The Students of Barrenmoor Ridge Page 4

  ‘Fuck, yeah. But what do I get paid for?’

  ‘Seconding as an assistant photographer.’

  ‘Sherpa, you mean?’

  John slapped his hand playfully. ‘No. Second in command. Actually, we’d be joint leaders as there would only be us. Sal and Max have their own groups going in reverse location, so we don’t get in each other’s way. I said I’d check it out with you before I agreed. She rang tonight to say the company has approved your qualifications, so the job’s yours if you want it. I kept it quiet not because I didn’t think you were ready for it, but because I didn’t want to get your hopes up. You know what Max is like for taking on new team members. Hope you don’t mind the secrecy.’

  ‘God, no. I’m glad you didn’t say owt. I wouldn’t have been able to concentrate on anything else.’

  ‘It’s decent money. What do you say?’

  Gary took a moment before he answered. It wasn’t beyond John to have said he would only take the job if Gary could come, and as he was one of the few successful high-altitude photographers to make a decent living from the work, he was sought after for much more demanding assignments. John was over-qualified to lead groups of amateurs to four-thousand-metre summits, and Gary wondered if, at thirty-eight, he was thinking of slowing down.

  Unlikely. It was more likely he had taken the job for Gary’s sake.

  ‘If it helps,’ John said when Gary had been silent for too long. ‘It’s all expenses paid, and the salary will give us enough to take a trip further afield. Say… base camp?’

  ‘Fuck off!’ Gary couldn’t believe it.

  ‘Maybe camp one, but that would have to be the year after, in the season, and when you’ve got enough experience to satisfy the Nepalese authorities. Now, all I need is for you to say yes or no, either is fine, and I can let Sally know who to send the contract to.’

  Gary had kept him waiting long enough and squirmed onto his front before climbing up John’s body to straddle him.

  ‘Hey, be careful,’ John laughed. ‘I’m an old man.’

  ‘Like I said, fuck off.’

  Gary kissed him, relishing the scratch of his beard on his face, the vicelike grip of his arms, and the smell of clean skin.

  It wasn’t the thought of the money or even the experience that drove his enthusiasm, it was knowing he would be with John and not stuck at home taking groups up and down the fells and the climbing wall. That work was enjoyable enough and fed what had become an addiction to mountaineering, but the long weeks with John away, and at times, only in touch by satphone for a few minutes at a time, were more painful than frostbite. Gary was lonely enough when John drove to the village for shopping, let alone took a month-long expedition.

  He sat back, leaving his husband red-faced and gasping for breath through his laughter.

  ‘So, that’s a yes then, is it?’

  ‘Give me ten minutes in the shower, and I’ll tell you in bed.’

  Gary rolled from the sofa, already hard. A minute wrapped in John’s firm body was enough to do that, and he was so fired up about the offer, he completely forgot to tell John about the two lads planning to set off up Fellborough the next day. His mind was busy with images of altitude training and travel, and his body tingling with the thought of what was to come more immediately, he could only think of his mentor, his rescuer, his husband.

  In his excitement, the rising north wind that had begun to batter the cottage went unnoticed.

  Four

  Liam spent the first half hour in bed debating if it was the right time to tell Casper, and by the time he decided it wasn’t, Casper was asleep, and the point was moot. Having few other friends, and none as close as the one in the nearby bunk, this was the first time Liam had shared such an intimate moment. The school trip to the youth hostel didn’t count, there were eight of them in each dorm, and the night in the tent was a different matter as the other two weren’t really friends.

  What made the night special, was that Casper was allowing Liam to witness him at his most vulnerable, while he was sleeping. That showed trust and warmed Liam more than his cheap sleeping bag, and he relished the thought that few others in the world had been allowed the privilege. What would the cooing girls of the lower-sixth have thought if they knew the aloof and admired Casper Spectre had chosen to sleep alone with Liam Dent, the weird music nerd? As far as Liam knew, it was a pleasure Casper had, so far, denied to everyone else.

