Neil was late in arrival, and we had already given up on him and headed for the pub. No music, but an awful lot of people to smile at and be lifted by a smile’s return, often with extra warmth. Debbie and her girls were still with us, and Alys and I had a quiet moment of pleasure spotting which ones we recognised, and which were still coming to terms with their new lives. I could almost read their minds: is this real? I get to be myself, in public? There’s no catch, no taking it all away again?

It meant a lot of smugness from my wife, of course.

We’d eaten, of course, when a damp Strachan appeared, a broad-brimmed obviously-Aussie hat dripping with raindrops, and found his first target, which was the bar, where Illtyd greeted him and whispered to the landlord, who nodded sharply. Neil turned around, and walked straight back out into the rain.

What was up?

Illtyd collected what should have been Neil’s pint and brought it over to our table clearly reading our expressions.

“Ah, nothing to worry about, girls. Kitchen’s done for the night, but Dil’s okay with Neil grabbing something next door and eating it here, ah?”

Five minutes later and Neil was back, with a package of battered sausage and chips, the smell of the vinegar heavy in the air.

“Sorry, all. There was a smash on the A5 and I had to wait till they cleared it. Not in a place I could bypass. Anyway, cheers all! Lovely to see you, Ish. Mike too”

I found myself searching his face for clues, which was stupid, so forced myself to grin at him as I joined Alys in a welcoming hug.

“Aussie souvenir, mate?”

“Oh!”

He reached up to doff his broad hat, setting it onto a window shelf behind the bench seat.

“Bit necessary out there, folks. Mike needs it more than I do, of course, having no hair. They sorted it for me while I was there for…”

He stopped dead, clearly at the realisation that he was about to open wounds that would probably never heal.

A deep breath.

“Got some ideas with this weather. How well do you all know the river near Pont Cyfyng?”

I held a hand up.

“The Brenin uses it for canoeing, Neil. Depending on water level, of course. There was…”

Shit. Was this evening becoming a disaster magnet, or what? Get the story over, move on.

“The Llugwy was really high once, a few years ago. Some people were coming down it, and got caught in one of the falls. Man got trapped underwater, and it was a while before they could recover the body. Not my sort of shout, that, but I do know the safe ways down, depending on those water levels. What are you thinking?”

“Um, mixture. I want to do some wet work, from in the water. Got my tanks and drysuit. That and some oblique work, long exposures through falling water into the light. Be handy to have someone to belay me from the bank for the immersion stuff”

He caught my look, and shrugged.

“Not in a cave, Enfys. Not this time”

He was mad, in a way, but we all knew that. I decided to get the real gen from Ross, as well as check for belays on the banks. Remember, Hiatt: always set them up so that you can escape them if something goes tits-up.

I really had to filter my thoughts; being in the Rescue was widening my vocabulary to the Too Much Detail end of free expression.

I woke suddenly at two in the morning, Alys and I spooned together in the Bunkhouse, as the idea hit me. I did my best not to wake her, but my twitch as realisation struck did just that.

“You okay, love?”

I turned to hold her as I whispered my answer.

“Got an idea for helping Neil. It can wait until morning, though”

“Good. I’m shattered…”

Back into sleep, seamlessly. Not for me, though, as the various ramifications and pitfalls danced through my mind, not least that of an appropriate way to broach the subject with Neil, and sell him on the idea. I was still awake at four, when it suddenly became eight o’clock and the place was smelling of bacon.

Alys was due into the Uni for work, but I had time to brief her before she drove off, and I then rode pillion with Neil to the Brenin for that info from Ross. God alone knows how Neil fitted all his kit into his hard cases, let alone kept the bike upright, but he did, despite having to take it gently on the sharper bends in the wet.

It turned out that there were already stakes in place at some of the more ‘dynamic’ falls below Capel, especially near the Cyfyng bridge itself, and the day turned out to be fascinating, as Neil used a variety of cameras along with some very peculiar caving equipment to snap in, over and under the water. Things improved tremendously when the sun finally came out, and he spent a couple of hours inside the little waterfalls shooting out.

It was at times like that when I could clearly see his place on that spectrum, such was his focus and attention to detail. I mean, he even had an exposure meter he had waterproofed in an utterly professional way, all to ensure his underwater monochrome film camera got the best image. That camera itself was in a large waterproof box with an extending monopod so that he could brace it during his long exposures.

