Krys switched on the wipers. Sticky flakes were blowing at the windscreen, and it was hard to see the white lines on the main road that led to the motorway. It would be past midnight when she reached North London but at least she’d be home. Her actual home: not some fantasy Christmas card version that had delivered nothing but pain and disappointment.
But she couldn’t think of Holly Manor without remembering the magical moments too. They’d come from the most unexpected sources and not from the Instagram-perfect Christmas she’d envisaged, with its OTT decorations and tree. The real magic had lain in the joy on the children’s faces at the grotto, from the friendship of the mountain rescue team and most of all, from Max.
Seeing him emerge from his shell, sharing his bed and finally starting to know the gorgeous, kind man underneath had been magical. She’d been so very close and yet now, even further away than ever.
Laurel’s words had stung like salt in a wound, yet Krys had been able to understand where they’d come from: a place of deep grief. It was Max’s words that had cut too deeply to recover from. He’d meant them, they were heartfelt and impossible to stop.
So she’d spent some time wallowing, then packed everything up, thrown it in the car and set off.
She switched on the wipers to top speed, as the snow was falling faster.
She was heading south; there would be none there.
No snow, no darkness, no stars to be seen …
She hadn’t even said goodbye.
The snow was heavier, coating the bonnet. Her headlights picked out the hedgerows and fields, all ghostly white. The fellsides were visible only by the lights of farms scattered over their flanks. Lonely windows glowed at improbable heights, and above them, there was only pitch blackness. She had to imagine the mountains were there.
The satnav told her that it was only ten minutes to the motorway. If she carried on, with a bit of luck, she’d probably be out of the snow and heading south to the safety of the lowlands.
Ahead was a service station, its lights blazing, wood stacked outside. Her fingers hovered over the indicator stalk and a second before it would have been too late, she flipped it left. Soon, she was turning into the forecourt and out again, and then heading back into the driven snow to Thorndale.
Her head told her it was a filthy evening to be making such a long journey in such dangerous conditions. Her head told her that she should go back to Holly Manor and get up at dawn, and start off again.
Her heart told her that she should have, at least, said goodbye to Max.
There were still three days to Christmas; still time to get back and spend the day with Harriet and her family. One more night in Thorndale would hardly matter.
She was almost back in the village when the gritting truck passed her, spraying salt against her car with a rattle. She’d made the right decision: the radio said that conditions on the motorway were hazardous and getting worse. The police had asked people not to travel unless necessary.
She passed the drive of Holly Manor, the wheels slipping in the slush. She’d call Nikki when she got inside and tell her that she would be staying one more night but she’d manage without any linen. Looking at the weather, it would likely be the least of Nikki’s worries. For anyone in the emergency services, it was going to be a busy night.
‘Max?
She knocked and called before she pushed open the door of the Bothy. She wasn’t surprised to find it unlocked; but she was surprised to find it slightly ajar.
So he must be inside. There was no answer so she upped the volume and banged on the wood, but there was still no answer and no bark of welcome from Jake.
‘It’s me, Krys!’ she called. The snow had blown in onto the doormat and beyond onto the flagstones. The hearth was cold but there was the remains of a meal on the table.
Max must be walking the dog, or in the woodshed.
She closed the door behind her and stopped to gather herself. It felt as if she hadn’t paused for breath since she’d decided to turn back. Once the decision had been made, she’d felt a terrible sense of urgency to get to Thorndale. She was worried about being stuck in a drift before she reached Max and had the chance to tell him goodbye. Progress had been slow as the roads had become covered in slush and narrowed to a strip. By the time she’d made it out of Thorndale, she was thanking her lucky stars she’d hired the small four-wheel drive because she’d never have made it otherwise.
With the snowstorm becoming wilder, she’d headed straight for the Bothy. If necessary, she could walk home to the manor, after she’d seen Max. However he reacted, she’d have to deal with it. Nothing mattered except seeing him and trying to talk to him one last time – or at least, saying goodbye properly.
Krys went outside to the workshop but found it in darkness.
It was bitterly cold but the snow had eased a little and the wind had dropped. The storm hadn’t been forecast – at least not for this far south. Maybe it had already passed.
‘Max!’ she called. ‘Jake!’
There was no answer.
