Just The Way You Are(52)
It was a perfect day for ambling between the oaks and pines, hopping over tinkling brooks and in and out of splotches of sunshine, wildflowers spread like a fragrant carpet and the birds cheeping us on our way. Every so often we’d stop to consult the map, have a drink or simply soak up the loveliness. There was far too much life going on to feel lonely. If Steph had been with me, we’d have been too busy talking to notice much of the surroundings. If Mum had come on a hike, she’d have spent the whole time moaning about the dirt, the flies and the heat.
Dream Man? Now if he’d been here, we’d have walked in companionable silence, except for pointing out the pale blue butterflies dancing in a sunbeam, or the tree stump that looked like an owl.
So, I simply enjoyed these delights on my own, kept a close eye on my dog and savoured being the kind of woman who goes on solo hikes on a Saturday, instead of trailing her mum around Home Bargains because she doesn’t have the courage to say that she doesn’t care about place mats.
By the time we found the turn that led out of the forest and along the river, I was ready for a change of scenery, and Nesbit had walked far enough for a seven-month-old puppy. I slipped him into the dog sling that I’d borrowed from Yasmin, grateful that the cows who lived in the fields had congregated far enough away that he didn’t spend the whole time trying to wriggle out and introduce himself. We reached the pub only an hour or so behind schedule, and, in keeping with Joan’s warning, hadn’t once needed to leave the track.
Is there anything better than sitting in a pretty pub garden beside a river on a warm summer’s day, sipping on a glass of cider, trusty canine snoozing at your feet, watching the boats glide by as you wait for your chicken and leek pie?
Right then, I couldn’t think of it.
An older couple stopped to chat for a few minutes when their Labrador said hello to Nesbit, and I couldn’t help noticing that a group of men at another table had definitely noticed me, but instead of feeling self-conscious, sitting here alone on a Saturday lunchtime, I felt proud of myself. Proud, confident and maybe the teeniest bit tipsy, once I’d decided to treat myself to a second cider.
It may have been the cider that resulted in the afternoon route proving, shall we say, a little more complicated. Maybe it was simply down to being in unfamiliar countryside. Either way, I have to confess that a hot, tired Nesbit and I, while keeping on some sort of track, definitely abandoned the one I’d planned for us to walk on, until I had no idea where we were or where we were meant to be going.
I might have retraced my steps back to the pub, except that it felt like an age since lunchtime, and I had no clue how to get back there. I’d lost phone signal three wrong turns ago, and on this current route, in a dip between two hillsides, there wasn’t another person or potential dwelling place to be seen.
My back was aching from the puppy sling. There was the beginning of a blister on one heel and I really, really wanted a cup of tea.
‘What do you think?’ I asked Nesbit, who I’d removed from the sling while we sized up the options. ‘Turn back, or keep pressing on?’
Nesbit cocked his head to one side.
‘Try that footpath up there? I hadn’t even seen that one. Now you’ve made things even more complicated.’
I tried not to wish that I wasn’t here alone, that I could hand control to someone else to decide for me. That Dream Man would be so good at reading a map, he’d have us on the right path in no time. Either that or we’d stumble upon a perfect, fairy-tale place to pitch the tent around the next corner, including a pool with a waterfall and a rock for sunbathing, a patch of wild strawberries to replace the squashed box in my pack. Oh, and a miraculously clean public toilet.
I hefted my rucksack onto the grass and sat down, trying to ignore the prickle of tears behind my eyes, the scornful thoughts that assured me that this was bound to happen, of course I was lost and scared. What a stupid, ridiculous idea, thinking that a sleeping bag and a mini-stove could turn me into an adventurer.
No psychology degree needed to figure out why those thoughts adopted my mother’s voice.
‘It’s hardly a disaster!’ I announced, mostly to myself. ‘We may be completely lost, tired and fed up, but we aren’t injured, it isn’t raining, and Nesbit has behaved like a very good boy. All I need is to come up with some sort of plan to figure out where we are.’
I thought about Joan, and her warning, and in remembering The Hobbit, I came up with an idea.
‘We should get up high, and look for the forest!’ I said, jumping up and shrugging back into my pack. ‘It’s a thousand acres. Surely we can’t miss it?’
‘Woof!’ Nesbit agreed, tail wagging furiously.
‘And if we can’t see the forest, we’ll be able to see something that will help.’
Endless long, sweaty minutes later, I finally scrambled to the top of the highest hill that I could see from the hollow. Twice, I’d thought we’d reached it only to find another peak mocking me over the crest of the false summit.
We stood there, my ankle throbbing from where I’d twisted it in an animal hole, slowly spinning around in search of Bigley Forest Park, or at least some sign of life. The dark clouds that I had failed to notice rolling in due to keeping my eyes lowered to avoid another ankle twist suddenly erupted with the intensity unique to summer storms as an almighty clap of thunder exploded above our heads.