Gareth (no doubt muttering expletives):It’s not going to clear. Where are you?
Me:Top Withens. Sheltering in the ruins.
Gareth:Stay where you are. Don’t move! I’ll send help.
Cringe, now he’s organising a rescue party. How embarrassing. But it’s better than staying out here on the moors all night since the temperature’s dropped another five degrees. I blow into my cupped hands and stamp my frozen feet, but it does little to warm me up. I try not to think about how I’m going to walk an hour and a half back to Haworth when I can’t feel my extremities. Hopefully, the team brings hot coffee or warm soup; even a packet of nuts would be good right about now. I’ve brought water with me, but I’ve forgotten the golden rule of hiking: always take snacks.Stupid stupid stupid!
There’s a pause in the wind, and I perk up. But it simply changes direction, and sheets of cold rain start flinging through the top of the house. Within minutes, I’m drenched and seriously worried that I might freeze to death before help reaches me.
What feels like a painful and shivering amount of time later, I hear someone calling my name in the lower part of the farmhouse, though I can hardly hear them through the screaming wind.
‘Up here!’ I yell as loud as I can.
I’ve moved into the upper room of the farmhouse and piled some loose stones around me to try to shelter from the elements. But I’m chilled to the bone and feeling drowsy. That’s not a good sign. I open my eyes woozily as a beam of light cuts through the darkness, almost blinding me. I raise a hand weakly to shield my eyes from the piercing light.
‘Sorry, I’ll take it off.’ The person removes their headlamp and sits it on a ledge, and my heart almost gives out.
Oh god, it’s Dain. In the light of the headlamp, I can see he’s kitted out from head to foot in black waterproof hiking gear and wearing heavy-soled army boots. He hefts the full-sized backpack he’s been carrying onto the ground. His black hair is plastered to his head, and his perfect features are dripping with rainwater.No no no.This is too humiliating.
Then he’s looming, like a dark angel come to save me from the thundering storm. ‘Can you move?’ He helps me to stand up so I’m leaning against the wall, my muscles crying out after being huddled into a cramped space for so long. Our breath hangs in white puffs between us. Dain takes up the headlamp to peer at me, and I flinch away from the light. I can’t even imagine what I look like—some kind of haggard ghost with pale skin, matted hair, and blue lips.
He feels my sleeve. ‘You’re wet through. I thought you’d have a waterproof jacket at least. Can you feel your fingers or toes?’
‘N-n-no.’ My teeth are chattering so much it’s difficult to form the word. Dain swears under his breath, and I try not to take it personally. He puts on his headlamp again.
‘OK, I’ll just be a minute. Flex your fingers and toes to get the blood moving.’
My head lolling on the stone wall, I do as he says, half watching as he kneels to open the backpack and extracts something rustling and orange out of it. What is that? Is he fetching me coffee? Why is he moving stones? I can’t figure out what’s happening.
There’s a popping noise, and the fabric on the ground grows into an orange mushroom in front of my befuddled eyes. A tent. He’s erected a pop-up tent.
‘Come on, we need to get inside.’
Ooooh nooooo. This can’t happen.
‘D-D-Dain ...’
My objection falls on deaf ears as Dain hooks one of my arms over his shoulder, unzips the opening, and bundles us both inside with the backpack. He zips up the tent and extracts a couple of large cylinder-shaped items from the backpack along with his silver thermos.
‘We need to stay here overnight. Take off your wet clothes.’
I kneel on the floor of the tent, looking at him blankly.What?
He takes my silence for scepticism about his search and rescue skills. But I’m not comprehending what he’s suggesting.
‘Don’t worry. I’m fully trained. I know what I’m doing. You should be OK once you have some hot toddy.’
Hot toddy?I really hope he means whisky. And why am I taking off my clothes?
He unrolls the cylinder-shaped items to reveal a black padded sleeping mat and places the other, a khaki sleeping bag, on top.
‘We need to get into the sleeping bag so I can raise your core temperature with my body heat,’ he explains.
I gaze at it, not speaking.Reader, it’s not a double.
Dain sees I’m staring at the sleeping bag and unmoving. He takes my hands and chafes them, but they’re so numb I can’t feel if his are warm or not. He starts unzipping my wet jacket, talking to me in a low, calm voice. Saying everything will be OK. That he just needs to get me warm.
He attempts to remove my jacket at the same time I try to hold on to it.
