No Longer Safe (7 page)

Every day at primary, then secondary school, I’d had to put
up with kids sniggering that my skirt was too long, my socks never stayed up,
my face was too sunken. There was always something to poke fun at. They crept
up behind me and stuck chewing gum in my hair, dropped apples cores, used
toilet paper and, once, a dead mouse in my satchel. They regularly stole my
lunch box. Mum didn’t understand. ‘Just ignore them,’ she said. ‘You need to
learn to stand up for yourself.’ She was more upset about the missing lunch
boxes than my welfare.

It was amazing, at Uni, to discover someone who was not only
decent to me for a change, but who actually showed an interest in me. I’d never
experienced it before. To everyone else – kids at school, teachers, my parents,
aunts and uncles – I was ‘simple, plain old Alice’. I was to be ignored, a good
for nothing. Karen was the first person to give me something, instead of taking
it away.

I followed the parallel lines past the byre, until they
curved at the end of the track towards the lane. Here, I took a path towards
the woods with a view of the mountains to my right. It led to a small brook
that gurgled beneath broken patches of ice and snow under a humpback bridge. I
took a string of photos; it felt magical, like I was in Narnia.

I was too intrepid for my own good. Before long, I’d lost
the trail as it disappeared under low branches and holly bushes. I stepped
around thickets and over tussocks of coarse grass, regularly stumbling and
losing my footing. It was heavy going and flakes began to drift down from the
sky again.

After ten minutes of trudging, I brushed away a patch of
snow on a wall and sat down. I listened. There were two layers of sound; the
small birds skipping around nearby in the branches, sending short chirpy
messages to each other and, in the distance, the caws and heartfelt cries from
larger birds of prey. I closed my eyes and let the sounds wash over me.

When I opened them, I immediately spotted movement in the
gorse bushes ahead. There was a rustling sound and then all was still. All the
birds had gone – something had disturbed them. My heart fluttered – it was
probably best to go back. I stood and took a look around. Movement again.
Definitely. A solid figure in the trees to my left? The flash of binoculars?

Probably just a local birdwatcher or farmer. That’s all, I
persuaded myself. Why was I so jumpy? I began to retrace the trail of my
footsteps back to the cottage, feeling the whole time as if I was being
watched. I kept stopping and looking around, but saw nothing.

I plunged into the virgin snow again. From where I stood, I
knew the cottage was within around half a mile, but in which direction? Nothing
was marked out because of the snow. I came to a cluster of gorse bushes on one
side and a spiky pyracantha on the other and took a route through the middle,
instantly regretting it. I sank into a deep bed of snow and realised my foot
was caught. I reached down and felt around to find out what was gripping me. It
wasn’t part of a tree trunk or tangled thorns – it was something sturdy and
made of metal.

I followed through with my right foot, hoping that by stepping
forward I would create enough momentum to break free, but I lost my balance and
toppled over. My left ankle was still trapped against what felt like a metal
blade in the ground and my right knee had crunched down into something hard
under the snow. I heard my jeans rip as I sank down and waited for a surge of
pain. I was twisted and wet, but didn’t feel injured beyond a few bruises,
unless the wound had been numbed by the snow.

I twisted around towards the leg that was jammed and tried
to wriggle out of the boot, but everything below my knee felt like one solid
block and I couldn’t shift it. I called out, hoping I was near enough to
civilisation for someone to hear me, but my voice tailed off hopelessly into
the wind.

All of a sudden, the relief that I had no pain in my leg
evaporated. It was snowing more heavily now and I was stuck out here – not a
soul knew where I was.

I put the gloves back on and remained on all fours, propping
myself up. The stabbing pain in my forehead kick-started itself into a regular
throbbing again – like a stubborn child refusing to be ignored.

It could be ages before Karen returned to the cottage and
even then, she’d be so preoccupied with the baby, she might not think to come
looking for me. No one would be concerned until after dark – and by then I’d be
frozen.

My phone. Of course, why hadn’t I thought of that?

I hadn’t been using it at the cottage because there was no
signal, but out here there should be, shouldn’t there? For one horrible moment,
I couldn’t remember dropping it into my pocket before I left, but when I felt
the back of my jeans, I found it.

I punched in Karen’s number and waited. My teeth were
chattering by now and the cold seemed to have crept inside every fold of my
clothing. I couldn’t feel my ankle at all – I didn’t know if it was damaged or
not – it was buried in snow which had pitched over the top of my boot and
fallen inside.

There was no sound from my phone. I looked at the screen: no
signal. I held it out as far as I could on all fours and waved it around.
Nothing. It was dead.