  Sleep came with a smile, but passed quickly, and the sound of zips and clattering billy cans drew him from an unmemorable dream seemingly only minutes later. Casper was dressed and repacking his rucksack. Silvery light lit the floorboards as it reached in beneath the door, and the overhead heater glowed a welcoming orange from its two bars.

  ‘Thought I’d splash out,’ Casper said nodding to it when Liam leant up on one elbow. ‘The heat doesn’t reach the bathroom, so you won’t be in there for long.’

  Liam had woken needing to pee and with his cock solid, and hoped he hadn’t been seen holding it in his sleep, something he often found himself doing as he woke. There had been an embarrassing talk in biology about men getting erections when asleep being the body’s self-protection against unwanted, night-time urination, but memories of Mrs James’ coded language in a classroom full of sniggering fourteen-year-olds had no place in the outhouse. The more pressing concern was getting from the bed to the bathroom without Casper seeing the obvious tenting in Liam’s joggers. Trying not to draw attention, he kicked his way out of the sleeping bag while keeping the blanket pulled up to his chin, and draped it over his shoulders, before shuffling across the room cloaked and frozen.

  ‘Sleep alright?’ he asked as he passed.

  ‘Not bad. Hungry, though.’

  ‘You’re always hungry. What time is it?’

  ‘Just gone half-eight.’

  ‘Won’t be long.’

  Casper was right. The bathroom may as well have been outside for all the warmth it offered, but he stayed as long in the shower as he could bear, aware that it would be his last decent wash for a few days. That done, and dressed in what they thought would be the best clothes for a long walk, the boys made sure the shed was suitably tidied, and the heater off before paying the superintendent and following her directions to the Pot Hole.

  They walked between white-painted, low-roofed houses, stepping from the narrow pavement now and then to let others pass, and noting the signs for the local waterfall attraction, a pottery and a climbing centre, all markers on the route they had been given. The village of Inglestone had been deserted last night, but in the frigid, cloudless morning, people were about their business, cars made steady progress along the main street, and the shops were doing a good trade.

  ‘Hey, look,’ Casper said, not long after they set out. ‘There’s a railway viaduct. Will that do?’

  Liam didn’t understand.

  ‘I mean, you don’t need to see the one at Ribblehead now, do you?’ It was a jest and came with a playful shove.

  ‘You know why I want to go there,’ Liam said.

  Casper’s attitude changed instantly. ‘Yeah, I do, mate, sorry. Forgot.’

  When Liam had first told him that he wanted to see the Victorian, twenty-four-span crossing, Casper had laughed and asked why.

  ‘It’s just another pile of old bricks,’ he’d said, ‘but if that’s what you want for your eighteenth, that’s what you’ll get.’

  Only one other person knew why Liam should want to see the structure, his father, and he no longer talked about the place. That was understandable considering what had occurred there, and Liam understood his reticence. At the same time, as he grew older, the need to talk about its significance grew stronger, and the more he came to accept its relevance in his father’s life, the more he understood the importance of discussing the past. The trou
ble was, with his father tight-lipped on the subject and no-one else close enough to feel safe talking with, he was on his own. That was until Casper came along with his easy manner, willing ear and non-judgemental nature. After only knowing him a couple of weeks, Liam had been secure enough to empty his heart in his new friend’s lap, and Casper’s response had cemented their friendship.

  ‘Jesus, mate,’ he said. ‘I’m bowled over you trust me with that info. Anytime you want to talk about it, I’m right here.’

  ‘It’s right here,’ Casper was saying now as he crossed the road. ‘Fuck, look at that! Pot Hole Full English for six pounds.’

  The building looked like any other cottage on the street, apart from the bowed window, through which they could see chairs and tables. It didn’t look big enough to house more than a few customers, but as they stepped into the narrow passage beyond the front door, they were met with a long line of backpacks, coils of rope and other equipment. Jackets and hats hung from pegs, and there was a shelf for helmets and other, more cumbersome gear.

