Three weeks until completion, and another challenge bites the dust . . . well, almost.
‘Here we are,’ I say as I park next to what looks like a derelict barn.
‘Here we are where?’ says Sian. ‘You’re not telling me that we’re staying in there?’
I look up and shiver. The barn has crumbling brickwork and one wall missing, exposing it to the elements that sweep across the valley. It’s my idea of holiday hell.
‘No, we’ve just got to park the car here. Look, there’s Giles’s Ford Focus. We’ve got to get to the bunkhouse on foot.’
Sian’s jaw drops; it’s as if I’ve told her that we’ve got to walk barefoot over hot coals. I hadn’t told her until now as I desperately wanted her to come and not change her mind.
‘We have to walk?’ she asks, her eyebrows practically lodging themselves in her hairline.
‘We are on a walking holiday. Let’s boot up,’ I say, trying to rally some enthusiasm.
To be honest I had the same reaction, but Giles told me to man up, after all it’s just a half-kilometre walk across a field, and, as he pointed out, tomorrow we’re going to walk God knows how many kilometres up a mountain.
‘I thought the whole point of going on this type of walking holiday was so that you stayed next to a pub.’
‘There are definitely no pubs around here,’ I say as we move away from the barn and start walking through the boggy field.
The little bunkhouse we’re walking towards is acting like a beacon in the distance – it seems a lot further away than half a kilometre. Thank goodness Giles lent me one of his old backpacks. There’s no way my trusty suitcase would have made it.
I just hope the others have done a good job with the food and booze. Because of the access issue the boys had suggested doing a food kitty and stocking up. Apparently the owner said she’d quad bike the supplies in when they arrived.
‘Are we nearly there yet?’ asks Sian.
‘I don’t think so,’ I say; we’ve been going for all of about five minutes and the bunkhouse seems to be getting further away with each step. It must be some type of optical illusion due to its sunken position in the field.
I’m mildly concerned that we’re going the wrong way. But there’s only a narrow path of beaten-down grass and I don’t fancy traipsing through the waist-deep stuff. It’s the kind of wild grass that you know would be all tickly if it caught bare flesh, and goodness knows what lives in it.
‘So you never did finish telling me about the Isle of Wight,’ says Sian.
‘I don’t think there’s much more to tell.’
In the car on the way to Snowdonia I gave her a brief overview of the hangover start, and duly reprimanded her for her part in it, and then I described our day as best I could. It’s hard to condense a ten-hour ride into a concise conversation.
‘Right. So you spent the whole day with Ben, during which he agreed to go to Paris with you, and there’s nothing else to tell.’
I don’t like where this line of questioning is heading.
‘No, not really. You’ll see this weekend. Ben’s a really nice guy. He’s simply trying to help me achieve my bucket list.’
‘Uh-huh,’ says Sian.
I can’t see her face because we’re walking single file and she’s behind me, but I can picture exactly what it will look like. Her left eyebrow will be arched right up to the sky and she’ll have her lips pursed together smugly.
‘Really, he’s just being nice.’
‘Mm-hmm.’
I can tell the look is getting smugger and I spin round so Sian nearly comes crashing into me.
‘What are you doing?’ she says, laughing.
‘There’s nothing going on with me and Ben,’ I say, looking her deep in the eye. ‘He’s got a girlfriend, who made it perfectly clear to me that my friendship with Ben ends when the list does.’
‘When did you see her again?’
Oh, crap. I hadn’t told Sian about my trip to the supermarket on Thursday. I knew she would smell a rat if I trotted out my excuse that I bumped into Joseph there by accident.
‘I ran into her when I was food shopping the other day.’
‘Right, well, I thought they weren’t that serious anyway.’
‘Sian,’ I say, and this time it’s my turn to raise an eyebrow. ‘Some people take relationships seriously.’
I turn back round and continue walking.
‘It’s just that you did say that you were doing your bucket list to mend your broken heart, and what better way than finding someone else.’
‘That sort of defeats the object.’
Of course the object is to win Joseph back, but Sian doesn’t know that.
‘I know that a bucket list is all about finding yourself and all that deep shit, but what if it’s not yourself you’re supposed to find.’
‘For someone that doesn’t really believe in love, you’re sounding increasingly like a hopeless romantic.’