He was almost a different person while he was doing that, but all I could think at the time was how he had been as he took those pictures of what he had thought would be my wife’s dead body. It was like my work in the Rescue, or what little Annie had told me about the nastier side of her own job.

Work head on. Secure the scene. Preserve what life you could. Save the breakdown for afterwards, when and where there would hopefully be someone to hold you through the shakes, so that you didn’t have to manage them while sitting for hours out on the water with your gaze locked on horror and your soul in agony.

I made the call later that afternoon, while ‘stretching my legs’ as Neil showered the Llugwy’s cold from his bones. The phone almost timed out before it was answered.

“Hiya, you. Bit of a surprise! Can I guess you have a problem?”

There was a pause, then she was apologising.

“Sorry, Enfys. Work stuff; tends to leave me a bit tactless. Nothing up with Alys, is there? Please tell me ‘not so’, love?”

“Ah, not Alys this time”

“Thank god”

“Aye, or rather ‘thank Neil Strachan’, if you get my point”

I could almost feel her nod, but what I heard was “Fair point”

She paused for a few seconds, then asked the obvious question.

“What’s happened to him?”

Before I could answer, she was already speaking again.

“Work meeting, Enfys. I can call you back in an hour, but, not being nasty, need to cut this short”

“Be good to chat longer, but quick summary. He’s in the shower, and I need to talk to you without him hearing. If you text me some times you’re free I can arrange to be on my own”

“Subject?”

“Um, historic, well, stalking. And a death”

“Umf… sorry, nearly swore out loud. Got to go; I’ll text”

She cut the call, and I busied myself with kettle and pot as I heard the bathroom door open. Neil was still in his own world of sharp focus and limited exposure, setting up his laptop to download the memory cards, while each roll of thirty five millimetre film went into a little canister that he hand-labelled in the neatest, tiniest script I have ever seen, using what mist have been a technical pen with a very fine point. My phone pinged as I poured, and as Neil seemed to have forgotten my existence for the moment, I set his tea down within reach, but away from any risk of soaking his cameras or laptop, and took a quick look at the text.

Two days’ time looked promising, as I had the first part of the morning free before a private client was due for a ‘trad leading’ session. Not my favourite session by any means, because I would be doing it solo, and that meant a serious bit of tech evaluation beforehand. Fortunately, the client was a regular, so I was fully up to speed with his quirks.

After almost an hour of checking his downloads and completing a paper diary entry full of odd numbers and letters I assume were camera settings, Neil was back with me. I poured his cold tea away and made some fresh for both of us.

I made the call two mornings later, fully dressed in everything but helmet and gloves, so that I could get on the road as quickly as possible afterwards. Paid work came with its responsibilities, as always.

“Hiya Enfys. You free to talk now?”

“Yes. Alys is at work, and I will be after this”

“What are you doing today?”

“Client wants a go at leading. Placing runners and that”

“Sounds risky”

“Oh, it is, but he’s a regular, and I am happy enough with his climbing. I’ll start with him on a high toprope, taking up a second rope and placing gear. Take him up to a prepared belay, then let him bring me up so I can collect and, what’s that word? Critique. So I can do that with the placements. Really easy slab, so I don’t actually need the rope”

“Riiiiight. You are mad, woman”

“So people have often told me”

“Neil, then. What’s up? Oh, and can I assume you are about to break a couple of hundred aspects of confidence?”

The Rubicon I needed to cross.

“I’m afraid so. Unfortunately, I can’t see any way around that”

“Well, I can listen. If it goes nowhere, it’s just me that knows, and it stops with me”

“Not even…?”

“No. Not even her”

“Okay… Background stuff first. You know Neil’s on the spectrum”

“Bit hard to miss, even though he compensates well. Has someone been harassing him about that?”

“No, not that, and it’s not Neil that’s the victim, even if he sort of is, really. Background, then. Starts with my Uncle Mike, the one who lives out in Australia. He’s been back here for a visit, and he told me about his worries concerning Neil”

“Sounding very formal, woman”

“Yeah, well, my way of coping with this stuff. Quick run through, and that was Mike telling Neil about Alys when she came out”

“Ah. And?”

“Neil was married”

“You’re going to tell me she’s… on the Alys bus, aren’t you?”

“Not quite. She was”

“Shit. This will be the death you hinted at, then. What happened?”

