The Students of Barrenmoor Ridge Read online

  ‘I reckon,’ he said, ‘It’s a local way of sorting the wheat from the chaff. You know, like some kind of test to see if they can put us off.’

  ‘Better that than be told to “Keep to the path.”’ Casper managed to sound exactly like the man from An American Werewolf in London. Not only was Liam’s best friend the most handsome in their year, he was also the best mimic. He did not, however, have the best memory.

  ‘Actually,’ Liam said. ‘If you want to be accurate, the quote is, “Stay on the road. Keep clear of the moors.”’

  ‘Actually,’ Casper shot right back. ‘You’re a malaka.’

  He jabbed Liam playfully in the ribs until Liam had to fight him off, and laughing, they poked each other around until their snickers brought unwanted attention from others nearby, and they fell into abashed silence.

  ‘You’re the malaka,’ Liam whispered.

  ‘Yeah,’ Casper agreed. ‘But you love me, right?’

  ‘Fuck off.’

  They were great friends and said it as often as they insulted each other, but neither love nor insults were taken literally.

  ‘You fuck off, poustis.’

  ‘Hey, that’s not fair. What’s a poustis?’

  Casper grinned and forked a sausage into his mouth. Finding it hot, he drew it out, blew on it and then glided it back in slowly, almost suggestively until…

  ‘What?’ Liam got the message.

  His best mate was calling him queer in a second language, and Liam was torn between two thoughts. Was he serious because he knew? Or was he just being daft because he was excited about the adventure? Deciding it was the latter, he said, ‘Vescere bracis meis,’ and stuck out his baked-bean-coated tongue.

  ‘Gross,’ Casper grimaced. ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘It’s Latin and very, very filthy. Your tea’s getting cold.’

  ‘What does it mean, poutana?’

  ‘Ah,’ Liam grinned. ‘I know that one because it is similar to the Latin, pudita. Pudita est, Casper.’

  ‘If you’re not going to tell me, you can really fuck off.’ Suddenly offended, Casper threw down his knife and fork with a clatter and shoved his plate away before folding his arms and turning his back.

  Liam had gone too far. It had happened before, not long after they met when his over-familiar banter had been taken as an insult. They’d not spoken for three painful hours, and it had taken Liam a lot of careful begging before the friendship healed.

  The breakfast was unfinishable now, his appetite gone, and chilled by remorse, he said, ‘Sorry, mate. I was trying to be funny.’

  Casper remained silent.

  ‘Come on, Cass. You know I was only joking, right?’

  Casper’s shoulders shook. Was he crying? How could calling him a slut in Latin reduce him to tears?

  ‘Cass, please, mate.’

  Casper took a slow, deep breath and turned to face him, his thick lips stretched to the corners, showing glinting, white teeth clamped over his bottom lip. His chest heaved with suppressed laughter, and he shook his head.

  ‘You’re such a malaka,’ he sniggered.

  ‘You bastard.’

  ‘Ha! No Latin for that one then?’

  ‘Yeah, irrumator. Stick that in your asinum.’ Although he was pissed off for being tricked, Liam had to laugh. ‘Alright,’ he conceded. ‘Finish filling your stupid Greek face and let’s get on.’

  The laughter subsided as they ate, snatching glances at each other and offering smiles that told Liam all he needed to know. They understood each other, they could throw insults in jest and not take them to heart, and they both knew they could forgive the other anything.

  That knowledge made Liam’s forthcoming confession easier, and he hoped his best friend would also be able to forgive him for not telling him sooner.

  Mark kept his eyes down as the two southerners left, but he knew they were leaving, and he knew where they were going.

  ‘What we going to do?’ Benny asked, leaning in too close and breathing stale breath.

  Mark pushed him away. ‘Nothing we can do right now, but we’ll think of something.’

  ‘You want to go after them? Give them a beating? Run them out of town?’

  ‘I do, Benny, but we ain’t in some dodgy western. We’ll have to wait until they get back.’

  ‘Why’s that then?’