‘Hey,’ says Sian. ‘You take that back.’
I feel like I’m getting my own back and pushing Sian’s buttons.
She’d had one of those incredibly serious boyfriends in her latter teen years, and they’d been engaged when she’d arrived at uni. He’d gone to nearby Southampton so that they could continue seeing each other, but she found out that he’d cheated on her in Freshers’ Week and that’s when the Sian that I know – the kick-ass, take-no-crap-from-men girl – was born.
She didn’t hole herself up inside eating Chinese takeaways and feeling sorry for herself. Oh, no, Sian threw herself into uni life and soon cemented her position on the party scene. Flings were as common as hangovers in her life.
Whatever really happened with that boy scarred Sian for life in the romance stakes, and I’ve given up trying to fix her. If she used to be a romantic, she’s buried it so far inside you would need a miner to extract it.
‘Hello there!’ shouts a voice.
I look up and see Laura standing in front of the bunkhouse.
‘Hiya,’ I wave as enthusiastically as I can, but it’s a bit half-hearted because I’m knackered. I might have been doing a lot of exercise on the bike lately, but I’m not used to walking with a heavy pack on my back.
‘Giles is just putting the kettle on.’
‘Now that’s music to my ears,’ says Sian.
We eventually arrive outside the little bunkhouse. It’s a one-storey stone building set in a little dip in the fields.
‘This is lovely,’ I say taking in the surroundings, and for the first time since getting out of the car, appreciating the scenery. The green rolling hills look like something out of the Wales Tourist Board brochure. I love the little stone walls dotted around the landscape, breaking up the view. It’s a view that screams we’re properly in the middle of nowhere.
‘Did you get stuck in traffic on the way up?’ says Laura.
I bet they were here hours ago. The truth is that we had stopped for a long leisurely lunch somewhere past Birmingham. And we had a lie-in. Something that early bird Ben wouldn’t know anything about.
‘No, we were really lucky, weren’t we, Sian?’
‘Yeah, really lucky.’
We follow Laura into the bunkhouse and it’s just as beautiful on the inside. Heavy stone walls, and dark slate-coloured floor tiles. She shows us to a room where we can dump our bags. It’s not quite the Ritz – just bunk beds and a rail to hang your clothes on.
The kitchen isn’t any more luxurious. A hob and a kettle sit on an empty worktop. It’s the most Spartan place I’ve ever stayed. I guess it’s only one step up from camping, but at least there’s a flushing loo inside. Or at least I hope there is.
‘Hey, guys,’ says Giles, turning round from the kettle. He hands me a steaming cup of tea and it instantly warms my hands. The stone walls and floors might look pretty, but they add a certain chill to the air. ‘How do you take your tea, Sian?’
As she tells him, we’re joined in the kitchen by Ben, Doug and another man.
‘Hi, Abi,’ Ben beams.
‘Hiya,’ I say, trying not to be as enthusiastic as I want to be because I can tell that I’m being scrutinised by Sian.
‘This is my friend, Pete,’ he says gesturing to the man beside him.
‘Nice to meet you, Pete. I’m Abi.’
He nods a hello back.
‘And I’m Sian.’
Uh-oh, I don’t fail to notice the sparkle that has just appeared in her eyes.
‘Nice to meet you both.’
‘And you remember Doug from Hayling Island?’
We nod, and I smile my hello. Sian barely gives him a passing glance. She seems to have eyes only for Pete.
To be fair, he’s almost her type. He’s not suited and booted, but he’s clean-shaven, with neatly-styled dark hair. He’s wearing tight walking trousers and a fitted charcoal fleece that matches his eyes.
For an awkward minute we’re all standing on ceremony in the kitchen. I’m too busy worrying that Sian’s going to end up sleeping in someone else’s bunk. With only seven of us here, that has the potential to be very awkward.
‘Shall we go through to the lounge? I’ve got the fire going,’ says Ben.
My body responds by shivering. ‘That sounds perfect,’ I say, realising that I’m actually quite cold.
I follow Ben into the lounge, and I don’t know what I was expecting but in my head I was visualising curling up in a comfy armchair and dozing off in front of the fire. In reality the Spartan house strikes again, and the square room is lined with wooden church pews along three of the walls with a large coffee table in the middle. The other wall is given over to the fire. There’s not even a cosy rug on the floor.
