A night on Pen-y-Fan

A bitter cold wind blew. It lashed her face, turning her cheeks red raw, her lips numb, her eyes watery. She fumbled in her thin navy blue plentiful pocket walking trousers for another tissue, ripping it slightly on a zip pulling it out, its corner flew away like some Cabbage White butterfly on speed. Half heartedly blowing her nose she backed a little further into the rocky crag. Kneeling down, opening her rucksacks top lid pocket, a feat made more difficult in the fading light, she pulled out a mobile phone. Bracing but momentarily, she left the crag and its meagre protection against the worsening weather, and began ascending the steep grass sodden slopes of Pen-y-Fan.

 She was still gone when he came to. Though groggy he knew his core temperature was slowly yet steadily dropping. Any and all their spare layers they had between them, he either wore or was wrapped around him. He still shivered. That downward cycle, as the body desperately tried to produce heat, losing valuable energy in doing so. As much as he was scared of his predicament, it was the feeling of anger at himself that kept a little warmth. Anger and shame, why? For showing off, for trying to impress her, for wanting her so much and finally getting a chance and…blowing it. He winced in pain as his broken leg seemed to jolt of its own accord, as if acknowledging his stupidity and therefore his deserved agony.

She had joined their small walking club a little over six months ago. Quite out of the blue she’d politely asked to join via a very grammatically poor worded email. A complete novice with "All (ok most of) the gear, but no idea".
Cadair Idris, had been her first hike with the group, meeting at Birmingham’s New Street station, he thought her beautiful the moment her saw her, they all did. It was almost embarrassingly comical how they all jumped to help her. Maybe it was true; all men never really leave being eighteen. They were old enough to be her father, grandfather in some cases. It didn’t stop them fawning over her though, maybe age just made their fawning a little more subtle.
    She was beautiful, yes, but not in a member of the modern middle class, or middle aged way. Turning up on time with quite the proper clothing and equipment, the group was taken aback with her extra accessories, pierced eyebrow, nose, lip and tongue, black hair with streaks of dark red.
Over the months, well, over 12 weekends at least, she was still a little bit of an enigma to them all, which for him formed part of her attraction. She laughed and joked, never shied away from any new challenge, was eager to learn, and all had been treated to the sun that dwelt within her smile. Yet at times, staring out on a world of new vistas alone with her thoughts, if caught off guard, just for the briefest of moments, her large dark eyes would appear to give a hard stare that could turn men into stone.

    It hadn’t taken long, maybe the second or third hiking weekend, he had realized. Last Summer, walking in Edale where they’d camped that weekend. Her in those incredible short shorts, long lithe legs… another pang of pain drove those memories away. But not his craving, he was in love with a girl he hardly knew, and on top of that a girl at least 20 years younger than himself. Now he was lying on the cold near freezing ground with a badly (is there a good one?) broken leg because of it.

    She’d been at the top now for over ten minutes, moving around to find any kind of signal, but also to keep warm. A wind driven light drizzle had soaked through her lightweight Peter Storm trousers, the clammy material now sticking to her legs made them uncomfortable, but at least she was still warm enough from the hike up. She knew there would be little hope finding any signal, she just wanted something to do, and at least being up here she didn’t have to face him. What the fuck had she gone and gotten herself into now? Why hadn’t she seen it coming? Maybe she had... had she?
    A few short months ago, thinking she’d finally found a group of cool guys, who accepted her without either reservation or judgment. Happy to take her into their fold. Yeah, for sure they were a little too suburban for their own good, but at least they were good, right?
    They all had taken her at face value, for her it was like having or being a fresh new page, a clean sheet well away from her everyday. Managing to avoid certain awkward questions with the usual half truths, and wholehearted omissions of facts, none knew her home address or phone number. None knew where she actually worked. All knew she worked as bar staff, all knew where to pick her up from and her email address, everything else was a vague outline. Ask me no questions and I’ll tell no lies.
    She looked forward to their monthly or bi-monthly trips, more than she thought she would, and in truth she looked forward to this, club? No, that’s not the right word, a tight band of friends would be more fitting. Club seemed too official and as such it made her appreciate them letting her join in all the more. A strange band they must seem, three retired guys in their sixties the other three in their forties with herelf in her mid twenties. Six middle class ‘burbs and a rock chic. It was all gone now. Once again she’d managed to fuck it all up.
    She sat on a rock near the edge of the summit, low clouds descending ever further, it would be dark in another hour. Not one artificial light to be seen, as the wind picked up its pace and the rain became heavier. It was time to go back to him.

