There’s still no sign of him, so I walk down to the river and watch the water rush around the rocks and boulders on its way downstream. It’s much shallower here than in town, and the water is so clear you can see the flat brown pebbles lying on the bottom. In town, it’s brown and so deep that all manner of dubious items lurk in its depths. You wouldn’t want to swim in it, let alone drink it, but here the water looks so fresh and clean that I’m tempted to scoop some up and taste it.
The opposite bank of the river looks much wilder than this side, a dark tangled place where ash and sycamore trees compete for space, their roots poking through the river bank where the water has eroded the soil. A few trees have become so unsteady they grow outwards, their boughs and sometimes even their trunks leaning out low across the water. On this side of the river, the trees are more spaced out and uniform, growing upright, tall and proud. It’s a very pretty spot. Peaceful. I spy a small waterfall a little way upstream and decide to get nearer to take a photograph.
Unfortunately, further on, the trees that I thought so nicely spaced and uniform grow as wild as the ones on the opposite bank. Leaves brush my face and brambles snag on my trousers, winding around my legs as though they’re alive. As I push one away, another one takes its place. It feels like the vegetation is out to claim me for its own and I’m already regretting my decision. My heels sink into the soft earth and catch on the gnarly roots, making me stumble as I struggle with the brambles. Deciding the waterfall isn’t worth it, I turn to go back the way I came and put out a hand to steady myself on a nearby tree trunk. I expect to encounter rough bark, but instead feel soft material and the unmistakable warmth of a human arm.
There’s a man standing against the tree in full camouflage, wearing a balaclava.
My scream rips through the air and everything is a blur of leaves and sky and ground as I try to run. There is no calm appraisal. No logic. It’s fight or flight, and I choose flight.
I only get a few metres before I step in a rabbit hole. A blinding flash of pain and a crunch, and the ground comes up to meet me, knocking the air from my lungs.
‘Owwwww! Ow, ow, owwwwww!’ I clutch my lower leg. The pain from my ankle is unbearable.
‘Hey, hey, hey!’ The camouflage man approaches slowly, palms outstretched to show he’s no threat. ‘Shhh now. Calm down. I’m not going to hurt you.’
He speaks softly with an Irish accent, and dimly, through the panic and pain, it dawns on me that this is bloody Aiden Byrne. Oh Christ, why did I have to get the weirdo to interview on my first solo assignment? I think of all the normal people in normal places I’ve interviewed when shadowing Phil and think how unfair it is that I get the guy that plays hide-and-seek in the woods.
Aiden squats a few feet away from me and removes the camo-print balaclava. He doesn’t look so scary without it. He’s in dire need of a shave and his dark hair is crazy long and wild, sticking out in all directions, but his green eyes are kind and creased with concern.
‘I’m so sorry,’ he says. ‘I was asleep, else I would have let you know I was there.’
‘You were asleep?’ I prop myself up on my elbow and peer at him, still panting with pain and shock. ‘But you were standing up!’
‘Makes no difference to me.’ He shrugs. ‘I can sleep anywhere. I was waiting to photograph the owl that lives in that tree. It’ll occasionally come out in the afternoon and sit on a branch but I’d been waiting for ages and must have drifted off. Are you hurt?’
‘Yes, obviously! My ankle …’ I try to move it, but pain slices through me making me close my eyes and gasp.
‘Oh shit. You don’t think it’s broken, do you?’
‘I don’t know.’ I feel like crying, but I can’t, not here, now, in front of the man I’ve come to interview. It’s hardly professional behaviour.
‘What are you doing down here, anyway?’ he asks. ‘Are you lost?’
What? For crying out loud!
‘No, I’m Orla Kennedy, from the Hawksley Gazette. You’re Aiden Byrne, right? You agreed to an interview?’
‘Oh! Friday at three?’
‘That’s right.’
‘But today’s … Wednesday?’ He looks questioning, like he knows that’s probably not right but he doesn’t have a clue what day it is.
‘No, today’s Friday.’
‘Really? Christ, I’m so sorry!’ He pushes back his hair from his face. ‘I completely lost track of what day it is. Here, let me help you up.’
‘Oh no, I don’t think I can.’ I shrink away from him, not wanting to move or be touched or anything. I feel sick and dizzy and just want to sit here for a minute and compose myself.
‘Well, you can’t stay sitting down there like that. We’ll have to do something.’
‘Yes, I know, but just give me a minute. Maybe it will pass.’
He raises an eyebrow and stands up. He’s very tall, at least six foot. For the first time, I notice the camera that hangs on a cord around his neck. He’s younger than I expected. For some reason, I thought he’d be about 40 or so, but he looks to be in his late twenties. Maybe I should have researched him more thoroughly before coming out here.
‘I was expecting a man, actually,’ he says. ‘I spoke to someone called Phil on the phone.’
‘Yes, he had another appointment so you’ve got me instead.’ I shuffle backwards slightly and bend my good leg ready to support my weight. ‘Okay, I think I’m ready to try and stand. Can you help me up?’
‘Of course.’ He reaches down and pulls me upwards so I’m standing on my good foot. As a rule, I don’t like getting too close to people I don’t know well. I like my personal space. But I feel so light-headed and unsteady that I need to lean against him to steady myself. Gingerly, I try to put my left foot down but can’t put any weight on it at all.
‘Oh, sweet Jesus! You can’t walk, can you!’
I shake my head, teeth gritted with the pain.
‘Here, I’ll help you. Come on.’ Hitching my arm over his shoulder, he wraps his arm around my waist, supporting my weight as we hobble forward. I don’t know how I’m going to get back to his tent let alone my car. We shuffle a few more paces but the pain is too much and I have to stop. ‘Alright, okay,’ he says, and then scoops me up into his arms. With a yelp of surprise, I wrap my arms around his neck in case he drops me, but he’s surprisingly strong and carries me easily through the trees, stepping over the foliage that caused me such difficulties a few moments ago.
It’s a strange sensation being carried by a total stranger, and if it wasn’t for the pain, I’d be screaming for him to put me down. I can hear him breathing and feel his heart beating through his shirt. It’s much too intimate for my liking and I hold my breath in case he smells bad. He looks a bit grubby and his hair might be unwashed. But when I eventually have to breathe, he doesn’t smell unpleasant at all. He just smells like the forest: of wood and leaves and fresh air.
We arrive back at his tent and he stands there, just holding me, deliberating what to do with me now we’ve arrived. ‘Thank you,’ I say stiffly, hoping he’ll put me down.