‘Wow, this is rustic,’ says Sian.
‘Yep, it’s really geared up for muddy walkers – absolutely no soft furnishings.’
‘Just what I need after a long drive,’ mutters Sian.
‘Believe me, it will get worse after tomorrow’s walk,’ laughs Ben. ‘The trick is to grab some of the duvets and pillows from the rooms and put them on the benches.’
‘I’ll get them,’ says Pete.
‘I’ll help,’ says Sian.
I raise an eyebrow at her as she leaves. She’s not usually known for her willingness to volunteer. She’s a bit like the Queen and usually waits for things to be brought to her.
‘You know all the tips and tricks,’ I say, thankful that at least someone knows what they’re doing. If it was left to me I would have had a sore bum after hours sitting on the wooden benches.
‘We stayed here last year,’ says Ben.
The sound of what I can only describe as cackling rattles down the hallway. Sian’s charm offensive has clearly begun.
When they return Pete and Sian distribute the bare duvets and pillows and we line the wooden benches the best we can.
‘That’s better,’ says Laura.
We all sit down in the imposing room and the silence falls upon us once again.
‘So,’ I say. ‘What now?’
I realise that soft furnishings aren’t the only thing missing. There’s no TV and no stereo. Is this going to be the longest weekend ever?
I wonder how Joseph would have done this. I’m sure he would have rented a luxury cottage or stayed in one of the five-star B&Bs that we drove past en route. All soft bedding and waterfall showers.
The more I think about this list, the more I can’t picture Joseph doing any of it. Maybe it’s because the way I’m approaching it is so different to how he would have done it. But I just can’t imagine him donning a cagoule and hiking boots.
‘Well, it’ll be getting dark soon, so we could start doing dinner,’ says Laura, smiling and snapping me out of my thoughts once again.
‘Right, and then after dinner?’
‘Have a few beers and chill out ready for tomorrow’s early start,’ says Ben.
‘Right,’ I say, nodding.
‘Don’t sound so thrilled at the prospect of actually having to talk to us,’ he says, turning to me as the others start to talk amongst themselves.
‘Well, come on. A whole weekend of having to make conversation, it’s going to be a big ask.’
‘Believe me, some of the best nights I’ve had were in these kind of bunkhouses. It’s much better when there’s no TV. By tomorrow night you won’t even miss it.’
I’m about to argue that criticising the judges on The Voice is my usual Saturday night warm-up act, but he’s right, it’s not going to kill me.
‘I bet once the cards come out, you’ll change your tune. Unless you’re as bad at cards as you were at riding bikes.’
‘I’ll have you know I’m an excellent poker player.’
‘Did someone say poker?’ calls Sian from the other side of the room, where she’s sitting very close to Pete. ‘I love poker, although I’m best at the strip variety.’
Ben raises an eyebrow.
‘Don’t get any ideas,’ I say to him.
‘No,’ says Laura, ‘that’s not a game to be playing when you’ve got a married couple in your midst.’
Or when I’ve bought my frumpiest underwear. There is nothing attractive about my old Marks and Spencer’s sports bra, but I don’t want the puppies bounding all up and down the mountains.
‘We could play shithead,’ I say, offering a fully-clothed alternative.
‘Now you’re talking,’ says Ben.
‘Why don’t I get the pasta on?’ says Laura. ‘And then we can start the evening’s festivities.’
‘Great plan,’ I say, suddenly excited rather than miserable about the night ahead. ‘I’ll give you a hand.’
‘Shithead!’ I shout into Ben’s face, laying the card down and standing up from his bench to do a victory dance.
The boys are not happy. That’s the third game in a row that either Laura or I have won.
I collapse back down on to the folded duvet that’s acting as a cushion and watch the rest of the game unfold.
‘I can’t believe you won again,’ mutters Ben. He’s still holding a large hand of cards, and if he’s not careful he’s going to end up shithead again. A position he’s held to my king status twice now, and both times I’ve had him running round the bunkhouse doing my errands. A cup of tea here. A beer there.
‘So what is it this time?’ he says, throwing down the last of his cards when he narrowly loses out to Giles who has a smug look on his face. ‘Beer, tea, a grape peeled for you?’
‘Do we have any grapes?’
‘Alas, no,’ he says, shaking his head.
