About the Author

CARLA BURGESS was born in Solihull and now lives in Chester with her husband, three children, dog and bearded dragon. Her love of books was sparked when she borrowed Ghost Ship to Ganymede by Robert Swindells from her primary school library and devoured it in one night. It was just after this that she started writing her own stories and inflicting them on family and friends. She began her working life as an editor on a trade magazine where she dreamed of writing about romance instead of tubing, but still felt privileged to be working with words. She has a degree in English literature and psychology, and loves animals, the countryside and the sea. Carla’s debut novel, Marry Me Tomorrow, released in 2016, became a bestseller. For more information about Carla, you can follow her on Twitter @MsBear123, on Facebook at www.facebook.com/carlaburgesswriter/ or on her website www.carlaburgessauthor.com

Also by Carla Burgess

Meet Me at Willow Hall

Meet Me Under the Mistletoe

Stuck With You

Marry Me Tomorrow

The Five-Year Plan
CARLA BURGESS

HQ

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2020

Copyright © Carla Burgess 2020

Carla Burgess asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

E-book Edition © March 2020 ISBN: 9780008378783

Version: 2020-01-27

Table of Contents

Cover

About the Author

Also by Carla Burgess

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

Keep Reading …

About the Publisher

For Mum, thank you for everything x

Chapter 1
Present day – London, UK

‘How did you get invited to this exhibition, Orla?’ Emma turns to look at me, her loose black hair streaking back from her face as the wind howls down the street towards us. It’s a horrible night, and I feel bad for inviting her out in such awful weather, but she seemed eager enough when I told her about it this afternoon. ‘I can’t believe you’ve got an opening night invitation to Aiden Byrne’s exhibition. The Aiden Byrne! Do you know him or something?’

‘Yes, kind of. Well, used to, anyway,’ I say, side-stepping a sodden newspaper that takes sudden flight and tries to wrap itself around my legs. That’d be all I need, to see Aiden again with wet paper stuck to my tights! It’s bad enough my hair feels like it’s coming loose from the glamorous up-do I had done this afternoon. I’d intended to arrive looking chic and sophisticated, but at this rate I’m going to look like I’ve come on a motorbike. ‘Why? Have you heard of him?’

‘Of course I’ve heard of him!’ Emma says. ‘I wouldn’t have agreed to come out in this storm if I hadn’t!’

‘Really? How?’

Aiden’s not that famous, surely? Okay, he’s getting bigger, otherwise he wouldn’t be having an exhibition at the Hayward Gallery, but still, I’m surprised Emma knows who he is.

‘Are you joking?’ Emma throws me an incredulous look. ‘He’s done all those wildlife documentaries! Everyone knows who he is now. Besides, I have lots of friends who are environmental activists, and they think he’s really cool.’

I absorb this information with some amazement, though I shouldn’t really be surprised. Aiden had a bit of a cult following even when I knew him five years ago, so it stands to reason that will have grown, especially with the documentaries being televised. Of course, I knew about them, and though I’ve not watched any myself, I’m aware they’ve been well received.

‘You can’t know him very well then!’ Emma says, crossly. ‘I thought you were going to introduce me to him. I wanted a selfie! I told all my friends and everything!’

I can’t help laughing. Emma’s our new trainee reporter, and even though she’s impressed me with her sparky enthusiasm and intelligence, on occasions she’ll revert into stroppy teenager mode. I like her though. Her cheekiness reminds me of my younger sister, and I’ve kind of taken her under my wing since she started working on the paper. Hence the invite to tonight’s exhibition. She can do a write-up for the What’s On section, and I get a wingman that will make this feel like a work assignment instead of a social event.

And I badly need this to feel like a work assignment.

No one was more surprised than I was when the invitation arrived in the post five weeks ago. As soon as I saw it, I decided not to go, intending to write a polite note wishing him luck. But the note never got written, and somewhere along the line I realised I couldn’t not go to such a major exhibition when I’m a newspaper reporter with an entertainment section to fill. So instead I confirmed my attendance with a plus one, thinking I’d ask my boyfriend James. But that didn’t seem right either. After all, I’d hate to meet Aiden’s girlfriend.

Oh no, what if Aiden has a girlfriend? Or a wife!

‘We don’t have to go, you know.’ I stop walking abruptly. ‘We can just go home, pretend it wasn’t on. I doubt we’ll actually speak to him.’

‘Oh no!’ Emma sounds contrite, thinking her stroppiness has caused my sudden change of heart. ‘I didn’t mean it. It’ll just be good to be in the same room as him, really. I don’t care about talking to him, or the selfie! Ignore me, you know what I’m like.’ She carries on walking, and I feel duty-bound to follow, all the while thinking of excuses why Emma should go in on her own. But before I know it, we’re at the gallery doors and my pulse is going haywire in panic.

I can’t see Aiden again, I can’t see Aiden again, I can’t see Aiden again.

‘You must know him a little bit though,’ Emma’s saying as she pulls open the door and steps inside. ‘I saw the invite on your desk and it was addressed to you personally. It wasn’t just for random newspaper staff or the entertainment editor, it was directly to you. In gold embossed lettering.’

‘Well, I knew him a long time ago, but he probably invited lots of people that work in the media. He must want the publicity.’

The nerves I’ve been battling all day threaten to overwhelm me as we go inside and join the queue for the cloakroom. I didn’t sleep last night, and I haven’t been able to eat since breakfast. Now I feel hollow and light-headed, my hands shaking from the day’s excess caffeine consumption. At least that’s the reason I tell myself they’re shaking.

‘Did you guys fall out or something?’ Emma asks, curiously.

‘No, no. Nothing like that,’ I say, my eyes darting all over the place. To my relief, the gallery is full of people and the air is buzzing with laughter and conversation. Of course, Aiden has a huge number of friends. As a wildlife photographer and conservationist, he travels all over the world and his kindness and friendly nature naturally draw people to him. There are bound to be all sorts of people from all sorts of places here. He’s going to be so busy catching up with other friends that I’m sure I’ll be able to avoid him all night. I square my shoulders, feeling slightly calmer than before. Maybe I could manage a friendly wave from a distance, just to say I’ve shown my face. My stomach dips as the thought of any contact, however small, sends my heart racing.

Just knowing he’s here in London frays my nerves. All week I’ve been thinking that I’ve seen him out of the corner of my eye, standing at bus stops or walking down the street, but it’s never him when I’ve turned to look.

I hate the hope. I hate the disappointment. I hate that I still feel like this after all this time.

When Aiden and I said goodbye five years ago, I vowed never to see him again. We hadn’t fallen out or anything. Far from it, in fact. We parted amicably, lovingly, but we’d run our course. Aiden had an assignment in India, and I was just starting out as a newspaper reporter. Our lives were going in different directions and we always knew our relationship was temporary. We needed a clean break. Emailing him every week and seeing him whenever he came back to the UK wasn’t ever going to help me move on.

Not that I’ve done a great job of moving on anyway. Still, there was no need for him to know that. Aiden’s a free spirit. One of life’s wanderers. There’s no question in my mind that he’ll have moved on by now.

He probably barely remembers me.

‘Wow! Nice dress!’ Emma says as I peel off my coat and pass it to the girl behind the desk.

‘Thank you.’ I glance down at it, pleased she thinks so. It’s knee-length and black with sparkly silver embroidery. It cost a small fortune but I wanted to look good tonight, for my own self-esteem more than anything else. I chose a dress that made me look sophisticated and successful, as different from the girl he used to know as possible. I pat my hair self-consciously. ‘Is my hair alright? It hasn’t come down, has it?’

‘No, it’s fine.’ Emma checks round the back. ‘Just a bit wispy at the front, but nothing bad. Just sexy. Can we find the toilets? I need to brush mine through.’

‘Yes.’ I feel like hugging her, I’m so relieved that I get a few minutes’ grace before entering the exhibition. We find the toilets and I reapply my lipstick as Emma brushes her hair.

‘I’m nervous,’ she whispers. ‘I’ve never been to one of these before. You won’t leave me, will you?’

‘Of course not.’ I smile at her, making an effort to pull myself together. Emma’s young, and she’s bound to find this all a little overwhelming. ‘It will be fine. There’ll be champagne and nibbles and we’ll look at his amazing photographs. And if we get a chance to speak to Aiden, we’ll ask him some questions and get that selfie, and if not, no big deal.’

Please don’t let us get a chance to speak to him. Please let him be too busy.

I take a deep breath in. ‘Right, let’s go.’

She beams at me and I smile bravely back as I pull open the door and step into the gallery. The hum of conversation is much louder here, accompanied by the clink of glasses and tinkling piano music. Aiden’s photographs are displayed on huge canvasses on the white walls – the first is a huge owl with enormous amber eyes, its feathers so textured and lifelike that I feel I could stroke it.

‘Wow!’ I hear Emma say from behind. ‘These are amazing.’

A waitress passes me a glass of champagne and I accept it gratefully, downing it in one long gulp as Emma sips hers slowly, looking around with her huge dark eyes. My glass is instantly refilled by another waiter and I try to take more measured sips, aware that getting plastered would not be wise.

Aiden’s photographs are captivating. Emma and I move from image to image, discussing them as we go. They’re linked to the devastating effects of climate change, and between the beautiful striking images of animals, there are photographs of wildfires, deforestation, flooded villages, dried-up river beds, and emaciated wolves and polar bears.

‘These images are so powerful,’ Emma says, her eyes full of tears. ‘I can’t bear it.’ She’s looking at a photograph of a dead rhino, its horn removed by a poacher, while I’m still staring at the forest fire with fear stirring my gut. All I can think is how close was he to that fire? Did he put himself in danger for these images? Exactly how far will he go to get the perfect shot?

It’s hard to believe that Aiden has been to these far-flung places and seen all these amazing things. He’s lived a whole other life since I saw him last. It doesn’t seem possible the small part I played in his past could mean anything to him now. If ever I needed confirmation that Aiden and I are completely incompatible, this is it. Tears burn behind my eyes and I struggle to keep my chin from wobbling. I should never have come here. I want to go home.

But Emma is talking animatedly to me about the photographs, drawing me on to the next one and the next one. I’m glad she’s with me, with her bright, bubbly personality distracting me from my thoughts. We turn a corner and find a wall covered in a montage of images of plastic-covered beaches, and plastic floating in the ocean. There are terrible photographs of animals trapped in plastic and plastic trapped in animals. It’s horrifying and we stare and stare.

‘I’m definitely going to reduce my plastic usage,’ Emma says. ‘It’s so difficult though. Everything is covered in the stuff these days. Have you seen those eco bricks?’

‘Where you fill a plastic bottle with unrecyclable plastic and they get used for building things?’

‘Yeah. I’m so going to do one of those.’

‘Orla?’

I freeze. Aiden’s deep Irish voice makes every hair on my body stand up and I turn slowly, my heart lodged somewhere near my throat. I’ve prepared my face into a smile, but I can’t help the shock that registers when I actually see him. His beard and his long dark curly hair are gone, and instead he’s clean-shaven with short back and sides. Even stranger than that, he’s wearing a black suit and tie. I can’t believe my eyes.

‘Bloody hell!’ I laugh in disbelief as pure joy courses through my veins at the sight of him. All thoughts of being friendly but distant are instantly forgotten. ‘What’s happened to you? Where’s the hair? Where are the clothes? What have you done with the real Aiden?’

He laughs and scratches the back of his neck, looking embarrassed. ‘I thought I’d better smarten myself up. How are you? You look beautiful.’ Stepping forward, he kisses me on both cheeks, a light hand on my arm. My heart kicks in my chest and I feel hot. So hot.

‘I’m well, thank you. This is … all of it … is just amazing.’ I indicate the photos on the walls with a swirl of my arm. ‘Congratulations, Aiden. I’m so prou … pleased for you.’ My throat constricts with emotion and I swallow hard as I turn to Emma. ‘This is Emma,’ I say, my voice wobbling slightly. ‘She works on the newspaper with me. Emma, this is Aiden.’

‘Hello, Emma.’ Aiden smiles and shakes her hand. ‘Thank you for coming tonight.’

‘Oh, it’s my pleasure!’ Emma looks like she’s going to explode with excitement. ‘I couldn’t believe it when Orla asked me to come with her tonight. I was so excited and your work is just amazing. Your photographs are just like wow! I’m going to be writing a review of your exhibition in our What’s On guide, if that’s alright with you?’

‘Sure. That’d be wonderful. Thank you so much.’ His eyes return to mine and my stomach fills with butterflies. ‘You achieved your five-year plan, I see. You’re living in London and working on one of the big newspapers?’

‘I am!’ I say, proudly.

He opens his mouth to say something but Emma speaks first, diverting his attention back to her.

‘Can I ask you a few questions? They won’t take long. I know you must be very busy tonight, with lots of people wanting to speak to you.’

He gives her a lopsided smile and shrugs. ‘Of course. I’d be happy to answer your questions.’

