It Started With A Tweet(41)

‘Oh, even better, just what they want to do with their time. Rescue someone like you who wakes up one morning and decides to go hiking without any equipment, dressed inappropriately. Bloody tourists,’ he says shaking his head.

I take in his outfit of sturdy-looking boots, grey trousers with reinforced black bits over the knees and thighs and a snuggly fleece. He’s even carrying a harness round his waist, with a helmet clipped to his belt and extra rope slung over one shoulder. I take his point.

‘I’m sorry,’ is about all I can manage. ‘Is the lecture over? Only me and my impractical clothing are cold, and if you’ve quite finished, I’d like to go and get a warm shower before my sister gets back and rips it out.’

Jack stares at me for a second before shaking his head like I’m a lost cause, and stands to one side.

I brush down my trousers as if I’m dusting off a little bit of light mud, which only reminds me how caked they are from my earlier fall. I shake my hair back and hold my head up, trying to give myself a little bit more dignity.

I walk about three steps before I feel my feet go out from under me, and I find myself on my bum for the second time today.

I hear Jack mutter under his breath and I’m pretty sure it was something along the lines of ‘for fuck’s sake’. I hear him stomp down behind me and, instead of making a fuss, I hold my hand out for him to pull me up.

‘You are a liability,’ he says looking at me like I’m a moron as he helps me to get upright. ‘What did you think you were doing up here anyway?’

‘I thought I might get a phone signal up here. Oh, God, the phone.’ I look further down the hill and see where it’s come to rest.

‘A phone? You came up here to use your phone.’

‘Well, not my phone, Alexis’s, but .?.?.’ I’m not making it any better; he’s still looking at me like I’m a moron. ‘Well, I won’t take up any more of your time.’ I go to walk and he grabs hold of my hand.

‘Hang on, you’re going to be sliding all the way home in those things.’ He pulls his rope off his arm. ‘Here.’

He hands me the end of the rope and starts to walk in front of me.

‘You’re going to walk me along like a dog?’

‘It’s either that or we hold hands,’ he says with almost a growl.

‘Rope it is, then,’ I say, thinking that at least this way I might stay vertical. We start descending in silence until we get to the mobile phone.

Jack watches as I bend down and pick it up. I give it a quick blow to get the dirt off and, miraculously, not only is it not broken, but it also has 3G.

‘Three G,’ I squeal.

Jack doesn’t look impressed and I get the impression that he’s not about to stand there and wait for me while I log in to Facebook. Which is a pity, as I could totally send Erica an Emoji message with the lion head, as Jack with that beard looks just like one; well, at least he would if he dyed his hair orange.

‘Good to know,’ I say, coughing and shoving the phone back into my pocket, hoping that Alexis will leave it around another day, when he just happens to be going out for hours at a time and I’m the proud owner of walking boots and polar fleece layers.

‘We’d better pick up the pace a little, that storm is getting closer,’ Jack says pointing.

‘Righto,’ I say nodding.

We get down the hill and it starts to rain slightly. Jack turns to me as if to silently ask for the rope back and I look at him.

‘Um, would you mind walking with me back to the farm? It’s just it took me ages to get here and I slipped over,’ I say, as if he wouldn’t have noticed that I’m caked in mud if I hadn’t pointed it out to him.

‘Sure, why not? It’s not like I was doing anything else,’ he says sarcastically.

‘I thought you would have been heading home anyway, what with the storm and everything. You know, with you being such an expert in the changes of the weather.’

Jack merely grunts and I can’t help but smile. He knows as well as I do that he was homeward bound.

We start walking along in complete silence, apart from the sound of him stomping and my shoes squishing into the mud.

I try and distract myself from the awkwardness, concentrating on trying to think of the game show with that catchphrase. We get all of about a hundred metres before I can’t take the silence any longer.

‘I don’t suppose you remember who said “come on down”, do you? It’s from one of those eighties game shows I used to watch, but I can’t for the life of me remember which, and I can’t google it.’

I’m expecting Jack to growl, but to my amazement he answers me.

‘The Price is Right,’ he says as if it pains him to join in the conversation.

‘That’s it,’ I say, clapping my hand excitedly. ‘Come on down, the price is right,’ I say in a mock American accent. ‘Bruce Forsyth presented it, didn’t he?’

‘No, I don’t think so. He did that one about higher or lower, and the Generation Game, but I don’t think he did The Price is Right.’

‘Hmm, it wasn’t Nicky Campbell, was it?’

‘No, that was Wheel of Fortune.’

‘Oh, yes, Wheel of Fortune.’ I make the noise that the wheel used to make when it wiped out the contestant’s money.