Something heavy inside my stomach fell hard and fast, and my
throat was burning. Visibility was quickly diminishing as the flakes of snow
fell fatter and closer together. I was having trouble seeing – so how was
anyone going to find me?

My wrists began to ache. I tried lowering myself down on to
my elbows, but I couldn’t endure it for more than a few seconds and had to
force myself back onto my hands again. I was tempted to lower myself completely
into the snow – give in to the soft pillow – but that put too much pressure on
my leg. It occurred to me too that staying still probably wasn’t a good idea.
The bone-aching cold was eating deeply into my flesh by now. It coated my
tongue with a bitter tang and made my lungs feel hollow. I was going to have to
keep moving just to maintain my body heat.

I’d done two feeble press-ups when I heard a sound. A twig
snapping not far to my right. ‘Hello?’ I called out.

I heard the swish of a waterproof jacket before I saw him.
‘I’m stuck!’ I cried out. ‘I’m near some bushes caught in some kind of trap.’

There was a rustle and heavy breathing above me. ‘What on
earth’s happened here?’ came the voice.

‘My ankle is jammed in some machinery, I think.’

‘Okay – let’s take a look.’

He had remained behind me, so I couldn’t see his face, but
he sounded neither youthful, nor elderly – somewhere in between. I heard him
brush the snow aside with his gloves.

‘Oh, yeah – it looks like a rusty old plough,’ he said.
‘Dangerous relic, left out here in the open.’ He started jiggling the rods
underneath me. His voice was posh and English, not Scottish. Most importantly,
he sounded like he knew what he was doing.

‘Ouch!’ I cried.

‘Sorry. Do you think it’s broken?’

‘No – it’s just stuck,’ I replied.

He came round to the front to inspect my other leg. ‘How
about this one?’

‘Just a scratch, I think.’

‘Part of the frame is twisted,’ he said. ‘I reckon the best
thing is if I press on the blade here, and you try to twist your foot out. Try
to get it ninety degrees this way. How does that sound?’

I blew out a nervous breath, my face close to his. ‘Okay –
let’s try it,’ I said. He was wearing a green wax jacket and a tweed cap,
looking like a typical upper-crust landowner. In spite of the state I was in, I
couldn’t help noticing how distinguished he was; with sweeping curves beneath
his cheekbones and a narrow nose.

‘Okay, let your weight rest against me and let’s get you
into an upright position.’ I did as I was told, leaning into him. He smelt of
bracken with warm peppery undertones. ‘Now, keep hanging on to me while I
push.’ He looked earnest and determined. ‘Trust me?’

‘Yes…’ I said. I didn’t have much choice.

My heart was battering away inside my chest. Screwing up my
eyes and fists, I waited for the agonising jolt as I tried to pull away. The
space opened out – and I didn’t feel a thing.

‘It’s free,’ he said. ‘Your foot’s out.’ I had to look down
to be certain. Sure enough my boot was resting on the edge of the tangle of
metal, not buried beneath it. I pressed my face into his jacket for a second,
overwhelmed with gratitude. I wasn’t going to be trapped here all night and die
of hypothermia after all.

I thanked him, my lip trembling.

He helped me climb out of the contraption onto solid ground.
The snow was tumbling down like breadcrumbs now. ‘I’m staying in a cottage near
here,’ I told him. ‘But to be honest, I got a bit lost.’

‘What’s the name of the cottage?’ He was still very close to
me; his body heat continuing to envelop me.

‘The name? Sorry, my mind’s gone blank. It’s owned by…Mrs
Elling…ford…or something.’

‘Ellington. It must be McBride’s Cottage. I’m renting the
next one along.’

‘There are others? I didn’t know.’

‘You could be forgiven for not realising you had
neighbours,’ he admitted. ‘Mine’s a good ten minutes further west.’ He held me
up under my arms and I looked straight into his sequin-grey eyes. ‘Can you make
it back, do you think?’

‘Yes, it doesn’t hurt.’ I said it too soon. My ankle was
stiff and cold, but I could have made more of the situation; affected a little
pain so I could hang on to him for longer.

‘Husband staying with you?’ he enquired.

‘I’m with friends.’

We made our way back to the cottage. It was hardly any distance
at all. I didn’t know how I could possibly have lost my way. I felt stupid by
the time he guided me into a chair by the fireplace.

‘I’m fine, honestly,’ I said.

‘I’ll light this for you,’ he said, scooping up Karen’s lighter
from the hearth and getting the fire going. ‘Where are your friends?’

