest thing for me to grab to be able to lower you down.’
‘Oh great, so you’re saying that my bum’s big. Thanks very much.’
I’m pretty sure mountain rescue would have been a whole lot more polite and wouldn’t have pointed out my gym failings.
‘It’s not that it’s big, it just looks it from this angle.’
‘Oh, that’s much better,’ I say sarcastically as I wiggle, trying to reduce my ginormous arse, only I think I’ve probably given him more of a view.
‘Look, I was perfectly happy climbing on the other side of the hill when I heard you shouting for help, and I’d be perfectly happy leaving you and your bum hanging here. But I should warn you that there is a very black cloud over there, and that’s usually the direction the bad weather comes from, and you’re not really dressed for a storm, are you?’
I sigh loudly. ‘Oh, go on, then. Grab my large bum.’
He places his hands back on me. ‘OK, let go of whatever you’re holding on to and I’ll try to lower you down gently.’
‘Are you sure? What if I flatten you? You know, me and my big bum.’
‘Just let go.’
I do as he says and I scrabble with my hands as I find myself sliding over the rock.
True to his word, Jack lowers my bum until my feet are practically touching the ground.
‘Oh thank goodness. Thank you so much,’ I say, breathing out in relief.
‘You’re welcome. But you really should be more careful. Look at what you’re wearing. You’re dressed like a teenager hanging around the Co-op.’
‘Now, hang on –’
‘No, this is serious. You’re on a hill dressed in – what are they, canvas?’
‘Suede espadrilles.’
He shakes his head. ‘Suede espadrilles, whatever the hell they are. You should be in walking boots, hiking trainers at a push, but something with a grip on them. You should also be wearing layers. The weather changes like that here,’ he says snapping his fingers. ‘If I hadn’t come along when I did, you’d probably have died of exposure.’
‘Actually, I was going to phone the emergency services,’ I say, wincing slightly.
‘Oh, even better, just what they want to do with their time. Rescue someone like you who wakes up one morning and decides to go hiking without any equipment, dressed inappropriately. Bloody tourists,’ he says shaking his head.
I take in his outfit of sturdy-looking boots, grey trousers with reinforced black bits over the knees and thighs and a snuggly fleece. He’s even carrying a harness round his waist, with a helmet clipped to his belt and extra rope slung over one shoulder. I take his point.
‘I’m sorry,’ is about all I can manage. ‘Is the lecture over? Only me and my impractical clothing are cold, and if you’ve quite finished, I’d like to go and get a warm shower before my sister gets back and rips it out.’
Jack stares at me for a second before shaking his head like I’m a lost cause, and stands to one side.
I brush down my trousers as if I’m dusting off a little bit of light mud, which only reminds me how caked they are from my earlier fall. I shake my hair back and hold my head up, trying to give myself a little bit more dignity.
I walk about three steps before I feel my feet go out from under me, and I find myself on my bum for the second time today.
I hear Jack mutter under his breath and I’m pretty sure it was something along the lines of ‘for fuck’s sake’. I hear him stomp down behind me and, instead of making a fuss, I hold my hand out for him to pull me up.
‘You are a liability,’ he says looking at me like I’m a moron as he helps me to get upright. ‘What did you think you were doing up here anyway?’
‘I thought I might get a phone signal up here. Oh, God, the phone.’ I look further down the hill and see where it’s come to rest.
‘A phone? You came up here to use your phone.’
‘Well, not my phone, Alexis’s, but . . .’ I’m not making it any better; he’s still looking at me like I’m a moron. ‘Well, I won’t take up any more of your time.’ I go to walk and he grabs hold of my hand.
‘Hang on, you’re going to be sliding all the way home in those things.’ He pulls his rope off his arm. ‘Here.’
He hands me the end of the rope and starts to walk in front of me.
‘You’re going to walk me along like a dog?’
‘It’s either that or we hold hands,’ he says with almost a growl.
‘Rope it is, then,’ I say, thinking that at least this way I might stay vertical. We start descending in silence until we get to the mobile phone.
Jack watches as I bend down and pick it up. I give it a quick blow to get the dirt off and, miraculously, not only is it not broken, but it also has 3G.
‘Three G,’ I squeal.
Jack doesn’t look impressed and I get the impression that he’s not about to stand there and wait for me while I log in to Facebook. Which is a pity, as I could totally send Erica an Emoji message with the lion head, as Jack with that beard looks just like one; well, at least he would if he dyed his hair orange.
‘Good to know,’ I say, coughing and shoving the phone back into my pocket, hoping that Alexis will leave it around another day, when he just happens to be going out for hours at a time and I’m the proud owner of walking boots and polar fleece layers.
‘We’d better pick up the pace a little, that storm is getting closer,’ Jack says pointing.
‘Righto,’ I say nodding.
We get down the hill and it starts to rain slightly. Jack turns to me as if to silently ask for the rope back and I look at him.
‘Um, would you mind walking with me back to the farm? It’s just it took me ages to get here and I slipped over,’ I say, as if he wouldn’t have noticed that I’m caked in mud if I hadn’t pointed it out to him.
‘Sure, why not? It’s not like I was doing anything else,’ he says sarcastically.
‘I thought you would have been heading home anyway, what with the storm and everything. You know, with you being such an expert in the changes of the weather.’
Jack merely grunts and I can’t help but smile. He knows as well as I do that he was homeward bound.