    As she clambered into their meager shelter of rock sleet had begun to fall. The heap of fleece and gortex was chattering. Between machine gun teeth it spoke, “A...Any joy w..w..with the phone?” Their predicament was getting serious, even she began to feel the bite of cold. Being only a day hike, neither had brought sleeping bags or stove and the flask of tea had long been emptied. Worse, neither had thought to bring even a whistle, or basic first aid kit. Not that she thought a basic first aid kit would help, but it did make her think how unprepared they both were. She didn’t even own a survival blanket, that was still sitting on her Amazon wish list.
    “Nah, none, signals proper crap up here,” she said as she shuffled as best she could into a more comfortable position. The ground was soaking and cold so she tried to sit her backside on part of her gortex waterproof whilst wearing it. In the end she sat on her backpack. She knew she needed to keep him awake, so she tried to make conversation; “Ok, so good news is tomorrows Sunday. There’s bound to be a party of happy hikers out early.”
He lifted himself up on one elbow, she didn’t see his grimace of pain, it was too dark now, the sun was dipping over the horizon. In five minutes it would be pitch.
“Yeah. Ok well…ermm, listen, we need to share body heat. I know its probably a little bit more than just awkward in light of what happened but…” She cut in, to save him from digging another hole for himself , “I know, move over.”
    The sides of the crag were small, forcing them close. As she moved she brushed his injured leg and he let out a loud, “ARRRGGHHH.”
“Maybe I should do that three times every five minutes, is kinda like a whistle,” she whispered. He couldn’t see but he knew she smiled as she said it.

    Neither slept, conversation dried apart from the occasional nudging each gave the other along with a “Hey, still awake.” His pain became a dull throb that winced with agony occasionally, the cold probably having some effect to his advantage. It wasn’t as cold anymore under the various man made materials, in fact he felt very warm with her under it with him. Her arm rested on his chest, her face cradled in the crook of his right arm, it had gone numb a while ago but he didn’t want to move. In fact, even now under the circumstances, he was happy. Happy to have this moment, happy to have her so close in his arms, he wondered if he could ever make it right between them. He just didn’t have the words or even know where to begin. So he said it out loud, what else could he do; “I’m so, so sorry.”
    At first he thought she’d fallen asleep when no answer was forthcoming, then, “Me too, I.. I… Do you mind if we just talk about something else?”
"I didn’t mean to upset or hurt you,” he said.
“Well I reckon I got me fair share of payback commin'. How is it now?” Meaning the leg.
“The pain is easing a little, now and then it twinges and that’s agony.”
The conversation went on a few minutes before drying up, neither saying anything in particular.

    His thoughts wondered, meandering between what could have been and the reality of it all. Why had he kissed her? He’d never done anything so spontaneous in his life. It had felt right, right then that moment, he just knew he had to.
    Her fist was a greater surprise than his actually kissing her, even to himself. It had landed on his left cheek, which had caused him to slip and fall, thus breaking his leg. That was a true moment of wanting the ground to swallow you up forever. He had got it so wrong. There was no way that it could ever be made right. Let’s face facts, anywhere else she’d have stormed off never to return.

