CHAPTER 18
Our early evening meal was just as I had grown used to with my old friend, but it was made so much easier with her new double-burner stove. We had the usual mix of a couple of tins of stew, perked up with the addition of curry powder and a tin each of sweetcorn and button mushrooms, served over some reconstituted ‘savoury rice’ and some plain pitta bread to wipe out our bowls. That sounds boring, but there is something about being outdoors that always gives me an appetite, and the mixture was tasty and filling. I caught Kim smiling to herself.

“What’s tickling you, love?”

“Just imagining what Ruth would think of this, Debbie”

Pat looked up from her own bowl.

“Who’s Ruth?”

“Ah, just around the corner from me. She has a café, nothing too pretentious, but what she does, she does well. This one’s helping out a couple of days a week”

“You’re smiling, Debbie. What’s Kim done?”

“Ah, it’s not that. She cooked for us the other evening, and Ruth only came round to make sure she did it properly! Got her feet well under the table, has Kim here”

Pat turned her attention to the younger woman.

“You going to be OK with folk music, love? You don’t have to come tonight if it’s not your thing”

“Debbie’s been playing me some. She’s got a really big collection”

“I had good teachers, love”

Pat looked at me rather wistfully.

“Yeah, you did indeed. Anyway, Kim thought you might be worried about it all being in Welsh. Apparently, they’ve got a guest this week, and he’s from Manchester, so it won’t all be in Welsh. He’s called Andy Surtees; I’ve heard him before, and he’s not bad. You two about ready? Put you in the front seat, Deb, as you’re the biggest”

We washed up, and then Kim scuttled into the tent to change, to my surprise returning wearing one of her new dresses, which she had clearly managed to squeeze into her little rucksack. She had added a few touches of make-up, and Pat snorted on seeing her. Kim’s face fell, and Pat shook her head.

“Not laughing at you, Kim! Just wondering how you can be related to someone who thinks the height of elegance is a leather jacket and army boots!”

She led us to the car, delegating Kim to knock on the farmhouse door, and as we settled into our seats, simply said, “Same thing as when I met you, Debbie. You didn’t look like your Mam and Dad, and she doesn’t look anything like you. Tell me when and if you want, OK? I won’t pry, and I know you well enough not to judge. She’s been hurt, I think. Smiling now, though, so I’ll leave it there”

She looked over her shoulder.

“Here they come. You happy telling us all the story about the Welsh singer?”

No, not really, but I could see why she asked. It would ‘explain’ what we were discussing without Kim, for she would certainly have seen that we were talking. Mrs Williams took the middle seat, her husband behind me as Kim squeezed into the remaining place before the wriggling dance of three people trying to fasten seat belts without someone getting walloped. Pat picked up seamlessly.

“Debbie was just about to tell me about that other folk night. Deb?”

I gave them a simplified and sanitised account of the debacle with Frank, getting the occasional laugh and muttered remark in Welsh, one of which sounded like something the baker had said.

“What was that, Mr Williams? I think Frank said something that sounded like what you just said”

“I said you must learn Welsh, ah? You don’t have the excuse of being hwntw; you’re off Fflint, na?”

Mrs Williams picked up the thread.

“You not with him now, then?”

“Didn’t work out. He got married a long time back, anyway”

'And I can’t, ever, unless it were to be to a woman' was a surprisingly sharp thought. What would they think of me, if they knew what I really was? Stop it, woman. Music. Beer. Kid to look after.

The floor spots were more than adequate, the main act was more than that, as Surtees was superb at pulling emotion from a song so that it almost became another person in the room. I had beer, Kim had coke, as did Pat, and Mr and Mrs Williams restricted themselves to a couple of drinks each. I could understand that, as to a farmer EVERY day is a working day, especially when said farm is on open mountain slopes going up more than three thousand feet. I didn’t go silly myself, as I anticipated that Pat might have Ideas for the following day that would be helped by a clear head.

Pat drove us all back, after the Williams had treated us all to a bag of chips each, and the ride back was enlivened by the smell of vinegar, until Pat parked up at the head of the pass in order to eat her portion and let us enjoy the light of the risen moon across the ripples of Llyn Ogwen. We turned into the farm a few minutes after that, and said our goodnights before settling down in our tents.

I was woken at about three o’clock by a shaking from the bag next to me, realising it was Kim doing her best not to wake me as she wept. I rolled over to wrap her in my arms, whispering into her ear.