I stand to one side as Emma takes her phone from her bag, checking it’s alright to record him. He agrees and she begins the interview. I can’t stop staring at him. He’s looks so together. Like someone who actually lives indoors and knows what day of the week it is. It’s hard to believe this is the same scruffy, shaggy man I fell in love with all those years ago. But his eyes, as green as a forest pool and ringed with thick black lashes, are the same ones I gazed into when we made love, and he still carries the same gentle air of deep calm he always did.

He turns his head and catches me staring, and my stomach turns over as I drop my gaze.

It was a mistake to come here and see him again. It does no good to stir up all these feelings. Aiden belongs in the past. A beautiful memory. Hazy summer days spent lying in his arms in shady green woodland, the sound of birdsong and the river running next to us filling our ears. Butterfly kisses on my neck, and a feeling of such utter love that I could have died then and there and been happy. My Aiden. I loved him so much. Will seeing him tonight affect my memory of that perfect time? I’m disturbed by how different he looks. Disturbed by how much I’m still drawn to him. But I know there’s no going back. Not now, not ever. Our lives are too different.

Tears threaten once more and I turn away to look at the photographs on my left. Emma’s only got four questions about the inspiration behind the subject matter and how long it took to compile the material for the exhibition, and as she finishes, I hear her ask him for a selfie. I cringe a little, but he just laughs and agrees.

‘Are we having one with Orla too?’ he asks, and before I can protest he takes my arm, drawing me closer, and suddenly I’m pressed against his side with his arm around my shoulder.

It’s so strange to be this close to him again. Even after five years apart, he feels familiar. The scent of his cologne makes my head spin, which is strange considering he never wore it back then. He smells completely different in fact, but there’s something underneath the spicy aromatic scent of his fancy cologne that my senses seem to recognise. Some pheromone, perhaps, or something else uniquely Aiden that gives me a pang, deep down inside.

‘Aw, that’s a lovely one!’ Emma says, peering closely at her phone. ‘Thank you so much, Mr Byrne.’

‘Call me Aiden, please,’ he says pleasantly.

He’s still got his hand on my shoulder, and I wish he’d let me go because I don’t want him to know how much I’m shaking. From the corner of my eye, I spot a man hovering, obviously waiting to speak to Aiden. As soon as he sees Emma put her phone back in her bag, he darts forward and draws Aiden away from us.

‘I’ll come and speak to you later, Orla,’ he calls, before crossing the room to join another group of people.

‘He’s lovely!’ Emma says. ‘I’ve forwarded you the recording of the interview, by the way. And the selfies.’

‘Why?’ I pull a face. The last thing I need is to torture myself by listening to his voice. I didn’t watch his documentaries because I knew it would awaken the painful longing I’ve tried to repress all these years. Just like seeing him here tonight is doing now.

‘Because of your face. And the fact you’ve barely taken your eyes off him since he went to stand with those other people.’

‘I have not! And what’s wrong with my face?’

‘Nothing,’ she says innocently, ducking her head. ‘Anyway, I’ve just had a text from my boyfriend asking me to meet him for a drink, so I might go soon if it’s okay with you?’

‘Oh!’ I’m dismayed she’s leaving so early, but maybe it’s for the best. It’s the perfect excuse for me to slip away too. ‘Okay. That’s fine.’

‘Thank you so much for asking me tonight. My friends are going to be so impressed. Especially with the selfie!’

I laugh, still incredulous that Aiden’s become something of a celebrity. He’s probably completely unaware.

‘I’ll look around the rest of the exhibition then I’ll get going,’ she says, checking her chunky silver watch. ‘You’re going to stay, aren’t you?’

‘No, I don’t think so.’

‘Are you sure? He keeps looking over at you, you know. And he said he’d come and speak to you again.’

‘He doesn’t keep …’ I look over at Aiden just as he looks up at me. Our eyes lock for a fraction of a second before I look quickly away.

‘See, I told you. He definitely wants to speak to you. How friendly were you guys, anyway? Was there a bit of romance?’

‘Maybe.’ I feel myself flush slightly and turn away to hide my embarrassment.

‘Really? Wow, wait until I tell my friends. Do you think you’d get back together?’

‘No!’

‘Why not?’ Emma jiggles my arm excitedly. ‘Look at the way he’s looking at you. He’s surrounded by people, but it’s like you’re the only person he sees.’

‘Stop it!’ I turn my back on Aiden, determined not to look. ‘Come on, let’s look at the rest of the exhibition.’ We move on to the next section of photographs. ‘I suppose you’re one of those romantic girly girls, who believes in true love that lasts forever and ever?’

‘Of course I am. Why, aren’t you?’ She cocks her head, incredulous that I might not be.

‘No,’ I say, equally incredulous that she’d think that I would be.

‘That’s so depressing! Why not?’

I hesitate. That’s a good question. Especially considering my relationship with Aiden. ‘It’s not that I don’t believe in love, I just don’t believe it can last forever.’

‘But that’s so sad. My grandparents have been married forever and they still hold hands. My mum and dad are still happy too. The old couple who lived next door to us when I was growing up died within a week of each other because they couldn’t live without each other.’

‘I doubt it was like that really. They must have both been ill. Did they check the carbon monoxide levels in their house?’

‘Don’t be mean. She died from cancer and he had a heart attack a week later because he couldn’t cope with the grief.’

‘Oh.’ I wince. ‘I feel bad now. That’s really sad.’

‘Exactly. There are examples of everlasting true love everywhere you look. You just have to work at it. My mum says that’s what people these days don’t understand. They expect everything to be perfect all the time, and at the first sign of trouble people bow out. But life’s just a lot of ups and downs, and you get through it together.’

‘Well, I’m sure she’s right,’ I say, ‘but finding someone you want to spend your life with is a challenge in the first place. I’ve certainly had no luck so far.’

‘What about Aiden? What was wrong with him?’

Unable to stop myself, I look back over my shoulder to where Aiden’s laughing with someone. I can hear the rich, warm tones of his laughter from here. ‘Nothing was wrong with Aiden. He was pretty perfect really. But we only had a short time together. Just one summer, when I was about your age, and neither of us was ready for a relationship. Our lives aren’t compatible.’

Emma pulls a sad face. ‘That’s a shame. Maybe you should start over again. See where it goes now you’re both older and wiser.’

‘I have a boyfriend, remember. Besides, Aiden travels the world pretty much constantly. You know he lives in a tent, right? No thank you. There’s no going back now. Besides, Aiden might have a girlfriend now. He could be married for all I know.’

‘If he is, he shouldn’t be looking at you like that.’

‘Like what?’ Glancing back at Aiden, I find him looking at me again. Our eyes meet and he doesn’t look away, nor smile, and neither do I. Instead, we just stare at each other and even though there are people all around us, it’s like we’re the only two people in the room. I’m rooted to the spot, my blood fizzing in my veins, heart thudding so hard I can feel it in my scalp, my fingers, my toes.

‘Ha! Told you.’ Emma laughs and nudges me with her shoulder so that I break our gaze and look at her, blinking like I’m just waking up from some kind of hypnosis. ‘And you’re looking at him in exactly the same way he’s looking at you. Right, I’d better go or else I’ll be late for the love of my life.’

‘Wait, I’ll come with you.’ I look around for somewhere to leave my empty champagne flute.

‘Don’t you dare!’ She touches my arm. ‘Aiden invited you. He obviously wants you here. He’ll be offended if you leave so early. Besides, think how much money you spent on that dress and having your hair done. You can’t waste that.’ She winks, seeming suddenly older than her twenty-two years. And my twenty-seven, come to think of it. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’

‘Well, be careful in this storm!’ I call after her. She raises her hand and then she’s gone, weaving her way through the crowded room and out through the door.

I feel lost without her. Standing on my own in a room full of strangers isn’t my idea of fun. But she’s right, it would seem rude if I left early. Aiden might belong in the past, but he’s an important part of that past, and I owe it to him to be here, cheering him on and supporting him on his big night. It doesn’t matter that being in the same room with him feels dangerous. I’m a grown woman. I’m strong enough to cope.

Glancing up, I find his eyes on me again. Christ, why does he have to keep looking at me like that? Feeling flustered, I move away towards the far corner of the room. It hurts me to do so, but I don’t need his lingering looks making me believe the impossible is possible. We can’t go back; we can only go forward.

‘Hello, Orla.’ A woman with long dark hair taps me on the shoulder. ‘Do you remember us? Mia and Keaton?’ She indicates a tall guy behind her, his long dreadlocks tied up in a ponytail.

‘Of course I remember you!’ I say, recognising them at once. I’m happy to see them again. I only met them once five years ago when I was with Aiden, but they were absolutely lovely. ‘It’s so lovely to see you. How are you both?’

‘We’re great, thanks! We’ve got a little boy now, and another one on the way.’ Mia smooths her hands over her bump proudly.

‘Congratulations! When are you due?’

Mia and I chat about babies while Keaton fiddles with his tie, looking like he wants to rip it off along with the suit he’s obviously been forced to wear.

‘Have you managed to speak to Aiden yet?’

‘Just a few words.’

‘He’ll be so pleased you came. He was hoping you would. He’s never got over you, you know.’

‘Mia!’ Keaton hisses.

My stomach gives a painful tug and I feel the gallery slant, slightly. ‘I’m sure he has,’ I say, forcing a laugh.

‘No, he hasn’t.’

I smile tightly, not wanting to hear this. It’s too painful and it doesn’t change anything. Aiden and I can’t work.

Luckily, Aiden chooses that moment to make a speech so I don’t have to answer. Someone brings out a microphone and Aiden thanks everyone for coming. He’s adorably humble and sweet, and I’m sure everyone in the room is in love with him, not just me. As soon as he finishes, people flock towards him, eager to congratulate him and say goodbye before making their way home.

Oh no, I don’t think I can say goodbye to him. Just the thought of speaking to him again sends my pulse spiralling upwards.

‘I’m going to have to go,’ I say, checking my watch. ‘Can you tell Aiden goodbye from me? I’m sorry. He’s so busy and I’ll miss my tube if I don’t go now and I have to be up early in the morning.’

‘You can’t leave yet!’ Mia gasps. ‘You need to talk to Aiden.’

‘He’s busy,’ I say, already drawing away from her. ‘I don’t want to interrupt.’

‘Give me your number, then,’ Mia pleads. ‘I’ll get him to call you. He’s staying in London for at least another week.’

I hesitate. ‘I’m sorry but I don’t think that’s a good idea. Good luck with the baby!’

I feel bad as I rush away, but not bad enough to stay. Collecting my coat, I hurry from the building into the storm outside. It’s raining now, and the bitter wind feels like it’s trying to drive me back inside the gallery, but I put my head down and push on, determined to get to the tube station in time for the next train.

I’m glad of the rain because it hides my tears when I start to cry. I knew I shouldn’t have come tonight. To see Aiden again after all this time, to have him so tantalisingly close, to share lingering looks and then have to leave, is pure agony. A small voice at the back of my mind tells me I needn’t have left. Tells me it was cowardly to leave. But what was the alternative? To stay and risk crying in front of him? No thanks. I’d like my dignity to remain intact.

I reach the entrance to the tube station and run down the steps to my platform. The train’s already there, its electric doors wide open, welcoming me into its brightly lit interior. I hesitate, knowing that the moment this train leaves, there’s no going back. I’ll have left Aiden behind forever.

There’s no going back anyway, I remind myself, only forward.

I step onto the train with seconds to spare before the doors close. Someone else is cutting it fine, too. I hear a shout and running footsteps, and they make it onto the train just as the doors slide shut behind them. I turn to say something about them almost getting chopped in half, but my words die on my tongue when I see who it is.

‘Aiden!’

His eyes fix on mine and all the hairs on the back of my neck lift as he steps towards me. He can’t be here. He’s supposed be back in the gallery, at his own exhibition. He’ll have to get off. He’ll have to go back.

But even as I’m opening my mouth to speak, the train starts forward, rumbling onwards into the tunnel, and it’s just me and him staring at each other across the carriage.

Chapter 2
Five years earlier – Hawksley Village, UK

‘Orla! Orla, where are you?’ Phil bawls across the office, making several heads turn and me jump and spill the coffee I’m carrying back to his desk.

‘I’m here, I’m here,’ I say, hurrying forward as coffee dribbles down the side of his mug, burning my fingers. I hold it away from me so as not to stain my white jeans before placing it gingerly on his ring-marked desk. ‘What’s the matter?’

‘Oh, there you are. I just wondered where you’d got to, that’s all.’ Leaning forward, he peers at his computer screen, stabbing the delete key several times with a short, chunky finger.

‘I was just making you another coffee. You asked me to, remember?’ I’m slightly concerned that he’s drinking too much coffee. I’ve made him about seven already today and it’s only 2 p.m. All that caffeine can’t be good for his blood pressure. He’s already a funny purple colour and I don’t want to be the cause of his death.

‘Oh yes, sorry, I just got a bit excited for a moment. There’s a fire at the recycling centre. The whole lot’s gone up in flames. We need to get down there and see what’s going on. Come on, grab your stuff.’ He’s already on his feet, pulling on his jacket as he downs the coffee I placed in front of him.

