Читать книгу The Atlas of Us - Tracy Buchanan, Tracy Buchanan - Страница 8

In Exmoor, there’s a feeling that, at any moment, something might suddenly plummet. Like the sky that September day when Claire drove towards the inn for the first time, a watercolour of grey pooling around the edges of moss green valleys, ready to plunge down and destroy everything below. Or the sheep that stood nonchalantly on steep verges dipped in purple heather, unaffected by the tightrope they walked between the drop below and passing cars.

When Claire arrived at the inn, a white three-storey building that seemed more suited to the plains of America than this windy British valley, she too felt as though she might plummet at any minute. She’d been holding it together so long, but the conversation she’d had with her husband the night before had sent her into freefall, the fragile walls she’d built up around herself the past few years starting to crumble.

She didn’t check in as soon as she got there as she normally did on trips for the magazine. Instead, she’d headed straight for the signposted path leading towards the cliffs, praying the fresh air would bring her some peace as it always seemed to on her travels. As she entered the cocoon of trees behind the inn and followed the rippling river towards the sea with her Jack Russell, Archie, she didn’t think much, brain muted from the drive there and all that had happened the night before. Instead, she watched as the scenery changed from the lush foliage of the surrounding forest into a valley of grey rocks.

It had rained overnight and now the air was fresh, the sky overhead a light grey mist. Archie clambered over the small rocks, nudging his wet nose under the stones, nibbling at the weeds that lay drying beneath them. She was pleased the inn’s owner Henry Johnson had insisted she bring her dog to try out the pet-friendly rooms. She wasn’t sure how she’d have coped here completely alone. Sure, she was used to travelling solo with her job, but that was before the floor fell out from beneath her marriage.

Soon the path rose up and away from the river, a steep bank of grey rock either side. In the distance, the river’s mouth opened, bubbling over pebbles and out into a frothing sea. As she drew closer, metal barriers appeared with notices warning of sheer drops. She stopped at one of the barriers, looking out over the cliff, tummy wrinkling as she imagined tumbling into the furious waves below. Her publishing director wouldn’t be too pleased considering press day was just around the corner.

She allowed herself a small smile before pulling her camera out of her bag and lifting it to her face, taking the usual obligatory photos for the magazine … and some for herself too. She had a scrapbook of photos from trips such as these just for herself. They weren’t amazing photos; the magazine couldn’t afford to send her on a course. But she’d learned on the job how to take a half-decent picture and now she enjoyed it, capturing moments she might have otherwise struggled to remember later as she wrote articles to crazy deadlines.

When she’d taken enough photos of the roaring sea and craggy cliffs, she led Archie down the slope towards the lime kiln she’d read about, a hut-shaped structure that merged into its surroundings. Its entranceway gaped open and Archie ran towards it but she yanked him back, noticing the sign at the front warning people not to enter for their own safety. When she was a teenager, she would’ve marched right in, regardless of any signs, just like her dad used to. One of her earliest memories was of when she was five and they were visiting the Wailua Falls in Kauai, Hawaii, a stunning double-tiered waterfall that dropped over a hundred feet, surrounded by tropical green flora. Her dad had heard you could get the best photos by scrambling down the steep cliffs towards the base of the waterfall. So, as Claire watched from the safety of the viewing area with her mum and sister, he’d managed to do just that, taking the iconic photo Claire still saw in travel magazines showing two streams of water silver-white as they gushed into the green lagoon below. Looking at that photo, you could almost feel the splash of water on your face, hear the roar of the waterfall.

Ten years later, Claire had visited the Big Falls waterfall in California with her friend Jodie. Inspired by her dad, she’d crossed the river and scaled the jagged hillsides around it to reach the waterfall’s base, getting an amazing photo looking directly up the waterfall, the blue sky and bright yellow sun reflected in its sheen.

Put her in the same situation now and she wouldn’t dare do that. Life had taught her taking the risky path simply wasn’t worth it.

‘This way, boy,’ Claire said, pulling Archie away from the cliff edge and towards the cluster of boulders leading down to the ocean. They picked their way over the rocks towards the sea, fizz from the waves speckling Claire’s jeans. It was strange how still things felt at that moment, so calm and beautiful, despite the frenzied nature of the waves nearby. She was completely alone here, just Archie, the roar of the sea and the squawk of birds for company. Is this the way it would be from now on, just her and Archie? It was unlikely anyone else would take her barren, broken body, after all. Even at thirty-one, it seemed a daunting prospect. What about in twenty, thirty, forty years? Would she end up like her dad, ill and alone in some grotty flat, despite all she’d done to try to avoid a destiny like his? At least she’d been with him at the end. There would be no child holding her hand and mopping her brow now.

She sank down onto a large rock, putting her head on her hands. This was really happening, wasn’t it? Ben was leaving her, taking all the dreams they’d shared with him too. What was she going to do now? She felt a scrabbling at her feet and looked down to see Archie peering up at her with his one good brown eye – the other had been removed after a bout of glaucoma. He put his front paws on her knees and nuzzled his wet snout into her jeans. She leaned down, pressing her cheek against the warm fur of his neck.

‘At least I’ve got you, haven’t I, boy?’

He wagged his tail in response and she sighed, reaching into her bag and pulling out the book her friend Jodie had managed to get an advance copy of – Memoirs of a Geisha by Arthur Golden. That was the advantage of having a friend who was an arts and culture events organiser; she could sate her craving for good books before other people got their hands on them. Claire had met Jodie during her travels with her family when they were both thirteen – Jodie with her bohemian mum and crazy sisters, Claire with her ramshackle family. Jodie had been her one true friend, still was in a way, other friends just ships in the night due to the intense hours Claire worked. Both of them still somehow managed to meet whenever they could, despite their hectic schedules. She wondered what Jodie would say about her and Ben splitting up. Maybe she’d be secretly happy. Jodie had never really warmed to him.

She looked down at the book and let herself get lost in the words. That was all it took sometimes, the feel of flimsy paper between her fingers, the sight of black ink dancing before her eyes and delivering her into another world. Books were often her only companions on lonely nights during press trips. They’d been there for her when she was a kid craving consistency too, curling up in a little nook somewhere, the characters she’d read about becoming her friends when she only had her family for company as they travelled from one place to the next.

She reached into her pocket for her other companion – chocolate – and luxuriated in this chance to leave all her troubles behind, occasionally stopping to marvel at the scenery around her, her new fortress of solitude.

But it wasn’t long before her fortress of Solitude became a fortress of German tourists as a whole centipede of people appeared on the horizon, trailing one after another on the path above. Among them was a family, a little boy strapped to the mother’s chest in a baby holdall. She’d once dreamed of holidays like that with Ben.

