The Wedding Cake Tree (14 page)

‘
I tried to, no signal. Remembered you two.’ He grabbed Alasdair’s arm. His eyes looked wild. ‘Please, you've got to help him.’ Alasdair glanced over Jamie’s head and spoke to me directly.

‘Stay with him
,’ he said. ‘Keep him warm and take a look at his blisters.’ He took his phone out of a pocket and threw blister plasters at me – ones he insisted I apply to my ankles at the hut before we departed. ‘I’ll either see you back here, or up with the others.’

He started at a
run whilst holding the phone to his ear. Jamie, still anxious about his friend, started to get up.

‘
No, Jamie.’ It was my turn to be firm. ‘Let’s do what Alasdair said and get you sorted out first. That limp of yours, bad blisters you said.’

‘
Yeah, my right foot, but we really should go, they might need my help. I’m supposed to be the team leader.’ He rose to his feet anxiously.

‘
We’ll go to them in a minute when you’ve got your breath back. Take your boot off and we’ll plaster up your ankle.’ He looked up towards the rise – Alasdair was running at an impressive pace up the path.

‘
You’ll be more use to them if you can walk,’ I said, holding his arm and pulling him down onto a rock. ‘And he’s in very safe hands with Alasdair.’

The back of his foot was cut to ribbons
. I used the time plastering his heel to gain a little more detail. They were sixth form students from Berkshire – on the Duke of Edinburgh Scheme as Alasdair had guessed – and were all seventeen.

About fifteen
minutes (and a few more puffs from the inhaler later) we set off to join the others and I was relieved to find two boys standing on the path beyond the rise, just as Jamie promised. They were standing next to a patch of snow, roughly forty metres square, that cut away steeply into a gully. The slide mark the impetuous Charlie had carved through the ice was sickeningly visible. The boys didn’t speak; they looked as pale as Jamie. Alasdair’s rucksack lay abandoned towards the edge of the gully. It was obvious that where the snow ended a steep craggy drop would begin. It was my turn to flush with panic.

‘
Where’s Alasdair?’ I shouted, having bypassed the boys and begun to work my way down the rocks towards his rucksack. A dark-haired boy yelled back.

‘
He told us to wait here. He’s taken his rope and first aid kit and gone down the gully to find Charlie.’

‘
What?’ I glanced around blankly and wondered what on earth I should do. Surrounded as we were by Highland wilderness, I at once appreciated the very real danger and isolation of walking in the mountains. What if the boy
was
dead? I started to work my way towards the edge of the gully. I wanted to peer over in an attempt to check Alasdair was safe, but the dark-haired boy called after me again.

‘
Wait—wait!’

I turned to l
ook at the boys. They seemed younger than their seventeen years.

‘
The man said you’re not to go after him. We were supposed to tell you to wait with us.’

I looked towards the gully
and then back at the boys. He was right. There was no point making the situation worse.

We waited
for a sight or a sound from the ravine, but – nothing. I tried to maintain a positive tone with the boys, but despite our attempt to remain calm, we were crippled with anxiety. Then, what seemed to be an interminable time later, the dark-haired boy, Tom, said he could hear something. It sounded like a helicopter. The third boy, Simon, noticed a tiny grey speck in the sky.

‘
Get your coats and wave,’ I ordered. ‘With any luck it’s here for Charlie.’

The speck transformed
into a yellow helicopter with
Royal Air Force
written on the side. As it edged towards us I realised we were almost certainly in the way.

‘
Come on guys,’ I shouted. ‘We need to move down the path.’

Alasdair’s rucksack
sat on the snow-clad gully, the straps and gaping top pocket flapped as the helicopter manoeuvred into position – the port wheel and tip of the rotor blades were perilously close to the rocks. We couldn’t see the pilot as the tail-rotor faced towards us. Only the winchman, who was hanging out of the helicopter looking at the scene below, was visible. Then, another man and a stretcher were lowered into the gully and out of sight.

No
one spoke. I held on to Jamie’s arm in an attempt to comfort us both. The other two boys stood still with their hands pressed to their faces.

A little while later,
another air crewman at the top of the winch leant forward out of the open door and made hand signals. The winch was raised, the stretcher reappeared and it made its way slowly up to the helicopter. A body wrapped in a blanket lay across the stretcher. Jamie was the first to speak, but it was more like a whisper.

‘
He’s dead isn’t he?’

I noticed
an orange piece of plastic at one end of the stretcher.

‘
No, Jamie. I don’t think he is. Isn’t that a head brace? I don’t think they would bother with a brace if he was dead, and the winch-man was down there for ages, so he must have been taking his time applying first aid or something surely.’

