I think I must’ve drifted into a half-doze, lulled to sleep by the rhythmic scratch of pencil on paper. I was only half aware of the wind picking up, and reached up to bat an irritating strand of hair away from my nose.
‘I’d set off down if I were you.’
I forced my eyes open and sat up to face the walker who’d stopped to speak to us.
‘Sorry?’
‘You pair had better get off the fells.’ He jerked his head heavenwards. ‘Storm’s coming.’
I looked up to find thick purple clouds had taken over what just a few hours ago had been a clear summer sky. The sun was refracting – reflecting? refracting? – whatever the word is, off the underside of the clouds, glowing through the cracks, fragmenting the heavens in a web of light. After days of tropical temperatures, it looked like the time had come to pay the piper.
‘Jack,’ I said, nudging him. ‘We need to go.’
‘Hmm?’ He was frowning at his pad, completely absorbed. But he jerked to attention quickly enough when a fat blob of rain landed bang in the middle of the sketch he was working on.
‘Bastard!’ He pulled out a tissue to blot it away. ‘Where did that come from?’ He glanced up at the rapidly blackening sky. ‘Oh.’
Jack hastily stashed pad and pencils in his rucksack. We jumped up, grabbed a dog lead each and started making our way down.
But within half an hour, the chubby raindrop that had tried its damnedest to ruin Tilly and Billy’s jam-based adventures had been joined by a whole throng of brothers and sisters. I could barely see my hand in front of my face, and the dogs were whining pitiably. Worse, what sounded like the distant rumble of thunder was vibrating the ground under my feet.
Jack kept reaching round to pat his rucksack, looking concerned.
‘It’ll be soaked through in another ten minutes of this,’ he said, raising his voice so I could hear him over the hiss of rain.
‘But it’ll ruin your sketches.’
‘I know. Walking conditions aren’t too safe when the visibility’s this poor either. We should hole up somewhere till it’s over.’
I blinked, trying to focus through swimming eyes. ‘Up here? There isn’t anywhere.’
‘There’s an old quarryman’s hut not far away.’ He seized my hand. ‘Come on.’
‘Are we allowed in?’ I asked when we reached the ramshackle hut nestled among piles of slate. ‘It’s someone’s property, isn’t it?’
‘We’re allowed. It’s a bothy.’
‘It’s a whatty?’
‘Bothy. Shelter for walkers who get into difficulties.’
The door was unlocked and I followed Jack inside, out of reach of the pelting rain.
The bothy’s uber-rustic interior was about as basic as you could get: bare brick walls, a stone ledge under a little window, a simple fireplace with a pile of logs and kindling next to it. But it was dry and warm.
‘We’d better get out of our wet things,’ Jack said. He nodded to an old wooden chest. ‘There’s usually blankets in there. You get them out and I’ll get a fire going.’
When I’d stripped to my underwear and swaddled myself in a blanket, I took a seat on the rough stone ledge and glanced out of the window at the rain still hammering down. A flash of lightning chose that moment to make an appearance, followed closely by a peal of angry thunder. Little Muttley whimpered, darting over to hide behind my legs, and I reached down to give her a reassuring stroke. Thunderstorms weren’t my favourite thing either.
‘It’s getting dark,’ I said to Jack.
‘Mmm. We might be here for the night, I think.’
‘What, you can sleep in these things?’
‘In an emergency, when the walking conditions aren’t safe.’
I blinked at him in the adolescent flicker of the open fire. ‘I mean, can you sleep in these things?’
He gave a little shudder. ‘Doesn’t look like I’ve got any choice, does it? If it was just me… but it’s not safe to take you down in this.’
‘It’s only one night, maybe it’ll help you. And I’ll be here.’
‘Yeah.’ He looked up from stoking the fire to meet my eyes. ‘Glad I’ve got you, Kit.’
***
Two hours later, it was still raining, although the thunder had stopped. It was pitch dark outside now, the room’s only illumination the ruddy glow of the fire and a candle stuck in an old Jack Daniels bottle on the mantelpiece.
