I decided not to follow Hunter back straight back into town. I couldn’t face confinement in my tiny attic in the Heronry: it would only make me think too much.
So I strolled away from town towards the road at Under Loughrigg, while the park glowed all around me with that ethereal, luminous green that is peculiar to springtime. The pale sunshine had brought the walkers out in force. When I lingered by the beck, a party of them marched past me along the road in boy-scout style, boots clumping, high-tech sticks swinging dangerously.
One of them looked familiar. Long legs, grey hair, an eager manner as he spoke animatedly to his neighbour.
“Griff?” I called out as they passed.
He stopped and looked at me. “I’m sorry?”
It was Griff all right; but of course he didn’t know me. While I was wondering what to say, he started to walk briskly on again.
I stared after him. What was he doing here? Those must be old friends: that was it, taking care of him while Muriel got some time off.
But a moment later Griff veered off alone on to the path that led up Loughrigg Fell. The rest of the troop, still talking heartily, continued on the road beside the river. One of them gave Griff a brief wave: the sort you’d give someone you’d only known for ten minutes. Griff waved back before setting off uphill.
“Bloody hell!” I said. “What’s he doing?”
I ran to the bend. There he was, striding away up the path as if he relished the chance to stretch his legs. I hurried after him.
“Griff!” I yelled. He turned to wait for me, frowning courteously.
“Yes, I’m Griff. I’m sorry, er…?”
“Eden. We’ve met before. I’m a friend of Muriel’s. Does Muriel know where you are?”
Silly question. A look like fear passed across his face. “I’m going to meet Muriel now,” he said.
“Where, exactly?”
He waved his hand. “On the other side. Do excuse me, I’ll be late.” He moved away again, striding, if possible, even more swiftly than before.
I hesitated, wondering what to do. It seemed most unlikely that Muriel had arranged to meet him anywhere. On the other hand, Griff seemed to know where he was going. But once he’d ascended Loughrigg, where would he go next?
“Oh, hell,” I said. I would have to follow him. As I began to scramble after him he was already quite a way ahead. He had the proper kit on: anorak, boots, rucksack. I had my ordinary shoes which were fine for the park but not designed for fell-walking. The gap between us began to widen.
“Griff!” I yelled uphill. This time he halted briefly and glanced back, but didn’t wait for me. Why should he? I was a complete stranger. I decided it would be wiser not to call out to him again, but just to try and keep him in sight and make sure he came to no harm.
I panted along about fifty metres behind him, trying to stay at the same distance. It wasn’t easy. As well as the right boots, he had longer legs than me; and he was fit for his age, mounting the steepening path with ease. Soon I hardly had the breath to call him even if I’d wished. Occasionally he turned around to look at me, but gave no sign of recognition.
We ploughed on uphill, me cursing silently and willing him to sit down and rest. He didn’t. At last the ground flattened, and I paused to gasp, my breath raw and painful in my throat. When I looked back, Windermere was a long, thin, sunlit pond stretching away south into the gentler landscape of Cartmel, while Ambleside was a neat grey model village nestling in the hills.
Griff did not pause to survey the view. He veered away from it, leaving the well-defined path to dive into the choppy sea of rugged knolls and boggy dips that characterise the top of Loughrigg. He seemed to know where he was going, although no other walkers strode along this route. The closest people I could see were a good half-mile away.
Griff hurried on so rapidly that I worried he might trip. But when I followed, I quickly realised that in my flimsy shoes I was more likely to come to harm than he was: I dared not speed up for fear of turning an ankle.
Nevertheless I stumbled after him along winding sheep-paths that dipped up and down in giant waves, while every so often he would slow down, peer round as if re-orienting himself, and then charge off again with renewed determination.
My heart was hammering with effort by the time I realised what I should have done right at the start: rung Muriel.
“Idiot,” I muttered to myself. As I staggered breathlessly along, I got my mobile out, dabbed at the keys, and heard the phone start to ring.
At once I realized I was hearing not just the ringing tone. A happy, jangling little tune was carried to me through the clear air. Mozart, I think. Griff looked down, patted pockets, and retrieved a phone. As he answered it, he looked back at me with my own phone clutched to my ear.
I should have rung off then. Instead, stupidly, I said into the mouthpiece,
“Griff, you need to go home. Muriel’s waiting for you.”