The stretcher disappeared into the helicopter and the winch was lowered
once more. The original air crewman appeared and, once safely in the helicopter, the side door was closed, the nose of the aircraft fell forward and the helicopter moved away up and over the mountains.

No
one spoke. We returned to the patch of snow.

‘
Where’s Alasdair?’ I asked, quietly. They looked at each other in silence – clearly as confused as I was. I edged my way to the rucksack. Alasdair’s shemagh had been blown onto the snow by the helicopter’s downwash. There was no way I was going to let him lose it. I sat down and edged my way along the ice. I shouted out his name. What if he had fallen too, but the helicopter guys hadn’t seen him? Sod it. I decided to manoeuvre myself to the edge of the gully and look down. As I made my first tentative moves I heard a voice shouting from the path.

‘
Grace! Don’t make me come and rescue you a second time.’

It was Alasdair.
He was standing with the boys.

R
elieved beyond words, tears began to flow. He started towards me. Our paths intercepted adjacent to his rucksack. I didn’t say a word but flung my arms around him like a welcoming war bride.

‘
What’s all this then?’ he asked, stepping back and smiling. He cupped my face in his hands and used his thumbs to wipe the tears from my cheeks.

‘
I thought …’ I didn’t have the words.

‘
I left strict instructions you were to stay on the path.’

‘
I know but—’ I pointed into the gully, but still didn’t have the words to explain my emotion, and then I noticed his right forearm; it was badly grazed.

‘Jesus
, Alasdair; look at the state of your arm!’ I held his arm in my hand and ran a finger near a deep graze. ‘We need to get some antiseptic on that – and look at your watch, it’s scratched to bits!’

He turned his wrist to look at his watch.

‘Not to worry, it’s only a knock-off thing I picked up in the Middle East.’

‘What about your arm though? That must smart a bit.’

He shrugged. ‘I’ve got another one if it falls off! I'll put something on it later.’ He put his arm around my shoulders and smiled. ‘Thanks for rescuing my lucky shemagh by the way, I never go anywhere without it.’ I handed it back to him but, in return, he draped it like a scarf around my neck. ‘Come on Rainy Face,’ he joked, ‘let’s get going.’

Chapter Nineteen

Alasdair launched the rucksack over his shoulder and we worked our way to the path to join the boys. He explained that Charlie was in a serious but not life-threatening condition. A few breaks, a leg, maybe a rib or two. Yes, Charlie’s parents would be informed, and yes, the school would also be informed and finally, yes, their own parents would be informed. But there was nothing for the boys to do but to put the incident out of their minds and to carry on with the expedition.

The relief
for all of them, Jamie in particular, was palpable. Tom and Simon, who I discovered was the quiet one, were given instructions to make a brew and divide Charlie’s chocolate between us. Meanwhile, Alasdair insisted everyone put on extra suntan lotion, and asked Jamie to show him their route. I helped with the tea.

Jamie explained that they
intended to carry on with their journey as originally planned – Ben Macdui, then down to Loch Etchachan, and camp that night at Dubh Lochan. So, once we had all calmed down and eaten a snack, we set off on the final leg of our climb – to the summit of Ben Macdui. The mountain was now nothing more than a sea of boulders. It looked like the surface of the moon.

Weighed down with kit, and with Jamie’s blisters slowing down the pace, t
he boys dropped back a little, but Alasdair wanted the two of us to push on.

‘
Don’t worry about the boys, they’ll be fine,’ he said, noticing my reticence to stride ahead. ‘They need to re-establish themselves as a team rather than fall back on me for security. I’ve told them where we’re camping if they get into any more bother.’

I nodded, waved
across the boulder field to Jamie, and we pushed on.

Roughly half an hour later, b
eyond yet another rise, the path re-emerged out of the boulders and the way became easier underfoot. Alasdair pointed to the top of a rise, roughly a quarter of a mile ahead.

‘Just this last little
bit to climb and then we’re there, at the top.’

I stopped, elated, and looked to the top of the rise.
‘Seriously? That pile of rocks just up there is the top of the mountain?’

He smiled. ‘Yep, you sound surprised.’

‘I expected the top to be like a child’s drawing of a mountain.’ I put my fingers together in the shape of a triangle, ‘you know, a triangular shape with snow on the top.’ I pointed towards the summit. ‘This one looks more like a dome.’

Alasdair laughed
as we carried on up the path. ‘Well, pointy-shaped or not,’ he said, ‘it’s still a mountain, so you should be proud of yourself. How are your thighs by the way – burning yet?’

