Chapter 1
Alex
Tommy taps the tablewith his knuckles, a small, deliberate sound that suggests whatever comes next will be deeply unpopular.
“Right, lads. I need a volunteer.”
The break room falls silent. Six grown men turn into furniture. Even the kettle looks like it’s holding its breath.
Fellside Mountain Rescue isn’t a slick outfit with shiny kit. We’re just a bunch of volunteers with day jobs, legging it out the door whenever another tourist got themselves stranded in bad weather. We take turns on the rota with other units, and when something big hits, we all pile in. And, unlucky for us, rescuing people isn’t the only thing that needs doing. Fundraising keeps the lights on… as the government grant barely covers the biscuits.
Tommy lifts one of the mountain-shaped donation tins and gives it a pitiful shake. “We’ve three new shops in the village. Someone needs to ask the owners if they’ll display one of these.”
Nothing. Not a twitch. A roomful of men staring at the table as if it might reveal a secret escape route.
Phil’s on my right, trying very hard to merge with his fleece. He’s three years younger than me, a quiet National Trust handyman who can coax a frightened casualty back from the brink with the same gentleness he uses to fix a rotten beam. We became mates years ago after getting stranded on a fell in a storm, soaked to the bone and judged by sheep. He’s brilliant on rescues, but fundraising? Not his happy place.
Chris sits next to him. Forty-two. Built like a dry-stone wall and just as likely to shift. Nothing spooks him except tourists trying to cuddle his sheep for photos… and asking strangers for money.
Rob, also forty, a librarian by day and chaos gremlin by night, is trying not to laugh. This is the man who once swapped all ourhead torches for ones that mooed. Try doing a night search when you sound like a stampeding herd.
Tommy, our team leader, runs a hotel and somehow tolerates the lot of us. He’s only a shade older but ends up playing responsible adult far more often than he’d like. On rescues we behave ourselves. Everywhere else, we’re basically a pack of overgrown schoolboys.
And then there’s Nick. Primary school teacher. Forty-three like me. Brilliant on rescues, a lifelong pain in my backside everywhere else. He’s been winding me up since school and shows absolutely no sign of retiring from the position.
“So,” Tommy tries again, “does anyone want to step up?”
Nick sits up straighter, all false helpfulness. “I think it’s Phil’s turn.”
Phil’s entire body tenses. My jaw does too.
“You volunteering yourself while you’re at it?” I ask.
Nick smirks. “Did it last time. Phil’s turn seems to be… never.”
He’s not wrong that we usually shield Phil from anything involving strangers because his shyness makes him freeze up, but no way is he pushing him into this.
“Funny,” I say. “Because I’m pretty sure you had some excuse about needing to rush home and feed your goldfish.”
Rob snorts loudly enough that Chris elbows him. Nick’s grin sharpens.
There is a firm nudge against my knee under the table. Phil’s way of telling me not to rise to it. He does it more often than he knows.
“Alex is off today,” Phil says, attempting casual but sounding more like someone begging a referee for mercy. “He could come with me.”
Before I can object, Tommy nods. “That’s actually not a bad idea. Phil, you take the lead. Alex can go with you. If you panic, he steps in.”
I give him a look that says you know full well this is not Phil’s comfort zone, but Tommy just shrugs. The man has organised enough fundraising campaigns to know none of us volunteer willingly for this one.
“Fine,” I say. “I’ll go.”
Phil lets out a shaky breath of relief.
“Brilliant,” Tommy says, sliding the tins and a sheet of shop addresses across the table. “Off you go.”
That’s all it takes for the rest of the team to leap out of their seats like startled wildlife before Tommy thinks of another task.
Outside the small building FMR calls home, the air is already warming. Behind the rescue centre, the fells roll up into soft clouds, the whole view so perfectly framed it barely looks real.