She put her book away, reluctantly acknowledging it was time to head back and get on with the job. Her favourite kind of press trip were the ones organised by the tourist offices where she was met at the airport by a media rep then left to get on with it for the rest of the time, with the odd attraction visit and hotel inspection. But on the majority of her trips, most of her time was taken up by her host – usually someone who paid big bucks to advertise in the magazine – escorting Claire here, there and everywhere on a tight schedule, even just a one-nighter turning into a small kind of torture. She had a feeling this might be one of those trips; she’d met the inn’s owner before and he was a handful.

‘Ready to head back?’ she asked Archie.

He wagged his tail as she jumped up. A few minutes later, she was squeezing past the queue of Germans, apologising to them as Archie jumped up at their legs. Once they were behind her, she paused a moment to watch as they marched towards the sea. It already looked different, the blur of their forms blotting the scenery in front of her.

As she walked back along the path the tourists had come down, she thought of the conversation she’d had with Ben the night before. They’d been driving back from a friend’s wedding reception and she’d been looking out of the car window as the cat’s eyes on the road had blurred into one, creating a jet stream of light down the middle of the windy road. She’d had a bit to drink and had made Ben play Joni Mitchell’s ‘Both Sides Now’ over and over as she’d stared at that light, feeling miserable, thinking of how it was always these nights – these long drives in the dark – that got her thinking about everything they didn’t have. After a while, he’d turned to her, the misery on his face mirroring hers.

‘Maybe you should use this trip to Exmoor as a chance to think about things,’ he’d said.

‘What do you mean?’

He’d looked surprised. ‘You’re not telling me you haven’t noticed how strained things are between us, Claire? How miserable you are in particular?’

She’d felt the panic start to rise. Yes, she had noticed, but then they’d only just finished their last round of IVF two months before, then work had been hectic, her boss seeming to punish her for taking two weeks off for her treatment by making her work longer hours, go on even more trips. She’d barely seen Ben, and had kept telling herself they’d go away once things calmed down and get things back on track.

But things had never really calmed down.

‘Sorry, I’ve been so busy,’ Claire had said to Ben. ‘I’ll take some time off, we can go away like we said we would.’

Ben had sighed. ‘It’s not enough, Claire. Watching Robyn and Richard get married today made me realise just how much we’ve changed since we got married.’ His knuckles had turned white as he’d clung onto the steering wheel. ‘We’re broken, Claire. We’ve tried to fix it but it’s time we admitted it’s over.’

She’d attempted to grab his hand, pleading with him it wasn’t over, they just needed to fight for their marriage. But he’d just stared ahead, jaw set. That night, he’d slept in the spare room. The last she’d seen of him was the next morning as he’d watched her drive away, a look of relief on his face.

Relief. Had it really got that bad between them?

As she’d driven away, she’d wondered if he’d realised it was three years exactly from the day of their first embryo transfer. She tried to imagine carrying a toddler in her arms with him strolling beside her. Things would be different then, wouldn’t they? She’d have the secure family life she’d yearned for ever since she’d discovered her dad dying and realised a life lived on the edge just left you all alone. But that life was gone and now, instead of that toddler, all Claire saw were six embryos bobbing up and down in the sea, the same six that had failed to implant, leading to a bunch of negative pregnancy tests she still kept in a box in her wardrobe.

Ghosts of lost hope.

‘Oh God,’ she whispered. She stopped walking and leaned her hand against the hard grey rock of the cliff next to her to steady herself, gulping in huge breaths as she saw the life she’d dreamed of ebbing away.

Then a bark echoed out in the distance. Archie looked up from the patch of grass he’d been sniffing, back straight as a rod as he tried to detect the source of the sound. Claire followed his gaze to see a feral-looking dog running along a dash of path on the other side of the river. She hadn’t even noticed there was another path. Then the dog’s owner came into view: tall, dark hair, long stride. He was walking with purpose, eyes scouring all around him, his dark fringe lifting with every step to reveal a hint of long lashes, straight nose, tanned forehead.

Archie let out a woof that echoed around the valley.

The man paused mid-stride and looked up at them. His dog paused too, ears pricking. Then it let out a thin whine that stretched across the river and steep bank between them. The man stepped forward, whole body alert as he reached into his pocket, pulling out a pair of binoculars. He pressed them to his eyes and Claire froze, feeling like he’d actually run across the river and scrambled up the bank towards her. Even Archie stilled, pressing his small black and white body against Claire’s shins.

The man lowered his binoculars and pulled his walking stick out from under his arm. That’s when Claire realised it wasn’t a walking stick he was holding … it was a gun.

He cocked it up towards her, pressing his cheek against the flat edge of its top, and all the misery she’d just been battling drained away, replaced by fear.

‘Oh Jesus,’ she whispered, finally finding her feet and stumbling backwards.

Suddenly, the air was punctured with a sound like a firework going off. She ducked and there was a terrible keening sound from above. She looked up to see a large deer with spindly antlers and fur the colour of conkers staggering around, blood trickling from a small hole in its head. Archie whined and the stag’s eyes snagged on Claire’s, making her almost choke on the fleeting look of terror and hopelessness in them.

Then it tumbled down the bank, landing with a thump in front of her, one of its antlers cracking in half on impact.

She put her hand to her mouth, unable to drag her gaze away from the deer’s eyes, which were now staring into nothingness. Blood was pooling around its head and Archie tried to get to it, yanking Claire out of her shock. She pulled him back and turned towards the man, ready to scream at him – but he was gone.

She jogged back, whole body buzzing with anger. When she reached the inn, a white marquee was being set up on the expanse of green that fanned up from the river. A woman in her fifties watched from the path with a pretty blonde girl, her face lit up with pride. A wedding?

Wonderful.

Claire darted past them then paused as she noticed glimpses of a large farmhouse in between the leaves, dark and imposing, ivy strangling its gutters. Spread out beyond it was a huge hill that sloped into a valley, cows and sheep dotted all over.

She walked into the inn, the soles of her wellies squelching on the pine floorboards. She found Henry, the inn’s owner, in the plush-looking bar talking to a girl of about thirteen or fourteen with spirals of vivid red hair. She peered up at Claire, green eyes sparkling with curiosity as Archie’s tail wagged against Claire’s chest.

‘You got here!’ Henry said when he saw Claire approach. He bounded up to her, leaving the girl behind and giving Claire a kiss on both cheeks. He was huge, at least six foot three, with thick blond hair.

They’d met once before during a press trip to the boutique hotel he’d once owned in Oxford. She’d always found him a bit overwhelming and had been dreading spending more time than she needed to with him this weekend. That dread had grown after everything that had happened with Ben; how could she keep up the fake smiles today of all days? That was the thing with editing a travel trade magazine aimed at tour operators: you were forced into situations with people you wouldn’t usually want to spend much time with.

‘The new hairdo suits you,’ Henry said, smiling.

