Alone Into The Distance
By
Stuart Mackay
Alone Into The Distance
Stuart Mackay
Copyright 2014 Stuart Mackay
Cover By JD Allan
He looked down the side trail and saw the warming embrace of the Stag Bar, through the falling snow he saw the tell-tale signs of smoke puffing out the bars chimney, it could only mean an open fire. He could almost smell the peat. He started to warm inside, the fire working some early magic.
He opened the door and stepped inside, every pair of eyes turned towards him, a stranger had appeared, the heat from the fire attacked the snow that covered his head and shoulders, the snowflakes melted and fell to the age old carpet like discarded tears, his nose turned towards the fire as the unmistakable smell of a wet dog meandered from the open fire, even the dog was staring at him, he took off his backpack and noticed the large clump of snow that had formed on it, he went back outside and shook the snow off before re-entering the bar, the bearded man behind the bar nodded an approval as he rested his backpack against the nicotine stained bar, he let out a sigh of relief as he placed his elbows on the bar. “What can I get you?” asked the barman as he placed the dishcloth to one side.
“Pint of Red Firebird and a whisky chaser,” he replied, licking his bottom lip in an anticipation of what was about to be passed to him.
“Sure,” replied the barman, he reached for a glass, holding it up to the light as if checking it was satisfactory, once happy with his selection he began to pump the tap, the frothy ale slowly filling the glass.
The stranger glanced again at the open fire, he turned back to the barman, “I don’t suppose you sell soup?”
The barman grinned and turned his head towards the open door at the end of the bar, “Betty.”
“Whit,” replied a gravelly unseen voice.
The barman shook his head, “is there any soup left?”
“Aye,” she replied, “who’s it for?” she asked almost angrily.
“There’s a young man here, looks like he has been doing the trail,” the stranger nodded in agreement at the barman at his deduction.
“Oh,” replied Betty, her voice now softer, she appeared in the doorway, brushing her hands on her stretched apron, “aye son, I’ve got some chicken broth, homemade.”
“Fantastic,” the stranger smiled as he spoke.
“I can heat up some chicken pie if you’re hungry,” her voice was now that of your favourite grandmother, “homemade,” she added with her best smile.
“Well, if its homemade, definitely,” he replied, she excitedly went back into the kitchen, the barman chuckled as he placed the pint in front of him before turning back and returning a few seconds later with a generous glass of whisky.
“How far have you walked then?” asked the barman.
“About 15 miles, but the snow is coming in fast, so this was a welcomed stopping point.”
The barman gazed out the window at the falling snow, he then turned and looked towards the end of the bar to the 3 old men, they were slowly sipping their drinks, their forgotten life’s now spent in the warmth of the bar rather than their cold lonely crofts, their only highlight of the day was to live to the end of it, “it’s like gods waiting room in here,” he said with a nod of the head towards the old men, “they have had hard lives. Take a seat over at the table next to the window,” he nodded in its direction, “Betty will bring your soup over; there is a good view of the mountain, and a good heat from the fire,” he looked at the dog, “just don’t get in old Megs way.”
“Thanks,” the stranger replied, he walked over to the table giving Meg a wide berth, he placed down his glasses before returning for his backpack, he looked at the barman and watched as he topped up the old men’s whiskies, all men keeping an eye on the kitchen, making sure Betty didn’t see the act of humanity that was taking place.
He reached into his backpack and pulled out a map, he unfolded it and placed it on the table, he leaned back in his chair, stretching his tired back before reaching for the small glass and taking a drink, smiling to himself as the amber gold burned his throat and warmed his insides, he leaned forward and studied the map, he guessed he had about 4 more miles to walk before he reached the bothy and a place to sleep. He looked up and saw Betty approaching with a large bowl of soup and some crusty bread; he smiled at her and moved the map aside, giving her somewhere to place the bowl and the plate of bread.
