Bramble moved forward, his claws clicking on the stones. If it wasn’t for the chubby wobble of his haunches, he’d have looked quite noble.
Flora passed on up over the ridge and onto a long grassy midsection. The air was clean and cool, and as she turned to look back, she saw the late-evening sun glittering and dancing off the sea, which unusually was as calm as a pond. In the distance she spotted the ferry carving out its familiar path across the bay. It must be, she thought, a pleasant night to be on board a boat. Then she could catch the sleeper from Fort William and be back in London . . .
Mind you, it was 88 degrees in London right now. It would be horribly sticky, with that nasty smell of overheated garbage and cars blaring music everywhere and a slight undercurrent of noise and menace and people living too close together. London in the summer was . . . it was great, but it was just so crowded. So many people cramming onto the South Bank, jammed into overheated tubes and sweaty buses, searching for a tiny patch of scrubby grass in a park or a garden somewhere, hot pavements and cooking smells, and dope hanging over everything.
Up here, undeniably, she could breathe.
But that’s not the point, she argued crossly with herself. It wasn’t the point at all. Nobody was denying it was beautiful up here. Of course it was; it was gorgeous, everyone knew that. The question was whether it was right for her. For everything she wanted to accomplish, for everything she wanted to do with her life, whatever that was.
And now she was back in that stupid farmhouse, chained at that bloody sink, just like her mother had been. She kicked a stone bitterly. This had not been the plan. This hadn’t been the plan at all. And if everyone was going to keep making fun of her after the sacrifice she’d made, well, she didn’t want to deal with them in the slightest.
She carried on climbing, hoping the vigorous exercise would calm her down a little, but instead she found herself having quite long arguments inside her head about things, which wasn’t helping at all. Blinking, she realized she’d come higher than she’d meant to, and could see right across to the hills on the mainland. The sky was filling with little pink clouds scuttling here and there, and the harbor below was barely more than a dot, likewise the ferry reaching the port. She marched on.
Nearing the top, she finally felt tired enough—it was a tricky scrambly bit, up some scree—for her head to start to clear. She found the waterfall she knew was tucked behind a wall of rock, and she and Bramble drank deeply of its freezing, utterly refreshing water, like liquid crystal on her tongue. She had just decided that this would be far enough when suddenly she heard a yelping.
She glanced round.
“Bramble? Bramble?”
The dog whined in response, but didn’t run up to her as he normally would.
“BRAMBLE?”
The sun was starting to dip behind the mountains, and the chill was instant and noticeable. Concerned, Flora made her way across to the dog. To her horror, he had gotten one of his paws trapped in between two rocks. His back legs were desperately scrabbling against the wet stone as he tried to right himself.
She waded into the water and carefully freed his paw from the hole it had gotten stuck in, while he writhed in panic in her arms.
“It’s okay! It’s okay. It’s okay,” she whispered in his ear as she heaved his enormous bulk onto the nearest patch of soft earth. “You’re going to be fine.”
Bramble was whimpering now, and trembling hard. They were both completely soaked, and with the sun gone, it was becoming increasingly chilly. The dog’s front right paw was hanging at a very unpleasant angle; Flora felt slightly sick even to look at it. Bramble yelped and looked at her as if it was all her fault, and she made soothing noises, all the while feeling panicked inside. She didn’t have her phone; she’d stormed out without her bag, too annoyed to pick anything up. Even if she had had it, there wasn’t a signal up here at the best of times, and this was beginning to look very much not like the best of times.
It was at least ninety minutes down the fell. The poor creature couldn’t walk, and he weighed more than she did; she couldn’t possibly carry him. But she couldn’t leave him here either; he’d just try and follow her, and who knew what would happen then? She didn’t have anything to tie him up with—and the idea of tying up and leaving an animal in pain, even if it was to get help, was just unbearable. Plus, it would be dark up here shortly, and how was she going to get anyone to come back up in the pitch-black to look for an animal? It was far too dangerous; it would put human lives at risk.
Flora swore loudly. For God’s sake. The most awful thing about it was that it would just confirm everything her family already thought: that she’d become soft with her city-living ways; that she didn’t even know how to walk up the bloody fell. Oh God. She looked down at the dog.
“There you go, shh, don’t worry,” she said. She could hear his heart beating through his chest, very fast. His breathing was shallow, and he was shivering miserably.
“My poor Bramble,” she said, burying her face in his fur. She realized that she was very cold. Too cold. The sun had misled her; it was still spring in the very north of Britain, which meant it was still dangerous.
Well, at least she had the dog to keep her warm, if they cuddled together. But she couldn’t spend a night out here; that was a mad idea.
Her life, Flora decided crossly, was a mad idea.
She saw the clouds coming in. Of course she did. It was the oldest saying in the world: if you don’t like the weather in Scotland, just wait five minutes. The rain darkened the hills across the bay, hiding them from view. Soon the coastline had vanished too under the dark sheet. The wind brought the fresh, unearthly smell of forthcoming rain. Bramble whimpered as if he knew something bad was about to happen. Flora reflected that at least he had his fur. Otherwise things looked pretty grim.
She tried hoisting the dog up. He weighed a ton soaking wet. It absolutely didn’t help that he was panicked with the pain in his paw and scrabbled desperately to escape her arms, which meant the entire thing would be impossible.
The first drops of heavy rain started to fall. Flora realized she was wearing her London coat, which was absolutely fine for popping out in a light shower, but utterly useless for being up on top of a Scottish mountain in the middle of a storm.
When would the boys start to worry about her? she wondered. They’d probably assumed she’d gone to meet Lorna in the pub and wouldn’t expect her back for hours. Dogs were allowed in the pub, so it wouldn’t worry anyone particularly that Bramble wasn’t there, even if they noticed.