She put her hand to her head. That weekend, she’d impulsively asked her hairdresser to cover the usual brown with bright red and chop it to her shoulders. She hadn’t changed her hair in such a long time, her boss preferring her to keep the same style so she didn’t confuse the magazine advertisers. But she’d felt like she needed a change. When she’d stared at herself in the mirror afterwards, it seemed to have changed her face somehow, making her brown eyes look even bigger, skin even paler.

‘Did you arrive okay?’ Henry asked. ‘All checked in?’

‘Not checked in yet,’ Claire said as she tried to catch her breath, hands still trembling half with anger, half with shock at having a gun pointed at her. ‘We’ve just been for a walk. Look, I just saw—’

The girl approached, eyes on Archie, huge smile on her pretty face as she crouched down in front of him. She was wearing muddy jeans and wellies, and a green faded hoodie that matched the colour of her eyes. Archie backed away slightly, wary after the rough treatment of other children.

‘Your dog’s a bit nervous, isn’t he?’ the girl asked Claire.

Claire smiled. ‘He can be. He only has one eye so it makes him quite anxious with strangers.’

‘Oh yes, I can see now. You hardly notice with the black patch of hair. Thought it’d be something like that. Dad gets Jack Russells in to kill the rats on the farms sometimes and they’re always so confident. Uncle Milo says I’m to get myself to a dog’s level if they’re scared.’

‘That’s enough now, Holly, Claire doesn’t need to hear your uncle’s theories on canine behaviour, thank you very much.’ Henry leaned in close to Claire. ‘I’m afraid my niece hasn’t been taught manners,’ he whispered rather too loudly.

Rude git, Claire thought.

Holly frowned slightly at Henry’s comment as she slowly reached her hand out to Archie. He hesitated a moment, considering his options, then slunk towards her, head low, tail wagging. She softly stroked his ears and he drew even closer, leaning against her shoulder as she smiled.

‘She’s a wild one,’ Henry continued. ‘No surprise considering she’s part of my wife’s crazy family. I’ll tell you all about that after a few glasses of wine,’ he added, tapping his nose. ‘Plus she’s not had a proper mother figure all these years and has been brought up surrounded by pigs and tractors in the farm up the road.’

Claire thought of the farmhouse she’d seen just a moment ago. ‘Maybe all kids should be brought up on farms then?’ she said. ‘She’s wonderful with Archie.’

Holly looked up at Claire, a hesitant smile on her face. ‘Uncle Milo says I should be a vet. But I’d prefer to be a journalist, like you.’

‘She’s seen the magazine,’ Henry said, noticing the confused look on Claire’s face. ‘Been excited about your visit for days.’

‘Oh, it’s only a small magazine,’ Claire said to Holly. ‘How old are you?’

‘Fourteen.’

‘You have a while to decide what you want to be yet. Why don’t you look after Archie while I talk to your uncle?’ She handed Archie’s lead to Holly. ‘Make sure you hold the lead tight though, he likes to chase birds and cars.’

‘Just like your uncle Milo,’ Henry said, guffawing as he steered Claire away. His face grew serious when they got out of earshot. ‘Everything okay, Claire?’

‘Not really. I just saw a deer shot right in front of my eyes.’

His jaw twitched but he didn’t look surprised. ‘Whereabouts?’

‘On the path on the way to the cliffs, about twenty minutes from here. It was a man with dark hair, in his thirties I think. He had an old dog with him, it looked like a wolf with grey fur, and—’

‘Milo,’ Henry said, sighing.

Claire thought of what Holly had said. ‘Holly’s uncle?’

‘Yes, my wife’s bloody idiot of a brother. I told you that family is cuckoo.’

She peered towards Holly. ‘I don’t want to cause a family argument. I just think he needs to be a bit more aware of how terrifying it can be, having a gun pointed at you.’

‘Oh, he’ll be made aware, all right.’ He peered at the clock. ‘Do you want to freshen up? Then I have one hell of an afternoon planned for you.’

Claire forced herself to smile. She really didn’t want to be here. She wanted to be back home, saving her marriage. ‘Great, see you in twenty minutes.’

She turned away but not before she caught sight of her brown eyes reflected back at her in a nearby mirror. She thought of the hopelessness she’d seen in the deer’s eyes before it tumbled down the bank.

Claire picked up the pint of sweet cider she’d just ordered and settled back into the plump sofa, staring out of the window beside her towards the darkening valley and blanket of trees below. Her room overlooked the same scene a floor above. It was all cream carpets, mahogany furniture and plush red chairs, just like the bar she was sitting in. It felt too plush and romantic for just her. She yearned for Ben to be here. She’d told him she wouldn’t go when they’d got home from that dreadful drive, but he’d insisted. She’d even suggested to him that he join her. Her company forbade partners from attending trips but this was a special circumstance. But again, he refused. He’d clearly made his mind up and it should have shocked Claire to the core. But the truth was, she wasn’t surprised. She’d been in denial and now it was all unravelling.

So instead of Ben being her dinner partner, she’d had to endure Henry all afternoon and over dinner too. Only he could draw what would usually be an hour’s tour into four hours. And now she was sat here alone, belly full of Exmoor’s finest lamb, head already woozy from the few sips she’d had of her cider. She checked her phone, not that it was much use considering there was no reception here. When Henry had said the place was remote, he’d meant it.

She caught sight of the notepad she’d brought. She needed a distraction. Maybe she could start work on that travel memoir she’d always wanted to write? Except when she opened it, the blank page mocked her. She swirled a pattern in the margins, flowers tangled around the punctured holes like ivy, then wrote the word ‘Exmoor’ and her name, then a line – A watercolour of grey …

A gust of cold air wrapped itself around her, lifting the corners of her notepad. She looked up to see the man who’d shot the deer walk in, dark hair whipping about his head, the ash from the cigarette he was holding dancing towards her. Under the light of the bar, his brown eyes looked almost gold, his lips very red. He appeared younger close up, taller too. He was wearing what he’d had on earlier: black jeans tucked into green wellies, a typical farmer’s wax jacket. She had to admit he was very attractive – what her friend Jodie would describe as a ‘dasher’, all legs, rugged features and windswept hair. That didn’t detract from the fact he’d nearly killed her.

A man prowled in behind him. He looked a little like Milo but older, thinner, with hair a shade lighter than his. His brother? He hunched his shoulders and narrowed his eyes as he scanned the pub. Behind him, the feral-looking dog she had seen earlier slinked in. Now she could see it close up, she recognised some Irish wolfhound in it, maybe a touch of German shepherd too. He looked quite a few years older than Archie, his back legs a bit rickety.