‘Hmm, well, I’ve still got tea, and I’m not hungry,’ I say, looking round for inspiration. It seems like a bit of a waste not to get him to get me anything. ‘Oh, I know. You could get me my foot cream. It’s in my make-up bag, in one of the side pockets in my backpack.’
Ben gives me a mock salute, and goes off out of the room.
‘Why can’t I win with you as the shithead,’ says Laura to Giles. ‘I’d love for you to be my bitch.’
‘But I’m always your bitch, sweetie.’ Giles leans over and gives her a quick squeeze on the arm.
There’s a real intimacy between those two that’s lovely to see. She brings out a whole different side to him to the one I usually see in the office. There he’s all gangly limbs and goofy jokes.
‘Right, then, here you go,’ says Ben, handing me the foot cream.
I’m about to take it when he sighs.
‘I’m guessing you’re going to make me rub it on your feet too, aren’t you?’
That wasn’t what I had in mind, but now that he’s mentioned it, a little foot rub would be quite nice. It would be good to give my feet some pampering before they trek up those hills, and we did walk all that way from the car.
I open my mouth to say what a wonderful idea, when I catch Sian’s expression out of the corner of my eye. I know that smug, I-told-you-so look.
Instead I reach over and take the cream. ‘You’re OK. Maybe if I win again.’
‘Something to look forward to,’ says Giles, raising his eyebrows. ‘I sit on the opposite side of the office and I can still smell those bad boys.’
‘Oi,’ I say, reaching under my bum and grabbing the pillow I’m sitting on and playfully beating him round the head.
‘Not that I’m put off by the thought of stinky feet, but I think I’m going to head to bed,’ says Ben, trying to hide a yawn behind his hand. ‘I want to get up early tomorrow and go for a blast on the bike before we set off.’
‘Are you mad?’ I say, thinking there is something seriously wrong with this man. Surely that much exercise isn’t good for anyone.
‘I can’t miss having a ride on these hills. Besides, it’s not like we’re climbing a mountain or anything tomorrow. Oh, wait . . .’ He gets up, smiling, and Laura stands up too.
‘We probably should get to bed too,’ she says, rubbing Giles’s shoulders. ‘That early start this morning did me no favours.’
We all slowly stand up. All except Sian, who’s looking up at us.
‘But we can’t go now, I haven’t won yet,’ she says a little grumpily. ‘Plus, there’s still wine to drink.’ She shakes the half-full bottle of red at us.
‘We can pop the cork back in and have it tomorrow,’ I say.
I’m instantly hit with a look of death.
I shrug. I’m too sleepy to respond to telepathic death threats.
Everyone starts to drift towards the door and I hold my hand out to Sian, who ignores it.
‘Pete, you’ll stay and have a night cap with me, won’t you?’
He looks between Sian and me and then back at the others who are disappearing out of the door.
‘Um, I think we should probably call it a night. You don’t want to be hungover for the walk.’
I shudder at the thought. I’m not doing two of my challenges feeling like I’m knocking at death’s door.
Sian sighs loudly, and folds her arms like a petulant schoolgirl.
‘Look, we don’t have to get up early on Monday so we can stay up later tomorrow night,’ says Pete, a slight twinkle appearing in his eye.
‘You promise?’ asks Sian.
‘I promise.’
Oh, boy, I think, he’s on a promise all right.
Ignoring my previous efforts to help her up, she reaches her hand out to Pete and allows him to pull her to standing. It doesn’t escape my attention that they continue to hold hands until they’re almost out of the room.
Tomorrow’s supposed to be all about me ticking mountain hiking off my bucket list, and I selfishly hope that Sian and Pete wait until they are back in the safety of the bunkhouse before anything happens. Sian’s not averse to al fresco fornication and I don’t want to have to worry about them nipping off to some crofter’s hut for a quickie. It’s going to be hard enough getting up that mountain without keeping tabs on my best friend when she’s acting like a horny teenager.
Getting up the mountain. I’d almost forgotten with all the fun and frivolity tonight that we were here for that reason.
Tomorrow I’ll be conquering my personal Everest. I try and tell myself that it can’t be worse than cycling the Isle of Wight with a hangover, but I’m not entirely convinced.
One thing’s for sure: I’m here now and I’m going to do it, by hook or by crook.