‘But we’re supposed to be interviewing that wildlife guy at three, aren’t we? Have we got time to do both?’

‘Oh shit, yeah, I forgot about him.’ Phil swigs down the last of his coffee and sets the mug down on the desk. ‘Can you ring him and postpone? Or do you want to go on your own?’

I hesitate. ‘I can go on my own, it’s not a problem.’

‘Sure? Do you know what you’re going to ask him?’

‘I’ve got a list of questions ready. We talked about it last week, didn’t we?’

‘Of course, we did. That’s great. Good girl.’ He fusses about him, pulling his bag from beneath his desk and checking he’s got his notebook and pen. ‘He sounded like a decent guy when I spoke to him on the phone. Irish fella.’

‘Oh good, I’m sure I’ll be fine. Don’t forget your keys,’ I say, scooping them up from where they’re nestled behind his keyboard. ‘Have you got your phone?’

‘Yep.’ He pats the pocket on his shirt and smiles at me before turning to leave. ‘See you later then, hon. Good luck.’

‘Thanks. You too.’

I feel excited as I go back to my desk. In fact, I want to jump up and down and squeal. This will be my first solo interview for the Hawksley Gazette. I started working here six months ago, and every other time I’ve been shadowing Phil or one of the other reporters. But I feel like I’m ready and I’m pretty sure it won’t be taxing. It’s just a short interview with a guy who’s photographing otters down by the river. My biggest concern is not being able to find the farm where we’re supposed to meet. How unprofessional would it be if I turn up late to my first proper assignment? Or miss the appointment altogether? My stomach tightens with nerves as it gets closer to the time to leave, and I go to the toilet to check my appearance and reapply my lipstick.

I know I look younger than my twenty-two years. When I got the job, I had my long blonde curly hair cut so I’d look more professional, but the short bob has made me look like a schoolgirl. I don’t want this photographer to think I’m on a work placement or something. Having the job title of trainee reporter is bad enough. Not that I don’t love the job or anything. I do. I really do. Every morning when I walk through the big glass doors into the building, I feel so happy I could do a twirl like Maria Von Trapp on a mountain. I suspect it might not go down too well with our ferocious receptionist though, so I never do. But it’s my first job after graduating, and I feel so lucky to be working here. It may only be the local paper, serving Hawksley, a small rural town in central England that no one’s heard of, but I know it’s great experience.

After applying another coat of mascara and some blusher, I give my stupidly short hair one final rake through with my fingers. It’s no good, I still look about 16. And it’s not just the hair; my freckles don’t do me any favours either. Nor my big, wide-set eyes. Mum says they make me look like a doll, which is hardly the image I want to project in my job. I fish out my black-rimmed glasses and put them on. I feel foolish wearing them when I have 20:20 vision (they’re just clear glass lenses), but I think they make me look more intelligent. I slip them on and look at myself, before pushing them up to my forehead. On or off? I spend another couple of minutes pushing them up and down, trying to decide, then I pout a little and frown to see if that helps make me look less innocent. I’m just baring my teeth in a fierce snarl when the door opens and Chrissie from accounts comes in.

She stops and looks at me in surprise. ‘You okay, love? What’s up?’

‘Nothing! I’m fine. Just off to interview a photographer,’ I say, slightly hysterically.

‘Oh, great.’ Her face clears. ‘Good luck!’

‘Thanks.’

She goes into a cubicle and I roll my eyes at myself in the mirror. It’s time to go. I shove the glasses back in my bag, decision made. I’m not wearing them. I don’t want to have to worry about them on top of my first solo assignment.

Hawksley is quite a new town, made up mostly of redbrick buildings and a pedestrianised town square with a good quota of high-street shops. There’s still the odd original black-and-white timber building nestled in with the new, but mostly this town now belongs to the young couples and new families that are moving here in droves. The residents in the surrounding villages are furious about how Hawksley has grown in recent years, eating into the surrounding countryside as developers build new housing estates and schools to meet demand. I feel slightly bewildered by it myself; having lived here practically all my life, I can’t wait to get out of the place. To see all these people moving in is weird. But then looking at it through their eyes I can see the attraction. House prices are lower than the nearby cities, and the town has a semi-rural but touristy feel about it, mostly due to the river that winds round the outskirts of the town centre.

The village where the photographer is staying is only a twenty-minute drive away, but I leave early to give myself plenty of time to find Lark Rise Farm where he said to meet. I’ve programmed my sat nav, but from past experience, I’m not overly confident it will find a farm. As luck would have it, once I’m through the village, Lark Rise Farm is the first place I see, and indicating right, I pull into the driveway and park in a neat stone courtyard next to an old red pick-up truck. Several chickens are pecking around near the house, and even though I’m ten minutes early, I climb out and head up to the front door, ready to interview Aiden Byrne.

A plump, smiling lady of about 50 answers, and I’m surprised by how well she fits the stereotypical image of a farmer’s wife. Her dark hair is drawn back into a bun and she’s wearing an apron with her sleeves rolled up, and flour all the way up to her elbows.

‘Hi,’ I say brightly. ‘I’m here to see Aiden Byrne. He should be expecting me.’

‘Oh, he’s not here, my love. He’s down by the river.’ She raises a floured hand and points to a gate at the corner of the courtyard. ‘If you go through there and down the hill, you’ll find him.’

‘Oh, great. Thank you.’

‘You’re welcome, my love. And you can tell him I’m making scones if he wants one later. They’re his favourite.’

‘Okay. Will do.’ I grin as I leave her standing in the doorway, and head down towards the gate. I’m slightly alarmed by the steepness of the path down to the river, not to mention the muddiness, and looking down at my heeled patent leather Chelsea boots, suspect that I may not have chosen the most sensible footwear for interviewing a wildlife photographer.

Still, at least they’re boots and not stiletto heels. Bravely, I make my way down the path, which is lined with purple foxgloves and tall, overgrown shrubbery with spindly foliage that snags on my clothes and catches my hair. A sheep baas suddenly from the field on the other side of the bushes, making my heart leap in fear. Clutching my chest, I laugh breathlessly and carry on down, holding on to branches as I go so as not to slip on the slimy earth. I’m relieved when I reach the bottom and find the ground flat and dry beneath my feet, sheltered by the trees that tower above me. I see the river glinting ahead, but no sign of Aiden Byrne. For some reason, I’d expected him to be waiting for me at the bottom, ready and waiting for his interview. I look around before spotting a khaki-coloured bell tent nestled between the trees.

‘Hello?’ I call, my voice sounding too loud in the quiet forest. A crow caws above me before taking flight, causing bits of greenery to fall from the tree.

I wait for an answer but there is nothing but birdsong and the rush of the river. Confused, I take another look around me before walking over to the tent.

‘Hello? Mr Byrne?’

The tent flap is open and I can’t help but see what’s inside. There’s a camp bed with a sleeping bag and two canvas storage cupboards; one with clothes spilling from its shelves, the other neatly stacked with pots and pans and tins of soup. A basket of vegetables sits on the floor and a folded-up camp chair lies on its side. Surely he doesn’t live here? I stare for a moment, shocked that anyone can live so sparsely. I don’t mind camping, but I like to have a few home comforts. There’s not even a tent carpet on the floor, just a plastic groundsheet. I wince and back away, realising I’m intruding on his personal space.

There’s still no sign of him, so I walk down to the river and watch the water rush around the rocks and boulders on its way downstream. It’s much shallower here than in town, and the water is so clear you can see the flat brown pebbles lying on the bottom. In town, it’s brown and so deep that all manner of dubious items lurk in its depths. You wouldn’t want to swim in it, let alone drink it, but here the water looks so fresh and clean that I’m tempted to scoop some up and taste it.

The opposite bank of the river looks much wilder than this side, a dark tangled place where ash and sycamore trees compete for space, their roots poking through the river bank where the water has eroded the soil. A few trees have become so unsteady they grow outwards, their boughs and sometimes even their trunks leaning out low across the water. On this side of the river, the trees are more spaced out and uniform, growing upright, tall and proud. It’s a very pretty spot. Peaceful. I spy a small waterfall a little way upstream and decide to get nearer to take a photograph.

Unfortunately, further on, the trees that I thought so nicely spaced and uniform grow as wild as the ones on the opposite bank. Leaves brush my face and brambles snag on my trousers, winding around my legs as though they’re alive. As I push one away, another one takes its place. It feels like the vegetation is out to claim me for its own and I’m already regretting my decision. My heels sink into the soft earth and catch on the gnarly roots, making me stumble as I struggle with the brambles. Deciding the waterfall isn’t worth it, I turn to go back the way I came and put out a hand to steady myself on a nearby tree trunk. I expect to encounter rough bark, but instead feel soft material and the unmistakable warmth of a human arm.

There’s a man standing against the tree in full camouflage, wearing a balaclava.

My scream rips through the air and everything is a blur of leaves and sky and ground as I try to run. There is no calm appraisal. No logic. It’s fight or flight, and I choose flight.

I only get a few metres before I step in a rabbit hole. A blinding flash of pain and a crunch, and the ground comes up to meet me, knocking the air from my lungs.

‘Owwwww! Ow, ow, owwwwww!’ I clutch my lower leg. The pain from my ankle is unbearable.

‘Hey, hey, hey!’ The camouflage man approaches slowly, palms outstretched to show he’s no threat. ‘Shhh now. Calm down. I’m not going to hurt you.’

He speaks softly with an Irish accent, and dimly, through the panic and pain, it dawns on me that this is bloody Aiden Byrne. Oh Christ, why did I have to get the weirdo to interview on my first solo assignment? I think of all the normal people in normal places I’ve interviewed when shadowing Phil and think how unfair it is that I get the guy that plays hide-and-seek in the woods.

Aiden squats a few feet away from me and removes the camo-print balaclava. He doesn’t look so scary without it. He’s in dire need of a shave and his dark hair is crazy long and wild, sticking out in all directions, but his green eyes are kind and creased with concern.

‘I’m so sorry,’ he says. ‘I was asleep, else I would have let you know I was there.’

‘You were asleep?’ I prop myself up on my elbow and peer at him, still panting with pain and shock. ‘But you were standing up!’

‘Makes no difference to me.’ He shrugs. ‘I can sleep anywhere. I was waiting to photograph the owl that lives in that tree. It’ll occasionally come out in the afternoon and sit on a branch but I’d been waiting for ages and must have drifted off. Are you hurt?’

‘Yes, obviously! My ankle …’ I try to move it, but pain slices through me making me close my eyes and gasp.

‘Oh shit. You don’t think it’s broken, do you?’

‘I don’t know.’ I feel like crying, but I can’t, not here, now, in front of the man I’ve come to interview. It’s hardly professional behaviour.

‘What are you doing down here, anyway?’ he asks. ‘Are you lost?’

What? For crying out loud!

‘No, I’m Orla Kennedy, from the Hawksley Gazette. You’re Aiden Byrne, right? You agreed to an interview?’

‘Oh! Friday at three?’

‘That’s right.’

‘But today’s … Wednesday?’ He looks questioning, like he knows that’s probably not right but he doesn’t have a clue what day it is.

‘No, today’s Friday.’

‘Really? Christ, I’m so sorry!’ He pushes back his hair from his face. ‘I completely lost track of what day it is. Here, let me help you up.’

‘Oh no, I don’t think I can.’ I shrink away from him, not wanting to move or be touched or anything. I feel sick and dizzy and just want to sit here for a minute and compose myself.

‘Well, you can’t stay sitting down there like that. We’ll have to do something.’

‘Yes, I know, but just give me a minute. Maybe it will pass.’

He raises an eyebrow and stands up. He’s very tall, at least six foot. For the first time, I notice the camera that hangs on a cord around his neck. He’s younger than I expected. For some reason, I thought he’d be about 40 or so, but he looks to be in his late twenties. Maybe I should have researched him more thoroughly before coming out here.

‘I was expecting a man, actually,’ he says. ‘I spoke to someone called Phil on the phone.’

‘Yes, he had another appointment so you’ve got me instead.’ I shuffle backwards slightly and bend my good leg ready to support my weight. ‘Okay, I think I’m ready to try and stand. Can you help me up?’

‘Of course.’ He reaches down and pulls me upwards so I’m standing on my good foot. As a rule, I don’t like getting too close to people I don’t know well. I like my personal space. But I feel so light-headed and unsteady that I need to lean against him to steady myself. Gingerly, I try to put my left foot down but can’t put any weight on it at all.

‘Oh, sweet Jesus! You can’t walk, can you!’

I shake my head, teeth gritted with the pain.

‘Here, I’ll help you. Come on.’ Hitching my arm over his shoulder, he wraps his arm around my waist, supporting my weight as we hobble forward. I don’t know how I’m going to get back to his tent let alone my car. We shuffle a few more paces but the pain is too much and I have to stop. ‘Alright, okay,’ he says, and then scoops me up into his arms. With a yelp of surprise, I wrap my arms around his neck in case he drops me, but he’s surprisingly strong and carries me easily through the trees, stepping over the foliage that caused me such difficulties a few moments ago.