  Mark let out a long, patient sigh and shook his head. Why did he bother with the idiot to his right? ‘’Cos we got them coming sometime today,’ he said, inspecting the bottom of his mug. ‘I ain’t missing out on this deal ’cos of a couple of southern queers.’

  ‘Them?’

  ‘Oh, for fuck’s…’

  Benny was loyal, mainly because he had no choice, but he wasn’t half thick sometimes. Mark had spent the last month setting up a deal that would land him a decent amount of cash, enough to see him through the winter and pay off some other debts at any rate. It had meant nicking from a few unwary folks over Settle way, and begging an advance from the less trustworthy of Kendal, but he’d scraped together enough money to import a few bags of decent stuff from further afield while managing to keep his nose clean in the village. Currently, he was no longer on Sergeant Betty’s radar, and the police had no interest in him, which was a first, but he wasn’t going to blow it now. He couldn’t afford to. He owed too much cash and too many favours elsewhere for this deal to go wrong, and the only way that would happen was if Benny screwed up.

  ‘Look, dick-breath,’ he hissed. ‘All we got to do is wait until they get here, hand over the shit, get the cash, and we’re done. Now, go and fetch us another brew.’

  ‘Shall I bring the stuff in now?’ Benny’s piggy little eyes glinted with excitement, turning Mark’s stomach.

  ‘No, you twat. Leave it where it is. We might have to wait all day, and you can’t bring it in here anyhow.’ Mark had already tried, wanting to keep the stash close by in its disguise, but Julie hadn’t let him. ‘When they get here, we’ll go ’round the back ginnel and do the exchange there. Now, just get me fucking tea, keep your mouth shut, and clean your teeth now and then.’

  Five

  Their good humour was evident as Liam and Casper left the Pot Hole, their bellies as full as the backpacks that were hoisted as high as their spirits. The sky was clear, the air sharp, and their jackets were zipped against the chill. Liam carried the map, but the walk they had chosen was well marked.

  The first section took them through the village to a path lined with trees and into the open countryside. With the houses behind them, they found themselves faced with a landscape that gently rose across green-grey fields delineated by drystone walls. Beyond and distant stood the plateau of Fellborough, seven hundred and twenty metres above sea level. Its south-facing escarpment began as an ever-steepening slope that brushed upwards like a wave against a sea defence to become a wall of forbidding limestone. Craggy and sheer, it could have been designed as a manmade fortress supported by massive steps of rock on which little greenery grew.

  ‘Only four miles, roughly,’ Liam said as the walled path ended and became a track. ‘We just follow this.’

  The track was pitted and worn in channels either side of a raised middle, and its banks rose before mingling with the scrub and grass either side.

  ‘Who would live out here?’ Casper asked, walking ahead on the raised section with his arms out as if on a tightrope.

  ‘There was a farm marked on the map,’ Liam told him. ‘And fields mapped, so I guess, a farmer?’

  ‘Makes sense. Is it this easy all the way?’

  ‘Hang on.’ Liam stopped to study the map in more detail, and Casper swirled to face him. ‘The track runs out up there…’ He pointed vaguely towards the mountain. ‘Becomes a footpath, climbs through that bit the
re, see?’

  Casper held his hand to his forehead and peered into the distance. ‘Ah, yeah. I get it.’

  ‘It’s a bit steep in places and zigzags up, so the answer to your question is no. It’s not always this easy.’

  ‘Good. Can you get the water out of my boot?’ He meant his rucksack.

  ‘I’ve got mine here,’ Liam said, reaching behind for his side pouch.

  They took it in turns to sip water already cold enough to worry Liam’s teeth. ‘How much did you bring?’ he asked, putting away the bottle.

  ‘I’ve got three in the back,’ Casper said. ‘Filled them this morning. Luckily, they’re not as heavy as I thought they would be.’

  ‘Maybe they don’t have heavy water up here, only soft.’

  ‘If that was meant to be a science joke, you’re going to have to do better,’ Casper tutted. ‘You mean hard water. Heavy water is where the hydrogen atoms are a deuterium isotope of hydrogen as opposed to a regular protium isotope. You want me to go on?’

