Am I destined to collapse, again and again?
Will I ever, really, be enough?
The tears are coming hot and fast as I stagger on, bowed by the weight of my pack and my feelings. I want to stop. Want to drop my bag and simply give up.
But what would that get me? An even wetter bum, and the embarrassment of being found, crying my eyes out on the side of the trail. I think of the glint of approval in Angus’ eyes last night, and the way he spoke about fighting for things that mattered.
I’m a quitter. A failure. I know that about myself.
But maybe, right now, I don’t have to be.
So I duck my head and let the tears flow, and make myself march on, into the mist and the rain and the pain.
Taking it one step at a time.
Chapter Eleven
Angus
We march through the fog in silent misery. Priya and Lila have fallen back, keeping to themselves, but Ewan is still gripping on to me for dear life, leaning most of his weight on my arm. I know if I take away even an inch of support, he’ll collapse. He’s in that much pain. His lips are pinned shut, his eyes focused only on the ground directly underneath his feet. But he limps on.
I’ve taken similar tumbles before. Been in similar situations. Hurt myself and powered through, too stubborn to let on how bad it felt. Too afraid of seeming weak to let myself stop. Wrap my pride around myself as if pride alone would be enough to protect me.
I try not to do that so much anymore. But it’s hard. I have to work at it. To remember that being human doesn’t mean being nothing. That an injury doesn’t mean I’ve failed.
Ewan hasn’t said a word since he snapped at Rowan. He isn’t likely to either. I’ve been there before too. I know keenly the feelings he’s grappling with: the anger, the frustration, the shame. At her, for questioning him, for trying to force him to admit his vulnerability, at himself, for losing control, saying things he can’t take back.
When I was his age, I had a whole world of anger inside me. A maelstrom hiding beneath the surface, that could emerge at any second, at any small trigger. That wanted to destroy everything.
Fuck. I still had that world of anger in me. Anger at my Ma, who walked out on us, who found farming life too hard and went off in search of an easier life. Who left three boys and our Da to fend for ourselves. Anger at my Da, who gave up, flung himself down bottle after bottle and not once looked back to see who he was taking with him.
Anger at myself, for failing to hold us together. For not being someone worth sticking around for.
Ewan stumbles, and I hoist him up. His fingers grip my arm like iron spikes, but I don’t make a noise. Pain is good. Pain keeps you focused. Steady.
And every time I look at him, I can’t help but see myself at his age. Angry. Lost.
“Lad…” I say at last.
“I know,” Ewan replies tightly. His jaw clenches. “I’m a prick. Fuck. I know.”
We crest another hill. With the view blocked by the fog, I can only tell by the feeling of the ground levelling out beneath my feet. Based on where I think we are, and how fast we’ve been walking, I reckon we had one more valley before we reach Ewich Forest, and a spot to stop for lunch.
We stagger on, Ewan’s weight grows heavier with every step, as he fights against gravity and his swollen, unsteady ankle and the weight of his pack. But after one last, torturous climb, I see the first trees of the forest ahead and send up a prayer of thanks that my estimations were right. As we pass under the canopy, the rain eases, a welcome relief even in my layers of waterproofs, and I can hear Priya and Lila exclaiming happily behind us.
A little further down the path, a spot opens to our right, where a tree’s fallen on the grass. It’s the perfect height for sitting, and while it’s a little damp, it isn’t soaked despite the shitty weather.
“How about a tea break?” I ask, projecting my voice loud enough to be heard by Priya and Lila behind.
“Lunch! Lunch! Lunch!” Priya dances past, shedding her pack like an otter slipping from the water, and leaps onto the trunk, clapping her hands.
Lila follows, a wry smile on her face. “I guess we’re having lunch then,” she says, dropping her own pack with a happy groan, and flipping the top to produce two squashed sandwiches and a pack of crisps each.
“Yeah, go on then,” Ewan says, not looking at any of us as he lets go of my arm and limped over to the trunk. The look on his face when the weight leaves his ankle is pure relief, and I spare another second of worry for the lad, and the damage he might be causing himself.
I look around as I retrieve my own lunch – two sausage rolls, a wedge of cheese and bread, a couple of carrots and some cured meat for good measure. I’ve stuffed the pockets of my bag full of snacks as well: mixed nuts, raisins, dried mango, and a load of jerky. I hate getting hungry, especially when the mileage is this high, so I always make sure to come prepared.
No sign of Rowan. She isn’t a fast walker, so I’m a little surprised we haven’t caught up to her yet. Then again, we aren’t exactly covering ground apace with Ewan’s ankle and making sure we don’t go too fast for Priya. I’ve never hiked with this many people, never gone this slowly before.
