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‘I’m glad,’ she says, looking over at Leo as he appears deep in conversation with his aunt. She turns into me, whispering slightly. ‘Now, don’t tell him I said this, but how’s Leo getting on in London? Really? He’s not the social media sort so we can never quite keep track of him but Gabby and I often worry he’s a bit of a fish out of water down there. He’s not city folk is our Leo.’
I am warmed by the depth of her concern for him. ‘Well, he’s brilliant at work. He’s settled in well to the office and is a strong member of our team.’ I gulp as I give her this appraisal, hoping my guilt doesn’t show on my face. ‘And he’s got good housemates too. London is a strange beast but he’s got people down there looking out for him.’
She points at me.
‘Yes, I am one of these people.’
‘Then he’s alright. Just keep looking out for our lad, please.’
‘I promise,’ I mutter, emotion swelling in my chest.
‘Right, so another tradition round these parts is we eat the food then we walk. You got boots?’ she asks me.
‘I do. I was instructed to bring some walking boots.’
‘Good lass,’ she says. I won’t tell her that they’re brand new and to not shame myself I’ve only walked them down to the local park and jumped in a few muddy puddles to make them appear worn. ‘Right, team – the walk departs in ten! Coats and boots!’
Leo comes over and pulls me to my feet. ‘This is usually the portion of the day where I sleep and watch a film,’ I tell him.
‘No such luck. We have to air Uncle Rich as well so he can sober up a bit.’
We turn to see him still jigging in the middle of the room with the wild enthusiasm that only Christmas and alcohol can bring.
‘You brought layers, right?’
‘I brought a hoodie?’ I tell him.
‘Just the one?’ he asks.
‘I need more than one hoodie?’
It turns out that I didn’t need more than one hoodie. I needed every item in my suitcase and everything I own at home to combat this level of cold. It’s nastily bitter, the sort of cold where it feels someone has got a hairdryer on the Arctic setting and it’s on full power in your face. There was me looking at the kids with their mismatched super-thick socks, balaclavas and fleece mittens and I scoffed at how cold it really could be. Now I’m standing here feeling the urine in my bladder solidify into ice. This walk is also not just a walk. Where I come from, I walk in parks that are mostly flat and have cafes dotted about the place, but here they climb over stiles, scramble across rocks and skip over streams. If I’ve made a decent impression before this then all that has been unravelled by the fact I scream every time I have to jump over a mere trickle of water. I am a town mouse. The reason I went into computers is because I was terrible at sport and any activity that involved co-ordination.
That said, what can’t be scoffed at are the views of this place. I was fast asleep when we arrived on Christmas Eve but now the landscape keeps revealing more expanses of fields, mountains in the distance and clear blue skies. The snow and ice still sit on the ground and it feels like every time we turn a corner, there are more vistas to take my breath away, more photos to snap, more reasons to inhale deeply and feel intensely cold but be grateful I chose to spend Christmas here rather than eating cheese alone in my gardenflat.
‘How’s it going?’ Leo asks me, smirking because I walk with both hands out for balance. This is uneven terrain. I got bitten by a fox last time I was in nature; I don’t need the indignity of the air ambulance having to winch me out of here because I snapped an ankle in two.
‘Don’t be mean,’ I reply tersely.
‘Your lips have gone blue,’ he tells me, coming over to hug me. I am not sure that will work but I don’t mind the contact at all. ‘We’ll sit you by the fire when we get back. Next to Nana.’
Nana is obviously not on this walk but I suspect she would have moved quicker than me. About sixty yards ahead, I see the children of the walk fighting with big branches and collecting stones. It all feels incredibly wholesome. I grew up in West London. The fights I saw were outside the local pub. I used to collect used travelcards.
‘Am I holding up the party?’ I ask Leo.
‘Not at all,’ he says, putting an arm through mine. We walk through a clearing in the trees and again, a trail of mountains and valleys comes into view. I gasp and Leo looks over smiling to see me appreciate it. ‘Did you really grow up here?’
‘Yeah. Down there’s a quarry and we used to go camping there,’ he points to a base of the hill.
‘Like Bear Grylls?’ I ask, imagining him spearing fish with sharpened sticks.
‘Like six teenagers with a six pack of Strongbow, smoking spliffs around a fire,’ he joshes. We continue walking. This does seem to be Leo’s natural habitat. His grey walking boots are worn and weathered, he wears a dark green outdoor jacket with many layers of fleece and his signature beanie, his blond hair peeking out by his ears.
‘How are you not cold?’ I ask him.
‘I’m a man of the North,’ he says in Sean Bean tones. ‘But also long johns and a quality thermal vest.’
He is a man of nature but a sensible one at that. ‘Sexy.’