‘Evening!’
Krys jumped, turning in relief to greet Max but finding a stocky older man with a shepherd’s crook. She recognised him as a farmer from across the dale. It was the bridge to his farm that Brett’s Porsche had blocked.
‘Oh, hello,’ she said. ‘I was looking for Max.’
‘Saw him an hour or so since. Told me he was off to search for Jake,’ the farmer said. ‘Dog’s gone off on one of his adventures though it’s not the best night fer it. I’ve sheep to bring in out of this.’ He nodded at a quad bike with a small trailer loaded with feed.
‘No, it’s a horrible night …’ She peered into the darkness, willing Max and Jake to materialise from the gloom. ‘Did he say exactly where he’d gone?’
‘Said he’d likely try the path to the Pike car park. Daft hound. Mebbe he won’t have gone far.’
‘I hope not.’
‘I’d wait for them in the warm, lass. They’ll be back soon.’
‘Of course. Thanks.’
He tipped his cap. ‘Happy Christmas.’
‘Happy Christmas,’ Krys said and watched the farmer melt away into the snow.
She took his advice and sat inside the Bothy, alert to every sound. A dozen times, she thought she heard a bark, a dozen times she went to the window or opened the door in the hope of seeing man and dog walking across the yard towards their home.
The snow had stopped, at least, and the moon peeped cautiously from behind a cloud, revealing a hard and glittering landscape. The puddle outside the door was frozen solid, showing that the temperature had plunged under the clearing skies.
She paced the room, not that there was much to pace. It had been two hours since she’d spoken to the farmer, which meant at least three hours since Max had left the house to search for Jake.
It didn’t feel right. She didn’t know why but there was a stillness and silence that made her flesh crawl. She was sure something was wrong; no matter how experienced Max was, how well he knew the hills, she was worried.
She could call Nikki, or Amina, if only for reassurance.
Then she remembered that there was no signal.
Krys looked through the window. The skies were still clear and the snow didn’t appear to be any deeper. She was sick of expecting Max to turn up at any moment, she couldn’t keep still a moment longer. Surely it wouldn’t do any harm to wrap up warm, grab a torch and see if she could find him?
Immediately the thought came into her head, it was chased away by another: Max telling her not to be so stupid as to go after him on a night like this. He’d be right for once.
Heaving a sigh, Krys turned away from the window but swung back again. She’d heard a noise: faint barking that cut through the still night. She pulled open the door, wincing at the cold blast of air but also shouting in relief.
‘Jake!’
He hurtled through the snow to the open door and almost knocked her over.
‘Am I glad to see you.’ She peered into the darkness, expecting to see Max close behind.
Jake tried to dart out of the door before she could close it. Krys caught hold of his collar and tried to stroke him. He twisted away, barking, almost snarling.
‘OK, boy. OK. Are you hurt?’
He stood by the door, barking.
‘Where’s Max?’ she said, fully aware the dog couldn’t answer her. Yet he was trying to … that wasn’t a stupid thought.
Whining, he pawed at the closed door.
‘You want to go out again?’
She closed her fingers around the door handle and Jake let rip, his barks bouncing off the Bothy walls.
‘OK. I get it. You do want to go out. Have you – have you found Max?’
Cocking his head on one side, Jake stared at her. Krys felt stupid, the dog didn’t understand her. For all she knew, he’d found a dead rabbit or smelled a fox. Yet he was incredibly agitated. It was possible that Max might be in trouble, only metres from the Bothy. Jake might be a failed search and rescue dog but he had gone through some of the training. One thing was for sure: he had a far better chance of finding Max than she did alone.
‘OK. Let’s have a look around.’
The moment she opened the door, Jake darted into the snow but he’d have to wait a little while longer. She went to her car and found her waterproof trousers, walking boots and gloves. She changed as fast as she could then found a bottle of water, energy bars and an extra coat from the peg, stuffed it all in Max’s bag and grabbed his torch.
At the last minute, she checked the top pocket of the pack and saw the survival sack, whistle and a tiny first aid kit. There was also a head torch which she put on over her beanie hat.
All the while, Jake was going wild, barking non-stop, chasing in and out of the Bothy and scratching at the door.