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing”

“Bollocks. People don’t cry for no reason”

She was silent for a few seconds, with little tremors as she fought back the tears.

“It’s just they’re all being so nice to me!”

“Why wouldn’t they, love? It would have been the same at the rally, you know”

“Yeah, I know. You wouldn’t have offered me the trip if they were going to be nasty. But… But I could have had this, all this, years ago, if Dad hadn’t been such a bastard, Mam as well. It’s just not fair!”

Bloody teenage clichés.

“Is it fair now? Fairer?”

“Yeah, course”

“Then it’s carpe bloody diem, love”

I started to sing to her, a song that held so many memories, keeping my voice as low as I could while allowing enough volume to set the melody free.

“Come my own one, come my fair one…”

I murmured the song to her as she snuggled back into my embrace, and by the time I was telling the world that I didn’t give a pin what it thought of me, she was breathing gently in a deep slumber. I followed suit a little while later, and when I awoke with the brightness of dawn, my arm stayed asleep for a few minutes longer.

“You awake, Kim?”

“Yeah. Sorry about last night”

“Don’t worry about it. Now, we need to move, so you can see the sunrise on the hills”

She wriggled a bit, and after I slipped out to relieve my morning pressures, she stopped partway, staring at the gilded bulk of Tryfan in absolute wonder.

“Wow! That’s gorgeous!”

“What we’re here for, love. I think Pat’s already up; her fly sheet’s tied back”

She was indeed, and our paths crossed as I made my urgent way to the toilet block. Once back, we set about making a campers’ breakfast of egg-and-bacon sandwiches, taken with several mugs of tea.

“What we got today, Pat?”

“I was thinking of Y Garn, Debbie. North-east ridge. Not too narrow, and plenty to see for a newbie without scaring her too much. See how strong she feels, and if she decides she’s not up to it, we can cut across back to the path around Idwal. Still a good walk, that. Even if it’s low down, and she can gawp at the loonies on the Slabs”

I agreed with her choice, as Crib Goch or one of the other narrow ridges would have been overkill indeed for a first timer, and I was a little worried about Kim’s endurance and fitness. In the end, it went well, Pat parking up by the snack bar and leading us across the first wooden bridge on the path to the gate at the lake, where we turned right for the approach to the steeper bit. Kim was exactly as she had been on my pillion, twisting her neck in all directions so that she could take in the splendour of the Cwm. Her fitness wasn’t wonderful, but it was overridden by her determination, and after some quailing and gentle encouragement, she made it around the long loop of the ridge to the final pull up to the wind shelter on the summit.

Pat did her usual trick of pulling out a couple of flasks of tea, along with some cereal bars, and I added the chocolate I had sneakily bought while the other two had made a last-minute visit to the car-park toilets. Pat began the ritual of naming every peak in sight, because the view from our own summit is amazingly wide, and that day it was clear enough to see as far as the Isle of Man.

“Which one’s Snowdon, Pat?”

She swept her arm along the bulk that stretched from Crib Goch to Crib y Ddysgl.

“All of that is what they call Snowdon, Kim. Can you see that triangular peak poking out from behind the biggest lump?”

“Yeah”

“That’s the actual summit. It’s called Yr Wyddfa in Welsh, The Burial Mound. Grave of a giant called Rhita”

“I wish I had a camera…”

Pat laughed out loud.

“How I remember that day! Kim, I brought Debbie up here for her first time, or rather up those hills over there, and we came down… Debbie?”

“Yes?”

“Remember that bit over there? You called it the football field”

“You have a better memory than me, Pat!”

“Maybe… anyway, Kim, all Debbie had was an Instamatic, tiny little lens, cheap thing. Whereas I had…”

She pulled out her well-used SLR, as I grinned and produced my own compact autofocus 35mm job.

“Kim, she takes great pictures, but by the time she has that thing set up, whatever’s happening has happened and gone home to write postcards. I can let you use this, but it might be better if I do the snapping. Pat? You offering the same?”

“Of course. Kim, just tell me what you want snapped, and I can send you prints. I know Deb’s address, so no problem for me. Hang on’ someone’s coming up from the Kitchen path. Fancy a group shot, Kim?”

“If you could”

“Hang on… Morning, my friend! Gorgeous day for it!”

The new arrival looked about seventy, lean as a whip and tanned a deep brown, a larger pack than any of ours on his back.

“Don’t get many better, pet! Which way have you come?”

“Ah, just up the north-east ridge, then back down by the Kitchen. First time out for Kim here”

“Nice walk! You enjoy that, lass?”