  ‘I guess we leave these here,’ Casper said, pointing to a sign that read “No rucksacks in the café”, and throwing his down among the others.

  ‘Will they be safe?’

  ‘I don’t see why not, everyone else has done it.’

  Liam followed suit, being careful to stack his bag with the closings against the wall and the shoulder straps tucked underneath, so no-one caught their foot, and hung his jacket over Casper’s on the last free peg.

  To the right, a planked door with a rickety latch opened onto the tables in the window, both crowded with climbers. Cutlery scraped crockery, and the air smelt of fried bread, making Liam’s stomach rumble. At first, he was worried that there wouldn’t be a place for them, but as they walked in further, the room opened to their left where the line of tables stretched through the property to the back wall. Not every seat was taken, which was a relief, but there was a queue at the counter where Liam waited in line to order while Casper secured them a table.

  Glancing around, he took in the scene while trying not to draw attention and look like an inexperienced tourist. Guys at one table wore harnesses over cover-suits as if they’d just come off a cliff, while others were fixing headlamps while they downed huge mugs of tea. Towards the middle of the maze of chequered tablecloths and rising steam, a longer table housed a larger group, each man wolfing down a tray-sized plate of breakfast, and others were studying maps, taking compass bearings from them and jotting notes in books. Liam expected the sound from the assembled throng of climbers and cavers to be deafening, but everyone spoke quietly, their discussions muted as if they were an orchestra waiting for their conductor. It was a studious, businesses-like atmosphere created by people with one purpose; to get the day done professionally and safely. Some glanced at the two out of place young men as if he and Casper had turned up to the theatre wearing swimming trunks, and flushing, he turned his back.

  ‘Yes, love?’ The woman behind the counter was raising her eyebrows expectantly.

  ‘Oh, hi,’ Liam said, reading the board and feeling rushed because he hadn’t thought to do it earlier. ‘Two full English please.’

  ‘Right-oh. Anything with that?’

  ‘Tea.’

  ‘Mug, pint, or fill a flask?’

  Pint? Who served pints of tea?

  The woman must have read his mind because she pointed to the room and said, ‘A lot of these folk won’t be above ground for another couple of days. They fill up while they can. You look like a mug man to me.’

  ‘Yes, two please.’

  There were other people waiting behind him, and he stood on tiptoe to spot Casper, receiving a wave from the far wall where he had found a space.

  ‘Two full, two mugs!’ the woman yelled over her shoulder, the loudest voice in the café, and then told Liam to stand at the end of the counter.

  ‘Sightseeing, are you?’ she asked as the next customer dithered over his order.

  ‘Walking,’ he replied, wondering if he should have said hiking because it would have sounded more experienced.

  ‘Waterfalls?’

  ‘Fellborough, Ribblehead, Whernside and back.’

  ‘Ah, right. Hang on, love.’

  The customer’s order was taken, someone pushed between them to grab a bottle of sauce, and the woman came back.

  ‘Come from down south, haven’t you?’

  ‘You can tell?’ he asked, pulling an apologetic face.

  She pushed her bobbed hair behind her ears. ‘Gary said to look out for you. Right, love, one minute…’

  She was off again, this time taking plates from the serving hatch and putting them on the countertop before shouting, ‘Table seventeen. Mark? Where you at?’ Returning to Liam, she asked, ‘Did you bring a route?’

  ‘A route?’ Remembering what the young instructor had said in the pub the night before, he gathered that Inglestone was a small place, and word travelled fast. ‘I didn’t write it down, but that’s where we’re going, Fellborough tonight, Ribblehead… Should I write it somewhere? Do I need to see someone?’

  If he could remember her name, he might look like he knew what he was doing, but it escaped him. A flashback of the black-haired instructor washed over him, but all he could remember was he looked a bit like Nick Jonas and was married to another man.

  ‘No, you’re alright, love,’ the woman said. ‘I’ll make a note. When are you planning to be back?’