“Sorry if this sounds callous, but going to speed through this so that I can cope. Wife was called Maddy, she was a trans woman with a history of abuse. Some of it was violent, some of it sexual. One particular man had groomed her, got his… Not ‘wham, bang, thank you Ma’am’ so much as ‘wham, bang, you make me want to puke, you freak’ and out the door still zipping up”

“Bloody hell”

“Yes. Anyway, last bit before the cherry on top. Neil’s parents died out in Spain, he had to go over there for all the legal stuff, and Maddy’s friend had spotted her, where she and Neil worked. Their business”

“Stalking?”

“Yup. Lots of notes and other stuff, waiting around outside to wave hello as she left, that sort of thing. Maddy was… She was fragile, and she didn’t have the support around her that we have, Alys and me, and. She didn’t make it”

“Fuck!”

“Yes. I don’t know… I don’t want to know how, but there was an inquest, and Neil took all the evidence Maddy had stored up, and the local police weren’t interested. Usual stuff about mental illness and associated suicide rates for trans people”

“Someone should point out to them why that rate is so fucking high. This wasn’t recently, was it?”

“No; years ago. Neil’s like a pressure cooker, though, and that’s Mike’s worry. He says Neil’s been stalking the stalker, building up a sort of dossier, and Mike is terrified he’s going to confront the bastard”

“A fight?”

“Not something Neil would do. General opinion is that he’d just end up hurt. Mike’s worried Neil’s sort of coming to the boil now, and if the stalker has connections, it could be really messy”

“You thinking of funny handshake territory?”

“Possibly, or family links, business buddies, whatever”

“Where was all this? County, I mean”

“Cheshire”

“Okay… I really think this one might have legs. Before anything else, though, it would be essential to talk it through with the man himself before cutting the balls off his wife’s friend”

She paused, a few deep breaths all too audible.

“Right. Now got to explain to people why I am so bloody angry right now, and there’s only one way I can do that”

“Lie?”

“Lie. I can see no choice for you, though. If we move on this, you will have to tell Neil himself what you know. It’s mental health problem, Enfys, which is sort of your job”

“Being on the spectrum isn’t---”

“Fucking grief is. That’s what you’re treating, love: grief and resultant self-harm. Talk to him, see what he says, and we move from there”

“Thanks. I…shit, I’m running late”

“Keep me updated, then”

“Will do. Speak soon”

Click off, onto the already-loaded bike and off up the A5 to the usual place, my client just parking in the long, long space outside the farm. Make your wave a cheery one, Hiatt, carefully over the cattle grid and park next to the farmhouse wall. Debbie and her current brood were still in place, wasting a good hill day in my opinion. One of them—Emma? Yes, Emma. Emma advised me that as they had spent the previous day on the Horseshoe, and they were heading home the next day, they were having this one off..

“There’s still a load of you missing”

“Yeah, well, they’re all off that way”

She waved across the road, where I could just see a small group on the slopes above the Llyn, approaching the hole in the wall. Pen yr Ole Wen and the two brothers, then.

“Nice walk, that one. What are your plans, the rest of you?”

She grinned happily.

“Picnic and Perving Slab, of course!”

A little sting of bitterness sank into my heart, as a young woman showed me how relaxed in her identity she could ne, once given the time and space to grow.

“What are you doing?”

“Sorry, miles away. That’s my client just coming; we’re off over there too”

“See you on the Perving Slab, then! Tell you what: shall we bring some spare flasks for you? Milk? Sugar?”

“Hang on… Hiya, Ian. This is a friend of mine, Emma. She’s going up to the slab later, same place as us, and has just offered to bring some flasks of tea with her. Milk and sugar?”

“Just milk for me—that would be ace!”

I waved to the few other girls on site, thanked Emma once again, and set off ro the first ladder stile and the open land beyond.

He wasn’t too bad. Only one dropped quickdraw, but two wires he hadn’t extended and so lifted straight out as he moved upward, which was why I had him on a toprope. The girls joined us thirty minutes later, bringing the promised tea as well as a picnic seemingly intended for far more than were there, and so Ian and I had to help out.

The moves were repetitive, but the rock was as warm as the sunshine could make it, and in the end, Ian led three full-length routes properly and thanked me for a day well-spent. None of the rest of us explained what the girls called the slab, but I am certain he spotted the two pairs of little binoculars.