I saw him stiffen as I spoke. He dropped the phone on the ground as if it had just turned into a rat, and began to run away from me.
“Oh, Christ,” I said into the phone. I had just totally spooked him. No wonder he was running, with a strange female in pursuit and ringing him up on top of a hill. The only consolation was that in ten or fifteen minutes he would have forgotten all about it. All I had to do was stay out of sight for a while.
So that was what I tried to do, with mixed success. When I reached the place where he’d been standing, I wasted several minutes hunting for his abandoned phone. By the time I found it in a clump of grass, Griff had disappeared.
I panicked until I ran up to the top of a mound and spotted him again. And then, of course, he spotted me; and fled, his speed redoubled.
We kept this up over the top of Loughrigg, me bobbing up and down like a meerkat, until my inadequate shoes and the hems of my jeans were soaked through. Loughrigg doesn’t have a peak, which was good. What it does have is acres of lumpy, blobby, tussocky peaklets, crags, pits and pockmarks, which were not so good. I was knackered and wanted to stop but couldn’t for fear of losing Griff, who was pulling away from me, bounding like a goat over a rocky outcrop.
“Griff!” I yelled at last, in desperation. I hoped he’d had enough time to forget about me, and might just stop this time.
He halted: hesitated, and then came a little way towards me before he stopped again, as wary as a deer.
I scrambled up the crag. Behind him, the clouds clenched bruised and bulging fists: the sun lanced through them to pick him out in gold, like some biblical film hero. Moses on the mountaintop, but with no audience but me. There was no-one else in sight.
“Griff!” I wheezed. I could hardly talk. “Do you know where you’re going?”
“Who are you?”
“I’m Eden. I’m a friend of Muriel’s.”
“Eden? I don’t know any Eden!” He glanced around anxiously at the empty fell, probably thinking that I was some sort of mugger with a mountain fetish.
“Look,” I said, “Don’t worry about that. Let’s just go back to Ambleside and find Muriel.”
“You’re following me! Why are you following me?”
“I want to help you,” I said.
“What for? I don’t need help!” He was on the verge of panic.
“I’m worried you’ll get yourself into trouble, Griff.”
His eyes widened. “Trouble? Why would I be in trouble? It wasn’t my fault!”
“No, I know, but–”
“It was accidental!” he panted. “I was looking for something else entirely!”
“Griff, I think Muriel would like you to–”
“Can’t anyone be allowed a mistake?” he shouted. “This is persecution!”
“Griff, the only reason that I’m following you–”
He took a step forward. “I’ve told you! It was a simple matter of chance, I’ve told you that, and now you’re hounding me! Can’t you leave me alone even on holiday? I can’t take any more of this! Get away from me! Go a
way!”
With that, he took a few long, lurching strides towards me and pushed me roughly by the shoulders. I staggered backwards to the edge of the low outcrop.
“Griff, will you just–”
He pushed me again and I lost my balance. I found myself tumbling sideways and then sliding helplessly down a muddy slope until I came to rest at the bottom of one of the pockmarks. As I sat up, Griff started to clamber down the slope towards me.
“I’m going!” I shouted. “You’re right, it was a mistake. I got it wrong. I’m going!”
I staggered upright and began to limp away from him. My ankle felt as though someone had tried to twist my foot off.
When I turned, I saw that our former positions were reversed: Griff was coming after me.
“Stop!” I yelled. “I said I’m leaving! Go away!” because I had no idea what he might decide to do in his delusional terror. I hobbled away from him as fast as I could.
Next time I looked, he had stopped, thank God, and was just staring at me. After a moment he turned around and began to plough away in the opposite direction. I bent over to try and get my breath, feeling more shaken than seemed reasonable.
I couldn’t pursue him any longer. I could barely walk, and had to sit down to massage my ankle. Then I fumbled for my mobile, thinking that maybe I should ring the police.
Instead of my own phone, I pulled out Griff’s. Only of course it must be Muriel’s, I realized. Possibly he had picked up the wrong phone because he couldn’t remember whose was whose.
So I looked through the phone’s address book, found the number for Griff and rang it.
I feared that there’d be no signal here, but it was stronger than in some parts of town, the height compensating for my remoteness. Muriel answered at once, her voice tense. As soon as I began to explain, she burst out frantically.