    Why had she punched him? She thought. Was it such a surprise, really? C’mon, be honest with yourself. You accepted this trip as you did the other weekend, just you and him. You like him, feel safe enough to be alone with him, trust him. Automatic reaction was the answer, the simple plain truth. It upset her deeply, how could she ever make it right? Once again she had managed to fuck up the only good thing going on in her life. It was true that she didn’t really know how she felt about him. That said, she did like the idea of finding out, take those little steps of exploration. He wasn’t her usual type, she didn’t find him particularly handsome or as rugged as she liked, but he was far from ugly. Besides, her ‘usual’ type had brought her nothing but misery and grief, and a whole lot of heartbreak. That was an understatement if ever there was one.
    She’d been used and abused for so long, without even really knowing it at the time, but how the fuck do you explain that to someone whose never been there? Two years it had taken her to turn her life around. Two long hard years. Methadone programmes, law courts, therapist sessions, the shame of STD tests, no real job prospects as all employers shied away from her criminal past. Now, she’d gotten a job working at Spearmint Rhinos’ but that wasn’t quite what you’d call respectable. Fuck me, she thought, as if anyone like him could even look at her with the kind of past she had.
    She hadn’t even been looking for a relationship, she was just loving the acceptance of these ‘normal’ people. To be seen as a fellow human being…but was she? She had lied to them all, in a way, omitting various facts about herself, hiding in the shadows of half truths. Knowing all along if these good people ever found out the truth, she’d be alone again.

    He wasn’t sure at first, but in a few moments he noticed the wetness of her tears upon his neck. Nothing was said as he held her a little tighter and she in turn reciprocated. And that was how they were found the next morning; cold and exhausted, both in early stages of hypothermia. An air ambulance was called in by mountain rescue that took him away. She was taken by ambulance to a local hospital.

    None of the hiking group ever saw her again. He hadn’t told them all that had happen, only about the accident and nothing of what happened just before, they didn’t need to know. The group carried on as before, yet even as the months passed their dynamic had changed. All of them missed her.
    It’s a shame none knew that she missed them more. It’s a shame how barriers, imagined or real, can prevent honesty and openness between people. How egos or assumed social status dictates how we ‘believe’ we should act or behave. That kind of behavior that stereotypes, classifies, and boxes people into their socio-economic groups. None shall cross that divide… and why? Maybe we’re all afraid of what we may find.
    Before they placed him on a gurney and hauled him to the helicopter they had cut his pants off and splinted his leg. They’d also striped their wet clothes off and wrapped them in warm dry blankets. That’s when he saw them, the tracks on her arms, tracks as long as her past, the tracks she couldn’t outrun. It had caught up to her and she was sure he, hated? Again no. Hate like love is at least a feeling that is driven by passion. Worse in her mind would be the feeling of, nothing. In the moment he saw them, the look on his face… was all she needed to see. The shock, then dissapointment, followed by that nothingness she so feared that she saw reflecting in his eyes. It wasn’t until she got back home she started to cry. She spent two days in the hospital being treated for hypothermia and she knew they’d all know by now, he would tell them everything, so she didn’t open their emails. What would be the point, more rejection? More hurt? So she went back to loneliness, she went back to alcohol, and she went back to killing the pain. Her past had caught up to her and the tracks got longer.

    John Felton was called a year to the day of the incident on Pen-y-Fan, to a small flat in Handsworth, Birmingham. Screeching to a halt he turned off the sirens but kept the blues and twos flashing. He was a first response paramedic. Grabbing a bag from his adapted Vauxhall Astra, he ran through the flats door that the police had already smashed in. He ran with a very slight limp over to an old brown sofa. By the skin color alone he could tell this O.D. had been dead for some time, but there were procedures to follow. He recognized her as he turned her head gently. His leg twinged, echoing the pain his heart felt, as he took a slight step back…
    It was later that day at home when it really hit him, unconsciously lifting a hand up to his cheek and neck where her tears had fallen that night. He was thumbing through some old photos of all of them together, Cadair Idris, Blencathra, Snowdon,  Hellvellyn and finally a selfie of her and himself at the carpark of their last walk together, the night he fell in love on Pen-y-Fan. This time it was his tears he felt there.