CHAPTER 27
I showed my phone to Mary, and she winced.

“Years ago, but we used it as an example, along with Bryn Estyn, Mersey View, Kincora and a special school in Norfolk for autistic kids. That one had really deep connections with Christofascists”

“Sorry?”

“So-called Christians, love. I thought you’d know that term, as you are top of their hit list, you and others like you. Anyway, it was absolutely shit, even just reading about it. There are a couple of books from survivors, but I wouldn’t, couldn’t read them”

I thought back to that blessings-counting session, and shuddered. So lucky indeed. Get moving, change the subject.

“Ready, girls?”

“What’s next, ey?”

“We’re just coming into the first of the big mountains, like the Cobbler. The valley narrows right down, then opens out at Crianlarich. Really impressive views there”

“Ellie?”

“Yes, love?”

“Café coming up according to my phone. Bite to eat? By the ‘Loch cruises’ sign. I’ll take over from there”

“Sounds good---right. Got the sign”

“Ellie?”

“Yes, Jacky?”

“What’s a Trossach?”

“Not a clue”

The café was a simple place, but they did great panini and a decent cuppa, which we had sitting outside looking over the loch.

“Is this still Loch Lomond?”

“Yup. Got a few miles of it left, too”

“Shoot!”

“End’s at Ardlui. Enjoying it so far?”

“It’s not like the Rockies, but it is lovely”

“Well, there’s a bit coming up I love, whether going through by train or on the bike. Mountain called Beinn Dorain. Convex slope, but with all grooves running down it, seems a lot bigger than it actually is. One of my favourite mountains, that”

Food and drink gone, a wistful look at the cakes while remembering Mary’s warning, and then she drove us out on what would be that day’s final leg. We passed Ardlui, barer hillsides coming into view, and then onto the Crianlarich bypass, Jacky complaining about all the roadside trees blocking the views.

“If you had ever come along this road on a bike, you’d be blessing them. Side winds”

The trees did diminish, though, and I pointed out how much of the road was slightly raised above the surrounding land, for drainage. The skyline was now very lumpy, which had Jacky cooing happily, and once past Tyndrum, I steered Jacky to a layby with the most perfect of views of Beinn Dorain and his brothers. Jacky was in ecstasy, and I couldn’t help feeling rather smug.

Told you…

It almost washed away the memory of what I had read about Carlisle.

Through Bridge of Orchy, past Loch Tulla, and park again almost at the top of the long climb to Rannoch Moor for the view behind us. Mary stretched her back, smiling as Jacky went hyper with her camera, the mountains that golden green of a Highland Summer, under a flawlessly blue sky, just for us.

And for all the other people crowding the viewpoint, of course, but they could count their own blessings. I had mine with me.

“Jacky?”

“Yeah?”

“Coming up to a really, really famous bit in a few miles. We’ll try and pull over for some shots, but if not, we can walk out later”

Mary coughed.

“And where exactly are we stopping overnight?”

“Ah, made a phone call before we left. I’ll show you when we get there”

“Hotel? Campsite?”

“B and B”

“Confirmed? No signal up here”

“Confirmed”

“Good. Near a pub, by any chance?”

“Nearish”

“Rock and roll, then? Get this done?”

We stopped again at one of my favourite viewpoints, Lochan na h-Achlaise, and I pointed out some more of the surrounding peaks, before we started across the last bit of the rolling bog that is Rannoch Moor.

“Remember I spoke of a man called Arthur? In Belgium?”

Two nods.

“Okay. He talked about riding this bit in side winds, where he had to stop at each of those little bridges just to get a rest from being blown across the road. Not just that, but he was at a place just ahead… See that big peak there?”

“The one with the pointy top?”

“Yup. That bit to the left, by the way, is a skiing area. That big one is Buchaille Etive Mor, There’s a really famous view of it just coming up. Anyway, Arthur comes to a big queue of cars, so he starts filtering—slipping through the traffic, and then he sees why they’ve stopped. There’s a pitched battle going on, lots of hairy men in kilts with swords, and he said it was ages before he spotted the grinning copper holding up traffic. First of your film sets, from ‘Highlander’. There are others”

We did the famous view stop, of course, and then began the equally famous descent into Glen Coe, with its Three Sisters. A stop at the Meeting of Three Waters for the waterfall, then down the hill, as I described as much as I could remember, including the use of a car access road in one film as a ‘remote Highland lane’ and a lumpy bit of ground next to the visitor centre as a similarly remote ‘lonely place to die’.

“Less of the tour guide, love, and more of the driver guide. Where to?”

“First right, the old road”

Jacky was squirming away behind me, trying to see as much as possible. We made our way along the single track road, pulling into a passing place twice, and then I said, “Left here”

“This actually IS a pub, love”

“Yeah, but the motel bit is separate”

“By about thirty yards?”

“I did say ‘nearish’, love”

“Hmmmm. I will assume the reception is in the pub, though?”