It’s a strange sensation being carried by a total stranger, and if it wasn’t for the pain, I’d be screaming for him to put me down. I can hear him breathing and feel his heart beating through his shirt. It’s much too intimate for my liking and I hold my breath in case he smells bad. He looks a bit grubby and his hair might be unwashed. But when I eventually have to breathe, he doesn’t smell unpleasant at all. He just smells like the forest: of wood and leaves and fresh air.

We arrive back at his tent and he stands there, just holding me, deliberating what to do with me now we’ve arrived. ‘Thank you,’ I say stiffly, hoping he’ll put me down.

‘What for? Scaring you to death?’

‘Not leaving me lying on the floor, waiting to be eaten.’

‘Ah, I never thought of that. That could have been an idea.’

‘What, eating me?’

‘Not me.’ He chuckles and sets me down in front of his tent. I stand on one leg, clinging on to his lean, sinewy frame as he reaches inside and brings out a dark green camping chair. ‘Here, sit on that. No, I was thinking more of the animals I could film eating you. Foxes and badgers and stoats and—’

‘Charming! Thanks very much,’ I say, sinking down into the chair. ‘Badgers are herbivores, aren’t they?’

‘No, omnivores.’ He fetches a small folding stool and gently lifts my bad leg to rest on it. ‘Can you take your boot off?’

‘Yes.’ Leaning forward, I unzip my boot and ease it off. It hurts like hell and as I slip my sock off, I see it’s already starting to swell. A purple and yellow bruise is spreading across my foot.

‘Can you wiggle your toes?’ He squats and peers closely at my foot and ankle. I try and though it hurts a lot there is some movement. ‘Ah good. I doubt you’ve broken it then, but you’ll have to get it checked at the hospital.’

‘I don’t want to go to hospital! Besides, how would I get there?’

‘Same way you’ll get home, I expect. I’ll take you. The main problem is getting you up the hill to my truck. You saw how steep it is when you came down so I don’t know if I’ll be able to carry you all the way up.’ He places a hand gently on my knee as he peers again at my ankle, then removes it quickly as though realising what he’s doing. I’m not offended by his touch though. It doesn’t feel inappropriate, especially since he’s just carried me bodily through the trees. ‘Really you should ice it. I’ll run up to the farm and see if Ivy’s got anything we can use, but in the meantime I’ll wet a towel in the river. The water’s pretty cold and it might help with the swelling.’

‘Okay. Thank you.’

He roots in the cupboard in his tent and pulls out a blue towel before going down to the river. I watch him through the trees, squatting on his haunches as he submerges the towel, long hair falling around his shoulders. He looks like how I imagined Jesus when I was a child. I’m hoping he can perform a miracle and make my ankle better so I can drive home. I really don’t want to go to the hospital.

The wet towel is freezing cold and I flinch and squeal when he lays it over my ankle. He cringes and squats next to me. ‘I’m sorry. I’ll get the ice.’

‘No, leave it. This will do.’ I pant a little as I get used to the sensation of coldness and he reaches for my hand and squeezes it. Strangely, it seems to help and we sit for a few moments in silence, just holding hands. ‘We may as well do the interview now,’ I say when it starts to feel weird. ‘Who knows, I might feel better by the time we’re done.’

‘Christ, how long’s the interview? Two or three weeks? Have you seen the size of your ankle? That’s definitely a hospital job.’

I scowl. ‘No, it’s probably just a sprain. I’ll be alright. Actually, I’ve got some paracetamol in my bag. That will help.’

Aiden laughs. ‘Ah, optimism. I like it.’

Ignoring him, I find my tablets and pull my notepad from my bag. ‘Okay, are you ready?’

‘No.’

‘But I need to do this interview.’ There’s a note of pleading in my voice that I don’t like, and I cough to try and cover it up.

‘I think you should just rest.’

‘I think I should work. It will take my mind off the pain. Besides, this is my first solo interview. I need to complete it.’

Aiden’s eyebrows shoot up. ‘This is your …? Oh my God! That makes this so much worse.’

‘Yes, I know. Thank you for pointing that out.’ I flip open my notebook. ‘Anyway, it’s really important that I get this interview otherwise I’ll look like a complete failure.’

‘No one can blame you if you’re hurt.’

‘I’m pretty sure they can. So if you wouldn’t mind, I’ve only got a few questions and they’re not especially taxing.’

‘Okay, go ahead.’

‘So, your name is Aiden Byrne and you’re a wildlife photographer, is that correct?’

‘Yep.’

‘Can you tell me a bit about what you’re doing here?’

‘I’ve been commissioned to film and photograph otters, so I made some enquiries and found that this was an ideal spot. Ivy and Bill up at the farm have been great letting me stay down here.’

‘I didn’t even know there were otters around here.’

‘Yeah, they’ve made a big comeback in recent years, and now can be found all over the country. But they’re very secretive animals, coming out mainly at night to hunt and play. It’s not so much that they’re nocturnal, they’re just shy of humans. Around here is great because it’s part of the farm so there are no dog walkers or kids playing or anything else that might disturb them. It’s very quiet so I have more chance of seeing them in the daytime.’

‘Have you seen them?’

He hesitates and scratches his beard. ‘Yes, but not for a while. When I first got here a couple of months ago, I got some great shots of a male and female mating. It’s a miracle really. The timing was perfect. I mean, I was tipped off by the local otter watch. They have people monitoring otter activity along the river and they’d seen the pair together. Not right here’ – he waves his hand at his little stretch of river – ‘but a bit further upstream. So, they phoned me and I got here just at the right time.’

‘How long do they mate for?’ It’s not on my list of questions, but I find myself fascinated by what he’s got to say.

‘A couple of days or so. It’s quite brutal, really. Not the nicest courtship in the world. I was really lucky to capture some of it on camera. The male moved on straight after, so he’s gone now and I doubt I’ll be seeing him again, but I got some good footage of the female on her own afterwards. Some great underwater shots of her hunting for fish too. But then she disappeared, presumably to have her pups, so …’

‘How did you get the underwater shots?’

He turns and looks towards the river. ‘I’ve got underwater trail cams set up in the river.’

‘Oh wow.’

‘Yeah, they stream to my laptop so I can see what’s going on down there. I’ve got hours of footage that I’m still going through. But like I was saying, she disappeared so I assumed she went into her holt to give birth. The problem is, they stay in the holt until the pups are three months old, so basically all sightings of the female have dried up.’

‘Why three months?’

‘Their coats have to be fully waterproof before they can swim, so then the mother brings them out and teaches them how to swim and survive in the wild. That’s the moment I’m waiting for. I’m desperate to get that on camera. I went away for a while, assuming she was giving birth and therefore I had about two months before she reappeared, but I came back early just in case I’ve got the timings wrong or she reappears. So now it’s just a waiting game. Anyway, sorry I’m going on and on. I’m sure you don’t need to know all this for your article, and I told that Phil on the phone that I really don’t want people knowing exactly where I am. I can’t afford to have day-trippers coming down to see what I’m doing or trying to catch a glimpse of the otters. It’s blissfully quiet here at the moment and when I first saw the otters they seemed really relaxed, even coming out in the day. I don’t want that to change, especially if there are pups about.’

‘Okay, that’s not a problem. But I can mention they’re present in Hawksley River?’

‘Yes, of course. Use it as a way to educate people. If they have dogs, let them know they need to keep them on a lead if they’re near a stretch of river where otters are known to be. There are lots of signs people can look out for that tell them if otters are present. Five-toed footprints on muddy river banks, flattened, smooth patches of grass or soil going into the river where the otters have slid in, dead fish and fish scales left at the side of the water, and spraint.’

‘Spraint?’

‘Poo. They mark their territories using spraint, and well-used areas usually get a good coating. There’s a rock along the river I can show you – another day, obviously,’ he says, nodding at my ankle, ‘where the spraint has built up from continued use. Otters are solitary animals, so they don’t share their territories with other otters.’

‘Really? I always imagine them living in big groups, holding hands in the water and looking cute.’

‘That’s sea otters. These are Eurasian river otters. A male otter will have a territory of about eleven miles, and there will be females living within that, but no other males.’

‘Oh, I see. So, who’s commissioned you to take this footage?’

‘A wildlife magazine, and the BBC are interested in any film footage I might get for a wildlife documentary.’

‘Wow, that’s impressive.’

He shrugs and then frowns at me. ‘Are you alright? You’ve gone a funny colour?’

‘I feel a bit sick, but I’ll be alright.’ I shift on the chair and suck in a breath as pain shoots up my leg. ‘Have you contributed footage to any documentaries before?’

‘Yes, several in fact. I’ve filmed bats for a kid’s nature programme, contributed to Springwatch and Autumnwatch, lots of things. I’m never short of work.’

‘Great. What did you do when you left here for a while? Did you take a holiday or do more work?’

‘I just went home to see my family. Usually I’m halfway around the world so it’s great being closer to home and feeling like I can pop back whenever I need to.’

‘Where is home? Dublin?’

‘Close. I’m a country boy. Wicklow. Can I make you some tea or get you something to drink?’

‘No, thank you. Oh, I meant to tell you that the lady up at the house said she’s making scones if you want some later.’

Aiden laughs. ‘Aw she’s good to me. Her cooking’s amazing. I love her scones.’

‘Do you eat all your meals up there?’

‘Not all, but she invites me up for Sunday lunch and the odd meal in the week. I think she thinks I’m mad for living down here on my own. She thinks I’m going to starve to death or something. I tell her I’m used to living like this. This is my life.’

I glance back at the tent with a raised eyebrow. ‘You live like this constantly?’

He nods. ‘I’m always working.’

‘Can’t you stay in hotels?’

‘Where’s the fun in that?’ He laughs. ‘You can’t beat sleeping under canvas.’

‘You can. I’m sorry, but sleeping on a camp bed? That’s no fun, surely?’

He laughs again. ‘Like I said before, I can sleep pretty much anywhere.’

My eyes get very big as I try to absorb this information. ‘But what about in the winter?’

‘I just use a thicker sleeping bag. Although to be honest I usually work it so I go somewhere warmer. If the weather gets really bad and I don’t need to be out filming, I do stay in hotels. Ivy and Bill have let me stay in their spare room a couple of times when it’s been stormy. It’s nice to sleep in a proper bed once in a while. And I shower up there so it’s great to be able to wash.’

I shake my head slowly. ‘I just don’t get it. Why would you want to live like this?’

‘I love it. I love my job. I don’t have to camp, but I feel more connected to nature when I do and that helps me in my work.’

‘Oh.’ I tip my head on one side, considering. ‘That’s kind of beautiful.’

He smiles and lifts the towel to look at my ankle. I flinch slightly and put my hand out to stop him, but he’s careful not to touch my foot. ‘I’ve got to tell you, that’s not looking good. It’s more swollen than before. I really think we should get you to hospital.’

‘But …’

‘No buts. I insist. I can’t be responsible for you hurting yourself and then not take you to hospital. I won’t have it.’ He stands up and starts to remove his camouflage jacket and trousers. I watch, slightly alarmed that he’s stripping off in front of me, but luckily he’s wearing jeans and a blue T-shirt underneath. Somehow, they make him look a lot more normal. He ducks into his tent and grabs a hooded sweatshirt. ‘Are you cold? Do you want to wear this?’

‘No, I’m okay,’ I say, though I do feel a little chilly.

‘You’ve got goose bumps on your arms. Here, put it on.’ He holds it out for me to slip my arms inside and once it’s on, I feel glad of the soft material. ‘Right, let’s do this,’ he says, lifting the towel from my leg and then my leg gently off the folding stool. I hold my breath, not wanting to move at all, but Aiden is all business as he ties up his hair and then turns and bends down, one knee on the floor. ‘I’ll have to give you a piggyback.’

‘Are you sure?’ I say, with some uncertainty. ‘I don’t want to hurt you.’

‘Don’t worry about me. I’ll stop if I can’t manage it and you’ll have to stay in my tent until you’re better.’ He laughs wickedly.

‘Don’t say that!’ I have a very real fear that it actually will come to that. I can’t believe this tall spindly man will be able to carry me up that hill.

‘Don’t worry, I won’t make you sleep on the floor. You can have my camp bed and I’ll sleep up at the farm.’

‘Wonderful.’

He smiles. ‘Come on, climb aboard.’

Heaving myself out of the chair, I stand on my good leg and wrap my arms around his neck. Aiden hooks his arms around the back of my legs and stands up. Pain shoots through my ankle as it brushes his side and I shout out and bury my face in his neck.

‘Sorry,’ he says, standing very still. ‘Shall I put you down?’

I shake my head against him. ‘No, go on.’

He starts to walk and I keep my eyes closed, teeth gritted as my ankle dangles and bobs with each swaying step. It’s agony, but there’s no way I’m staying in his tent tonight. I start to feel nauseous from the pain and I keep my mouth tight shut, imagining the horror of vomiting down this man’s collar.