After trying her phone one last time, she found a map and checked the compass in the top of the rucksack. She’d only a rudimentary knowledge of how to use it, gleaned from her climb up the Pike, but had never used one on her own. She hoped she wouldn’t need it and that Max would be a short distance away, possibly having twisted his ankle or with some minor injury. The alternative didn’t bear thinking about.
‘OK. I am coming.’
Finally, she walked out of the yard and Jake ran off into the darkness.
‘Wait!’
She trudged off after him, sinking into slushy snow, thanking her stars she’d bought decent boots and a coat.
Even so, the darkness was disorientating. Occasionally the moon peeped out from the clouds, illuminating the fellsides, but mostly it was simply black. Only the head torch illuminated her way. She was saving the big torch for when – if – she found Max.
She knew she daren’t venture too far. It was probably crazy to even leave the Bothy but Jake clearly thought she should. Ahead of her, he was a pale blur in the gloom. Frustrated by her lack of canine speed and agility, he kept vanishing before running back to her.
‘Jake! Slow down!’ she shouted, almost tripping over a tree root.
Even though she’d walked the path from the Bothy to the start of the Pike route several times, in darkness it was a completely different matter. Recognising landmarks – a stile or a fallen tree – by torchlight was in a different league of difficulty. She tried her phone again, hoping to reach the base, but there was still no signal.
After walking and stumbling for twenty minutes, she made it to a gate by a wooden waymark to the Pike route. Jake took a jump at the stone wall, scrambled up and over.
Krys fumbled with the latch, having to take off her gloves to undo it. It was freezing but she got through and onto the path. It was well-trodden and surfaced because of its popularity, although it was a few centimetres deep in snow. She slipped a couple of times but managed to make good progress, until she reached the stile that led up the side of the gill.
The moon came out, showing the dark and jagged outline of the Pike against the night sky. Krys’s spirits plunged.
‘I can’t go up there, Jake.’
He butted against the dog gate at the bottom of the stile.
‘I just can’t. It’s too dangerous.’
This was madness, crazy, everything she shouldn’t do, every mistake that she could make, yet Jake was going wild. Surely Max must be nearby? What if she turned back now and missed him by a few metres? What if he was lying injured, hoping that someone would find him, but also dreading they might not.
What if he was dead?
Casting that terrible prospect aside, she lifted up the dog gate and Jake wriggled through it, surging onward.
‘Slow down!’ she shouted.
The path soon became more rugged, and she slithered on the slate and loose stones. She had to switch on the big torch, and watch every step as she climbed upwards. The beck tumbled past, a fierce rush that sounded like a raging torrent in the darkness.
‘Oh!’
Her heart was in her mouth. She had to grab for a rock to stop herself from stumbling. Her glove saved her from grazing her hand but it still hurt. She paused, breath misting the air, wisps of snow melting on her face.
‘I cannot do this,’ she said. ‘Jake, we have to go back. I have to give up and walk to the base to call out the team.’
But Jake was gone, vanished into blackness.
She waited for her heart rate to calm down and hoped he’d come back.
Minutes ticked past, the stream rushing by angrily but no answering bark to her calls. It broke her heart to have to turn back and leave Max out there on his own, almost certainly injured. If he was still alive, he wouldn’t have long left in these conditions. She was in some danger herself.
Now, Jake had vanished again too.
One last try. ‘Jake! Jake! Come back!’
He still couldn’t hear her above the roaring water.
A flash of white, another bark and the dog appeared again, a few metres above her on the pathway.
‘Jake. Thank God.’ Her torch beam swung over his fur, and then she froze. ‘Oh no. No.’
There was red on his coat. Even by torchlight, she knew what it was. Blood.
Her stomach turned over but she knew what it meant. Max must be very close. Injured – possibly worse – but close. She couldn’t give up now.
Jake dashed back to her, panting and agitated, probably to make sure she was still following. She scrambled up some steep rocky steps, praying she wouldn’t fall, and finally heard a faint cry on the fellside above her.
‘Help! Hello!’
Krys froze, straining her ears. Nothing.
She called at the top of her voice: ‘Max! Max! Is that you?’
For a heart-stopping moment, there was only silence and the rush of the beck, then a bark and a voice in the darkness.
‘Krys? It’s me! Over here!’