I rubbed my legs. ‘My thighs?
’ I asked brightly. ‘Oh, they’re fine, no problem at all. I must be fitter than I thought.’ I was such a liar; my thighs were on fire.

And then, after a final push
, roughly two hundred yards from the summit (which was marked by a five-foot-high pile of stones – a cairn), Alasdair turned to me, grinned and said, ‘You up for a race to the top?’

Run?
To the top? Was he nuts?

‘Sounds great,’ I said, faking enthusiasm, ‘b
ut I think you should give me a bit of a head start.’ I flashed him my ‘I am only a weak and feeble woman’ look.

I
t worked. He smiled knowingly.

‘
I’ll shout back when I think I’ve gone a fair distance,’ I said, ‘you can set off after that.’

I took a last drink
of water and started at a run up the hill, although it wasn’t really a run, more like an enthusiastic hobble. Alasdair waited. I needed a significant head start if I was to stand a chance of winning, so I only beckoned him on once I was roughly fifteen feet from the top. With my victory assured, I was just about to clamber onto the cairn, when Alasdair shot past me, threw off his rucksack, and leapt onto the top with one last Olympian style leap (damn those Royal Marines and their relentless training, the man must have
flown
up the bloody mountain).

He smiled down at me cheekily
and held out his hand.

‘Come on, there’
s room on these rocks for two. You can’t walk to the top of a mountain and not stand on the
very
top. Well,
I
can’t anyway, especially on a perfectly clear day like today.’

I reached
my hand up towards his. He launched me upwards and then, in one fluid movement, hurled me onto his shoulders and all of a sudden I was on top of the world.

Views are often des
cribed as breathtaking, which is, perhaps, an overly used expression; but that one really did take my breath away. Ben Macdui was the highest mountain in the range, so any walker who scaled it not only benefited from a 360 degree panorama of the Cairngorms, but also an uninterrupted view of the mountains of the west coast in the far distance. It was monumental.

Alasdair eventually rested me onto my feet and I glanced up at him as he continued to take in the view
. He looked happy. The smile on his face was contagious and I felt an immediate desire to capture his expression, his love of the landscape, the freshness of his face. I grabbed my camera and attempted to photograph the mood and texture of the place.

‘So,’ he said, appearing by my side,
‘how do you feel now you’ve scaled your first mountain?’

I took a shot of him
before answering. ‘Actually, it’s going to sound a bit over-the-top, but I feel really proud of myself. There were times, trudging up, when I wondered what the hell we were doing it for. But now I’m here, I can see why people get hooked. It’s brilliant Alasdair, just brilliant.’

He smiled the warmest smile I had possibly ever seen.

‘So,’ he added,
looking up, ‘about this blue-sky theory of your mother’s, what do we think? Is it a different kind of blue up here after all?’

I looked up and all around. ‘Yes
, Alasdair. I really think it is.’

We worked our way down from the summit and it was gone four when we sauntered, happy but hot, around a final contour, and a view of the majestic Loch A’an appeared in a cauldron-shaped glen, several hundred feet beneath us.

I
remembered why I was there – Mum’s letter. She must have thought Loch A’an to be quite a special place to make me walk all the way there. We stood off-centre to the head of the loch and looked down its length from an elevated position. The loch was the shape of an elongated rectangle, flanked by steep, dark crags on three sides. The far side was the only side not to be cavernously enclosed. The water was deep blue – almost black.

I noticed a
small golden beach on the near-side of the loch. Alasdair explained that our camp for the night was on that beach, and so we hurried on down the slope with a lighter and faster step.

With a huge sense of achievement rippling through my aching limbs, I stepped onto the sand, slipped the straps of the water pack off my shoulders, flopped down and tipped my head back towards the afternoon sun. 

Ala
sdair smiled down at me.

‘D
id you have a good day?’ he asked, removing his rucksack. I beamed up at him.

‘Absolutely brilliant.
Thanks so much for bringing me. This place is amazing, no wonder Mum liked it here. Mind you,’ I added, sitting up and taking a sniff of my T-shirt, ‘I could do with a shower. I stink!’

He leant towards me and took a sniff.

‘Mmm, you do whiff a bit.’

I was mortified. ‘Do I? Do I really?’
             

He laughed and shook his head
. Suddenly struck by an idea, he glanced at me – cheekily – and proceeded to drag a carrier bag out of his rucksack.

‘If you
genuinely want to feel refreshed, I happen to know what
the
all-time bathing experience is, and it’s right in front of you.’ He glanced towards the loch, then removed two hand towels from a carrier bag.

