‘You want to be careful doing that, missy. But then you’ve got your big strapping boyfriend, I reckon he can look after you.’
She nods. I’m still trying to process the fact that we’re probably closer to Mannerdale Hall now than when we were dropped off this morning.
‘Have a good day now. Come on, Tiger.’ He tugs at the lead and the docile Labrador trots along after him. Lydia looks as if she’s about to giggle at the dog’s name. Mentally I almost dare her. It will give me the excuse I want to explode but it appears I don’t need one.
‘I don’t fucking believe it,’ I burst out. ‘How could we have been driving round the Lakes for over three fucking hours?’ I glare at her. Fucking tour bus. That’s what we were on. Trundling through the fucking Lake District.
‘Don’t blame me, you bundled me in.’
‘You suggested it.’
‘If I suggested calling a client a lying sack of shit to their face, would you do it?’
‘Are you ever going to let that go?’
She folds her arms and glares back at me. ‘No. I like winding you up.’ At least she’s honest about it.
We’re so busy arguing with each other that we don’t see the bus arrive at the bus stop. The first we see of it, is as it trails past heading out of the village.
‘Fuck’s sake,’ I say as the bloody thing lumbers away in a cloud of diesel smoke. I march over to the bus stop and look at the timetable tacked up there. ‘Fucking brilliant, the next one isn’t until 8:15 tomorrow morning.’
‘It’s probably for the best,’ she says.
‘How do you figure that?’
‘Remember. Mark said people always head for civilisation. That’s where everyone will head. We’ve got a tent. We can camp and stay off the grid for a couple of days.’
I stare at her. Does she even know what staying off the grid actually entails?
She continues in that blithe way as if she has the first clue about what she’s talking about. ‘Now we know where we are, we can look at the map and maybe hike for a couple of days towards a main road and then we can perhaps try to thumb a lift.’
I’m irritated she’s telling me my own plan. ‘That would have been fine if we’d moved any great distance from where we started. But given we’re virtually back where we began, don’t you think that they’ll be monitoring those routes?’
She smiles at me as if she’s got all the answers. I have to hand it to her, she doesn’t stay down for very long and she doesn’t dwell on an argument or sulk. ‘Not if we go north first. They’ll be expecting us to go south. Do what everyone does. We could walk north, then pick up a main road. They can’t monitor every road, can they?’
Once again, I’m reluctantly impressed. She’s a smart cookie and I like her thinking.
‘Okay.’ I nod my head. ‘Better get moving. We need to get out of here and a good distance away. The sun will go down before too long and we don’t want to be wandering about in the dark. We need to find somewhere to set up camp.’
‘I supposed we’d better do some filming as well,’ suggests Lydia.
I get out the GoPro and do a quick selfie of us both. ‘Currently still in the Lake District, in a village called Skelwith Bridge. We’re heading into open countryside to find a spot to camp for the night. Over and out from Tom and Lydia.’
‘That was impressive. Very smooth,’ says Lydia. ‘You could almost be a TV presenter.’
‘Thanks.’ I don’t tell her that I’ve been making my own documentaries since I was a kid and it really is second nature to me.
The High Street is a bit too public, so we head down a footpath alongside the back of a barn and consult the map, deciding to follow one of the streams so that we’ll have access to water. I wonder if Lydia has any idea how to put up her tent. I regret giving the tent to Rory now. I’m going to have to share with Lydia tonight. I just hope she doesn’t want to have any deep conversations again. I hope she doesn’t snore. I hope … I can sleep and not lie next to her remembering the last time we shared bedspace.
We walk for another hour, until we’re well away from Skelwith Bridge and out in the open countryside. There are pockets of trees, and uneven lumps and bumps of grassy banks. I’m not sure of the legal situation but I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to wild camp in England, as opposed to Scotland where it is permissible. I don’t bother raising it, there doesn’t seem much point.
I hand the camera to Lydia. ‘Just film me in conversation and then we can put this thing away for the evening.’
I look into the camera lens. ‘This looks promising. We’ll be hidden by the trees and it’s not so exposed.’ I look round at the grassy clearing with a small stream at one side. At another time, it might be quite idyllic but now it just feels unfamiliar and slightly menacing. Anyone could be watching us from the trees or a drone could fly overhead at any time.
‘They don’t have wolves in England anymore, do they?’ Lydia asks.
I smirk. She’s being funny, isn’t she? For the camera. It eases my tension but then I see the way she’s gnawing at her lip. Surely she’s not being serious. I decide to tease her. ‘Have you ever been out of a town before?’
‘Yes, plenty of times,’ she says but I see her straightening her back and that familiar lift of her chin. Archetypal defensive body language. I should know, I’ve employed it on plenty of occasions. I decide not to make the comment, ‘You must have had a deprived childhood,’ because it sounds a bit superior and judgy. Not everyone’s parents are as pushy as mine or insist on taking their children on educational holidays all the time.
‘Do you want to put the tent up, while I collect some firewood?’ I suggest, panning round with the camera. I plan to have a bit of a scout about, check there’s no one nearby and work out an exit strategy if we need one. Yeah, I’ve probably watched too many films, but I want to win that money and I reckon I’ve got a good chance.
‘Sure,’ she says with so much confidence I dismiss the slight concern at her lack of camping experience. These days, two-man tents are pretty simple to erect.
‘Okay.’ I ease my rucksack from my back and lean it against a tree. I can see the relief on her face as she lowers hers to the floor and rubs her shoulders.
What does she have in there? The tents are those lightweight ones so it’s not that that’s weighing her down. ‘I’ll leave you to it.’ I start to walk off.
‘I need the tent,’ she says.
I stop dead and look at her and then at her rucksack. ‘What do you mean?’ I switch the camera off with a sense of foreboding. No need to film this.
‘Tansy took our tent to carry…’ Her voice trails off as it dawns on both of us. ‘Rory’s got yours?’
‘Yup.’
Fuck, double fuck and fuckity fuck. I look up at the sky, which, did I mention, has started to darken. Black, water-laden clouds are threatening.
