Kind of the opposite of hospitality, isn’t it?I think.
‘We’ve always worked at the source for some of the best produce,’ James says, stopping for a moment and holding his hands out towards the forest around us. ‘But flip everything you know about traditional restaurants on your head. If we need lemons for eighty covers? It’s a three-day wait, so we have to be really organized. But we get lobster delivered fresh each day from about thirty miles away. It’s the opposite of somewhere like London, where Russell’s used to everything being consistently shipped in. Here, if there’s a storm and the boats can’t go out …’
‘There’s no lobster,’ Anis finishes.
‘Heaven forbid,’ I say.
‘Yes,’ agrees James, shaking his head at the horror of it. ‘But Russell’s new system means we’ve got a consistent supply now, more or less. I’ve managed to keep some of the local ones, though. It’s not a total takeover. Anyway, it’s going to make us more profitable,’ he says, shrugging.
‘Well, that’s something.’
I stop by a leaning oak with exposed roots that worm their way down the eroding bank towards a set of large rocks by the river. I slip almost immediately, and just manage to catch myself before I’m face-first into the water. It looks so fresh and clean as it glides across large boulders into one calm pool after the other. The smell of mud and wet stone is weirdly pleasing. I dip my fingers into one of the pools and pull them out immediately.
‘Jesus fucking Christ,’ I yelp, cupping my fingers in my hand and breathing warm air onto them. ‘It’s like ice.’
James grabs the arm of the oak and jumps expertly down towards me, leaping from rock to rock until he stops next to me. He dips his hands into the river and splashes some water on his face. ‘Well, there’s still a lot of snow-melt. I love it.’
‘Can you drink it?’
‘You can, but there’s always a risk of dead livestock or something upstream,’ he says. ‘Do you fish?’
‘Um, no,’ I reply, wishing for a moment that I did, as I picture myself on a small boat in the middle of a loch with James. Maybe a parasol. No, actually, no parasol. ‘I’d love to try, though.’
I look across and he is smiling at me. I’m not sure if he’s smiling at the idea of me fishing, or because he’d like to go fishing with me, or because it seems absurd that I’d like to go fishing, but I’m leaning towards the last possibility.
‘Wild garlic!’ calls Anis from further down the path, stealing James’s attention.
‘That’s our lamb main sorted. And no arguments from Russell, if it’s free,’ he says to me, as he drags himself up from the bank and rushes down the path to follow Anis. ‘Come on!’
He’s as light as a ten-year-old boy, and I have to move quickly to try to keep up. Unfortunately, my sneakers are not giving me quite the grip or support I need, and when my foot hits a wet, mossy rock, I slip again, this time to the side, and feel a shooting pain in my right ankle. ‘Ah, fuck,’ I murmur, steadying myself on the offending rock and waiting for the pain to subside.
‘Heather,’ he calls from the distance. ‘Hurry up!’
‘I’m coming!’ I shout.
Ahead I can see them in a small clearing, both bent over. I take another few wobbly steps, cursing my luck. Imagine almost breaking my ankle two days into what was already a living nightmare. I bend over and roll down my sock and inspect the edge of my ankle, but mercifully, it looks totally normal.
As I limp closer, the pain begins to subside, but Anis catches my limp and her face drops. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Yeah, fine,’ I reply, shaking out my ankle again.
‘What happened?’ She takes a few steps forward. ‘Did you hurt your ankle?’
‘It’s nothing,’ I say, shaking my head.
‘It’s those ridiculous shoes,’ she says, frowning.
‘It’ll be fine. Did you find some wild garlic?’
‘Oh yes,’ she says, reaching into the high grass to pick up her basket, which is bursting with green. I’m confused for a moment as it appears to be full of thick grass, but I don’t want to sound totally lacking in expertise here.
‘Wow,’ I say, ‘so vibrant.’ Then I get a whiff. Wow, it really does smell like garlic!
Her eyes narrow on me as she glances down at my foot again.
‘I’m going to buy some hiking boots,’ I find myself saying.
James strides across with an arm full of the same stuff that looks like grass and nothing like garlic. ‘What’s up? Heather, are you okay?’
