It Started With A Tweet(40)

‘Help!’ I shout as loud as I can. ‘Help!’

Not even the sheep look up.

Even if I was close enough to any form of civilisation, I doubt my voice would carry far enough in this wind.

I’m starting to get cramp in my hand as I cling on to a branch, and I’m wondering how long I’m going to be able to hold on.

‘Help, I’m stuck,’ I shout in desperation, as I know that, realistically, I’m going to have to call the emergency services. Yes, it’s embarrassing, but it’s also a matter of life or death.

‘Dear Lord, I know that I only ever talk to you in times of crisis, and we haven’t had a chat since last year when I broke my flip-flops during that torrential downpour at the Notting Hill carnival and I asked for me not to get dysentery as I walked the streets barefoot – by the way, thank you for listening – but I really need some help now,’ I mutter under my breath.

‘What seems to be the problem?’ comes a voice, and I’m so surprised that I drop Alexis’s phone again.

‘Oh, bugger,’ I shout, watching it tumble down the hill, bouncing off rocks as it goes. It’s got to be broken now, surely.

‘Are you OK?’ comes the voice again.

‘God?’ I say, wondering if I’ve actually died of cold already.

‘Um, I tend to go by the name of Jack.’

I look up, straining to see where the voice is coming from, but all I can see from this angle is the big thistly bush above me.

‘I’m down here and I’m stuck,’ I say, relieved that I’m going to be rescued, and I don’t care whether it’s by apparition or a real-life person. A few minutes ago I wanted a sheep to help me – I’m clearly not fussy.

‘Hang on a second,’ says the voice. ‘I’ll come on down.’

Immediately I’m struck by a giggle, as he sounds like he’s a cheesy game-show host. Hang on there, Daisy, I’ll come on down. What game show was that the catchphrase from? I rack my brain to think, but I’m stuck. If only I could ask my friend Google, he never lets me down.

‘Oh, dear,’ says the guy whose voice comes from behind me.

I look down over my shoulder and I recognise the thick woolly hat as that belonging to Big Foot. His eyes are still cold, like the weather, and although his face is contorted into a small smile, it’s of the smirking variety, not a friendly one.

Of all the sodding people to come and find me.

‘Can you help me? It’s a bit uncomfortable like this,’ I say swallowing my pride. As much as I’m loathe to get Mr Grumpy to help me, it’s still better than phoning the emergency services.

‘OK, I’m going to have to grab you,’ he says with as much enthusiasm as if he were about to pick up dog poo.

He sighs and I feel his hands making contact with my bum.

‘Oi, watch it,’ I say, ‘this isn’t the time to cop a feel.’

I feel his hands let go. ‘Fine, if you don’t want any help, I’ll leave you there. It’s just that with the angle of the rock and the way your bum’s hanging over it, it’s the biggest thing for me to grab to be able to lower you down.’

‘Oh great, so you’re saying that my bum’s big. Thanks very much.’

I’m pretty sure mountain rescue would have been a whole lot more polite and wouldn’t have pointed out my gym failings.

‘It’s not that it’s big, it just looks it from this angle.’

‘Oh, that’s much better,’ I say sarcastically as I wiggle, trying to reduce my ginormous arse, only I think I’ve probably given him more of a view.

‘Look, I was perfectly happy climbing on the other side of the hill when I heard you shouting for help, and I’d be perfectly happy leaving you and your bum hanging here. But I should warn you that there is a very black cloud over there, and that’s usually the direction the bad weather comes from, and you’re not really dressed for a storm, are you?’

I sigh loudly. ‘Oh, go on, then. Grab my large bum.’

He places his hands back on me. ‘OK, let go of whatever you’re holding on to and I’ll try to lower you down gently.’

‘Are you sure? What if I flatten you? You know, me and my big bum.’

‘Just let go.’

I do as he says and I scrabble with my hands as I find myself sliding over the rock.

True to his word, Jack lowers my bum until my feet are practically touching the ground.

‘Oh thank goodness. Thank you so much,’ I say, breathing out in relief.

‘You’re welcome. But you really should be more careful. Look at what you’re wearing. You’re dressed like a teenager hanging around the Co-op.’

‘Now, hang on –’

‘No, this is serious. You’re on a hill dressed in – what are they, canvas?’

‘Suede espadrilles.’

He shakes his head. ‘Suede espadrilles, whatever the hell they are. You should be in walking boots, hiking trainers at a push, but something with a grip on them. You should also be wearing layers. The weather changes like that here,’ he says snapping his fingers. ‘If I hadn’t come along when I did, you’d probably have died of exposure.’

‘Actually, I was going to phone the emergency services,’ I say, wincing slightly.