Kim looked to me for reassurance, and I could almost read her mind. Stranger. Man. Danger.

I gave her a little nod of reassurance, and she smiled at him, perhaps with a little uncertainty.

“Yeah. Made me puff coming uphill, and it’s really narrow”

He laughed happily.

“Get them to take you along the Horseshoe, pet! That’ll wake you up!”

I mock-frowned at him.

“I want her coming back up, mate, not scared out of ten years’ growth! Where’ve you been?”

“Ah, I started out at Aber, yesterday. Done all the Threes on that side of The Valley, then kipped by the reservoir. CEGB road, North Ridge, Bristly and then along to here. I’ll contour round after Foel Goch, tick Elidir, then it's down to the Pass and bivvy by the Boulders. Horseshoe tomorrow”

Pat laughed at that recital.

“So you’re not going for the record, then? Kim, this chap is doing every three thousand foot mountain in Wales, but the sensible way”

Our new friend laughed in turn.

“Not that my knees will think so afterwards!”

He looked at the three of us, spotting our cameras.

“Group photo? Let the lass remember her first time?”

Pat roared this time.

“You already knew we were going to ask, didn’t you?”

He nodded, and she turned to Kim.

“There are fourteen mountains over three thousand feet high in Wales, Kim. This is your first one. Now, which way do you want your photo facing?”

“Could you do it a few different ways, Mister? The views are good all round”

“No problem, pet. I know what your problem is now”

“What?”

“You don’t want to go back down, do you?”

She smiled, far more naturally now, and shook her head.

“Which way are you taking her?”

Pat pointed down towards the Slabs.

“Kitchen path, then down through Idwal”

“Where are you staying?”

“Little Willy’s”

“Day like this, why not see what her legs are like, and do the Glyders? Miner’s Path back across the South Col and down past Bochlwyd? Or reverse Bristly Ridge?”

That brought my own laugh.

“And phrases about ‘that for a game of soldiers’, butt! First day, aye? Kim?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you see the ridge over there, the one we’re camped behind?

“Yes”

“See that spiky ridge to the right of it? After the big dip?”

“Um, yeah… Is THAT Bristly Ridge? No way!”

The old gent started chuckling and then, after a series of photos and a round of handshakes, he was striding off towards the North-West.

Pat stood up again, holding her camera.

“I want you two to try something for me. Not difficult; just stay behind me. I’m going to be turning, and see if I can get a panorama in”

Kim and I did as instructed, as Pat turned little by little on the spot, clicking away, and then we picked up our sacks and started the descent to the big ladder stiles over the wire fence. Once down by the Dog Lakes, Pat looked at Kim, saying nothing but raising her eyebrows. The girl grinned happily.

“Yeah! Let’s do it!”

She wasn’t quite so enthusiastic by the time we got to the shallow scree-filled gully that led up onto Glyder Fawr, but we took our time, and she was up, and once we were onto the flatter tops, she found more energy. Past all the places Pat had shown me, with the traditional climb of both of the lumps on Glyder Fawr ‘just to be sure’, past the Castle of the Winds, pose for photos on the Cantilever, a quick shudder at a look down Bristly Ridge, and then the draggy bit through the boulder field to the little lake and the start of the descent down the Miners’ Path. We still had water left, so had a pause sitting against the wall that crosses the South Col, before Pat eased herself erect.

“Debbie, you know this bit more than well. You two amble down past Cwm Tryfan, and I’ll drop down to Idwal for the car. Kim?”

“Yeah?”

“You look shattered. The rest of this bit is an easy walk, so you go with Debbie. It’s all downhill either way, but we don’t all need to go for the car. Want a Mars Bar?”

So easily pleased, these youngsters. Pat was halfway up the ladder stile when she turned back to us.

“The stove’s under the fly sheet. Tea will be good!”

Off we went, passing through a flock of goats on one of the flatter sections, before cutting under the great sweep of dry slab above the campsite, where we sat for a while watching rather a lot of climbers. I was watching Kim as well, just to be sure we hadn’t done too much, and as I did so I caught a slight movement of her mouth as her lips parted and just the tip of her tongue touched the upper one. I turned to see where she was looking, and there was a remarkably fit-looking young man, wearing nothing but shorts and rock boots, swinging unroped up the slab, the muscles of his back and arms standing out against the grey-brown rock.

“Kim?”

“Ummm?”

“You’re a straight girl, then?”