  ‘Does everyone do this?’ Liam asked. ‘I mean, what if we change our route?’

  ‘Use your radio like everyone else,’ the next customer said, making Liam feel two-foot tall.

  ‘I’ve got a phone,’ he offered. ‘Will that do?’

  The customer and the woman exchanged glances that said, “We’ve got a right one here” and took it in turns to explain that the mobile coverage was intermittent above five hundred metres, leaving a planned route was safest at that time of year, and it was in his best interest to log an itinerary and stick to it even if the weather held.

  ‘Mark Ward!’ the woman shouted again, and this time received a reply.

  ‘Hold your fucking horses, Julie.’ A thick-set, burly and highly unattractive man pushed in, knocked Liam to one side without an apology, grabbed his plate, and elbowed his way out again. Liam just had time to register a sneer and the smell of stale cigarette smoke before he was gone. Not a pleasant person by any means, but at least he had given Liam the name.

  ‘I get it,’ he said. ‘You’re Julie. The man last night told us to come here. You know about us?’

  ‘I know newbies when I see them,’ she said. ‘This lot might look like a pack of wild dogs, God knows they eat like one, but they’re all here for one thing, and that’s to stay safe. Take this.’ She handed him a card. ‘It’s the direct number of the MRT. If Gary was worried enough to get me to look out for you, then I don’t mind you having this. Save phoning the EMS. Let’s hope you don’t have to use it. How old are you?’

  ‘Eighteen.’ It would be true tomorrow. ‘Why?’

  ‘No offence, love, but you don’t look much older than my Jack. You take care out there. Yes, pet?’

  Julie moved on to the next customer, and Liam was still wondering what the card was all about when the breakfasts arrived along with the tea. Unable to carry everything at once, he craned his neck to signal to Casper, but the customer beside him saw his dilemma, took pity and offered to carry the mugs. His kindness came with a sigh, but it showed Liam that not all climbers were as rude as the one who’d pushed in.

  ‘Mountain Rescue Team,’ the man said, flicking his eyes to the card as Liam put it away. ‘Stay on the marked paths, lad, and any sign of bad weather, head straight down. Where are you?’

  ‘What? Oh.’ Liam indicated the back of the café and the man followed him t
o the table.

  Casper was in conversation with the unattractive guy, but stopped when Liam arrived. They thanked the customer who shrugged and returned to wait for his order, and Liam slid into the chair with his back to the wall because it felt safer. The vantage point came with a view of the ugly face, but that couldn’t be helped. Julie had been right, the men in the café did eat like wild dogs, none more so than the one called Mark who, having left Casper alone, shovelled in his plateful as though he was stoking a locomotive.

  ‘Blimey,’ Casper said, his smile as big as his face. ‘For six pounds?’

  ‘Including the tea.’

  They fell on their meals greedily, and it was only after two sausages, three pieces of bacon and two eggs had gone down that Liam realised he was being watched. The same guy, the pusher-in, was glaring while idly picking chips from the plate of the equally unsavoury looking character he sat with. Liam looked away and attended to the rest of his breakfast; mushrooms, tomatoes, beans and fried bread. There was no way he was going to be able to finish it, but Casper was having no trouble.

  ‘What were you talking about?’ Liam asked, keeping his voice as low as the studious hubbub around them.

  ‘With him?’ Casper unashamedly pointed his fork. ‘He asked where we were going, so I told him. We were told to leave a route.’

  ‘Yeah, and I did. With the woman at the counter.’ Liam didn’t like the look of the ugly guy. He couldn’t place why, but Mark gave him the creeps, and unlikely though it was, he was pretty sure he’d seen him before. ‘Still, everyone keeps warning us about the weather, and now they’ve given me the number of the emergency services. Doesn’t exactly instil confidence.’

  Casper laughed through his toast. ‘It’s not as if we’re walking across Antarctica,’ he said. ‘We did longer and higher in Wales.’

  That was true, but then they had two qualified teachers with them, several other students and proper hired-in gear.