‘I hope I don’t smell,’ he’s saying. ‘I did have a shower this morning so I should be alright, but I don’t tend to wear loads of deodorant because I don’t want the animals to scent me.’

‘Do you want to go and put some on?’ I mutter, my stomach turning over queasily. ‘You might get a bit sweaty walking up this hill.’

‘Nah, it’s okay. It’s up at the farm.’

‘Great.’

He laughs cheerfully as we start to ascend the hill. He’s got long legs and thick-soled walking boots, so he’s able to cover the muddy ground quickly. His breathing becomes noisier and more laboured the closer we get to the top and I feel bad that I’m putting him through this. The swaying motion of his walk isn’t doing anything to settle my stomach either, and I have to swallow several times as my mouth starts to water ominously.

‘Right, we’re here,’ he says, letting me slither gently to the ground. As soon as I’m standing on my good foot, I turn and vomit into the dirt.

‘I smell that bad, huh?’

I’m a mortified, trembling mess. My good leg wobbles and Aiden holds me firmly upright while I fumble in my pockets for a tissue. ‘No,’ I say, eventually. ‘It’s the pain.’

There are black spots at the corners of my vision, and I feel weak and light-headed. I’m only dimly aware of our surroundings – the square courtyard, the large, white farmhouse, the blue sky overhead, the red pick-up truck – but they’re all spinning. Aiden swears softly as he struggles to hold me up while opening his truck door, then he lifts me up and onto the cracked black leather seat inside. The door slams, then he’s sitting beside me and the truck’s rumbling out of the yard.

‘I’m sorry,’ I keep repeating, my eyes tight shut.

‘Don’t be sorry. Tell me if you need to be sick again and I’ll pull over.’ He changes gear and the truck shudders. ‘Sorry about the truck. It belongs to the farmer, Bill. He lets me borrow it whenever I need to. I don’t really like driving her because she’s such an old wreck and I can just imagine the amount of pollutants coming out of her exhaust.’

I can’t answer him. My mouth is clamped shut and all I can do is murmur slightly. Every bump the truck encounters judders through me. Aiden keeps talking, and even though I don’t listen to the words he says, his deep, soft lilting voice is soothing. After what seems like hours but is probably only minutes, we reach the hospital and Aiden parks the truck. I start to tell him that I don’t want to be here, I want to go home, but he doesn’t listen and instead gets out and opens my door. ‘Come on,’ he says, scooping me into his arms. ‘Let’s get you sorted.’ He shuts the door with his shoulder and then he’s striding across the car park to the accident and emergency department.

Some kind of miracle has occurred and the waiting room is almost empty. There’s only me and a boy of about 12 holding a compress to his swollen eye. I give the receptionist my details and Aiden and I sit together in the waiting room. We’ve been sitting there for at least five minutes before I realise I’m holding his hand. I stare down at our entwined fingers, wondering how and when it happened. His thumb moves steadily back and forth against the back of my hand and I’m amazed by how comforting this contact is. It makes me realise how important another person’s touch can be, even when they’re essentially a stranger.

‘Would you like some water?’ Aiden asks quietly.

I nod and he gets up and goes across to the water dispenser in the corner of the room. He comes back moments later with a small plastic cup and I take it gratefully. The cool liquid washes the sour taste from my mouth and I lean against him, feeling weak. He takes my hand again and resumes the gentle massage with his thumb.

*

The doctor examines my ankle and then sends me for an X-ray. He says he thinks it’s probably just a sprain, but he can’t be sure.

‘Do you want me to phone someone for you?’ Aiden asks as we wait in the X-ray department. I’m in a wheelchair and I’m sure he’s glad he doesn’t have to carry me everywhere anymore.

‘No. It’s a Friday night, everyone will be going out and my mum has to take my sister to her drama club.’ I look at him, realising perhaps for the first time that he might not want to be stuck here in the hospital, waiting around with me. He has owls and otters and badgers to photograph, after all. ‘Don’t feel you have to stay with me, though. You should go,’ I add.

‘No, no, that’s not what I meant at all.’ He looks earnest as he takes my hand again. ‘I want to stay, I just thought you might prefer someone else other than me to be here.’

It’s weird, but at that moment I can’t think of anyone better than him. My mum would fuss, my dad would just be useless and my best friend wouldn’t stop talking. Aiden’s quiet, calm demeanour and gentle manner are just what I need right now. I smile and shake my head just as the door to the X-ray room opens and they call me in. Aiden pushes me to the door in the wheelchair but stays outside while they X-ray my ankle.

To my relief, my ankle is just badly sprained and not broken, though I’m amazed that something that’s not a break could hurt so much. They bandage it up and give me advice about keeping it iced, elevated and rested before letting me go. Aiden wheels me to his truck and then returns the wheelchair to the hospital before driving me back to my flat.

I live on the ground floor of a new-build apartment block. It’s just one bedroom, a bathroom and an open-plan kitchen and dining room, but it’s home. I see Aiden sag with relief when he realises he doesn’t have to carry me up another flight of stairs.

‘Are you sure you don’t want me to call someone for you?’ Aiden asks as we enter my flat and he deposits me onto the sofa. I shift sideways so I can keep my leg propped up. ‘I really don’t like thinking about you on your own like this. How are you going to get to the toilet? What will you do if you need something to drink?’

‘It’s fine, I’ll text my friend Katie. She only lives upstairs.’

‘What if she’s out? Do you want me to stay? I’m happy to stay with you overnight.’

‘No, you’ve done enough.’ I smile up at him, touched by his kindness. ‘Thank you so much, and I’m sorry for causing you so much hassle.’

‘Can I do anything before I go?’

‘I tell you what, you can help me into the bedroom, actually. I’m really tired so I’ll just go straight to sleep. And the toilet is within hopping distance so I’ll be okay.’

He helps me up and supports me across the room and into my bedroom. I love my bed. It’s all white: white frame, white duvet, white fairy lights entwined around the headboard, but it’s never looked more welcoming and comfortable than it does now. I can’t wait to get into it. Aiden sits me down then goes back to the kitchen to get a jug of iced water and a cup of tea to keep me going.

‘Anything else?’ he asks, hovering in the doorway.

‘You couldn’t get my pyjamas out, could you?’ I point to the chest of drawers across the room. ‘Second drawer down.’

He goes willingly, looking huge and masculine in my very feminine bedroom. ‘These ones?’ he asks, holding up a pair of candy-stripe pyjamas.

‘Yes, perfect.’

‘Do you want me to help you into them?’

‘No!’ I give him a look and he grins as he backs away, hands held up in surrender. ‘I’ll be going then. Nice to meet you, Orla.’

‘Nice to meet you too, Aiden. And thank you for looking after me.’

‘My pleasure.’ He smiles, hovering in the doorway like he doesn’t know whether to stay or go. ‘Well, have a nice life.’

‘You too.’

The front door closes with a final click.

Chapter 3

My mum’s appalled when I phone to tell her what’s happened.

‘You were stranded in a forest with a man you’d never met before?’ she says. ‘Anything could have happened to you! What’s your boss playing at, sending you into dangerous situations like that on your own?’

‘It wasn’t a dangerous situation, Mum. I just went to interview someone for the paper. Phil had to be somewhere else so I volunteered. It wasn’t his fault. Besides, I was glad to do it. It was my first solo assignment so I was really excited.’

‘Your first solo assignment? And you didn’t even get the interview?’ Her voice switches from concern to disappointment. I assume she’s disappointed on my behalf rather than disappointed in me.

‘Oh, I got the interview. I just got a sprained ankle as well. It’ll be okay soon though.’ I look down at my bandaged foot, hoping that it really will be soon. I’m still in my pyjamas and have no intention of struggling into any sort of real clothes today.

‘You’re lucky the man was kind. What if he’d been a rapist or a murderer? You shouldn’t be meeting strange men alone in the woods. Even without you falling and hurting your ankle, that was a dodgy situation to be in.’

I suppose I hadn’t really thought about it like that, I just thought it was the job.

‘Lots of journalists die, you know,’ Mum goes on. ‘Didn’t you hear about that woman who went to interview some inventor and never came home?’

‘Yes, Mum, but it wasn’t a dodgy situation really. I think I was supposed to meet him at the farm, but he’d forgotten all about it and when I spoke to the farmer’s wife, she sent me down to where he’s camping by the river.’

‘Well, it all sounds most peculiar to me. Why is he camping?’

‘I told you, he’s trying to photograph the otters down there. He lives out in the woods so he doesn’t miss anything. He’s a really interesting guy, although I don’t know how he lives like he does. I couldn’t do it.’

‘Sounds like a bit of a weirdo to me.’

‘Mum! He took care of me. He took me to hospital and stayed with me and then brought me home. He was lovely.’

‘Was he handsome?’

I roll my eyes. There it was, the question she always asks any time I mention a man. She’s desperate for me to get a boyfriend, though I’ve already told her I don’t have time for a relationship right now. ‘Well he wasn’t ugly, but he wasn’t my type.’

‘Why? What was he like?’

‘Tall, scruffy, long hair, beard.’ I feel a sense of shame for selling Aiden so short when he’d been so lovely, but when it came to my mother, it was best to nip these things in the bud.

‘Oh dear, well perhaps you could smarten him up a bit. Unless he was old? Was he old?’

‘No, late twenties, I think. But look, I doubt I’ll even see him again. We did the interview already and it’s only a short piece, really to inform people that there are otters in the river. It’s not a massive deal, although he’s working for the BBC so perhaps our local otters will end up on TV.’

‘Oooh!’ Mum says, as though impressed we have potential celebrity wildlife. ‘That will be exciting.’

‘Yes, Mum.’ My ankle is starting to hurt again and I reach for the painkillers from my bedside table. ‘So, I know this is a bit cheeky, but I was wondering if you could pick up my car for me? I’ve left it parked at the Lark Rise Farm, just past Innswood village.’

‘Oh, yes, I can do that for you, love. It’ll have to be later on this afternoon though, because Ray’s out. I’ll call in for the key on the way past and you can give me the directions then.’

Ringing off, I slide across the bed to go and make myself a cup of tea. It’s slow progress but I manage to get to the kitchen by hopping to the doorway, clinging to the frame, then hopping the rest of the way to the worktop. I’m quietly celebrating my achievement when the doorbell chimes.

‘Hold on,’ I call, stealing myself to get to the door.

‘Take your time,’ a male Irish voice calls back.

Aiden. What the hell is he doing here? It takes a minute or so to cross the short distance from the sofa to the door, but I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face as I open it and see Aiden standing there. He’s leaning against the side of the doorframe, holding up the boot I left behind yesterday.

‘I was going to make a comment about Cinderella, but I’m guessing this isn’t going to fit you right now.’ His eyes twinkle from between thick black lashes as he smiles down at me.

‘No, I don’t think it will.’ I look down at my fat foot and laugh. ‘Thank you for bringing it back. That’s really kind of you.’

He shrugs. ‘You’re welcome. I wanted to see how you’re doing, anyway. Are you managing okay?’

‘Yes, not too bad.’ I hold the door open wider. ‘I was just about to make a cup of tea if you’d like one?’

He raises his eyebrows and smiles. ‘How about I make the tea and you sit down and rest.’

‘That sounds like a good plan. Thank you.’

Shutting the door behind him, he takes my arm to support me as I start to hop to the sofa. Now the shock has worn off and the painkillers are working, I feel more self-conscious about him touching me, but as soon as I’m on the sofa he lets go and his matter-of-fact attitude makes me relax. He moves around my tiny kitchen, setting down mugs and opening doors and drawers in search of tea bags and teaspoons. I watch him curiously. His hair looks less wild today, as though he’s brushed it recently so instead of wild spindly curls, it falls in soft thick waves around his face.

‘I thought you might have someone with you today,’ he says. ‘Did you call anyone?’

‘I phoned my mum before. She’s going to collect my car for me.’

‘And what about helping you around your flat?’ He leans on the kitchen counter and looks at me, drumming his fingers as though he already knows the answer and disapproves.

I shrug. ‘I’ll manage.’

‘You know you need to rest so that you heal quicker. You heard what the doctor said at the hospital.’

‘I know. I’m not about to go for a jog!’

He rolls his eyes. ‘That’s not what I meant but glad to hear it.’ The kettle boils and he pours the water into two mugs. ‘Have you eaten breakfast?’

‘Not yet.’

‘What do you want? Toast? I’ve got to tell you, it’s about all I can make.’

‘Just a bowl of cereal will be fine.’

‘I’ll make you toast and cereal. How does that sound?’ He brings the mug of tea over and pulls the coffee table closer to the sofa so I can reach it easily.

‘You’re very thoughtful,’ I say, touched by his kindness. ‘You really don’t need to go to all this trouble, you know. I caused you enough yesterday.’

‘It’s no trouble,’ he says, returning to the kitchen and putting bread into the toaster. ‘Really, I have purely selfish reasons for doing all this.’

‘Which are?’

