I feel like a man again, a man who dares to hope that he has a future. Today was a dream come true, not only thanks to the beauty of the valley, the scents of the meadows, the sunshine that warmed my skin and brought brightness to my soul, but because I was with Ruth.
The path to Patterdale followed a chirping, fast-flowing beck. Wild flowers covered the vast expanse of pastures like a colourful carpet, or hid like tiny secrets in the glades or the cracks in mossy stone walls. Ruth named them as we walked. There were white Wild Angelica, yellow Adder’s-tongue, Spearwort, vivid blue Harebells, cup-shaped brownish Water Avens and many others.
Ruth… whispering her name brings back the sunshine of that wonderful day. She slipped her small hand in mine to help me through the rough terrain, and left it there until we reached the farm. And when we set off on our way home after having tea and scones with her mother, it was I who reached out for her hand, and she didn’t snatch it away.
Dare I hope that Ruth’s timid smile, her kindness and the warmth I read in her eyes are not caused by pity for a lonely, crippled man far from his loved ones at home? Dare I hope that my life is not over as I feared, but merely at a crossroads?
Stefan dislodged loose stones as he climbed up, and the sounds they made as they rolled down the fell echoed in the morning’s silence. He soon got into a rhythm and found that he walked faster and with less difficulty than the day before. He reached a beck singing between snowy banks, its crystal clear waters trickling down the hillside, and looked back.
If it weren’t for the manor house below, he could easily believe he was in a forgotten world that had lain hidden and untouched since the beginning of time. Today, Wolf Tarn made a circle of perfect blue in the landscape. Yet, even in the glorious sunny morning, he couldn’t help thinking that there was something almost sinister about it.
The sun turned warmer as the morning wore on, the mist burned out and the snow covering the hillside started to melt. He was alone except for a few sheep. Their bleating echoed across the valley and accompanied him all the way to the top of the fell. At last he reached the cairn marking the summit. Out of breath and his muscles burning, he found a boulder to sit down on and have his lunch and savour the view and the silence.
He could see for miles, all the way to the flat, golden shores of the Irish Sea. Coniston and Monks Water Lake were long blue shapes in the distance, and the landscape was a succession of rocky crags, barren fell tops, vertiginous drops and narrow ridges.
He finished his sandwich, drank half his bottle of water, and spread his map flat on the boulder to check his route. If he followed the ridge to another cairn he could just about spot in the distance, he should find a path to his right, go down via a disused quarry road, and end up in Patterdale.
It felt good to walk, climb, and scramble down the crag and onto a narrow sheep trail, and not to think about anything else than the next step, the next foothold.
The quarry was an ugly grey scar on the hillside. It was fenced off and signs to keep out had been nailed to an old gate. Rusty cables as thick as his thigh snaked across the path or sprung from the ground, whilst man-made mounds of broken slate scattered the surroundings. A couple of old wagons lay tipped on their side next to a derelict stone hut.
It may be a ghost town these days, yet men had carried out noisy and dangerous work there in the past, and Stefan tried to imagine what it must have been like to work this high up in the mountain, in the cutting wind and pouring rain, the freezing cold and the stifling heat.
He was about to carry on when he heard a voice singing. It sounded like a child. Stefan looked at the gate and the fencing around the quarry. It looked sturdy enough to keep people out, especially a child. And yet, someone had ventured inside.
‘Hello? Who is there?’ he called.
Immediately a boy with pale blond hair appeared at the window of the ruined hut. He looked to be about eight or nine years old and wore a bright red anorak.
‘Hello,’ the boy replied.
‘What are you doing in there? It’s not safe.’ Even though he wanted to climb over the fence and yank the child into a safer place, Stefan forced a smile. He must take care not to scare the little boy.
The child showed him the toy he was holding. ‘I’m trying my new metal detector. I got it for my birthday. I want to find treasure, so I can buy toys. My dad said I’ve been naughty and won’t get anything from Santa this year.’
‘You won’t find any treasure in there, just old rusty tools and machinery. Where are your parents?’
‘At the farm.’
‘I’ll take you back,’ Stefan decided. He looked at the gate and the fence. They looked secure. ‘How did you get in?’
The boy walked to the far end of the fencing, crouched down and lifted a piece of loose mesh wire. He thrust his metal detector through first then twisted his little body and made it to the other side. He grabbed hold of his metal detector then ran towards Stefan.
‘Do you often come here?’ Stefan asked.
The boy nodded. ‘All the time.’
Stefan frowned. ‘It’s dangerous. You could get hurt and nobody would know where you are.’
The boy didn’t reply but stared at him. ‘What’s wrong with your face? Have you been in the war?’
Stefan looked at the snowy peaks and the bright blue sky and nodded. ‘Yeah, you could say that.’
‘Where was it?’
‘A long way from here.’
‘Your voice is weird too. What happened to you?’
‘None of your business. Come on, now.’
The boy shook his head. ‘I’ll only come if you tell me.’
Stefan sighed. Damn, that child was stubborn. ‘All right. I’ll tell you as we walk. Is this the way home?’
The boy nodded.
‘I’m Stefan, by the way. What’s your name?’
‘Louis Merriweather.’
Stefan frowned. ‘Merriweather?’ That was Ruth’s family name.
‘Now tell me what happened to your face. You promised.’
As they walked, and in a few brief sentences, Stefan told him about his former job carrying supplies and people in his helicopter – soldiers, doctors and nurses, people who’d been hurt.
‘I was in Mali last year. Do you know where Mali is?’
The boy shook his head.
‘It’s in Africa,’ Stefan explained.
‘Where they have lions, and elephants and camels?’
Stefan laughed at the boy’s excited voice. ‘Yes. They have all that, especially camels.’
‘Did your helicopter crash?’
Stefan nodded. ‘My co-pilot and I were trying to evacuate a clinic – doctors and nurses and people who were very sick and their families – and…’
They were shot at as he was taking off. He lost control. The helicopter started spinning and fell to the ground, and when he crash-landed they were shot at again. He managed to pull a couple of children and an elderly woman out of the craft, shouting out all the time for Charlie and Isa to get out. He ran back into the helicopter to find Isa slumped against the cockpit, her eyes open but glassy and blood soaking her flight suit. From the odd angle of her neck he had known straight away that she was beyond help. Charlie was unconscious but breathing, so he dragged him out and was about to go back when there was a second of deadly silence as if the whole world was sucked into a void… then the craft exploded.