  ‘No. Bloody show-off.’

  Casper chuckled. ‘Anyway, I’ve got three of them in the back. Should last us a couple of days.’

  ‘Why three? I’ve only brought a litre.’

  ‘Greek-island living.’

  ‘You’ve never lived on a Greek island.’ Liam removed his gloves to more easily fold the map, and his fingers immediately complained at the biting breeze.

  ‘I’ve spent whole summers there with Yaya,’ Casper said. ‘And I can tell you it’s a lot bloody hotter than here. What’s the temperature?’

  ‘I don’t know. About five, maybe. What’s a yaya?’

  ‘Grandmother. My legs are freezing.’

  ‘Should have brought thermals. The walk will warm you up.’

  If his hands hadn’t liked the cold, Liam’s chest hated it when he unzipped his puffer jacket to put the map in the inside pocket, and he zipped up again quickly.

  ‘Let’s go,’ he said, stepping down into one of the ruts. ‘Watch your step.’

  They walked either side of the central ridge, keeping one eye on their feet and the other ahead as the path gradually sloped uphill.

  Like the mountain before them, Liam’s birthday loomed closer, and if he was to keep his promise to himself, he had until midnight to tell Casper what he had brought him there to admit. They were away from people, the countryside was deserted, and apart from a farmhouse, there were no other signs of life. All the same, it didn’t feel right just yet, and they plodded on in silence until they crested a hill and stopped again to admire the view.

  ‘Who would live there?’ Casper asked, indicating another cottage off to the left and higher still.

  ‘Someone who likes their peace and quiet, by the looks.’ Liam flexed his fingers to aid circulation.

  The stone cottage was one storey with large windows looking onto the moor and a chimney from which smoke rose in a homely, warming coil before being dispersed. If there had been snow on the ground, it would have looked like a Christmas card with Fellborough to one side and a vista of sky behind where the land dropped away. The festive potential was only marred by an unsightly, battered Land Rover parked on the scrub in front, and to the side, an ugly lean-to garage with a tin roof. A lone tree stood beyond the property’s boundary wall, and except for the chimney smoke, there were no signs of life.

  ‘Which way is the wind coming from?’ Casper asked as they moved off.

  ‘West, by the feel of it. Why?’

  ‘Over there.’

  Behind the cottage, which was now falling behind them, the sky was thickening with cloud. It was a long way off and showed as a dark streak on the horizon. Because of their elevation, it appeared as though cloud was rising from below, and whatever countryside was down there was already under its shadow. It didn’t appear to threaten snow, and bad weather hadn’t been forecast, but Liam decided to check his app when they next stopped. His phone was deep inside his jacket, and he didn’t feel like exposing his hands to the rising breeze until he had to. Over to the east, the sky remained clear and although not blue, was cloudless.

  ‘Nothing to worry about,’ he said. ‘I’m sure the forecast didn’t mention rain. Keep on trucking.’

  Another half an hour brought them to a ditch where they stopped again to scan the rising path. It had become little more than trodden earth, but in his mind, Liam pictured the map.

  ‘There were six of these, I think,’ he said. ‘Like dips, or stream channels to cross before the path zigzags up and then breaks right and left. Left is the steeper, harder ascent and right takes us to an old riverbed.’

  ‘Like I said, Mozart, you’re the boss.’

  The path was strewn with small rocks to be avoided, but was otherwise flat. No other hikers came their way, and there were no more drystone walls marking field boundaries. Either side was open moorland without shelter, and the breeze became a wind that stung their ears.

  ‘Having fun?’ Liam asked as they walked closer together.

  ‘You know,’ Casper replied. ‘I am. There’s something about being away from college, my mum, the revision… It’s clearing my head as much as this fucking wind is clearing my lungs.’

  ‘Is that why you came?’ Liam ventured. ‘Just to get away from revision?’

  ‘Partly.’