At some point I must’ve dozed off. When I blinked myself awake, the two dogs were stretched out comfortably in front of the blaze and Jack was sitting on a stool cooking something, stripped off and wrapped in a blanket. I hadn’t realised how hungry I was till the appetising smell hit my nostrils.
‘What’s that?’ I asked, stifling a yawn.
‘I did a bit of a recce while you were sleeping. Found a couple of tins of baked beans with pork sausages someone left. And…’ He reached under his stool and waggled a miniature at me. ‘Some kindly whisky fan left us a nightcap. Luxury, eh? I’ll split it with you.’
The beans made a simple but satisfying meal, eaten straight out of the tins: proper cowboy tea, with the Kendal Mint Cake we’d brought for pudding. Afterwards, Jack split the whisky between a couple of cracked cups.
‘Just a sec,’ he said when he saw me about to knock mine back. ‘Throw me my jeans there.’
I did as he asked. He rummaged in his pocket, pulling out a couple of squashed white flowers.
‘What is it?’ I asked.
‘Honeysuckle, last of the season. Spotted it growing down in the lowlands this morning. Best with cognac, but it’ll add some flavour to your nightcap.’ He shrugged when he saw me staring. ‘What?’
‘You forage cocktail ingredients?’
‘Sometimes. You need to watch yourself though. They don’t look kindly on you stealing vodka from Asda and calling it foraging.’
After we’d finished our drinks, we set to work creating a makeshift bed. We laid the thickest blanket, doubled up, across the uneven stone flags, with another folded into a pillow and the final two to spread over us. It wasn’t the most comfortable of quarters, but with the fire blazing away it was at least snug and warm.
I snuggled into bed while Jack sorted the dogs out with accommodation in a little outhouse. They gave him a dirty look for evicting them from the fire, but there just wasn’t the space for all four of us. A bowlful of the dog biscuits he’d had the foresight to bring soon got him back into their good books though.
When he came back in, he knelt at my feet to give the fire a poke then dragged a battered old fireguard in front of it. He leaned down to give the toe peeping out from under the blanket a kiss before he crawled into bed to join me.
‘You’re not one of these feet people, are you?’ I said.
‘Don’t think so.’ He glanced down. ‘Mind you, they are very pretty feet. Maybe I could be converted. Become one of those fellers who drink champagne out of stilettos and get turned on at the mere sight of a supported in-step.’
I laughed. ‘Well if my shoes start going missing, I’ll know who to blame.’
‘Yep. Still, I think I like what’s at this end of you best.’ He leaned forward to plant a soft kiss on my lips.
‘This is sort of nice,’ I said, burrowing into his arms. There was no sound except the crackling fire and the sleeping dogs’ wheezy breathing, and, if I listened closely enough, the distant chatter of the beck. ‘Are you sure you’ll be okay sleeping inside?’
‘It’s not the sleeping so much as the living,’ he said, and I felt him shudder. Not for the first time, I wondered what went on in that big handsome head of his. Why being indoors for any lengthy period of time scared him so much.
‘Hey,’ he whispered, nuzzling into my neck. ‘We’ll have the place to ourselves for the night now. What do you think?’
I shook my head. ‘One whisky and you’re anyone’s, aren’t you?’
‘Only yours. Want to?’
‘Is there not something about shagging in bothies in the etiquette guide?’
‘I won’t tell if you don’t.’
I smiled as his hands slid up to unfasten my bra.
‘Thanks for being with me,’ he whispered into the ear he’d started kissing.
I held him back from me. ‘Why do you keep saying that, Jack?’
He blinked. ‘Do I?’
‘Yes. You say it all the time. Or things like it.’
‘Well, because… I want you to know, I guess.’ He drew a tender finger down my cheek. ‘It’s better when you’re here, Kit.’
‘What’s better?’
