Page 80 of Mistletoe and Mulled Wine at the Christmas Campervan

‘Yeah.’ Jack was lost to nervous anticipation once again, his stomach on spin mode. They walked on once more, steadily. Then he spotted it. Cheers, Matt, phew.

‘Oh, look,’ he tried his best to sound carefree, surprised, ‘someone’s dropped something.’ It was actually tucked beneath a small rock. A sheet of plain A5 paper. Of course, he couldn’t bend down to the ground himself very easily to reach it.

‘Oh, hang on.’ Lucy crouched down and picked it up. She began to read aloud: ‘You are the rush of the sea, The hush of the hills, The calm to my storm.’ That was it. No other words. She looked up. ‘Oh … wonder how that got here?’

‘Strange, yeah. Someone must have dropped it and not realised,’ Jack said, trying to sound nonchalant, his pulse racing, heart thumping.

‘Hmm … and just a few lines. That’s all? Odd.’ Not wanting to leave rubbish on the hillside, Lucy tucked the sheet of paper inside her coat pocket.

They set off again, walking about fifty metres up the rugged moorland path between low bushes of winter-brown heather. Jack then paused to take a breath beside the bare branches of a small hawthorn tree. Hooked onto a twig was another piece of paper, with the exact same writing as before.

‘Oh look, another one. Snagged in the little tree here.’ She plucked it from the branch.

‘Ah, right …’

She read aloud once more: ‘Life has changed so much since I met you. You give me roots, let me keep my wings. You make me smile, make my soul sing.’ She paused, taking in the words, ‘Ah, that’s so sweet. I wonder how they got here … why?’ She took a closer look at the lines of poetry. There was in fact something vaguely familiar about the handwriting.

Someone who wrote poetry … hmm. She furrowed her brow and looked towards Jack.

He seemed easy-going about it all, however. ‘Uh, must have fallen out of someone’s pocket, maybe,’ he said, all nonchalant.

Again, she tucked the note into the pocket of her coat, where it sat alongside the first sheet of paper. ‘Curious. Someone’s obviously dropped them.’

‘Yeah, wonder what that’s all about?’ Jack played along.

The next climb was a bit steeper. Jack’s breath was a little ragged with the effort.

‘Are you alright?’ Lucy placed a gentle hand on his arm.

‘Yeah.’

‘Want me to carry the rucksack?’

‘Nope, I’m fine.’

‘What on earth’s in there, anyhow?’ Her brow creased.

‘Ah, just some light refreshments,’ he breezed out in reply. Hoping his racing heart and the flush of his cheeks didn’t give him away.

Lucy shook her head at him, whilst smiling. ‘O-kay.’

They set off again up the last rocky, peaty slope of track, where she took his hand to steady him over the steepest part. A final rugged stretch, a short climb and then they were at the top. A pile of stones marked the summit. The view from here was glorious, a full 360 degrees. Across to the peaks of the Cheviot Hills, Holy Island to the north, Bamburgh Castle and the coastline, where they often walked, and down towards Lucy’s village of Embleton. You could just make out the ruins of Dunstanburgh Castle there too, away in the distance. Hills, sea, sky … stunning.

It felt wonderful to be alive. Jack couldn’t help it, he gave Lucy a big, rib-crunching, heartfelt hug.

‘Amazing, isn’t it.’ Jack smiled right through the rib pain.

‘Beautiful.’

And they stood and gazed about them, taking in the dramatic, winter-moody scene on all sides. And then … gentle white flakes began to fall from the sky. Just a dusting of them … snow. The hush of it. So delicately pretty and icily tickly as it landed on eyelashes. They stood poking out their tongues, feeling its icy touch. Laughter. A tender kiss.

This was the time … absolutely.

Jack took a breath. ‘Right then,’ he announced, ‘I need you to wait right here. Just for a couple of minutes.’

‘Really? What’s going on, Jack?’

‘It’s fine. All good. Just wait and see. I just need to get organised.’