“Where is he? Is he all right? I’ve just got back; I only went out for ten minutes, and he’d gone. Oh God, I thought he’d be safe! Where is he now?”
“Still walking over Loughrigg,” I said, and described his location to her as precisely as I could. “If he keeps going in the same direction, he’ll hit Loughrigg Terrace and the path between Rydal Water and Grasmere.”
“Then I know where he’ll go,” said Muriel, her relief audible. “He’ll go down to Rydal and walk back along the Rothay. It was one of our regular walks. I’ll drive straight up there, and hopefully I’ll meet him. Can you still see him?”
“No, sorry. I turned my ankle and had to take it easy.” There was no point giving her all the details now. “I’ll get down on my own okay, don’t worry.”
Thanking me profusely, Muriel rang off. I sat on my damp tussock for a few more minutes, nursing my ankle, and thinking over various puzzles.
Stop persecuting me. What had Muriel called it? Confabulation. It wasn’t surprising Griff felt persecuted, being chased up a hill by a persistent stranger; no doubt his confused brain had supplied him with a story.
But Muriel. “I’ve just got back. I only went out for ten minutes...” Well, in those ten minutes Griff had kitted himself out, set off on his expedition and got half-way over Loughrigg. That must have taken him a good hour or more. So where had Muriel been all that time?
And what was Freddie’s number doing in her address book?
I looked at the mobile in my hand. Then I scrolled down the menu and searched the sent box. Muriel had sent Freddie a text yesterday: No problem, please do. I went back to the inbox, and found its partner: Could we talk re M? Could I ring you after 8? Freddie had asked. And she’d answered, No problem, please do.
I was being both paranoid and unethical. There were no secrets here, although Freddie, I guessed, had some heartache over Matt, and found Muriel a sympathetic confidante. There were probably no secrets anywhere, just misunderstandings and mistakes. Muriel must have got back home a while ago, or had been out for longer than she realised. It didn’t really matter. What mattered was Griff’s safety.
I got stiffly to my feet, and found I could walk as long as I didn’t take it too fast. Griff was far away now, a vertical dab against a purple, cloud-swept horizon, the high fells looming beyond him like awful teeth waiting to eat him up. Peak after peak marched away into the distance in a regal panorama that made me feel insignificant and helpless. When I began to walk it was with the sense of being a crawling ant under a vast sky.
Thankfully Griff was still heading in the direction I’d told Muriel. However, by the time I reached Loughrigg Terrace I’d lost him again. I rested, scanning the hillside that was clogged with clutching fronds of bracken, a million fractals starting to unfurl. The water far below was mirror-still. A jet fighter crashed through the sky above me and arrowed into the distance towards Dunmail Raise, leaving a trail of thunder.
I walked slowly down to the lake, wondering if Muriel had got here, and was about to try ringing her again when I spied the pair of them sitting on a bench, enjoying the view like any everyday couple. I hobbled over.
“Here’s your phone,” I said to Muriel, who immediately jumped up, all thanks, and offered me a lift back to Ambleside which I gratefully accepted.
“You remember our young friend Eden, Griff?”
“Of course I do!” But his usual ebullience was lacking.
“I’m afraid I’ll get your car seat muddy,” I said. My jeans were caked. “I slipped in a boggy bit. So is, um, everything okay?”
“A little quiet,” said Muriel, “but none the worse for wear.”
“That’s good. I was worried.”
“Thank you so much, Eden,” she said, “for finding my phone, and the other thing.” Griff said nothing.
In the car, I tried to make polite enquiries about what had happened, but her answers were as evasive as my questions, both of us sliding round the heavy bulk of Griff who sat in the middle of our conversation like a silent judge.
“I’m in your debt,” said Muriel as she pulled up by the guesthouse. “Anything could have happened if you hadn’t seen – what you saw. If there’s a favour I can do you in return, just say.”
“Well, there is something, actually. I need to move my stuff over to Raven How, the artists’ place, in a day or two. I don’t have much, but the scooter’s not really adequate for removals. I’ve been wondering how to manage it. I don’t suppose you could…?”
“That’s easily done,” said Muriel warmly. “No problem. And a pleasure to see Ruby again; such an understanding, helpful lady. You remember Ruby, Griff?”
“Naturally,” said Griff, expressionless. “Goodbye, Ruby.”
Chapter Eighteen