Milo stubbed his cigarette out on the wall as he passed her, bringing with him the smell of grass and bonfires. He stared at Claire then looked down at her notepad. She slammed it shut, trying to look suitably indignant. He frowned slightly then strolled to the bar as Claire peeked at him under her eyelashes, taking in how short his hair was at the back, a contrast to his long fringe.

As his dog passed, Archie let out a low threatening growl. The dog paused, surveying Archie with startling blue eyes. Milo tapped two fingers on his thigh and his dog bounced to his side, pressing his face close to his owner’s leg.

Henry walked in from the restaurant with a thin, dark-haired woman – his wife, Claire presumed, and Milo and this other guy’s sister. She strolled up to her brothers as Henry disappeared behind the bar. Claire could see the similarities between the three of them. Same long, sinewy limbs; same brown feline eyes; same distinctive bone structure. She thought of what Henry had said earlier about them being ‘cuckoo’. She wondered what he meant by that. They certainly gave off a certain energy, the atmosphere in the bar charged in their presence.

The door opened again and Holly bounded in. She was wearing a blue taffeta dress that seemed a little childish for her age, the sleeves too short, the edges frayed. She whirled around the pub before Milo’s brother grabbed her arm and reprimanded her, making her pretty eyes fill with tears. Milo frowned and placed his hand on his brother’s arm, whispering something to him. His brother relaxed slightly and pinched Holly’s cheek playfully as she looked down at her feet, biting her lip. Claire’s heart went out to her and she shot her a quick smile. Holly’s face lit up and she smiled back at her. But then Milo’s brother glanced towards Claire and glared at her. She quickly looked away.

Yes, there was something a bit off about that family.

Henry handed a pint over to Milo who held his gaze with a long, cold stare before strolling towards a table in the corner, his brother and niece joining him. Milo sunk into a chair, taking a sip of his beer, his eyes drilling into Claire’s over the top of his glass as his brother knocked half his pint back, slamming it on the table and wiping his mouth. Claire turned away again, taking several gulps of cider in quick succession, panicking as she felt the bubbles working their way back up her throat and towards her nose. She coughed into her hand. Milo smiled to himself and she felt a stab of annoyance.

Henry caught her eye and strode towards her, crouching down beside her table. ‘Sorry I can’t join you, we’re short on staff tonight.’

‘Oh, it’s fine, I’m quite happy sitting here, taking it all in.’ Claire peered towards Milo and his brother. ‘Is that your wife’s two brothers?’

Henry followed her gaze and rolled his eyes. ‘Yes, the infamous James brothers, Milo the Mystery Man and Dale the Deranged.’

‘Deranged?’

‘Screw loose,’ Henry said, making circles with his finger over his temple. ‘Came back from fighting in the Falklands one sandwich short of a picnic.’

‘He’s a soldier?’

‘Was a soldier, until he spent a few months in a mental institute. I told you that family is nuts, something runs through those veins of theirs, a connection gone wrong in their set up. My wife Jen’s the only one who’s normal. You know their grandfather shot himself?’

Claire followed his gaze towards Dale who was clenching and unclenching his jaw as he stared into the distance. ‘That must have been very hard for Dale, being in the Falklands.’

‘We all go through tough times. Don’t turn us half-mad, do they?’ Henry leaned closer, lowering his voice. ‘I talked to Milo about how upset you were. I also told him he won’t be paid for that deer he shot.’

Claire thought of the red notices she’d seen on the drive down, the smoke on the horizon, the rotting stench as dozens of herds were culled. She’d even written about BSE, or Mad Cow Disease as it was known, for her magazine after many of the UK’s farm attractions had closed to tourists, the disease not only killing cattle but also being linked to vCJD, a brain condition in humans. But tourism was the least of the farm world’s problems. The worldwide ban on all British beef exports the year before was crippling them.

‘No, Henry, please,’ Claire said. ‘Farmers need all the money they can get with this BSE crisis.’

‘The farm’s problems started way before all this BSE nonsense! Thank God I came along and bought this inn off the family, otherwise there’d be no money left.’ He raised his voice as he spoke. Milo’s brother turned to look at Henry before sliding his gaze to Claire, the anger visible on his face.

She stood up. ‘I’m going to call it a night, Henry, it’s been a long day.’

‘But it’s only eight!’

‘I’m very tired.’ She manoeuvred out from behind the table. ‘Don’t say anything else to your brother-in-law, all right? And please, don’t dock his pay.’

‘But—’

Claire looked him in the eye. ‘Really, Henry. I’ll see you at lunch tomorrow as planned. I want to explore the area a bit in the morning then we can discuss what you have planned for the rest of my stay.’

She found herself taking one last look at Milo, who was now laughing at something Holly had said, then walked out of the bar, Archie trotting after her. As she reached the staircase, she heard footsteps behind her. She turned, thinking it was Henry then froze when she realised it was Milo.

Archie jumped up at his legs, tail wagging erratically.

Traitor, Claire thought.

‘I’m sorry about what happened earlier,’ he said. His voice was deep with a slight West Country twang. ‘Henry said you were upset.’

‘I think the deer was more upset,’ Claire said.

‘It was a red stag actually.’

Claire rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, that makes it better then.’

‘It does when it’s been trampling all over our crops and killing endangered wildlife,’ he said with a raised eyebrow.

She felt her face flush. She wasn’t qualified to have an argument about this. ‘Just be more careful in the future. I didn’t expect to have a gun pointed at me on my first day here.’

Archie whined, scrabbling his paws at Milo’s jeans. Milo leaned down, running his hand over Archie’s back. Then he peered up at Claire from under his fringe, his eyes sinking into hers. ‘Sorry, I’m being an idiot. I actually hate hunting.’

‘Then maybe you should consider a career change.’

‘It’s not as easy as that.’

She sighed. She shouldn’t have said that. ‘I’m sorry, it’s none of my business. Goodnight.’ She went to walk up the stairs.

‘You took the wrong path today, by the way,’ he called out after her.

She paused, turning around. ‘Sorry?’

‘The path you took to Hope’s Mouth.’

‘I took the official path.’

‘The official path isn’t always the best path.’

‘How so?’

‘Secret passages.’

Claire laughed. ‘I didn’t realise we were in Narnia.’

‘Narnia’s got nothing on Exmoor.’ His face grew serious. ‘I’ll take you tomorrow morning if you want.’

‘Sorry?’

‘Via the better path. Unless you have other plans, of course?’

Claire stared at him, not quite sure how to take him. Was he being serious?

His sister came out with a pint of bitter in her hands. ‘What are you doing, Milo?’ she asked, looking Claire up and down. ‘It’s Holly’s birthday, remember?’

‘Thanks, Jen.’ He put his arm around his sister’s shoulders and led her to the bar, peering over his shoulder at Claire. ‘So see you outside at eight tomorrow morning then?’

‘I have plans.’

‘I won’t bring my gun, if that’s what you’re worried about.’

