Page 92 of All the Things We Never Knew

But at the same moment, next to me, I heard Joel call out, ‘Kestrel,’ his arm briefly leaving the handlebars of his bike to point skywards.

I raised my streaming eyes and caught a glimpse of the bird, soaring in an effortless arc overhead, its trajectory apparently independent of the wind. Then I looked down again, my thighs burning as I powered on up the hill.

We reached the summit side by side. There’d been no competitiveness between us – no racing to see who could reach the top first. I didn’t know the way, and he did, so at first I’d followed him, but later he’d slowed down and gestured for me to come alongside so he could more easily point out the sights as we passed them.

‘That’s Castell Coch over there.’

‘We’re just passing Aberfan now.’

‘Sometimes I see otters in the river here.’

We hadn’t seen any otters today, and before long the steepness of the ascent had made much more conversation than that impossible. But I was captivated by the beauty of the landscape surrounding us and exhilarated by the challenge of this long ride. If anything, the terrible weather created a sense of companionability – camaraderie, even – when a particularly fierce blast of wind brought us almost to a standstill and we fought to keep going up the ever-steepening slopes, catching each other’s eyes and laughing as much as our breath would allow us to.

Now, cresting the hill where the ruined castle stood, we stopped, as if this was what we had agreed to do. I got off my bike, my leggings soaked through and my thighs feeling like jelly. The rain had eased but the wind was still fierce: I could see the dark clouds roiling above me, parting briefly to reveal a glimpse of blue then snapping closed again. Below us, the valley stretched away in rough waves like a choppy green sea.

‘How far have we come?’ I asked, when I’d got my breath back enough to say anything.

‘About fifty kilometres.’ He grinned. ‘It gets harder after this. Coffee?’

‘Oh my God, yes please.’

He took a thermos flask out of his bag and poured coffee into two plastic beakers, handing one to me. I stripped off my wet glove, wrapping my fingers around the cup for warmth, and took a sip. It was strong, sweet and scalding hot.

‘KitKat?’ I offered, rummaging in my own bag.

He grinned. ‘My kind of performance nutrition.’

I handed him a bar and took one for myself, and we both stripped off the wrapping, simultaneously dunking the chocolate in our coffee before taking enormous bites.

‘Hits the spot, right?’ I asked, smiling.

‘It does. Thank you.’

‘Thank you for being such a great guide,’ I said. ‘This is spectacular.’

‘I’d say December isn’t the best time of year to experience it – but then again…’

‘I can imagine it on a sunny day,’ I mused. ‘Blue sky, no wind…’

‘You’re in Wales,’ he reminded me. ‘Nothing’s guaranteed.’

‘True.’ I laughed. ‘But still – today… this – it’s magical.’

‘It’s pretty special,’ he agreed. ‘When I come up here, it’s like nothing else exists. Just me and the mountains.’

‘I get that. It makes you feel⁠—’

‘Alive,’ he said, at the same moment I did. Then he asked, ‘What else makes you feel like this?’

‘I guess,’ I replied around the last of my KitKat, ‘work. When I’ve had a long, knackering day but I know I’ve really made a difference. Seeing my friends – when we laugh so much we almost puke. You?’

‘Music, obviously. Bertha, my dog.’ He looked at me sideways and smiled. ‘Sex.’

I laughed. ‘Same. Can’t knock it. But when you feel like this – I guess it must make you think of Gray.’

‘It does.’ His face turned sombre. ‘Every time something happens and I think, God, this is wonderful, I know I’ve got him to thank for it.’

‘Is it…’ I began, then I tried again. ‘Does it feel like a burden?’