‘He’ll be back soon enough,’ came a voice behind her as she made for the door.
Alice turned to find Livvie Cooper fixing her with her ice blue eyes. ‘Like you, he belongs in Cairn Dhu.’
Alice had the tiniest inclination to protest that she hadn’t the foggiest idea what the woman was on about, but she gave up trying to keep her private hopes private any longer and only smiled sadly, jamming her recently purchased Fair Isle bobble hat down over her ears and making her way out into the cold, thinking how she probably did look very much like a local now.
The radio presenter had been right enough; the whole high street was obscured in thin, shifting bands of white, and it was absolutely freezing. Alice drew her coat closed across her chest and started to hurry towards her flat. The streetlights were blinking into life as she ran, even though it was only a few minutes before noon. Their white glow, diffused through icy particles in the fog, made the ground under her feet shimmer with frosty glitter.
She should buy some fresh cartons of soup at the Post Office shop, she thought, and more of those nice morning rolls. She should change her sheets; even though nothing had happened, they’d still smell of Bastian. She should call her mother and talk with her about healthy boundary-setting with their exes. She should probably try to sleep for a while. Her head buzzed with all theshoulds, as always, and it took a while to realise her feet were slowing, and just as she was wondering why on earth she was almost at a standstill, lingering on the street corner in miserable weather such as this, the mists cleared to reveal a door and a sign that read:
Bonnie Blair, Counsellor
Through the window, she could see a woman behind a reception desk working on a computer and there was a sign that seemed to shout out to her.
APPOINTMENTS AVAILABLE
The desk was positioned right by the window in a waiting room set up to resemble a cosy lounge with two white sofas with plump scatter cushions, empty mugs on a tray upon a coffee table, a very prominent box of tissues, leaflets in racks and tasteful artwork with inspirational quotes on the walls.
A sign by the stairs in the depths of the room said in large letters:
Consulting Room Upstairs
The woman, who’d been typing, lifted her head. She wore her hair in a bun and big square, arty specs. She looked back at Alice through the glass and smiled in an open, easy way, as if she somehow knew the reason why a tired-looking Englishwoman would find her feet stuck to the pavement right outside her door.
Without having to think, Alice walked right inside.
33
‘Morlich, come in? Morlich? We lost you there, pal. Over.’
It was Jemmy’s crackling voice over the radio receiver which lay probably only a few feet from where Finlay lay on the hard ground. The radio may as well have been a hundred miles away for all Finlay could move to go feeling for it in the fog.
‘We tried your mobile and you’ve lost signal on that too. Over.’
His phone? That must be another thing thrown from his hands as he fell.
Finlay raised a shaky hand to his shoulder, gingerly feeling the horrible mass where he knew his arm was out of its socket and he whispered some curse words that would have made Mrs Morlich spin in her grave, God rest her.
He managed to unzip his jacket and reach into his fleece’s inside pocket, wondering if he could locate his compass. Then he remembered, he’d had that in his hands as well. It was gone now too, and somehow that was worse than being out of reach of his phone or the radio.
He touched his head where his hat had somehow been taken off. A bit of blood, superficial, so nothing to worry about, but there was a spongy, swollen lump at the back of his skull. That was a little more worrying.
How long had he been out cold? His clothes were covered in a frosty white glitter, though he couldn’t see all the way down to his feet, the fog was so thick.
A horrible thought occurred to him. He hadn’t told the station that the lost man he’d been in search of was Murray McIntyre. Was it possible Murray might somehow have made it down by himself? He was certain Murray wouldn’t abandon that dog on the mountain. Could he have got himself into the same mess as Finlay now found himself in? Murray’s life was a great deal more significant than his own, so his rescue should be prioritised. Not that anyone was out looking for Finlay.
That lot down at the shed, the McIntyres, he thought, were utterly devoted to their son. He’d witnessed it with his own eyes just yesterday, in their kitchen with all the dogs and the warmth from the Aga. The memory made him wince in pain, setting off a dreadful piercing sensation in his mangled shoulder.
He should be thinking of saving himself. He should be crawling all over this area to locate the radio, and his backpack with his sweets in, but his body was as heavy as the granite bed he was sprawled out on. He pictured how he must look from way up above, through white cloud: spreadeagled, twisted, over-glittered with sparkling frost.
He had absolutely no notion where on the slope he could be, only that he was somewhere between the snow line above and the dense green line of what mountaineers called theffriddbelow.
The air was so thick with glaring white moisture it dampened all scent, so he couldn’t even, like the stag, sniff out what vegetation he was near.
In better visibility he’d be able to detect the patches of squat conifers and scrubby yew. He’d know if he lay amongst the broadleaf plants that had evolved over millennia to survive up here on the margins between the human world and the heavens. But he didn’t have a clue.
He knew one thing, however. If indeed he was going to die of exposure and respiratory or pulmonary difficulties brought about by inhaling what were essentially ice crystals, Finlay was glad it was going to happen out here, surrounded by the plants, rocks and trees he felt himself bound to like brothers.
He calculated that, having taken in absolutely nothing since his morning coffee and sweet treats, it would likely take less than five, maybe six hours before he’d fall into a hypothermic sleep and then he’d know nothing after that.