It was nearly three o’clock. ‘Karen’s stuck at the hospital
– her daughter’s unwell. The other two – are upstairs, I think. Or maybe
they’ve gone out,’ I said, hoping they weren’t still in bed.

He propped my leg on a stool and took a look at my ankle.

‘It doesn’t look swollen.’ He stripped off the sock and put
his palm against the sole of my foot. ‘Can you push against my hand?’

No problem. He moved it gently side to side. ‘And this?’

‘Honestly – it doesn’t hurt.’

‘How long are you staying?’ he asked.

‘Until a week on Friday or Saturday, I think,’ I said. ‘Are
you a doctor?’

‘No – but my father is.’ He smiled warmly.

I rolled down the leg of my jeans. ‘Listen, I don’t even
know your name.’

‘Stuart,’ he said, swinging the cap off his head and bending
forward into a ludicrous bow. ‘Stuart Wishart at your service, Madam.’

I laughed. ‘I’m Alice Flemming.’ We shook hands in an
awkward fashion. I noticed his eyes lingering on my face and then felt my
cheeks heat up from the inside.

He put his cap back on and adjusted it, then zipped up his
jacket, clipping the poppers into place.

‘Well – I’ll leave you to rest. Have you got painkillers?’

‘Yes – thank you.’

‘Right then…’ He slapped his pockets, seeming reluctant to
go.

‘You’ll come back, won’t you?’ I said, craning my neck as he
moved away. ‘I feel like I haven’t thanked you properly at all.’

‘Sure.’ He sent me a glowing smile that made me feel like
I’d been kissed – and left.

‘What happened to you?’ said Mark, creeping towards
me shortly afterwards, as though afraid he might catch something. He was
holding his mobile.

‘Hurt my ankle – that’s all. I’m fine.’

‘You need a stiff brandy. Have we got any?’

‘No, I don’t and no, we haven’t,’ I said playfully.

‘Are you able to get a signal on your phone?’ he asked,
serious for once. His phone had been glued to his hand since he arrived.

‘You have to go down the track to get any reception. Even
then, if the weather’s bad, it doesn’t work. I’ve tried to ring home, but I
haven’t been able to reach them yet.’

‘Bloody nuisance,’ he said.

I heard the putter of Karen’s car and Mark helped me to my
feet. She came in with Melanie asleep in her arms. ‘False alarm,’ she
whispered.

‘Thank God,’ I whispered back, squeezing Karen’s arm.

Melanie gurgled and Karen took her straight upstairs.
‘Freezing out there…’

Karen settled Melanie in the cot and joined us by the fire.
‘She’s had another thorough check over and it turns out she’s got a slight throat
infection, but it’s nothing serious.’ She sank back into the cushion that had
erupted earlier. ‘I’m knackered – waiting around in hospital is such a trial.’

I moved over to sit beside her and she noticed my limp.

‘It’s nothing – just slipped in the snow,’ I said.

She looked at her hands, as if trying to figure out what to
say next and, for a second, I had an edgy feeling that she was playing a
character on stage and that none of this was real.

She rubbed my back and I made the thought go away.

Mark cracked open a can of lager and pushed a Pink CD into
the player. He put his feet up on the rocking chair, his trainers dripping
pools of slush from standing on the back step to smoke his latest cigarette. I
reached over to turn the music down. ‘Melanie’s asleep,’ I said.

Karen barely seemed to register; she was resting her elbow
on the arm of the sofa, watching the fire.

‘Yeah, yeah,’ he grunted. I hobbled over to the pile of
newspaper by the hearth, beckoned to him to lift up his trainers and slipped a
sheet underneath to soak up the mess. ‘You’ve turned into a proper bossy
boots,’ he said sniggering, but nevertheless he leant forward to unlace them
and left them on the tiles.

‘I’ll make some tea,’ I said, as Karen went upstairs again.
As I brought in the pot, Mark looked like he’d fallen asleep. Echoey voices
came through the monitor on the sideboard.

‘…I know – you were a long time at the hospital,’ said
Jodie. She must have met Karen on the stairs. I heard a door closing, then
Karen spoke.

‘I’m going to be such a paranoid mother.’

‘Of course you are. That’s only natural. But it’s a good
thing. It’ll make you extra careful with her so you don’t put her at risk.’

‘Is her breathing regular do you think? I can’t tell
anymore.’

Silence. ‘It sounds okay to me. Let’s just leave her be.’

I could hardly believe Jodie was uttering such wise words
for a change. When Mark wasn’t with her she seemed to be a nicer person.