They disappeared into the bar, laughter ringing out from inside. Claire stood where she was for a few moments, face flushed, heart thumping. Then she whistled for Archie and headed to her room, desperate to disappear into the pages of her novel again and forget all about gun-toting farmers with unbearably handsome faces.

The clouds hovered above like bin bags ready to burst as Claire walked outside the next morning. It was nine; she’d made sure not to show her face before then. If she went for a walk with Milo, how would that look? This was a work trip after all and she wanted to hurry up and get home. Then there was everything that had passed between her and Ben the past two days. It wouldn’t be right.

But as she rounded the corner, the first person she saw was Milo, his hands in the pockets of his wax coat as he leaned against a wall, a small smile on his face. Her traitorous lips tried to form a smile in response. She forced them into a grim line instead.

‘You’re a bit late,’ Milo said, looking at his watch.

‘I never said I’d meet you.’

‘But you’re here now.’

‘No, I’m heading out for a walk alone, with my dog. I need to take more photos for the magazine.’

‘Oh, come on. Doesn’t the part of you that bought those earrings want to see Narnia?’ he said, referring to the striped tribal earrings Claire’s dad had got her when they were in Zanzibar.

‘Narnia’s a million miles away from where I got these earrings,’ she said, thinking of the red dusty roads and cracked pavements, tiny children dressed in torn jeans and filthy T-shirts reaching their hands out to her as she passed in the four-by-four her dad had hired. Then there was the other side: the soft golden sands of the affluent coastal resort of Mangapwani; the scent of expensive suntan lotion mixing with exotic spices; couples walking hand in hand as the sky turned orange on the horizon, the same sun that was setting on those children just a few miles away. It was something Claire saw in every place she visited, excruciating poverty in sharp contrast to nauseating wealth. She always tried to touch on it in her writing, her little way of helping in some way, but the lines she wrote were inevitably cut out at subbing stage, her publishing director scolding her as he told her she didn’t work for ‘bloody Oxfam’.

‘Narnia might be far from Zanzibar,’ Milo said, snapping her out of her reverie. ‘But it’s just a thirty-minute walk from here.’

He shot Claire a smile, teeth white and crooked, brown eyes sparking, and her stomach rippled. She wrapped her arms around herself, pressing the handle of Archie’s lead into her middle. She wasn’t supposed to react like this to another man.

Milo raked his fingers through his dark hair. ‘Look, I feel bad about what happened yesterday. I’m doing this to make it up to you. No tourists know about this place, you’ll love it. Really. You can write about it in your magazine.’

‘I don’t know,’ she said, peering towards the path she’d taken the day before.

‘Fine,’ he said, putting his hands up as he backed away. ‘I get the message. I’m going up there anyway so feel free to join me. If not, I guess I’ll see you across the river on your official path in a couple of hours.’

He strode away and Claire stood where she was a few moments. It would be good to write about something a little different. She’d got a letter from a reader the other day moaning that all the magazine ever wrote about was information they could get in guide books anyway.

She decided to follow him after all. Maybe that reader would rue their words this time?

Milo slowed down when he heard her footsteps and let her fall into step beside him, shooting her a smile.

‘How long have you had him?’ he asked as they watched Archie stop at each place Milo’s dog did, resolutely covering his scent with his own.

‘Five years. No one else would have him at the rescue place – too snappy apparently.’

Milo raised an eyebrow. ‘So you’re a fan of the underdogs, then?’

Claire thought of the other children she’d try to play with during her travels as a kid: strays and waifs with hidden troubles. ‘I suppose so.’

‘Holly told me how you stuck up for her in front of Henry.’

‘Is Holly an underdog?’

His face clouded over. ‘In some ways.’ Archie jumped up at his legs and his face softened. ‘So how old is he?’

‘Seven.’

‘He still looks like a pup.’

‘Everyone says that. But he sees himself as a man dog.’

Milo laughed. ‘Man dog. I like that.’

Claire felt a stab of guilt. Ben had come up with that phrase. She wondered how he’d feel about her walking their dog with a man who looked like Milo. Maybe he wouldn’t care.

‘So how do we get onto this better path?’ Claire asked, shrugging the thought away.

‘Over that.’ He pointed towards the river.

‘We have to cross the river?’

He put on a mock scared face. ‘I know, rivers can be terrifying, all that water trickling over little scary pebbles.’

She smiled. ‘Enough of the sarcasm! I just meant there’s no bridge and the sign said the river’s deep.’

The sign said.

She felt her face flush with embarrassment. Milo probably thought she was a right wuss.

‘It’ll be fine,’ he said. He looked down at her wellies, just shin-high and covered with fat pink flowers. ‘They’re waterproof, right? And the part of river I’m thinking about isn’t as deep as here. I’ll show you.’

She followed him down towards the bank, watching as the river gushed over clusters of rocks.

‘See, doesn’t look so bad up close,’ he said, smiling to himself. She noticed he got a small dimple in his right cheek when he smiled. ‘Still scared, city girl?’

She rolled her eyes. ‘City girl, as if! I’ve seen plenty of countryside, and not just in the UK either. I’m more worried for you actually. If you fall in, I’d have to jump in and save you, wouldn’t I? My hair goes all curly when it gets wet, it’ll be a pain to re-style it.’

Milo blew his fringe out of his eyes. ‘You think this fringe isn’t a nightmare after a dunk in the river?’

Claire laughed.

‘And as for the city girl thing,’ he said, looking her up and down. ‘I was only joking. It’s obvious you’re not.’

Claire looked down at what she was wearing: the purple leggings she’d discovered in a Californian flea market, the holey jumper Ben had bought her in Belgium and, of course, her flowery wellies, all the way from Scotland.

She smiled. ‘I guess not.’

‘So you going to put those flower power wellies to use then?’

She felt a funny little thrill in the pit of her stomach, like she was at that waterfall again. But that was ridiculous, it was just a bloody river! ‘Why not?’ she said.

‘Blue!’ Milo shouted, pointing to the other side of the river. His dog peered up then bounded across the river, paws splashing into the water, tail wagging. Archie went to chase after him but Claire pulled him back, leaning over to pick him up. He’d be belly-deep in water if she let him walk across.

‘Interesting name for a dog,’ she said as she looked at Milo’s dog.

‘Colour of his eyes.’

‘Of course.’

‘It’s a narrow ridge,’ Milo said, stepping into the water. ‘One step left or right and you’re both under.’

She stepped in after him. It wasn’t so deep after all.

He peered at her. ‘Told you it wouldn’t be so scary.’

‘I’m disappointed. Nothing like another life or death situation to make a girl’s holiday go with a zing.’

Milo stepped onto the river. ‘Try milking a herd of pre-menstrual cows at five am.’