  Casper’s honesty was another endearing trait, and although Liam hoped he would say he had come to spend time with his friend, he wasn’t upset that it wasn’t the first thing on Casper’s list.

  ‘Only partly?’

  Casper looked at him, his long lashes close together protecting his eyes from the wind. Beneath the line of his woollen hat, his usually smooth brow was wrinkled, either because he was squinting or because he was thinking. Possibly both. Looking forward again, he said, ‘And because you asked me.’

  Would Casper have suggested time alone if Liam hadn’t? He wondered if he should ask the question, but it seemed too needy to pose.

  ‘Thanks,’ he said instead, and thought it best to leave it there.

  There was a pause in conversation as they negotiated another of the stream-dips, but it was Casper who continued it on the other side.

  ‘Can I ask you something?’

  ‘Dur, yes. Why do you always pre-empt a question with a question? There’s no need for it.’

  ‘Very well. Why did you invite me and not anyone else?’

  ‘Because you’re my best mate,’ Liam replied, surprised Casper needed to ask.

  ‘Oh, right.’

  By the sound of it, Casper was equally surprised at the answer, and Liam, thinking his friend found his reply awkward, wanted to qualify what he had said.

  ‘And because you like the outdoors, the same as me, and because I didn’t fancy spending so much time either alone or with anyone else.’

  ‘Because…?’

  It sounded as though Casper was the one doing the fishing now, searching for compliments perhaps?

  ‘Because we spend all our free time with each other, we haven’t done this before, and because I wanted to. What’s up?’

  ‘Nothing’s up. I just wondered why you didn’t invite Jason?’

  ‘Why would I have thought of him?’ Liam’s blood temperature dropped a few degrees.

  ‘Don’t you spend time with him at weekends?’

  ‘Only when we’re rehearsing for one of the shows,’ Liam replied defensively.

  Jason was a year below Liam at school and the boy of his metaphorical wine tasting. They had played around when Liam was fifteen, and a second time a year later, and for a while, had been vague friends beyond the mutual masturbation, but only when it suited Jason. They both appeared in the school’s summer musicals, and they had, at times, hung out at weekends, but they weren’t exactly good mates. The onl
y thing that bonded them was the secret wanking-off, and they hardly acknowledged each other when they passed in school corridors. Jason was good looking and popular, whereas Liam was considered an outsider, and he imagined Jason was embarrassed to be thought of as the friend of a swat, particularly a non-sporty, slightly fey, musical swat like Liam.

  Jason and their experimentations were one nerve now jangling, and it was a thrilling, dangerous one because it reminded Liam of the times when he most felt himself; when another guy was paying him attention and proving that what he desired was acceptable.

  The second struck nerve was: how much did Casper know?

  ‘Anyway,’ Liam said. ‘Jason wouldn’t have been interested in this.’

  ‘Ah, I see.’

  ‘Are you hinting at something, Cass?’

  ‘No, just wondered. Conversation to take my mind of my freezing shins.’

  Liam was glad. If Casper had something on his mind, he would have asked the question, and Liam would have been compelled to give him the answer, but it was not a discussion he wanted to have in this terrain.

  It wouldn’t have been possible anyway. The footpath had all but disappeared, and they needed to concentrate on their direction as they moved forward. The side of the fell rose more steeply as they crossed more dry streams, and a zigzagging route through boulders and jutting rocks became visible. Underfoot, the ground was relatively flat, but where the obstacles had previously been stones and small rocks, there was now larger, more unstable rubble, and the incline was harder work.

  They climbed in silence, their backpacks growing heavier with each footfall, and at times, had to press their hands on their knees to will their aching legs to lift their weight. They were fit and had stamina, but Liam was sweating uncomfortably inside his jacket when they reached the top of the zigzag. The path there was no less steep, but at least it was more or less straight. One track led to the west, as the map had shown, but that way would have brought them to a sheer wall requiring ropes and equipment to scale, whereas the eastern one, though taking a sweeping curve around a massive buttress of limestone, was obstacle-free and perfectly walkable.