‘To alleviate my guilt for scaring you half to death. Honestly, I feel awful.’

‘It’s okay. You didn’t mean to. You were there just waiting for your owl.’ I lift my tea to my lips and blow on it before taking a sip. ‘Although you were in full camouflage which is rather scary. Do you always dress like that?’

‘To photograph animals, I do. It helps me blend in with the surroundings, which is kind of the point of camouflage.’

‘Well, it works.’ I laugh. ‘I was just telling my mum about you actually, she said I shouldn’t be meeting strange men in forests when I’m on my own.’

‘That’s probably good advice. Your mum’s a wise woman.’

‘I told her how good you were though, and she’s very grateful.’

‘Anyone would have done the same.’

‘No, really, you went above and beyond. You didn’t have to stay with me in the hospital, nor bring me home.’

‘Of course I did.’

‘And you definitely didn’t need to go out of your way to bring my boot back and make my breakfast,’ I say, accepting a plate of toast from him. He goes back to the kitchen and pours the muesli into a bowl with some milk. ‘Feel free to help yourself to anything you fancy.’

‘I’ve already eaten, thank you.’

‘I feel like a pig eating all this in front of you.’

‘Don’t be daft. Eat up or I’ll be offended.’ He smiles as he sits in the armchair opposite. The sun coming through the window shines on his hair, making the soft frizzy bits glow like a halo around his head. ‘Did you sleep okay or did the pain keep you awake?’

‘I managed a bit of sleep, but I woke up a few times.’

‘I felt bad about leaving you here alone last night. I kept imagining you stranded in your bed. I gave you loads of liquids then offered you no assistance in getting to the loo.’

‘If it’s any consolation,’ I say, crunching through my toast, ‘I wouldn’t have let you take me to the loo.’

He laughs. ‘You know what I mean. I was just concerned about you. And I was hoping you’d have someone with you today.’

‘My mum’s coming later.’

‘I thought she was getting your car.’

‘She is, but she’s calling in first to see me.’

‘Well, make sure she knows you need help. You shouldn’t struggle on your own when I’m sure you have people around you that want to help.’

‘How do you know that people want to help?’ I wipe toast crumbs from my mouth with my pyjama sleeve before reaching for my mug of tea.

‘Why wouldn’t they?’

I shrug. ‘People have their own lives. You’re very kind, but I’m fine, really.’

‘Sure you are. Is that why you look so pale and tired?’

‘Cheers!’

‘Well, you do. You’ve got dark circles under your eyes.’

‘It’s probably yesterday’s mascara. I didn’t remove my make-up last night.’

He shakes his head and picks up a newspaper. ‘You look knackered.’

I laugh. ‘Any more compliments?’

‘Nice pyjamas?’

‘Thanks.’ I pick up my bowl of muesli and start spooning it into my mouth. I hadn’t realised how hungry I am until I started to eat. Milk dribbles down my chin and onto my pyjama top and I’m relieved that Aiden is reading the paper and not watching me. ‘Can you put the TV on?’ I ask, after a while of sitting in silence. Not that it’s uncomfortable, I just want to watch the news.

‘Of course.’

As he gets up, the doorbell rings. ‘Ah, would this be your mother, do you think?’

‘It’s a bit early. She said she wouldn’t be able to come until later.’ I sit up and try to peer through the window to see if there’s a car parked outside, but I can’t see one. ‘I bet it’s my friend Katie. Can you get it for me?’

Obediently, he goes and answers the door. Sure enough, it’s Katie. From my position on the sofa, I see her jaw drop as she stares up at Aiden in amazement.

‘Hi,’ he says easily. ‘If it’s Orla you’re wanting, she’s laid up on the couch with a badly sprained ankle.’

‘Oh no! Really?’ She peers around the door into the room and looks at me with big round eyes. ‘What happened?’

‘Some eejit jumped out and scared her half to death,’ Aiden says, making me laugh. Katie glances up at him, and I can see she’s wondering who he is.

‘I got my foot stuck in a rabbit hole,’ I tell her. ‘Come in, Katie. This is Aiden. He helped me when I fell and took me to the hospital.’

‘Oh good. At least you had someone with you!’ She comes into the room and sits in the chair that Aiden’s just vacated before leaning forward and peering at my bandaged ankle. ‘Look how big it is! Is that just loads and loads of bandage or is it really that huge?’

‘Bit of both, I expect.’ I spoon up another mouthful of muesli. ‘Katie lives upstairs, Aiden,’ I tell him, covering my mouth so he can’t see the food inside. ‘See, I’m not totally friendless.’

‘Glad to hear it,’ Aiden says, turning to Katie. ‘She needs help, though she won’t admit it or ask for it.’

‘No, she never does,’ Katie says.

‘Ah, a common theme then?’

‘Definitely.’

‘Hey!’ I say, annoyed they’re talking about me like I’m not in the room. ‘I’m okay. I can hop, it’s fine.’

‘I’d like to see you hop holding a cup of tea or a bowl of cereal,’ Aiden says.

‘Shut up and sit back down,’ I tell him. ‘You’re making the place look untidy.’

‘Ah no, you’ve got a friend to help now,’ he says. ‘And I’ve got some things to get from town so I better go. Here, I’ll leave you my number.’ He stoops to scribble his name on my notepad on the table. ‘Call me if you need anything.’ He smiles at me as he straightens up then turns to Katie. ‘Nice to meet you, Katie. Bye now.’

‘Oh my God, who was he?!’ Katie says once he’s gone. She goes to the window to watch him striding down the path towards his truck. ‘He was like … oh my God!’

‘Like what?’ I say, bristling defensively in case she says something negative about him.

‘Totally sexy.’

‘Really?’ Well, that was unexpected! I didn’t think she’d think that at all.

‘Hell yeah! Why? Don’t you think so?’ She turns and looks at me in surprise.

I shrug. ‘I haven’t really thought about him like that. He’s the guy who got me to hospital, watched me vomit, and now has seen me looking like death in my pyjamas.’

‘You don’t look like death! You look sexy and rumpled.’ Sitting back down in the armchair, she tucks her legs beneath her.

‘Well, he told me I did.’

‘I bet he didn’t. What did he say?’

‘He said I looked knackered.’

‘Knackered isn’t like death, Orla. Knackered is sexy and rumpled.’

‘It is not!’ I laugh in disbelief. Katie’s positivity and optimism never fail to amaze me. ‘So, tell me, how did your date go last night? Any good?’

‘Well, let’s put it this way’ – she smiles mischievously – ‘he’s only just gone home.’

‘That good, eh?’

‘Oh, Orla he was just perfect!’ she says dreamily. ‘We got on so well and he paid for my meal and everything. He’s going to call me tonight and hopefully we’ll go out again.’

Suppressing the urge to roll my eyes, I smile and nod encouragingly. This is not an unusual occurrence. Katie goes on lots of dates with men she meets on dating websites, and they are almost always ‘perfect’, until they stop being perfect a few days or weeks down the line. To her credit, she doesn’t spend much time moping about them, she just moves on to the next. Personally, I couldn’t be bothered with the hassle. I don’t even know why she wants a boyfriend so badly. Boyfriends just complicate things. I like being single and not having to share my lovely white bed with some stinky man. If I don’t feel like shaving my legs, then I don’t shave my legs. I can do whatever I like when I like without having to consider anyone else’s feelings. Besides, I’m just too busy for a boyfriend. I often work late in the office, and even go in on the weekend if needed.

Katie’s still talking about last night’s date and I’m happy to listen while I finish my breakfast. She makes more tea and helps me to the toilet, then we watch TV until my mum calls around to collect my car keys.

Katie opens the door and Mum looks horrified when she sees the huge bandage over my swollen foot. ‘You didn’t tell me it was this bad!’ she says, running her hand through her curly blonde hair. That’s where I get mine from – and the wide-set blue eyes. Everyone says we look exactly alike.

‘Well, I did tell you I’d been carried into the hospital by a stranger, so that should tell you a little bit of how bad it is.’

‘But you said it wasn’t broken. I thought you were just being a drama queen.’

‘According to the nurse at the hospital, a sprain can be just as painful as a break,’ I say indignantly. I’m annoyed about the drama queen comment. When have I ever been a drama queen? Well, maybe when I was a teenager, but certainly not recently. ‘It should heal quicker, though,’ I add when I see the worried look cross her face.

‘Do you want me to stay with you? I can take time off work and look after you.’

‘No, you don’t have to do that! You’ve got Ray and Keeley to think about.’ Keeley’s only 10. She’s my half-sister, and I know Mum needs to be at home for her. My stepdad Ray works long hours so it wouldn’t be fair to commandeer her time like that. ‘Besides, I’ve got Katie upstairs if I need help.’

Katie beams and nods. Mum watches me worriedly. ‘Well, I really feel like you should have someone with you. Why don’t you stay with us for a while?’

‘You haven’t got room for me, Mum. Your spare room is full of junk.’

‘We can clear it.’

I laugh, thinking of the car parts that Ray stores in there, and the general junk they’ve accrued over the years. It stopped being my bedroom as soon as I left to go to university at 18. ‘No, you don’t have to go to all that trouble just for me. I’ll be alright.’

Mum gives me a worried look. ‘Well, I can come and sit with you tonight. I’ll get us a Chinese takeaway.’

I perk up at this. ‘That sounds good. Are you sure?’

‘Of course I am. Right, Ray’s waiting outside so I’ll go and get this car of yours. Have you got the address?’

‘Yep.’ I’ve jotted it down on the pad Aiden used to write his number, and I glance at his ungainly scrawl before flipping to the page with the address and ripping it out. ‘Thanks, Mum.’

‘No problem, see you in a bit.’

Katie leaves soon after, and I grab my phone and add Aiden’s number to my contacts. For some reason, having his number gives me a warm feeling inside, and I stare at it for a moment before sending him a text message:

Thanks for everything. Thought you’d like to know that my mum is staying tonight. Orla x

The instant the message goes, I regret the kiss. I want to snatch it back, but it’s already gone, zinging through the ether to his phone. I console myself by thinking he probably won’t receive it anyway; being out in the woods like that, I doubt the phone signal is any good. But within seconds my phone pings with a message:

Good x

Chapter 4

‘So, you’re not coming in today then, Orla?’ Phil says when I phone him on Monday morning and tell him about my ankle.

‘No, I’m sorry but I’ve really hurt my ankle and I won’t be able to make it into the office. I can work from home though.’

‘Is it broken?’

‘No, just badly sprained, but I can’t walk on it yet. It should be better in the next couple of days though.’

‘How did you do it? Out dancing?’

‘No, I did it when I went to interview Aiden on Friday. He’d forgotten we were coming so I went to look for him in the woods and stepped in a rabbit hole. He was really lovely though. Took me to hospital and everything.’

‘Oh my God! Orla! That’s terrible. I’m so sorry.’

‘It’s alright. Just one of those things. I got the interview anyway. Just about to email you the article now.’

‘Oh! Well done!’

‘How was the fire?’

‘Good. The whole place burned to the ground. I got some great photos.’

I laugh. ‘Do you know how morbid that sounds?’

‘Of course, but it’ll make a good story. Besides, no one died so I’m golden. So you’re not planning on suing this guy then?’

‘Why would I sue him? He carried me up a hill to his truck, drove me to hospital, carried me into the hospital, then drove me home afterwards. He couldn’t have done more for me than that.’

‘He could have been up at the farm like he said he would be. Honestly, Orla, if a situation like that ever arises again, don’t go alone. Never put yourself in danger.’

‘I thought that was what being a reporter was all about? Pushing yourself to the limits to get the story.’

‘Maybe when you’re a war correspondent, but not when you’re a trainee reporter for the local rag. Think what would have happened if he was a rapist or a murderer!’

‘Yes, thanks, Phil. I’ve already had this lecture from my mum.’

‘Yeah, well, she’s right. And I feel bad too. I should have cancelled it and we could have gone together another time.’

‘Oh no!’ I say, panicking that he’d think I wasn’t good enough to go off on my own and do solo interviews. ‘It all worked out fine. He was great.’

‘Apart from you injuring yourself.’

‘Yes, but I didn’t break it. I’ll soon be back to normal, I just can’t get into the office today. Is there anything I can do from home?’

‘I’m sure I can find you something, although you can’t make me cups of coffee from home, can you?’ he says gloomily.

‘I’ll make you extra when I come back, how’s that?’

‘I’ll hold you to that. There’s some stuff on the website you can do. We’re supposed to be starting an eco-blog and there’re some old articles on the main website that you can link to it. I’ll email over the details.’

‘Okay, great.’

The web stuff keeps me occupied for the rest of the day. I like doing the web stuff. Phil hates it, but I love the immediacy of it all and the design side is fun. I don’t realise how late it’s got when there’s a knock at the door and Katie lets herself in with the key I’ve given her. She’s just back from work and still dressed in her dental nurse uniform.

‘Hiya!’ she says cheerfully, throwing herself down on the chair opposite. ‘You’ll never guess who I saw walking through town today!’

‘Who?’

