Her eyes hold mine.
I should probably feel patronised.
I don’t.
There is something oddly grounding about how clear she is. No theatre. No vague warnings. Just rules,expectations and the underlying promise that if I follow them, she will keep me in one piece.
Hopefully.
Pippa turns towards the yard. “Right. Let’s begin.”
I follow her, feeling the weight of the kit with every step. The trousers are stiff around my legs, the jacket sits heavily on my shoulders, and the helmet makes me aware of my own head in a way I have never particularly wanted to be.
We step outside into the yard. The air is cooler here, and the hills beyond the station look far too calm for the amount of personal humiliation I fear is waiting for me.
Pippa stops beside a length of hose and turns to face me.
“How’re you feeling?”
“Reasonably prepared.”
She looks at the kit, then at me. “That’s optimistic.”
“I run mountains,” I say, before I can make the sensible decision to keep my mouth shut. “Endurance is sort of my thing.”
Her smile appears slowly this time.
Small.
Dangerous.
Entirely too pleased with herself.
“That won’t help you.” She pronounces every word, making it almost sound like a threat.
The kit sits heavy on my shoulders.
Pippa Hart looks entirely too delighted by whatever is about to happen next.
I am not looking forward to finding out why.
7
Chapter 6
Pippa
There are two typesof men who say,I run mountains.
The first type actually does. They know weather can turn, knees are not decorative, and confidence is only useful if it comes with decent judgement.
The second type has once walked briskly around Rydal Water in expensive trail shoes and has been waiting ever since for someone to ask about endurance.
AJ Hodgson is trying very hard to sound like the first type.
The annoying thing is, I suspect he might be.
“That won’t help you,” I tell him.