“So I would think”

“Then you can book in and park, while Jacky and I have a cuppa. Come on, girl”

I did as ordered, then started the climb back up to the pub, where Mary had made a sensible choice to sit outside, with the wonderful view of Aonach Dubh and Meall Mor. Jacky was sitting with the silliest of smiles on her face.

“This, Ellie, is perfect. How long have you booked for?”

“Well, a lot of the good bits are here, and many others a drive away, like Nevis. Three nights here, so two full days to explore, then move on. I’ll want to go into the back bar later, though. Spent some time there over the years, a really famous place. Get this down, sort the room, then a stroll back up the road?”

“Sounds good”

“One word of warning: some of the filming of that horrible woman’s wizard tripe was done round here, so if I start swearing suddenly, just let me. Get it out of my system, okay? Anyway, room looks nice. We’re sharing, a double bed and a single”

We only unpacked the essentials, leaving the boots alone, as we would only be walking along a road and not clambering up the Clachaig Gully. I took a couple of pairs of binoculars, on the basis that one or both of the other women would probably demand their own use of them, and we walked back out towards the single carriageway that was all the main road north consisted of. I led the way across a little patch of rough ground, where miniature waterfalls tinkled away as the Water of Coe descended the rocky steps of its bed.

“Swimming spot, this. Had many a dip in there, I have. Not as cold as it looks, this time of year”

Mary started to laugh, looked at Jacky, laughed again, and then, in bite-sized chunks separated snorts, got out an account of watching me skinny dip in a limpid, warm Lakes mountain tarn that might have been the first but turned out to be a long way from the second, and it was a moment before the moment’s importance struck me.

“This was my wife, remembering something from my ‘Harry days’, laughing about it, looking at me, and then laughing some more. She fought her breath down enough to say, “And now it’ would be twice the shock!”, before losing herself in laughter once again.

Each to their own.

We sat for a couple of hours, the passing traffic doing little to mar the splendour of the place, then ambled, content, back to our chalet, where Jacky got the first shower. As I prepared a round of teas, I asked Mary what had set her laughing, and she smirked again, pointing at my chest.

“You, love. Every time you go into the sea, you stop dead and whimper when the cold water gets to your bits. Now, you got another set to worry about, just… here”

“You are a tease, Mary Ellison”

“And you, Elspeth Ellison, are somebody I will never again let go. Now, food?”

“Obvious place, love, and I want to see if the other bar’s changed”

Mary and I, er, saved water by showering together, and no, showering was all we did, but it was still very nice, and then we walked over to what was called the ‘boots bar’, the one with the old stone floor that could stand the pounding of Sturdy And Appropriate Footwear, and to my delight they had really upped their game, ale-wise, for there was a whole row of hand pumps for my delight and delectation. The bar menu was more than adequate, and as I waited while my card was processed, I looked through the ‘locals and regulars’ photo board and—shit.

“Girls? Have a look at this”

One of the photos showed, in far more typical local weather, i.e. rain, a couple standing in front of what looked like a monolith standing proud of some level ground.

“That’s the Lost Valley, or Hidden Valley, just up from here. And.. see the bald head? Beard? White in her hair?”

“That’s not your friends, Arthur and his missus?”

“Lana? Yup”

The barmaid leaned across the bar to see where I was pointing, then smiled.

“You’re friends of Art and Lana? They haven’t been back for ages; how are they doing?”

I sighed, and she looked devastated.

“Oh hell, no! How?”

“Cancer, both of them, only a couple of years apart. I think… I think he was sort of, well, the way he spoke, she was his life”

“Aye, I would say the same, hen. I mean, he’d come up by bike now and again”

“He did JOGLE or LEJOG every couple of years. Land’s End-Groats, or other way round. Lana would use trains and that to join him along the way, or they’d drive somewhere together”

“Oh, aye. We used to get… I’ve been here a lot of years, Miss”

“Ellie, and Mary and Jacky”

“Sue. Anyway, up the road, by the river, until they fenced it off, was wild camping. Used to get very busy, and some of them were walkers, or even climbers, but loads o’ they were just drinkers. Art and Lana, they were walkers, real ones. They would be here every other year for both Whitsuntide and the end of August, and when it rained, he would just say, ‘skin’s waterproof, and there’s a fire in here for after’, and off he’d go. Didn’t see them for a couple of days one year, and they’d just walked from the end of Glen Nevis to Loch Ossian Youth Hostel and back. Oh, hell. I’ll pass the news. Could I ask a favour?”

“Go ahead”

“Did they have any kind of, you know, order of service thing? Something we could put up by their photo?”

“Have you got wifi here? I can email a copy, if that works”

“Aye, and then we can print it. Sorry; not the best of news, but… drinks?”

We plumped for three different ales, so we could each try a taste, and then Sue packed us off to a table while she sorted our food.

Such a small world.