‘You were doing that this morning?’ Claire asked as she carefully followed him, feeling the squelch of her soles against the water.

‘I do it every morning before the sun rises. We have over a hundred cows so it can take a couple of hours. Then I have to feed and clean them. By that time, it’s nearly ten. But no stopping there, then it’s time to feed the young stock.’

‘Lambs and calves?’

Milo smiled. ‘Yep. Wriggly little buggers but once they’re calm and feeding, it’s quite peaceful. The rest of the day I’m mucking stables out, repairing fences, retrieving livestock that have decided to go wandering … knackering work really, but worth it.’

Claire breathed in the air, taking in the smell of grass and brine. ‘Have you been farming all your life?’

‘Yep, the farm’s been in our family for generations. My older brother Dale joined the Forces when I was thirteen, so our parents relied on me and my sister Jen to help out. When they passed away, they left the farm to Dale – it always gets passed down to the oldest son.’

Claire thought about what Henry had told her about Milo’s grandfather committing suicide. ‘When did your parents pass away?’ she asked softly.

‘When I was seventeen. Dad had a heart attack and Mum died not long after from a stroke. Jen reckons she died of a broken heart.’

‘That must have been a tough time.’

‘Yep. They had us pretty late so they weren’t exactly spring chickens but to lose them within a few months of each other …’ He sighed. ‘To make matters worse, Dale had just recovered from his injuries after getting back from the Falklands.’ By injuries, Claire wondered if he meant psychological injuries too, considering what Henry had so indiscreetly told her. ‘He was desperate to get back to army life but he had to stay and look after the farm. He did really well at first actually,’ Milo continued. ‘The farm’s turnover nearly doubled, the animals were happier than they’d ever been – fewer visits to the vets, more births. Then this whole BSE thing happened.’

‘Were there any cases on the farm?’ Claire asked as they reached the middle of the river. It was very dark there, the trees bending right over both sides of the river.

‘No, but once a link between BSE and vCJD was made, that was it, milk production and beef sales nosedived. Dale’s really struggled to hold things together.’

‘But the farm’s still here, your brother did well to ride the worst of it. And the profits from the inn must help too?’

His shoulders tensed. ‘Hardly. We barely get anything from that.’

‘But Henry implied—’

‘That he was our saviour?’

‘Not in so many words …’

‘Don’t worry, he tells us himself whenever he gets the chance. Yes, the share we get of the profits helps. But if we’d kept the land we sold to him a few years back, we’d have got a much better price for it now. Bloody Henry!’

He quickened his step, striding across the rest of the river so fast Claire had to jog to keep up with him. As they neared the other bank, her foot scooted out from under her and she nearly stumbled. He turned, grabbing the tops of her arms, steadying her. ‘Careful now.’

She peered up at him, taking in the fine stubble on his chin, the slight bump in his nose she hadn’t noticed before. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple rising and falling, and she imagined placing her lips on it.

She turned away in surprise, face flushing. Where on earth had that image come from?

‘Come on, we’re on the other path now,’ he said. ‘The better path.’

She followed his gaze towards a small path weaving its way from the bank up into the hills. Blue was already some way up the path, front paws on a tree stump as he looked down at them. Maybe she should turn back? She should have followed her instincts and not come with Milo. She was vulnerable after what had happened between her and Ben, her mind all a fizz. But how would it look if she turned back now?

One walk, she thought, then that’s it, I’ll avoid him for the rest of my stay.

Claire let Archie down and followed Milo up the bank. Viewed from the path Claire had walked along yesterday, this area had looked like a mass of wild trees and bushes.

‘So where’d you grow up?’ Milo asked Claire.

‘Everywhere. My dad was a travel writer too, freelance though,’ she explained. ‘We tagged along with him all over the world as he was paid by different newspapers and magazines to write about the places we visited.’

‘What about school?’

‘Mum’s a teacher, she home-schooled me and my sister.’

A memory struck Claire then, from when her family had visited the Japanese city of Osaka when she was ten. They were staying in a hotel overlooking the river so they could watch the famous Tenjin Matsuri boat festival the next day. After coming back from lunch one day, Claire had seen a group of school kids chasing each other down the path below her hotel room. She remembered thinking she’d give up all her travels to be one of those kids, secure at school and surrounded by friends. But the next evening, as she’d watched the beautifully lit boats glide down the river below, she’d thought what a fool she’d been to think that. This was the battle that had always raged inside, her yearning for normality versus her wanderlust.

‘Do you have any siblings other than your sister?’ Milo asked.

Claire snapped out of her memory. ‘No, just Sofia. She has a kid about the same age as Holly actually, Alex. He’s great. Holly’s your niece, right?’

‘Yep.’

‘What about her mum?’

His eyes slipped away from Claire’s. ‘She left a few years back. Dale got sole custody of Holly.’ He leaned down to pick up a pebble, cleaning it on his sleeve. ‘So did your dad get you into writing?’

‘Yeah,’ she said eventually, noting the change of subject. ‘He even got one of my articles published when I was just thirteen.’

‘Impressive. What was it about?’

Claire smiled to herself. ‘It was just a short article about the Sichuan giant panda sanctuaries in the south-west of China. But I loved seeing my name in print.’

‘Wow, you really have been to some amazing places. What was it like?’

‘Wonderful. My dad knows one of the managers so we got a private tour. The sanctuaries are spread across the edge of the Qionglai and Jiajin mountains. I remember being in complete awe of the lush green landscapes and imposing mountains. And that’s before we even got to the pandas.’ She laughed. ‘They’re so fluffy, just like they’ve been plucked from a giant toy box. My dad noticed me scribbling away in my notepad so suggested I write an article. He sent it to the editor of a children’s section in one of the national newspapers and he published it.’ Claire looked down at the silver globe pendant hanging from her bag. ‘My dad got me this to mark the occasion, my first ever published article.’

Milo’s eyes widened.

‘What’s up?’ Claire asked.

He smiled, pulling the collar of his jumper down to reveal a bronze globe pendant hanging from a length of black leather twine wrapped around his neck.

‘I didn’t know you were into travelling,’ Claire said, surprised.

‘Oh, I haven’t travelled much. I’d like to though.’ He peered down at the globe. ‘This belonged to my grandfather. He was the only James man not to stay and work the farm all his life. He travelled instead after the war, working bars and restaurants, using the experience he got from the inn to hop from one country to the next. Quite a thing to do back then.’

‘Would you like to travel like he did?’

He nodded. ‘There’s a box of letters and photos from his travels that I used to rummage through when I was a kid. It gave me the travel bug.’ His face darkened. ‘But then my parents died and I had no choice but to stay and help on the farm.’

‘You have a choice now, surely? I’m sure Dale could cope on his own.’

He shook his head vehemently. ‘No, trust me, he couldn’t. It’s too much for one person. He needs me.’