I followed his gaze.

‘The loch?’ I asked, incredulous. ‘No way, it’ll be freezing. And anyway I haven’t brought a swimming costume.’

He raised an eyebrow
. ‘I hadn’t got you down as a prude, Grace.’

Without ceremony,
and with no warning whatsoever, he removed his shirt and I thought all my Christmases had come at once. I tried to avert my gaze, but my previous glimpse of his muscular frame as he stepped into the shower had not prepared me for Alasdair Finn in full, close-up, sinuous glory.

‘Come on, get you
r kit off woman,’ he said, throwing one of the towels at me. ‘I promise I won’t look’—he winked—‘well, not much.’ He slipped off his walking boots and socks. The man had become the epitome of reckless abandon; I hadn’t seen
that
coming.

‘You’re
serious aren’t you?’ I said, digging my heels into the sand.

‘Of course!
There’s nothing better than jumping into a river or a loch at the end of a long sweaty walk, I do it all the time.’ He unfastened his belt.

‘Alasdair!’

‘What?’ His face was full of fun. I glanced around the desolate glen.

‘I can’t
possibly just strip off to my knickers and bra, what if someone comes?’

This comment tickled him to the core.

‘
What if someone comes
?’ he repeated sarcastically. ‘Who the hell is going to pitch up here? You may not have noticed, but it took several hours to walk here. Trust me,
no one
is going to come.’

‘But it’s embarrassing.’

‘Why? You wear a bikini at the beach don’t you? What are your bra and knickers if not a ready-made bikini? And anyway you brought spares. I know you did, I packed them. What was it Rosamund said?
Live life, don’t watch it
?’

The bugger had quoted
Mum’s note from the aircraft.

I glanced up at the sun, and then back to the enticing loch
. The idea of jumping in the water was certainly appealing, and it would be very refreshing, wouldn’t it? The deciding factor came down to one key issue – what underwear was I wearing? I peered down my top.
Oh dear God
, I remembered. I’d worn the cerise bra and knickers set Mum had bought me. Talk about ‘sod’s law’ – I
never
wore pink underwear. But then, do men really notice that kind of thing, I wondered?

‘
Well, if you’re sure no one will see …’

He smiled,
held out his hand and pulled me up.

‘I’m positive
. Now turn away while I strip off.’

‘What?’

I quickly realised his intent and turned away – the man was brazen.

Within ten
seconds of turning away, there was an almighty splash in the water. I looked down at the sand. His boxers were strewn across his boots – he was naked. Alasdair the Adonis was actually naked, and only a few feet away.

‘
I take it you’re in?’ I shouted, trying to appear unfazed. ‘Can I turn around now?’

‘
Yes, you can turn around. Hurry up if you’re getting in though, it’s a tad nippy. Not sure how long I’ll last.’

I turned around.
Alasdair was standing in the loch. The water was up to his waist – his perfect, trim waist.

‘Isn’t it freezing
cold?’ I asked, amazed. He seemed so composed.

‘Of course it’s cold, but the secret is to keep moving
. It feels great though.’ He started to swim.

Was I actually going to do this?
I wondered. Was I really going to strip off to my bra and knickers and jump into a freezing loch?

I shrugged. Y
ep, I really was.

I stripped
down to my underwear quickly. Alasdair had turned and was facing the far end of the loch, swimming breaststroke quite happily. I took a last glance at the footpath to see if anyone was coming – it was deserted. Alasdair read my mind.

‘You’
re thinking about it too much,’ he shouted. ‘Just keep running into the water and don’t stop. And remember, stopping at thigh level is lethal,’ he tittered and murmured, ‘in more ways than one!’

I was definitel
y seeing a new side to Alasdair.

I glanc
ed up to the sun one final time, it was gloriously warm. The loch was certainly inviting, and I hadn’t heard Alasdair yelp as he jumped in, he seemed to be having a lovely refreshing time …

‘Keep running,
don’t stop,’ I chanted while sprinting towards the loch, ‘keep running, don’t stop …’
SPLASH!
I really went for it and plunged in – a full, ungraceful, belly splash.

I
t was absolutely Baltic. I flailed around like a netted salmon and tried to scream but could only manage a hypothermia-induced pant. It was as though my entire body had been run through with a million shards of ice. I managed to stand – which was difficult as my legs had numbed in an instant – and ran straight out of the water (even faster than I had run in). Alasdair was standing on the beach, the swine must have charged out of the water as I had charged in. He was already dressed in his underwear, laughing like a drain and running a towel across his chest when I staggered onto the beach.