‘Everything. Me.’ In the fading fire glow, he scanned my face. ‘You know you can stay in the van with me as long as it feels like home, don’t you? Forever, if you want. I mean, I want you to.’
Forever. That was a big word. And Jack so rarely thought about or talked about a future beyond tomorrow, for him it was an even bigger word. I flushed as his exploring fingers started sliding sensuously over my hip.
‘I’m not going anywhere,’ was the last thing I said before he covered my lips with his, and like so many times previously I lost myself in him.
***
‘Soph!’
Jack’s yell was loud enough to echo round the fells. I woke with a jerk to find him sitting up on the blanket, gazing around wildly with eyes still milky from whatever nightmare had caused him to cry out.
He looked down at me in the thin dawn light streaming in through the little window. ‘Oh God, you’re okay,’ he said, sounding relieved. ‘You’re here.’
Jesus. He thinks I’m her…
‘No, love.’ I put a hand on his arm. ‘It’s me. It’s Kitty.’
‘What…’ He blinked himself fully awake, eyes unclouding as the dream fled. ‘Kitty. What happened?’
‘Just a dream, Jack. Just a bad dream.’
‘Yeah. I was dreaming…’ His eyes went wide. ‘Oh Christ, what did I do?’
‘Nothing bad,’ I said, massaging his back in soothing circles. ‘Just a bit of panic. Everything’s okay now.’
‘Did I hurt you? Sometimes I thrash about.’
‘No. I’m okay.’ I blinked back a tear. ‘You thought I was Sophie. That’s all.’
‘Oh my God. I didn’t.’
‘It’s all right. It’s only natural.’ I guided him back down and wrapped my arms around him. ‘Does it happen a lot, my lamb?’ I asked softly.
‘Not that much. I can go months not having the dream, then just when I start to feel relieved that it might be gone for good… I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have to see that.’
‘Is it always the same dream?’
‘Yes. The accident.’ He flinched. ‘In it, I’m – I’m the driver. I’m the one who does it, Kitty. And I can’t stop the car, I can just… watch. Her face.’
‘Jesus! Jack, that’s… oh, you poor boy.’ I held him tighter, trying to fathom the unbearable pain of a loved one’s dying face haunting your dreams.
‘Like turning out a light,’ Jack whispered after a moment’s silence. ‘That’s what she told me, the paramedic who took her away. She told me Soph was gone – because I wouldn’t believe it, not at first – and it happened so fast she wouldn’t have suffered. Wouldn’t have had time to feel anything.’
I didn’t know what to say to that. I just held him close and gently stroked his hair, waiting to see if he’d go on.
‘And the nights I wake from the dream,’ he said after he’d choked back a sob. ‘Those are the nights I wonder if it was true, or if it’s just something they say to make you feel better.’
‘It’s true. They wouldn’t lie.’
He let out a bleak laugh. ‘Why, because they’re doctors?’
‘Because… because it has to be true,’ I said, struggling to keep desperation out of my voice. ‘Needs to be.’
‘That’s what I tell myself.’ He made an odd little noise in his throat. ‘Before you were with me, I used to get up and just drive. Leave bad thoughts behind in the old place and start again somewhere new.’
I was starting to understand. Houses meant being trapped with his memories, his grief. On the road he could be free.
The thing was, where did that leave us? Ever since my conversation with Laurel up in Scotland, the words she’d said to me that day – you can’t compete with a dead wife, Kit – had been echoing around my brain. I’d tried to ignore them. Time after time, I’d told myself it would all be fine. All Jack needed was time and love and a listening ear, and eventually he’d be able to move on properly, with me. I just needed to be patient, that was all.
But I had to face facts. Getting over Sophie, that pain he called a part of him, wasn’t going to happen any time soon. Maybe it never would.
‘Glad I’ve got you, Kit,’ he said, cuddling into me. In the eerie morning silence, I pressed him tight against me while he drifted off. As for me, I couldn’t sleep a wink.