‘You sound like Joe.’
Alfie sits back up again.
‘Taking a tent down is much easier than putting one up.Although it can take some work to get everything back in the bag. There’s a special knack. Shall I show you?’
He goes as if to stand up but she takes hold of his shoulder, pulling him back down.
‘Relax a minute!’
She closes her eyes, feeling the sun on her face and the warmth of him as he hesitates then settles beside her again.
‘Maybe I am going to enjoy camping, after all.’
40
Tilly turns September’s book over in her hands:Wild Camping: Exploring and Sleeping in the Wilds of the UK and Ireland, by Stephen Neale. She’s been using Joe’s letter as a bookmark.
Dear Tilly,
I said before that I’m trying hard not to have any regrets. But maybe there is one more. I regret that I never managed to persuade you to enjoy camping.
OK, hear me out … Campfires. Toasted marshmallows. Waking with the sun and stepping straight out into nature. If we’d had more time, I hope I might have been able to convince you that these are some of life’s greatest pleasures.
I know you never wanted to come camping with me, but I wonder if you were put off by campsites. Mouldy shower blocks, the sound of other people’s music or snoring … I’ve always thought that to really experience the best of camping you have to go wild camping. Just you and the outdoors. Pitching your tent somewhere remote beneath the stars.
I wish we’d had time to go together, because some of the places in this book look incredible. I am quite tempted to pack a tent and go right now but I think my wild camping days might be behind me.
I hope this book inspires you. And never forget, you are so much braver than you think you are. You are the bravest person I know.
I love you.
Joe x
P.S. If you’re carrying all your supplies on your back you’ll probably want to limit yourself to just one book.
‘Hello. How can I help you lasses?’ says the grey-haired man behind the counter as Tilly pushes open the door to the bike hire shop on Islay, Rachel following behind. They just about make it through the door with all of their bags. Outside is an expansive view of the small village of Port Ellen, white fishing cottages hugging the coastline and boats bobbing in the bay.
Rachel is dressed in outdoor gear that looks just as new as Tilly’s. Tilly isn’t sure she’s ever worn an outfit with quite so many pockets before. But if their outfits look as though the tags could very well still be attached, the man behind the shop counter’s olive-green layers look so weathered and fused to him that Tilly suspects he came out of the womb in Gore-Tex.
‘We’d like to hire some bikes.’
‘E-bikes,’ Rachel adds quickly.
‘Sorry, e-bikes.’ Tilly is pretty certain she will need the assistance of a battery motor if she’s to make it through this weekend.
When they planned the trip they debated hiring a car but both reluctantly agreed that it wouldn’t make it exactlywildcamping if there was always the option of sleeping in a car overnight.
‘Well, you’re in the right place. Where are you heading?’
Tilly explains that they’re about to catch the ferry to Jura.
It was hard to decide where to go. There were lots of places in the guidebook that looked undeniably beautiful, despite Tilly’s hesitation about camping. But a note in the description of Jura mentioned it was where George Orwell wrote1984. That decided things for her. A literary connection at least makes this whole trip feel a little more …Tilly.
‘Ach, Jura’s gorgeous. Very wild. More deer than people. My kind of place. You’ll probably be wanting an e-mountain bike, then. It gets a bit wild out there.’
He selects two bikes for them, handing them matching helmets and a puncture repair kit. Alfie showed her how to fix a flat tyre before leaving and shethinksshe remembers but, hopefully, it won’t come to that. Just like she seriously hopes she will make it through the next two days without needing to use the shovel in her backpack.
They strap the panniers to the bikes until they look like lean packhorses.