We start walking along in complete silence, apart from the sound of him stomping and my shoes squishing into the mud.
I try and distract myself from the awkwardness, concentrating on trying to think of the game show with that catchphrase. We get all of about a hundred metres before I can’t take the silence any longer.
‘I don’t suppose you remember who said “come on down”, do you? It’s from one of those eighties game shows I used to watch, but I can’t for the life of me remember which, and I can’t google it.’
I’m expecting Jack to growl, but to my amazement he answers me.
‘The Price is Right,’ he says as if it pains him to join in the conversation.
‘That’s it,’ I say, clapping my hand excitedly. ‘Come on down, the price is right,’ I say in a mock American accent. ‘Bruce Forsyth presented it, didn’t he?’
‘No, I don’t think so. He did that one about higher or lower, and the Generation Game, but I don’t think he did The Price is Right.’
‘Hmm, it wasn’t Nicky Campbell, was it?’
‘No, that was Wheel of Fortune.’
‘Oh, yes, Wheel of Fortune.’ I make the noise that the wheel used to make when it wiped out the contestant’s money.
I detect the smallest hint of a smile on Jack’s face. He tries to cough to cover it up, but I’m sure it was there.
‘So who did The Price is Right, then?’ I try to go through my head with all the familiar faces of childhood: Bob Monkhouse, Michael Barrymore, Paul Daniels. But the more game shows and presenters, the more frustrated I get that I can’t remember.
‘What about Roy Walker?’ I say, clutching at straws.
‘No, he did Catchphrase.’
The walk back towards the farm seems a lot quicker as we pass the time chatting eighties and nineties game shows. It turns out we were both big fans of The Krypton Factor and Blockbusters. By the time we make it back onto the field that is officially the start of Rosie’s land, I’ve had three laughs.
‘You are allowed to smile, you know, I won’t tell anyone. Not even Liz or Gerry in the post office. Although I’m sure it would make their day.’
‘Oh, so you’ve already met them, then? No doubt I’ll get a full report next time I pop in there. Something to look forward to.’
I giggle. I can just imagine the reaction they’d get from him as they witter on about the village. ‘Yes, they were quite excited about Rosie doing up the farm, and a little pleased that they might have some tourists to sell their jams to.’
‘At least someone’s pleased.’
‘What have you got against tourists? It’s not like you’re a born-and-bred local, is it? Through all that growling and grunting, I can quite clearly hear a southern accent.’
I’m expecting a hint of bared teeth, like a dog issuing a warning, but instead I’m rewarded with a smile – a fleeting one – but a smile all the same.
‘You’re very right, I’m not from here – as Liz and Gerry will be the first to point out. I’m a newcomer, even though I’ve been living here for over ten years.’
‘So, what is it you have against others coming here? It’s a bit greedy for you to want it all for yourself.’
‘I don’t want it all for myself. I’m all for people coming to enjoy this part of the country, it’s just that I get a bit fed up with people coming and going. If you lived here, you’d know what I’m talking about. It’s bad enough when you get stuck in a traffic jam caused by a herd of cows, let alone when you are trying to get through a village in the Lakes that’s bunged full of cars, making it seem like you’re driving through Central London during rush hour.
‘And then there’s the fact that a lot of them don’t respect the land, and end up putting themselves, and others, in danger when they go off with their GPS-enabled mobile phones thinking they can call Mountain Rescue like they would an Uber taxi.’
I bite my lip and hang my head a little lower in shame, but out of the corner of my eye I can see that his frosty exterior has softened a little.
‘I mean, they do this stupid stuff like walking for miles to get a phone signal,’ he says laughing.
‘It’s not funny. Have you ever been separated from your phone for three consecutive days?’
‘I don’t have one.’
I look at him like he’s a Martian. ‘What do you mean you don’t have one? Everybody has a phone.’
He shrugs before conceding. ‘OK, I have one somewhere,’ he says, ‘probably lurking in the glove compartment in my car. A pay-as-you-go one.’
I shudder in horror.
‘As you found out today, the signal’s so hit and miss that it’s almost a hindrance having a phone when you’re out climbing and what not. You almost rely on it, and then if you were to get into trouble, chances are you’d be somewhere where you couldn’t use it. I prefer to use old-fashioned fail-safes, like I’ll usually tell Rodney from the farm over the valley if I’m climbing, and I’ll radio him when I get back safely. If ever I didn’t, then he’d pop over on his quad to see if all was well.’
‘I guess that’s smart. But what about the Internet, how do you cope?’
‘I don’t live in the Dark Ages, you know. I’ve got dial-up on the farm.’
‘Dial-up? Isn’t that from the Dark Ages?’ I try and recreate the squeaky noise that you used to hear in the days before broadband.
‘It’s more like this,’ he says, squeaking along in exactly the right pitch.
‘Oh my God, that’s it!’
‘I hear it a lot.’
‘Don’t you mind being somewhere so remote and cut off?’
‘Not really. I enjoy my own company, and I’ve got my work to keep me busy.’
‘What is it you do?’ I ask, but I trail off, as, bounding down the road, is Rosie’s green Land Rover.
‘Oh shit,’ I say, rubbing the phone against my hoodie like it’s a lamp with a genie inside. But I fear that as much as I rub it, there’s no one to answer my wish to magically teleport it back onto the kitchen table before they arrive.