‘Your sexy coffee guy from Frothy Coffee.’

‘Ooh did you?’ I perk up. Sexy Coffee Guy is the new barista in the café I call into on the way to work. He’s the most handsome man I’ve ever laid eyes on and always gets my day off to a great start. I don’t know his name and I’m not interested in knowing his name either. I just like to look at him. He’s kind of Italian-looking. Dark hair, dark eyes, smooth dark skin and whiter-than-white teeth that seem to glint when he smiles. He has a lovely smile. Not to mention impressive biceps and pecs that are clearly visible through the tight black T-shirts he always seems to wear. ‘Whereabouts was he?’

‘Just walking past the chemist. I think he’d just finished his shift or something. Here, look, I took a photo on my phone to cheer you up.’

‘You did? Aw that’s so sweet. Not to mention slightly stalkerish. How did you get away with that? Did nobody notice?’

‘Nah, I just pretended to take a selfie. Look, here you go.’ She passes her phone across the table so I can see the slightly blurry shot of Sexy Coffee Man walking down the street.

‘Ooh!’ I peer at the photo, feeling slightly disappointed. It definitely doesn’t have the same effect as seeing him in real life. ‘Is he wearing leather trousers?’

‘Yeah. Rock ’n’ roll, huh! He has a seriously nice butt.’

‘Maybe he rides a motorbike or something?’ I say, doubtfully. I’m not sure I like the whole leather trousers vibe. I don’t normally see the bottom half of him because he’s always behind a counter.

‘Maybe.’ Katie takes back her phone as a message pings in. She spends a couple of seconds reading it before firing off a text and turning her attention back to me. ‘How are you feeling today anyway?’

‘Not so bad. I’ve been working from home.’

‘That’s no good! What’s the point in injuring yourself if you can’t take time off work!’

‘It’s too busy for me to take time off. Besides, I feel fine, I just can’t walk, so there’s no reason why I can’t work.’

‘Hmm, at least you get to stay in your pyjamas all day. Have you even brushed your hair today?’ Katie wrinkles her nose at me. Her own super-straight brown hair hangs glossy and thick to her shoulders.

‘No.’

‘It’s looking a bit greasy. Do you want me to shower you?’

‘No!’ I’m horrified by the thought of her in the shower with me. ‘I’ll shower myself when I’m ready.’

‘Are you sure? There’s no need to be embarrassed, you know. We’re friends, and I used to work in a care home so I’m used to naked bodies.’

I shake my head. ‘Are you trying to say I have the body of a pensioner? No, I’ll manage by myself, thanks.’

‘What if I run you a bath?’

I pull a face. ‘I really can’t be bothered.’

‘Orla! What if that sexy Aiden calls round again? You can’t let him see you like this!’

I frown, feeling offended. It’s her that thinks he’s sexy, not me, and besides his hair wasn’t looking too great the first time I saw him.

‘Besides,’ she goes on, ‘it’ll do you good. You’ll feel better after you wash.’

‘It sounds like far too much effort,’ I groan. ‘Even making something to eat and drink is too much effort.’

‘Well, I can sort that out.’ Katie gets up and goes into the kitchen. ‘What do you want? Coffee?’

‘I’d love a tea, please. And biscuits. Bring me biscuits.’

My phone rings and seeing it’s my mum, I snatch it up and greet her cheerfully. ‘Hi, Mum,’

‘Hello, Orla. Just calling to find out how you are today.’

‘I’m okay, thanks. I worked from home.’

‘Ah that’s good. Better than having to struggle in. Have you managed to have a wash yet?’

I pull a face. What is this? Some kind of conspiracy? ‘Not yet.’

‘Because you were looking a bit grotty when I popped in yesterday.’

‘Are you in cahoots with Katie, or something?’ I say, annoyed that she phoned me especially to tell me to wash.

‘No! I just think you need to keep on top of your hygiene. I’ve been telling Keeley this too. She never wants to go in the shower, but she’s 10 now and really should get into the habit of washing regularly, otherwise she’ll be an adult and still not be washing.’

‘Mum! I do wash usually!’ I say, annoyed to be compared to my pre-pubescent sister. ‘I’m going to have a bath now, as it happens. Katie’s going to run me one.’

Katie beams across the room at me and gives me a thumbs-up.

‘Well, that’s good to hear. Have you heard from your father?’

‘No. Why?’

‘No reason, I just wondered if he’d been in touch recently, that’s all.’

Mum and Dad divorced when I was 14. Mum started seeing Ray soon after and then Keeley was born. Dad moved away and works as a long-distance lorry driver, so I don’t see him often. We talk on the phone occasionally, and he always seems to be in some kind of crisis, lurching from one difficulty to the next. Last time we spoke was about a month ago. He’d just broken up with his girlfriend and was looking for a new place to live. My heart jerks with guilt as I realise I haven’t checked to see if he found anywhere.

‘Have you heard something?’ I say, anxiously. ‘Has something happened?’

‘No, no! I just wondered if you’d told him about your ankle, that’s all.’

‘No. He won’t want to hear about that. He’s got enough on his plate. I’ll phone him though and check he’s okay.’

Mum makes a vague noise of agreement. ‘Right, I’d better go. Enjoy your bath.’

‘Thanks, Mum. Bye.’

Katie goes through to the bathroom and I hear water gushing. I’m annoyed at how everyone’s interfering. Surely, I should be allowed to stew in my own sweat for a few days while my ankle heals. That’s one of the best things about living alone: there’s no one to judge. Unless, of course, you have an interfering friend who lives upstairs.

‘Do you want me to put bath oil in?’ she calls.

‘No thanks, I need to wash my hair.’

‘Whoops, too late.’

I roll my eyes. Why ask if she’s going to do it anyway? ‘Never mind. I’ll use the shower hose.’

‘I can wash your hair for you.’

‘There’s no way you’re washing my hair for me, Katie. I’ll manage.’

‘I told you, I don’t mind nakedness.’ I think of the endless stream of men she has in her flat and think that sounds about right. ‘The human form is a beautiful thing.’ She reappears in the doorway, holding a towel.

‘That’s lovely, Katie. But I can manage, thank you.’

‘Well, if you’re sure.’ She shrugs and then bends her knees to peer through my window. Outside, a red Vauxhall is pulling up in the car park. ‘Oh my God, that’s Danny. He’s early! Why is he so early? Sorry, Orla. I’m going to have to go and change before he sees me in my uniform. Give me a call if you need anything.’ She runs out in a blind panic.

The lad in the car seems to be combing his dark hair in his rear-view mirror, so I think she has time to change. Struggling to my feet, I hobble and hop to my now steamy bathroom and am almost in tears by the time I get there. According to the Internet, I should be trying to use my foot more now, but it’s so painful I can’t face it. I think about giving the bath a miss, but then catch sight of my grotty hair in the mirror and realise I’ve got baked beans down my pyjamas. I am pretty gross.

Getting into the bath is awkward, but I manage. I prop my bad ankle on the side so the bandage doesn’t get wet and set to soaping the rest of my body. I even manage to reach the shower head and wash my hair. I’m feeling pretty good about myself when I realise that actually getting out of the bath is not going to be easy. The bottom and the sides are slippery with bath oil, and I can’t get enough grip with my good leg to push myself up. My first attempt ends up with me slipping back down and jolting my bad ankle, and I howl in pain. I’m going to have to call Katie to get me out. The indignity of it makes me cry and I spend a couple of minutes feeling sorry for myself before realising I can’t actually call Katie because my phone is out of reach on the closed lid of the toilet. I get angry then, cursing my mother and Katie because this is surely all their fault for making me wash in the first place. And why did Katie put bloody bath oil in? How stupid can you get!

My anger gradually subsides and I realise I’m being ungrateful and need to think logically if I’m going to get myself out of this predicament. Perhaps if I empty the bath of water, it might be easier. But then, if it isn’t, I don’t want to sit here cold and wet. I could always refill it, but I know my hot tap comes out at a temperature close to boiling, so that runs the risk of scalding.

It’s better than sitting here in rapidly cooling water though.

I’m floundering around, trying to pull out the plug when the doorbell goes. I freeze, wondering who it is. Katie has a key, so it can’t be her.

Maybe it’s Mum? ‘Mum?’ I shout, and then realise I sound like a child and stop immediately. Whoever is out there won’t be able to hear me from the bathroom anyway.

The doorbell chimes again. I try and fail to get out of the bath one more time. Water splashes over the sides and I whack my elbow and swear at the pain. My phone vibrates violently from the toilet, its face lighting up with Aiden’s name.

What does he want now? The man’s a nuisance!

There’s a long loofah on the side, and it occurs to me that I might be able to use it to draw my phone close enough to reach. I edge it closer, my tongue between my teeth, and just as it gets to the point where it’s about to drop from the seat onto the floor, I manage to reach it with my fingertips.

Aha! The phone is mine!

I’m not sure Aiden’s the best person to speak to in my current situation, but I answer it anyway.

‘Hello?’

‘Hi, where are you?’ Aiden sounds put out, which annoys me because what right does he have to expect me to be in when he didn’t even tell me he was stopping by? He doesn’t even know me! And what’s he doing here anyway? Is he some kind of creepy stalker?

‘Why do you want to know?’ I snap.

‘Because I’m ringing your doorbell and there’s no answer. I’ve brought you something.’

‘What have you brought me?’ I’m no less suspicious and I know I sound it but can’t help myself.

‘It’s a surprise,’ he says, and I’m surprised by how cheerful he sounds when I sound so crabby.

I rack my brain for what he might have brought for me. I hope it’s not flowers or anything cringey like that. I detest being given sentimental gifts and hate opening presents in front of anyone. Even my mother. I know I’m weird, but I can’t help it.

‘So, are you at home or are you out?’

‘I’m at home, but I can’t come to the door right now.’

‘Why? Are you okay?’

I pause. Should I tell him or not? I don’t want him to think I’m incapable of looking after myself, but then I do need help, and maybe he can get Katie to come and help me out.

‘Yes. Well, I’m kind of stuck in the bath.’

‘You’re stuck in the bath?’ He sounds alarmed. ‘What are you doing having a bath? Can I help?’

‘You could go and get Katie from upstairs.’

‘I’ve just seen Katie. She’s just gone off in some guy’s car.’

‘Nooooo she hasn’t!’ I groan and put my head in my hands. ‘I tell you what, can you put a note through her door telling her to come and get me when she gets in from wherever she’s been?’

‘Orla, you can’t stay in the bath until she comes home! You could fall asleep and drown.’

‘I won’t fall asleep. I don’t feel sleepy in the slightest.’

‘Don’t be stupid. Have you a spare key hidden anywhere?’

‘No! I don’t want you to come in, anyway!’

‘Well, it’s either going to be me or the fire brigade. Which would you prefer? One guy who has already had you vomit over his boots, or three or four burly firemen?’

‘Now that you say that, that’s the stuff of fantasies. I choose the firemen.’

‘Orla, be serious. I can help you.’

I scowl at the wall for a moment. ‘Did I really vomit on your boots?’

‘Just a bit of a splatter. Nothing much.’

‘Still gross.’

‘Yeah, so I’ve already seen you acting like the exorcist and have no interest in your body other than getting it out of that bathtub.’

‘Well, you still can’t get in. Katie’s got my spare key.’

There’s a noise like the rattle of the door handle. ‘Yeah I can. The door’s open.’

‘What?!’

‘Yeah, you really should watch your security. Anyone could walk in while you’re naked in the bath.’

‘Don’t just walk in,’ I shout in a panic.

‘I can’t leave you stuck in the bath, Orla! Is there a towel to hand or anything else you can use to cover yourself up?’

‘Erm, yes.’ I grab the bathmat from the floor and submerge it in the water, covering up the front of my body. It’s a pretty obvious solution really, and my panic subsides. I can hear him outside the door. ‘Okay, you can come in now,’ I say.

The door swings open and Aiden fills the doorway. I glance up to see he’s wearing a faded blue denim shirt and black jeans and then look back down at the bathmat that’s covering me. I feel so vulnerable and humiliated right now, I can’t even look at him.

‘Hi,’ he says, as if he sees me sitting in a bath every day. ‘How do you want to do this? Do you want me to pull you up from under your arms or lift you bodily out?’

‘Under the arms is fine,’ I mutter.

‘Okay then.’ He takes the bath towel from the radiator and tucks it under his left arm before bending to help me out. I feel his hands under my armpits before he lifts me up so I’m sitting inelegantly on the side of the bath. My backside squelches on the wet plastic and Aiden giggles.

‘Child,’ I say darkly.

‘Sorry.’ He straightens his face and wraps the towel around me so I can drop the sodden bathmat back into the bath, and then he supports me so I can swing my good leg over the side and stand up.

‘Thanks,’ I say stiffly. I know I should sound more grateful, but I feel so embarrassed and ashamed I can’t even look at him.

‘No problem. Do you want your robe?’

‘Yes, please.’ I’ve never been so glad to put an item of clothing on in my life. Annoyingly, I need his help for that too, and he holds it out to me so I can put my hand into the sleeve while I use the sink for support.