‘I’m sure he’d rather see you happy than wishing you were on the other side of the world.’

‘Nah, I owe him.’

‘Owe him? Why?’

His face grew stiff. ‘Long story.’

Claire didn’t push him on the subject. It wasn’t her place. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t pry.’ They were quiet for a few moments then she turned back to him. ‘Okay, let’s pretend you did have the freedom to just travel. Where would you go?’

His face lit up again. ‘I’d start in Australia and I’d set up a mango farm.’

Claire laughed. ‘A mango farm?’

‘Hey, it’s no joke. My friend Joe has one in Oz.’ He looked wistfully into the distance. ‘It’s perfect. He told me he wakes in the morning as the sun rises and walks out barefoot among the trees, feeling the red sand beneath his feet. He treats those mangoes like his kids, nurtures them until they’re ripe for picking. He reckons the satisfaction of picking each mango, then placing them one by one in wooden carts to be taken away for others to taste is the best feeling in the world.’

Claire watched him as he talked, saw the passion in his face, felt the incredible desire he had for a life so completely out of reach for him right now. It made her heart ache.

‘So whereabouts in Australia is this mango farm?’ she asked, wanting to keep that smile on his face.

‘In the Outback, near Ayers Rock.’

She smiled. ‘I’ve been there.’

‘You have?’

She nodded. ‘I remember the first time I went, it felt like I was on Mars. There’s red sand everywhere you look and this feeling in the air like you’re the only person on the planet. And Ayers Rock itself – or Uluru, as my dad used to call it – is astounding, rising up tall and proud above you, almost beckoning you to go right up and touch it. It has this power to it that I can’t explain.’

His brown eyes lit up with excitement. ‘I knew it was as good as Joe said! If I ever go, you’ll have to come with me, you clearly love the place.’

She felt her cheeks flush. She could tell he was just joking but still, it made her feel self-conscious. ‘I’d make a good business partner,’ she said, trying to show she was going along with it. ‘I can do all the marketing and stuff.’

‘You’ll get paid in mangoes, that okay?’

‘As long as I get an office,’ she teased back.

‘Yes, of course. I might even throw in health insurance.’

‘We have a deal!’

They did an impromptu high five then burst out laughing. For a moment, she forgot about her marriage troubles and her infertility. It was just her and a stranger laughing in the middle of a West Country valley.

It occurred to Claire then how strange that was: her laughing in the middle of nowhere with a virtual stranger; a stranger who’d pointed a gun at her the day before. But then hadn’t she spent the past few years going on guided tours with complete strangers?

She dropped her gaze from his and looked around her. The wild tangle of bushes had petered out into banks of steep grey rock, small green shrubs dotted here and there. It felt like they were in a cave, the sky above grey to match the banks. The pebble path stretched out before them then turned a corner, glimpses of the violent sea flashing between a bank of trees.

‘So, we nearly at Narnia then?’ Claire asked.

‘Nearly. Come on.’

He quickened his step and Claire followed with a smile on her face. Blue ran ahead as Archie trotted after him. ‘So what about you?’ he said. ‘Any plans to live in the Himalayas or something?’

Claire’s smile died away. What were her plans now without Ben? Would they sell the house? It had taken them so long to find the Victorian terrace and do it up just as they liked over the years. She felt a wave of nausea as she realised what she was contemplating. Was this really happening?

‘Are you okay?’ Milo asked, his brow furrowing.

‘Yes, sorry, my mind just drifted.’ She forced the smile back onto her face. ‘Not sure my boss would appreciate me working from my home office in the Himalayas.’

‘So is this a job for life then?’

‘That was the plan.’

‘Was?’

She hadn’t realised she’d used the past tense. ‘I meant is. It’s the right path for me.’

‘Maybe the right path isn’t always the best path?’

Claire thought of her dad. What had not following the right path done for him? ‘The right path pays my mortgage,’ she said.

Except there’d be no mortgage if her and Ben split up. There was no way she could afford it on her own with her wage. She lifted her fingers to her mouth, nibbling at a loose nail. Milo’s eyes flickered over her wedding ring. She pulled her sleeve down to cover it.

‘Right, we’re seconds away from Narnia,’ Milo said, diverting his eyes. ‘Sure you’re ready? It’s just around this bend.’ He gestured for her to walk ahead of him so she quickened her step. As she turned the corner, the soft scent of honey drifted towards her and then a truly beautiful sight came into sight: both banks either side of her were completely shrouded in violet flowers, bruised so deep purple it was like she was standing in twilight. Claire stopped, mouth dropping open as Milo appeared next to her.

‘You probably saw the flowers on the way here,’ he said, reaching for one of them and handing it to her. ‘Bell heather. They thrive in full sun,’ he said, peering up at the sky. The clouds were gliding away now, rays of yellow sun streaming into the valley. ‘They smell lovely too, Holly has them in her room for their scent.’

She lifted the bloom to her nose and breathed in its sweet tones. She then tucked it into her bag for her own room and glided her hands over the others as she closed her eyes. All thoughts of Ben and their future – her future – disappeared.

There was just now.

She opened her eyes to find Milo watching her, the look on his face making her very aware of the space between them, the thump of her heart, the background sound of violent waves.

She broke his gaze and looked down at her bag, taking her camera out. ‘It’s beautiful. Really beautiful,’ she murmured. ‘I must take some photos.’ She put her camera to her face, pleased it was covering her flushed cheeks. ‘Is that the sound of waves I can hear?’ she asked after a while.

‘Yep, you can get to Hope’s Mouth just through there,’ he said, pointing to a small archway in the distance.

‘Great, I wanted to take more photos of the sea yesterday but a whole bunch of tourists turned up. Shall we go?’

He tensed. ‘You go. I’ll stay here with the dogs.’

‘I don’t have to.’

‘No, please do.’

So she did, walking through the archway in the cliff, surprised to find herself at the barrier where she’d been the day before, the waves crashing against the rocks below. It was even more beautiful than it had been yesterday, hints of hazy blue in the sky now, the sun sparkling off the waves. She took out her camera and started taking photos, doing what she always did when a situation unnerved her: slipping into travel journalist mode, hiding behind a camera and notepad.

After a while, she heard footsteps and turned to see Milo approaching with Archie and Blue. He looked nervous, eyes flickering towards the sea then back to Claire.

‘Decided to come up?’ she asked him.

‘Your dog was whining for you.’

She laughed, leaning down to cuddle Archie. When she looked up, Milo’s gaze was focused on the sea, face very sombre, eyes glassy. She looked at him in surprise.

‘You okay?’ she asked.

‘Just the wind.’

Was it really just the wind?

They were quiet for a few moments then he nodded towards the cliff edge. ‘Shall we walk to the edge? You’ll get much better photos from there.’

