‘Oh, getting some fresh air and having a think. We all walked up here the other day, and Annabel was telling us your stories about Lover’s Leap.’ She gestured beyond the railway line. ‘Is it really the most haunted spot around here, or were you having her on?’
‘A bit of both, really.’ There was a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. ‘It is notorious – but the ghost stories are ancient. It’s all cuckolded husbands and distressed maidens. I’ve spent more time there than most and I’ve never seen a ghost.’
‘Really?’ she asked. ‘And what were you doing there?’
‘Dealing with my teenage angst,’ he laughed. ‘It’s an easy place to get to from the schoolhouse. There’s a path that goes straight there, called the monks’ trod. They’re all over the moors – centuries ago the monks used them to navigate, and they were also known by smugglers bringing in contraband from the coast. The path eventually connects with this one. For a while, Claire and I would go and sit dangling our feet over the edge to smoke and complain about our family. We’ve always been close, although I’d stopped going there by the time Claire began taking Adam along. My next bolt-hole was one of the ruined workers’ houses. By that time life was turning a bit more serious for me.’ He lost the smile, and as he gazed into the distance, Grace could tell that his thoughts were elsewhere. He looked back and paused, as though debating what to say. In the end, he said nothing, and as she met his eyes, she felt slightly off-balance.
‘I should be getting back,’ she said.
‘I know a short cut. I’ll show you.’ He began to walk away.
She hesitated, her mind still attuned to their conversation. She wondered what had turned him so sombre, and felt a fleeting sense of disappointment that he hadn’t confided in her.
Ben turned around. ‘Are you coming?’
‘Yes,’ she replied hastily, snapping out of her trance and following him.
The snow’s gentle fall was deceptive. Before long it flew heedlessly into her eyes, melted into cold drips that ran down her face, and soaked through the jeans she wore. The journey seemed to be taking forever, when halfway along the path by the stone wall, they passed a gate.
Ben stopped. ‘Let’s go through the field,’ he suggested, rubbing his hands together as though to warm them. ‘It’s so much faster.’ He clambered over the gate. ‘Come on, Bess,’ he shouted, and the dog immediately bounded up onto the wall and down the other side.
Both of them turned to look at Grace. ‘Come on then,’ Ben urged.
‘Isn’t this trespassing?’ she queried as she grasped the gate and started to climb, feeling awkward as she tried to swing her leg elegantly over the top – an impossible feat while wearing wellies.
‘Only if they see you!’ Ben replied. ‘And I don’t think anyone else is daft enough to be out here on Christmas Day – too busy stuffing themselves with turkey and drinking themselves under the table.’
His words conjured up the rich, spicy aroma of warm mulled wine, and this urged Grace onwards. She jumped down from the gate and found herself standing in a patch of sucking mud, deceptively slick. Ben grabbed her elbow, steadied her, and helped her to wade through the bog. Once clear, they all hurried across the field.
As they neared the next gate, Bess stopped and began barking, and Ben slowed beside her for a fraction of a second, turning to look behind them. Grace had kept her head down to keep the snow from getting in her eyes, but now she glanced up. Seeing Ben’s alarm, she automatically twisted round to follow his stare.
Through the snow she could make out a large, shaggy-haired creature with solid, curved horns. It was ambling towards them. As they watched, it quickened its pace, some distance away yet, but getting closer much too fast for Grace’s liking. Then it broke into a run.
Ben shouted, ‘Oh shit! Move, now!’ He lifted up Bess while she was still barking, and practically threw her over the gate. Then he was by Grace’s side, yelling, ‘You next, Grace, hurry!’
Her heartbeat charged into her ears like the thunderous thud of hooves. Ben’s body was now close against hers, his breath warm on the back of her neck as she gripped the top beam. He pushed her, propelling her upwards, and she swung her leg frantically over the top. In her panic, she leaped rather than climbed down, landing in another patch of slippery mud. It took her legs out from beneath her so that her gloved hands and unprotected face went slap straight into it.
She struggled up onto her hands and knees, panting and gasping. Looking behind her, she saw a pair of large round eyes glaring at them through a gap in the gate, the bull snorting air heavily. Bess barked frantically, crouched with her front paws low and her hindquarters high in the air.
‘Are you all right?’ Ben squatted beside her.