‘Your present’s outside,’ he says, smiling at me in the reflection of the mirror.

‘I don’t want a present,’ I say ungraciously. ‘I hate presents.’

He looks at me for a moment as though I’m from a different planet. ‘You’ll like this one,’ he assures me. ‘I promise you.’

I growl at him. I don’t even mean to, it just happens. Luckily, he doesn’t seem offended and helps me out of the bathroom and into my bedroom. There, leaning against the end of my bed, is a crutch. It is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

‘Ta-daa!’ he says. ‘I found it in Ivy’s garage. She had no idea she had it, but said she’d broken her foot back in the Nineties so it must be from then. Anyway, I thought you might be able to use it, unless you’ve got one already? They should have given you one at the hospital, really, but I think they thought we lived together so you’d have help anyway. Maybe we should have been clearer that you lived alone and were a stubborn idiot who refuses help of any kind. Anyway, shall I put the kettle on while you get changed?’ He waits for me to answer but I can’t actually speak at that moment. I feel as overwhelmed as I would be if I’d just been given the keys to a new car. ‘I’ll take that as a yes,’ he says, and disappears into the kitchen.

The crutch is clearly old and a bit battered, but I don’t care. I stroke its length lovingly and then pick it up and try it out. It takes a bit of practice but I’m able to move around my bedroom and then make my way to the kitchen. Aiden is unloading the dishwasher. I watch him in amazement for a moment before hobbling over and wrapping my arm around his waist with my face pressed into his back in an awkward hug.

‘Thank you,’ I croak.

‘It’s no bother at all,’ he says pleasantly.

‘And you don’t have to unload my dishwasher,’ I tell him.

‘I know I don’t, but I want to.’ He smiles down at me then moves over to the kettle as it starts to boil. ‘You should let people help when they want to help, Orla. It makes them feel good about themselves. So you see, you’re actually helping me by letting me help you, because it makes me feel good about myself.’

‘Oh, okay then. In that case, you can make me some soup too.’

‘Soup? Is that all you’re having for tea?’

‘I don’t want toast, and you told me the other day that was all you can make. I figure opening a tin of soup might not be too difficult.’

‘Come on, Orla. You can’t live on soup.’

‘I like soup.’

‘What else do you have?’ He opens a cupboard door and peers up at the empty shelves.

‘Nothing. I haven’t been shopping, have I!’

Shutting the cupboard door, he turns to look at me. ‘I’ll go shopping for you then.’

‘You can’t go shopping for me!’ I laugh incredulously. ‘Why would you go shopping for me?’

‘Because you need to eat, Orla. And besides, what did I say before? You’re making me feel good by letting me help, remember.’

‘Yeah, but this is your time. I’m sure you’ve got better things to do than go shopping for me.’

‘Orla, make a list and shut up.’

My stomach growls loudly and he raises an eyebrow. ‘I tell you what,’ I say. ‘I’ll do an Internet shop and get it delivered tomorrow, but right now, you can go to the chippy and get us both some chips.’

He thinks for a moment. ‘How are you going to unload your shopping tomorrow?’

‘I have a crutch now. I’ll be okay.’

‘I tell you what, I’ll go and get you some chips, and while I’m out, I’ll get you bread and milk and some bits and bobs from the corner shop.’

‘You don’t have to do that.’

‘I know I don’t, but I want to.’ He picks up his keys from the side.

‘Are you going to eat with me?’

His eyes dart to the side as though he’s trying to decide what the correct response would be. ‘Yes?’ he ventures.

‘Good.’ I smile and hand him a twenty-pound note from my purse. ‘Get whatever you want. My treat. As a thank-you for rescuing me from the bath.’

He looks at the twenty-pound note for a second, and I see him weighing up whether he should take it or not before he plucks it from my fingers and folds it into the back pocket of his jeans. ‘Okay, I’ll be back shortly.’ He takes my cup of tea to the coffee table, then points at the sofa. ‘Sit down and put your ankle up.’

Chapter 5

I watch him go out to the pick-up truck and drive off before using the crutch to get to my bedroom and change into my pyjamas. I’m astounded by his kindness. I don’t think I’ve met anyone like him before. Especially as he’s a near stranger.

Aiden returns about half an hour later, with a shopping bag full of supplies and chips for us both. I watch from the sofa as he gets plates down from the cupboard and opens drawers looking for cutlery. ‘What have you been doing today?’ he asks as he carries the plates over and sets them down on the coffee table.

‘I worked from home. What have you been doing?’

‘Just going through trail cam footage and looking for signs that the otters are out.’

‘And are they?’

‘Nope.’

‘So it’s just a waiting game?’

‘Yep.’

‘Sounds like it can get pretty boring.’

‘It can do, but it’s also wonderful when you do get some footage so it’s well worth the wait. I’ve got a friend who’s setting up a sensory forest for children with special needs and he wants me to help, so I might go and help him for a couple of days. It’s only local. You might be interested in that for your paper, actually.’

‘Oh yes, that sounds good.’

‘I’ll let you know when I’m going. You can come along.’ He bends to eat the chip on the end of his fork. ‘How did your boss react when you told him what happened to your ankle?’

I sigh, still worried that Phil’s not going to let me do any more solo interviews. ‘He said I shouldn’t have gone down to meet you on my own. Like you were the big bad wolf or something.’

‘Well, just about everyone you know has told you the same thing now, so … you know.’ He shrugs. ‘At least you know not to do that in future.’

‘Hmm, yeah, well I’m worried he’s going to insist I accompany him everywhere for another six months now. This was my chance to show him I could manage on my own, and I blew it.’

‘Oh no, don’t say that.’

‘It’s true though, I have,’ I say gloomily. ‘I wish I hadn’t told him what really happened and just made something up instead.’

‘It’s always best to be truthful. I can phone him and tell him you did a fine job of interviewing me, if you want?’

I laugh. ‘No, it’s alright. I sent him the article and he was happy with it. He’s just worried about my safety now.’

Aiden smiles. ‘Do you like working on the newspaper?’

‘Yes, I love it. It’s what I’ve always wanted to do. Well, not work on the Hawksley Gazette, specifically. The aim is to get one of the bigger, national papers one day, but this is a great start.’

‘So, you’re how old?’

‘Twenty-two. This is my first job after graduating. I did a journalism course and then got taken on by the Gazette.’

‘Do you not find all the crime and stuff depressing?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I flicked through Ivy’s paper the other day and it was full of bad stuff happening, people getting arrested for drug dealing and robberies. There was a story about a road closure because of a fatal car crash and then a stabbing and a factory closure. Even the lighter stories were about the hospital parking prices going up and a beloved oak tree being cut down in the park.’

‘Oh, I forgot about the tree in the park.’ I scribble a note on the pad. ‘I need to link that to our eco-blog section of the website.’

Aiden shrugs. ‘It’s only a small town. How can there be so much bad shit happening in such a small town? I don’t get it.’

‘There’s always bad shit happening. Where there’s people, there’s shit. I know what you mean though. I spent last Monday compiling a list of local people who’d been convicted in court recently. I’m sure there are more good news stories out there, it’s just that readers seem to want to read the bad stuff.’

‘Really? Now that’s depressing. See you covered the tree being chopped down, but not the story about the three thousand trees that are being planted on the old landfill site two miles away. All the bad stories fuel people’s paranoia and make them want to isolate themselves.’

‘Yeah, maybe you’re right.’ I sigh, feeling a bit despondent. ‘But it’s important that people know what’s going on on their doorstep. So what about you, then. Did you always want to be a nature photographer? How did you get into it?’

He shrugs and chews on another chip. ‘Where I grew up in County Wicklow, it was very green and rural. I used to spend hours bird-watching with my father, out and about among the mountains so it grew from that, really. I suppose I never set out to be a photographer, it was just a natural progression. I studied ecology and conservation at university and my student job was in a wildlife park. Just in the gift shop – nothing to do with the animals, really, but I started going out and photographing them during my breaks and it grew from there. I entered some competitions, sent my photos off to magazines, made myself a website, Instagram and Facebook page, and went travelling with my camera.’

‘Where did you go first?’

‘I travelled around Europe at first. I had no money so I got jobs in bars and restaurants to pay my way. Stayed in the cheapest accommodation possible and just took photos of the local wildlife when I could. I started in France then worked my way down to Spain. Nothing happened for a while and my parents weren’t happy. Then I found a colony of wolves and started photographing them and that was when I started to make a bit of money and make a name for myself. Since then, I’ve been all over the world. There are still places I want to see, and things I want to photograph, so it’s not like I’m saying I’ve done it all already. But I’ve been to some amazing places and seen some wonderful things and I’m still as excited about it as the first time I picked up a camera.’

‘Wow, that’s amazing. What’s been the highlight of your career so far?’

‘Finding the wolf colony, because it was a complete accident. I was out walking, photographing the landscape, and suddenly there was just this wolf. Luck was on my side and I was positioned just right so she couldn’t see or smell me. Here, give me your laptop and I’ll show you. I am so in love with wolves it’s unreal. Honestly, they are the most captivating animal. Just the expression in their eyes and the way they interact with each other. I could have lived there, watching them, forever.’

Pushing the plate aside, he takes my laptop and brings up the web browser. He types in his web address and brings up a gallery of breathtaking photographs. ‘Here,’ he says, turning the screen to face me. There is a photo of a wolf with bright yellow eyes against a backdrop of a sapphire sky. ‘This is the alpha male of the pack. I called him Hercules. And this one here,’ he says, scrolling through and bringing up a photograph of a wolf cub licking its mother’s chin, ‘is the image I was nominated for an award for. But I didn’t win, so it’s bollocks. And here …’ He gets up and moves around to sit on the floor in front of me. ‘Here is the pack on the move, down the mountain.’

He takes me through the rest of his photographs. There are stunning shots of birds, lynx, bears, beavers and deer. There are landscape shots too, and photos of him on location, sitting outside his tent on a snowy mountainside, wrapped up against the cold, and another of him next to a river, tinged green by the forest canopy above his head. I’m fascinated and enthralled. He talks at length about all the different places he’s stayed and the animals he’s seen. The friends he’s made along the way. I don’t have to prompt him to tell me anything.

‘It’s so wonderful to see your passion for nature,’ I say, when he comes to the end of the photographs on his website. ‘It’s clear that that’s what drives you to do this work.’

‘Of course, and I want to inspire that passion in other people too. More than that, I want to inspire compassion for these animals and the planet itself. I want to show people how magnificent it is and educate them on why it deserves our protection.’ He flicks through more of the photographs. ‘It’s so amazing. I want to take everyone on a journey, educating them on what’s out there. People are so wrapped up in their own lives, their own worlds. So many people living in cities. I could never live in say, London, for instance. I don’t know how people can breathe.’

‘I want to live in London,’ I say. ‘One day, anyway.’

‘You do? Why?’

‘It’s such a wonderful place. So vibrant and exciting. Plus, that’s where I’d need to be to get a job on one of the big nationals.’

‘More doom and gloom?’

‘Probably,’ I admit. ‘But on a bigger scale. I don’t want to be stuck here in Hawksley for the rest of my life.’

‘You don’t have to be stuck anywhere, Orla. The world is your oyster, as they say.’

‘Yes, if you’re prepared to live in a tent! Honestly, I don’t know how you do it.’

Aiden sighs and clicks off his website. ‘Yeah, it’s not for everyone.’

‘Have you ever had your own flat or house or anything?’

‘No.’

‘Do you think you ever will?’

He’s silent for a moment. ‘I don’t know. Maybe. I suppose there may come a time when I can’t or don’t want to live like this anymore, but for now I like it.’

‘Where do you store all your equipment though? Surely you must have hundreds of pounds worth of photography equipment. Who’s going to insure you if you keep it in a tent? And what about the camping equipment for different climates. You had at least four different tents in those photographs. Do you just throw them away?’

‘Sometimes, if they get damaged in storms or what have you. Otherwise, I store them at my parents’ house.’

‘Your poor parents.’

‘Yeah, I leave a lot of my stuff with them, to be honest. But they’re very good about it.’

‘Do you go and see them a lot?’

‘Not a lot, I suppose, but when I can. At least three or four times a year, and I go home for Christmas.’ He looks towards the window, and I sense he’s about to leave. It’s gone nine o’clock and the daylight is leaching from the sky. ‘I suppose I’d better go,’ he says. ‘It’ll be too dark to find my tent if I leave it too late. Besides, you need to rest.’

‘Okay.’ I feel disappointed. I could carry on listening to Aiden all night. ‘Thanks for showing me your website and telling me about yourself. It’s been fascinating.’

He laughs. ‘I hope I haven’t bored you.’

‘Of course, you haven’t. And thank you for all your help tonight, and for the crutch. It’s officially the best present I’ve ever had.’

‘Steady on now.’ He laughs and gets to his feet. ‘Well, I’ll be seeing you, Orla. Take care of yourself.’

‘You too. Good luck finding your way back to your tent.’

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