“Walking being quite a pleasant, brief wander through some nature, and hiking feeling like you’re spending every day being pummelled by rocks inside and out?”
“Exactly.” He beams. “Now you’re getting it.”
On his next step, his ankle slips again, and he grabs the side of the bridge with a wince.
“Here.” I slide my shoulder under his, ignoring the pain in my own feet, and heave him up.
“Thanks,” Ewan says, suddenly sombre. “You’re all being very nice to me, considering we’re strangers and you’re basically the same age as my grandparents.”
“Ewan, I’m less than ten years older than you!”
“Yeah. Exactly. Bloody ancient.” He falls quiet for a moment. “I’m going to have to get a bus tomorrow, aren’t I?”
I sigh. “How does your ankle feel now?”
“Like someone is cutting it off tendon by tendon with a rusty saw.”
I wince. “That doesn’t sound fun.”
“No. But maybe if I rest up tomorrow, I can join up with the group and we can do the last day together?”
There’s a note of a plea in his voice. He doesn’t want to give up. Doesn’t want to be defeated. And I don’t want him to either. Even if it is the sensible thing to do. We’re a group now. In it together, bonded by the miles we’ve trudged and the travails we’ve overcome. It’s silly, but if even Ewan, self-proclaims non-outdoorsman and injured besides, can make it through to the end, it makes me believe I can to.
And I want to. Want the satisfaction of walking into Fort William knowing that I haven’t faltered, haven’t given up. That I’ve faced the challenge and won.
It’s been a long time since I felt proud of myself.
Since I challenged myself.
It feels… good. I didn’t expect that.
“Sounds like a plan to me.” I inject as much cheer into my voice as I can. “I’m sure a day of rest will set you right. Then we can walk into Fort William together.”
We reach the hotel door, and Priya holds it open while I manoeuvre Ewan inside and Lila finds us a booth in the corner. A fire roars beneath a broad stone mantlepiece, and we all shed layers as the heat sends a collective flush to our faces. The baris busy, and after we settle, another group of hikers piles in, claiming the only other free table.
A harried-looking waitress with startlingly blue hair hurries over. “What can I get for you, loves?” she asks, tapping a blue biro against her small notepad. Her name badge reads “Bonnie” in silver stamped letters.
None of us has decided on food, but we quickly give her our drinks orders: Red Bull for Ewan, pint of IPA for Lila and I, and an orange and lemonade for Priya, who is beside herself with excitement at the prospect of that much sugar.
“There’s no way she’s going to sleep tonight,” Lila sighs, looking at her daughter fondly, as Priya bounces on the padded seat, grin spreading from ear to ear.
“Scuse me,” Ewan leans over to Bonnie, glancing around the room. “Is there something going on tonight? You seem well busy considering we’re the middle of bloody nowhere.”
Another group has wedged into a corner by the bar, all three dressed in non-hiking gear: cropped leather jackets, high-waisted black jeans, the darkest, thickest eyeliner I’ve ever seen. They’re wide-eyed, clutching their instrument cases to their chest.
Bonnie checks her watch. “What?” she replies, distracted, then re-focuses her attention on us. “Oh, yes. Tonight’s open mic night. We’ve done it once a month ever since Stavros took over. Gets more popular every time. Too popular, if you ask me.”
She side-eyes the two men entering the hotel in full Scottish regalia: bare knees exposed over high black socks and under green and blue kilts, their stiff jackets nothing compared to the tall black hats brushing the lintel of the door.
Bonnie groans. “Not the Cocky Twins again. Stavros is going to have a fit. Last month they almost emptied us out with their racket.”
“Can anyone sign up to play?” I ask, curious.
“Aye. Put your name on the Pad of Power over there before seven,” she gestures with a nod to a clipboard hanging to the right of the bar. Even from a distance, it is clear that space is already running out. “Then we cut up the names and put them into a hat, and you come on in the order you’re drawn. Makes it a bit more of a surprise.”
Ewan nudges Priya, who is looking at anything but the sign-up sheet, or the rest of our group. “You gonna sign up then, Miss Violin?”
Bonnie’s smile lights up with mega-watts. “Oh, I love the violin! I can fetch the sign-up sheet now, if you like?”
