Author's note: This has truly been a labour of love. It's an adaptation of something I wrote for a different audience, long before I first posted anything on Lit. If you recognise it, you were in the same class as me!
My thanks as ever to my partner and editor for her help, and to another friend for her help with the original version.
And my thanks to my faithful readers for sticking with me through the vicissitudes of my writing explorations. I don't seek to be popular, though it's always nice to be appreciated. I write what I have to.
I'm Scots. This story includes Scots language. If you don't know all the words, you can work them out from the context, using imagination and intelligence. I hope! I make no apology for Gaelic place-names. Things are called what they are called. If you have a problem with Gaelic names, don't come to Scotland or Ireland!
*****
Smirr of dawnglow at the window: six-thirty. She was always excited at the prospect of a day's climbing, had a real rush this morning. She got a final forecast, phoned John to confirm he was up. Showered, dressed, breakfasted; soup for the flask heated as she munched cereal. Gear grabbed -- she'd organised it the previous night - routecard posted through her neighbour's door, and she was out by seven. The canal was icing over, a thin crust at the banks. Beautiful high-pressure morning, maybe five below. The hill should be perfect, she thought. Maybe twenty below with windchill at three thousand feet, should be good hard crusted snow. They would dance the mountains today.
She rang his doorbell ten minutes later. He took ages to get his kit into the car. Of course he had a hangover, not that he admitted it. As they headed northwest on the A82 and his sour breath filled the interior, she wondered briefly why she'd agreed to this, hoped she wouldn't regret it. But the morning was too glorious for negatives and she asked whether he'd been on their intended hills before?
- Yes, but in summer. It was a good round, he grinned.
- You'll see a different world today. And we have perfect weather and snow conditions.
Accelerating off the Balloch roundabout, she allowed her eyes to rise to the Luss hills, sun-gilded snow on rounded crests. Sometimes the world lifted her out of herself.
The real mountain panorama opened up past Luss, Loch Lomond sparkling to the right, and as he began listing his problems, the views held her in thrall. He was a decent man and an old friend: she heard his recent life-story without thinking. She knew it all anyway. But it was John and he needed to offload. And needed a wee lift in his life, a diversion. She allowed her thoughts to dwell on that... she hadn't had sex in a long time, and she liked the man. He'd probably had nothing either since his hurtful separation, six months previously. Nor for some time before... Something in her tingled, but she gripped the wheel. Focus on driving, girl. This road needs care, there's black ice around.
Before Tarbet she breathed thanks as the car finally edged past the Citylink coach. Her timetable was now in place, because they had to catch that bus. Fifteen miles later, she parked at the Inverarnan Inn and they fussed their gear from the car, drew on first rollups while they fastened boots and gaiters. Cushies pecked the carpark and she crumbled a sandwich for them. He was chatting about their day now, woken up and finally past the hangover. She watched him as he spoke, reminded of just what an attractive man he was.
They moved to the northbound roadside and presently the yellow and blue Citylink hove into view. It was full of climbers and she nodded to a couple of acquaintances as he got tickets. Five miles later they left the coach, surveyed the southward ridge.
- You can't know how grateful I am for this. Thank you for suggesting it Julie. He looked her in the eyes, a bit of a puppy gaze. She smiled:
- My pleasure pal.
And she knew then that it would be that, real pleasure, not just being kind to an old friend. Not just a duty-climb.
They crossed under the stone railway arch as the Fort William train rumbled on it, walked over the rushing Falloch on a rickety structure. The snowline was around a thousand feet and they beat a steady slog up the ridge through iced grass and heather. He had longer legs and led a few yards in front, axe bobbing on his pack. She realised she was watching his arse, feeling wee tingles despite the cold. Get a grip of yourself girl!
They reached the snowline and stopped. Southwest the ridge of Ben Vorlich glistened and sparkled. The snowcover under them was thin and powdery, iceglaze on rock beneath. They unfastened axes and she explained the niceties of deciding when to strap crampons on:
- Problem is, now it's slippy and easy to lose grip, but there's not enough snow for the spikes. You've more danger of going over on your ankle than slipping badly. So just axes for now. When there's more snow we'll do a couple of safety exercises. Now, first break at the Sron Garbh cairn?
He followed the line of her hand, nodded when he saw the first top a mile further on. They reached it, mildly flushed. Unhapped packs in the lee of the cairn, sipped coffee and munched chocolate.
- Reckon its time for crampons now, snow's just about deep enough, and we're more likely to slip going down.
She fastened up, watched as his fingers worked his straps through thin thermal gloves.
- Get them as tight as you can John.
By Twistin Hill the snow was crisp and deep: they danced on its crust, savoured this illusory lightness of being. On a smooth steep downward slope she showed him how to brake a fall with the axe, and use the lifeline. He got it fine, was like a kid playing in this new world, laughing and tossing snowballs. For the first time in months she was reminded that he could be fun, felt her impishness slip past her reserve. Knew she wanted more from him, and knew it would be good for him too.
They were on the summit of An Caisteal before twelve.
- First serving of lunch, he announced, and they munched rolls, sipped soup.
- How're you feeling John?
- I'm on top of the world thanks, hadn't you noticed?
- So, fit for the full round? she asked. It's just, from here we could skip Beinn a' Chroin, go straight for Beinn Chabhair. If we do the whole lot we'll be coming off Chabhair at dusk, descending the waterfall in the dark. When we're knackered. Might be sensible to skip the middle one?
He compared map to horizon.
- No, let's go for the lot, I'm really enjoying myself. If you're sure you can manage though?
He smirked, knowing she was far fitter than him. She tossed loose snow in his face:
- OK macho-man, best not hang around here then.
They dropped the six hundred feet to the col and navigated up the long rock-clad ridge of the next hill to its eastern summit. It was past one o'clock and both were tiring. They ate again and he stretched on his polybag, lay flat. She watched him for a minute, cunt tingling despite the cold, then focused on two ravens cawing on thermals to the east. Presently he sat up:
- So what would you do in my situation?
- She's got you over a barrel John: you just need to keep going. Your bitterness is less important than your bairns' well-being. Just thole it till she signs the agreement.
- Ach, I know that wumman, it's just that it keeps dragging out, and till it's resolved I can't buy a flat, get on with my life again.
She touched his shoulder:
- You know what needs done John. She's nursing bitterness too, that's why she's dragging it out. And you know she has cause. The main thing is, the kids are fine. Everybody respects you both for sheltering them from it. But if you don't want a night's unscheduled snow-holing we'd better move.
The blue sky held cloudless, pale at the horizons, colour deepening overhead, and they stood for a moment surveying the sparkling wildness.
- It does give you a better perspective, doesn't it? he said.