‘Past the barriers?’

He nodded.

‘Is it safe?’

He smiled. ‘Are we going to have another river episode? Aren’t you the girl who travelled off the beaten track when she was a kid?’

‘That was then.’

‘And now?’

She avoided his gaze. ‘I have tour guides telling me where to go.’

‘Then consider me your tour guide. You won’t fall, I’ll make sure you won’t.’

He put his hand out to Claire. She glanced at it, heart thumping, then reached her hand out too, raising her gaze to meet his.

Then she heard a cry for help.

‘Did you hear that?’ she asked, letting her hand drop back to her side.

Milo nodded and shielded his eyes with his hand as he looked in the direction of the sound. Then he whispered a ‘Jesus’ under his breath. Claire followed his gaze to see two blue ropes tied to a solitary tree nearby, one of them broken off.

‘Looks like someone’s tried to abseil down the cliff face,’ Milo said. ‘Both those ropes should be securely tied around the tree.’

He ran beyond the barriers and stared over the right side of the cliff edge. Claire hesitated a moment then followed him, looking down to see the cliff plunge dramatically into the violent sea below, jagged rocks jutting up from the waves like teeth. And there, pressed against the cliff face about a metre above the rocks, was a man, his face twisted up to stare at them.

‘The rope got stuck,’ he shouted up to them, his voice carried along by the wind. ‘I can’t get up. I’m getting bloody married on Friday, Sarah will kill me if I don’t get killed by the rocks first!’

‘Don’t tell me he’s the one getting married at the inn,’ Claire said.

Milo shook his head. ‘What an idiot. He has no idea of the danger he’s in. It’s not the kind of cliff you want to climb at the best of times, but a few days before your wedding?’

She reached into her bag. ‘I’ll call—’

‘No reception, remember?’

‘Then we should go back, call from the inn.’

‘The tide’s rising, see?’ Milo said, pointing to the waves that were lapping at the man’s feet now. It was coming fast. ‘I’ll need your help. Tie Archie’s lead around the tree.’

Claire did just that as Milo shrugged his coat and jumper off to reveal a black T-shirt, tanned arms. He slipped his coat carefully under the rope.

‘Have you got something on under your jumper?’ he asked, his eyes running over her.

She felt her cheeks flush. ‘Yes, a T-shirt.’

‘Take your jumper off then.’

‘Why?’

‘To protect your hands. We’re going to have to pull him up via the remainder of the rope.’

‘Isn’t that risky? What if it breaks too?’

‘It shouldn’t, not with my coat protecting it from the friction caused by the cliff edge. The risk of us doing nothing is greater.’

‘Right,’ she said, pulling her jumper off to reveal a Bob Dylan 1984 tour T-shirt. She looked down at Milo’s hands. ‘What about you?’

‘I’ll be fine.’

‘Don’t be silly. We can use some of my jumper too.’

‘Are you sure? I’ll have to tear it.’

She tried not to think about the fact Ben had bought it for her. ‘It’s fine, really.’

Milo helped her tear off an arm of the jumper and wrapped it around his large hands before running back to the cliff edge.

‘What’s your name?’ he shouted down to the man.

‘Matt,’ the man shouted back up.

‘Right, Matt. You’ve got yourself into a dangerous situation here. We’re going to pull you up via the intact rope. Can you give me some slack please so I can take some of the rope?’

‘What if it breaks?’ Matt asked, his voice shrill now.

‘It won’t. My coat’s beneath it so it won’t get damaged.’

‘Hundred per cent sure?’

‘No. But I’m a hundred per cent sure the tide’s rising enough to drown you soon if we don’t try to get you up.’

Matt didn’t answer but Claire could imagine his face. She heard movement and saw the rope had slackened. Milo crouched down, taking hold of it.

‘Right,’ he shouted down to Matt. ‘You need to help us by pulling yourself up via any bits of rock you find on the way. But be careful not to swing. I’ll shout when we’re ready to start.’

He ran back over to Claire, feeding the rope through with his hands.

‘What if he’s too heavy and one of us stumbles?’ she asked him. ‘We could go over the edge.’

‘I won’t let that happen.’

‘But—’

‘I need you to trust me.’

She wanted to say How can I, I barely know you! But instead, one word popped out of her mouth. ‘Okay.’

‘Good.’ He lifted her hands up, tangling what remained of her jumper around them until they were protected by three inches of wool. ‘I need you to take hold of the rope there a few metres away and pull when I say – like a tug of war, right?’

He headed to the cliff edge, stopping about half a metre away from it. He then crouched down, taking hold of the rope as he dug his heels into the ground. Claire did the same, heart thumping.

‘Ready?’ Milo shouted down to Matt.

‘Yes,’ he shouted back up, voice hoarse with fear.

Milo started pulling, the muscles in the backs of his shoulders flexing as he slowly heaved backwards, feeding the rope back behind him as he pulled the slack. There was the sound of rocks falling in the distance, scrabbling feet, a cry of alarm.

The rope jolted and Claire let out a scream. Milo turned to look at her then started slipping forwards, feet trying to find traction in the ground as he drew closer and closer to the edge. Claire tried to pull him back with the rope but didn’t have the strength.

So she made a decision, doing something the old Claire would’ve done: she took a risk.

She let go of the rope and ran to Milo, crouching down and wrapping her hands around the rope closest to him, her knees against his back.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ he asked her.

‘You need me here. Come on.’

He shot her an exasperated look then turned back to the front, pulling at the rope. Claire did the same, putting all her strength into it and dragging herself back. They staggered backwards and backwards until, finally, a hand slapped onto the cliff’s surface and Matt dragged himself up before collapsing onto the ground.

‘You okay?’ Milo asked him, flinching as he let go of the rope. Claire’s jumper was worn completely away and the skin on his palm red raw.

Matt nodded, unable to speak as he tried to catch his breath.

Milo turned to Claire. ‘You did great.’

She felt a strange sense of pride. She’d never done something like that, helped save a man’s life. It felt good. ‘Is this what happens when you take the better path?’ she asked Milo.

Milo put his hand on her shoulder. ‘Looks like it. Feels good, doesn’t it?’

Claire wasn’t sure what to make of the thunder of her heartbeat as he touched her.

Then she thought of Ben and moved away from him.

Matt stumbled over to them. ‘Thank you so much, both of you.’

‘You’re very lucky, mate,’ Milo said. ‘Just a few more moments and you’d have been fish food.’

A few minutes later, as they walked back to the inn, Matt stopped them, pointing into the distance. From there, they could just about make out the cliff face that had been hidden from them before – the part Matt had been climbing away from. On its side was a huge heart messily painted on the stone with pink paint.

‘I did it for my fiancée,’ he said.

It was the same heart that was shown over and over again on the news in the following weeks.