“It’s good to see someone who uses a map these days,” she said as she placed the bowl down, “most people use lily pads and PPS systems, or whatever they are called.”
He smiled at her, not bothering to correct her, “just seeing how much further to go,” he explained to her.
A concerned look appeared on her face, “you’re not spending the night in the village,” she asked, she looked out the window at the blanket of snow that was now covering the village.
“No,” he replied shaking his head, “there is a bothy about 4 miles down the trail.”
Betty thought for a moment, “Gordon’s hut,” she said aloud, the 3 old men all turned to look at them, the name of the bothy grabbing their interest, “I thought that burned down years ago.”
“It’s still there,” said one of the old men before all 3 quickly turned back round.
“The snow will be deep round there, you sure you want to go there?” she asked a worried look on her face.
The stranger nodded a serious look now on his face, “I have to, I need to find the truth,” the last part was softly spoken, he then looked at the bowl of soup, the stream as rising from it enticing his taste buds with its aroma, “this smells amazing,” he said looking at Betty.
She beamed a proud smile at him, “I hope you enjoy it, I’ll bring your pie over when you have finished,” she turned and walked back towards the kitchen.
He picked up the bread and dipped it in the soup, he smiled as he ate it, “nice soup,” he said to himself, he felt as if he was being watched, he quickly glanced to his left and watched as the 3 old men turned back around towards their drinks.
He had just finished his soup when Betty appeared with a large plate of pie, roast potatoes and veg, “I’m afraid it’s chicken again,” she said as she picked up the empty soup bowl.
“That was really nice,” he replied pointing at the empty soup bowl.
She smiled and then looked out the window, her face started to frown, “that snow is getting heavier, are you sure you want to go to Gordon’s hut?”
He turned and looked out the window, “I have to find out what happened.”
She looked at him, a confused look on her face, “what happened?”
He looked into her eyes, “I need to find out what happened to my brother,” he glanced out the window, “he was in this area and then, he’s disappeared, our family is frantic with worry.”
“When did he disappear?” Betty asked him.
“Two months ago, he sent me an email saying he was going to the bothy, and then,” he shrugged his shoulders.
“Do you have a picture of him, I’ll ask the locals while you eat your dinner,” she smiled at him in a comforting manner.
He nodded his head and pulled out a picture of his brother and passed it to Betty, she took a look at the picture but shook her head, “his name is Tom.” She took the picture and walked over to the old men leaving him to eat his meal.
When he finished his meal he looked out the window at the fading light, nature’s way of telling him he wouldn’t be having another pint, he picked up his empty glasses and plate and walked over to the bar, Betty was nowhere to be seen but the barman had the picture of Tom, he shook his head as he handed the picture back, “sorry, nobody recognises him.”
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“Thanks anyway,” he replied, “how much do I owe?”
The barman shook his head, “you’re ok son, on us.”
“I can’t let you do that.”
The barman glanced towards the kitchen, “if Betty said it’s free, I am not arguing with her.”
He smiled, “thank you,” he looked along the bar and noticed a collection bucket for the local mountain rescue team, he went into his wallet and pulled out £10 and placed it in the bucket.
“If you’re still going to bothy, Fergus there,” he nodded over to a man who was reading a book in the corner of the bar, “he is passing close to it; you would only have about a mile to go once he drops you off, he is heading off now anyway.”
“That would be great.”
“Fergus,” he shouted to the man, he then looked back at the backpacker, “what’s your name?”
“Paul.”
The barman nodded, “Paul is ready, you ok,” Fergus nodded that he was. “Good luck in finding your brother.”
“Thanks.”
Fergus dropped him off and pointed in the direction of the bothy, he never spoke during the whole journey, “thanks,” said Paul as he closed the door of Fergus’s old Landrover, but Fergus just continued to stare out the windscreen.
He put on his backpack, turned his collar up to help against the cold wind, he reached into his pocket and pulled out an old red hat and quickly put it on before the snow started to land on his head, he looked up at the