The Wolf Border(72)

*

True to her word, she arranges for Chloe to accompany her and Huib on a run through the enclosure. Alexander drops the girl off, a packed lunch in her rucksack, walking boots laced, and the famed binoculars strung round her neck. She looks every inch the zoologist’s assistant.

Good luck, he says. See you this afternoon.

Rachel leaves the baby in the care of Sylvia – not strictly part of her job description. He has been fed, changed – there’s extra breast milk, though success with the bottle has been intermittent so far. It is the first time she has left him with a sitter. She tries not to feel anxious. Another hurdle, she tells herself.

The day is dark, with fast grey cloud obscuring the hills, but rainless so far. Giant billowing shadows move across the fells and valleys. There’s the smell of loose, black earth, and minerals in the air, incendiary, like cordite. Big weather is coming; they will have only a few hours at best. In any case, she dare not leave the baby too long. Already her left breast feels full and aching. Motherhood: there seems to be a new minor ailment every other day. They collect the handheld receivers from the office, tune to the signals. She does not want the girl to be disappointed, though disappointment comes with the territory – the first lesson of spotting. Nor can she afford to spend hours tracking. Chloe sits quietly on the back seat of the estate’s Land Rover while Huib drives. Her excitement is well contained, but obvious. She’ll have been instructed by her father to do as she is told at all times, not get too giddy. This is a special privilege. She is practically breathless.

It’s great you could come along, Huib says to her.

He has already given her one of the receivers to hold, tuned to Ra’s transmitter, with an explanation of how it works – the basic operating procedure; Chloe is not intimidated. She is of the generation that intuitively understands technology. She leans forward towards the driver’s seat.

Thanks for having me. Dad says it was his favourite thing, looking after them.

So, are you going to be a vet, like your dad?

She shakes her head.

No, I’m not quite exactly sure yet. I think I’m going to be a geneticist.

Oh, really?

Rachel smiles. She is very glad Huib is coming along; his ability to make conversation with anyone will be an asset if she herself stalls with the girl. The idea that she might be expected to bond makes her slightly nervous, much as she likes Alexander’s daughter.

I saw a programme on the telly about crops, Chloe says. It’s all very well having people and animals, but they have to eat and soon there won’t be enough food.

That’s very true, Huib agrees. We do need more disease-resistant strains. I read an article in New Scientist last month about it.

The TV programme said lots of money has been spent on making tobacco better. But we don’t actually need that.

But it’s big business, right? Smokers spend a fortune.

Yes, Chloe says, a little sadly, and leans back. If only they’d stop.

Moral, kindred spirits, Rachel thinks. It is heartening to imagine the girl could go on to such achievements, and that Charlie could too.

Do you want a mint, Chloe? Huib asks, taking a packet off the dashboard. He holds the tube over his shoulder.

Thanks. I’ve got some rhubarb and custards in my bag. We can have those later.

Good one, Huib says. But wait a minute. Is it rhubarb and custards, or rhubarbs and custards?

Chloe sucks her mint and thinks for a moment.

Rhubarbs and custards?

Rachel laughs.

You are a pair of pedants.

What’s a pedant? Chloe asks.

They drive cross-country alongside the fence for a few hundred yards and pull up at the western gate of the enclosure. Rachel gets out, keys the code into the lock, and the gate opens. They pass through, the gate closes, and the lock reactivates. As little estate traffic as possible has been inside the domain since the release; the codes are held by a handful of workers only. Rachel asks Chloe which way she thinks they should go. Chloe checks the signal and they head south, following an old drove track. Light strobes across the grass and bracken, over blackened bushes. Somewhere on the reddish, sleet-dampened moors Gregor is using a shepherd’s bothy as a base, and has been filming their progress. There are several dun hides set up across the estate, covered in besoms of heather and bracken, camouflage netting. She sent him a text message that morning saying they were heading in.

They drive to one of the known rendezvous points, where the wolves have been returning frequently, park, and head towards the coordinates. They walk downwind. They do not hurry but Rachel feels unfit, the breast is heavy and sore inside her coat, burning – the start of an infection, perhaps. Chloe doesn’t speak – she is now in silent mode. She walks alongside Rachel, hands cupping the rims of the binoculars, ready. The signals are strong, but Rachel feels obliged to issue another gentle disclaimer.

If we don’t see them we’ll try again another day. They might be in the forest, in which case probably they’ll stay hidden.

The girl nods.

OK.

They walk on. There’s a pause, then Chloe says,

But they’ll see us, won’t they?

Yes, they will, Rachel says.

Chloe grins and is pleased. The logic: being seen by a wolf is nearly as good as seeing a wolf. Rachel is relieved. The girl is clearly very sensible, but one never knows when disappointment might lead to tears or sulking. The cold, streaming wind has made Chloe’s cheeks very red, and her nose glistens. She holds her sleeve up to blot it, strides on beside them.