The Bucket List to Mend a Broken Heart (25 page)

‘This is my friend, Pete,’ he says gesturing to the man beside him.

‘Nice to meet you, Pete. I’m Abi.’

He nods a hello back.

‘And I’m Sian.’

Uh-oh, I don’t fail to notice the sparkle that has just appeared in her eyes.

‘Nice to meet you both.’

‘And you remember Doug from Hayling Island?’

We nod, and I smile my hello. Sian barely gives him a passing glance. She seems to have eyes only for Pete.

To be fair, he’s almost her type. He’s not suited and booted, but he’s clean-shaven, with neatly-styled dark hair. He’s wearing tight walking trousers and a fitted charcoal fleece that matches his eyes.

For an awkward
minute we’re all standing on ceremony in the kitchen. I’m too busy worrying that Sian’s going to end up sleeping in someone else’s bunk. With only seven of us here, that has the potential to be very awkward.

‘Shall we go through to the lounge? I’ve got the fire going,’ says Ben.

My body responds by shivering. ‘That sounds perfect,’ I say, realising that I’m actually quite cold.

I follow Ben
into the lounge, and I don’t know what I was expecting but in my head I was visualising curling up in a comfy armchair and dozing off in front of the fire. In reality the Spartan house strikes again, and the square room is lined with wooden church pews along three of the walls with a large coffee table in the middle. The other wall is given over to the fire. There’s not even a cosy rug on the floor.

‘Wow, this is rustic,’ says Sian.

‘Yep, it’s really geared up for muddy walkers – absolutely no soft furnishings.’

‘Just what I need after a long drive,’ mutters Sian.

‘Believe me, it will get worse after tomorrow’s walk,’ laughs Ben. ‘The trick is to grab some of the duvets and pillows from the rooms and put them on the benches.’

‘I’ll get them,’ says Pete.

‘I’ll help,’ says Sian.

I raise
an eyebrow at her as she leaves. She’s not usually known for her willingness to volunteer. She’s a bit like the Queen and usually waits for things to be brought to her.

‘You know all the tips and tricks,’ I say, thankful that at least someone knows what they’re doing. If it was left to me I would have had a sore bum after hours sitting on the wooden benches.

‘We stayed here last year,’ says
Ben.

The sound of what I can only describe as cackling rattles down the hallway. Sian’s charm offensive has clearly begun.

When they return Pete and Sian distribute the bare duvets and pillows and we line the wooden benches the best we can.

‘That’s better,’ says Laura.

We all sit down in the imposing room and the silence falls upon us once again.

‘So,’ I say. ‘What now?’

I realise that soft
furnishings aren’t the only thing missing. There’s no TV and no stereo. Is this going to be the longest weekend ever?

I wonder how Joseph would have done this. I’m sure he would have rented a luxury cottage or stayed in one of the five-star B&Bs that we drove past en route. All soft bedding and waterfall showers.

The more I think about this list, the more I can’t picture Joseph doing any of
it. Maybe it’s because the way I’m approaching it is so different to how he would have done it. But I just can’t imagine him donning a cagoule and hiking boots.

‘Well, it’ll be getting dark soon, so we could start doing dinner,’ says Laura, smiling and snapping me out of my thoughts once again.

‘Right, and then after dinner?’

‘Have a few beers and chill out ready for tomorrow’s early start,’
says Ben.

‘Right,’ I say, nodding.

‘Don’t sound so thrilled at the prospect of actually having to talk to us,’ he says, turning to me as the others start to talk amongst themselves.

‘Well, come on. A whole weekend of having to make conversation, it’s going to be a big ask.’

‘Believe me, some of the best nights I’ve had were in these kind of bunkhouses. It’s much better when there’s no TV.
By tomorrow night you won’t even miss it.’

I’m about to argue that criticising the judges on
The Voice
is my usual Saturday night warm-up act, but he’s right, it’s not going to kill me.

‘I bet once the cards come out, you’ll change your tune. Unless you’re as bad at cards as you were at riding bikes.’

‘I’ll have you know I’m an excellent poker player.’

‘Did someone say poker?’ calls Sian from
the other side of the room, where she’s sitting very close to Pete. ‘I love poker, although I’m best at the strip variety.’

Ben raises an eyebrow.

‘Don’t get any ideas,’ I say to him.

‘No,’ says Laura, ‘that’s not a game to be playing when you’ve got a married couple in your midst.’

Or when I’ve bought my frumpiest underwear. There is nothing attractive about my old Marks and Spencer’s sports
bra, but I don’t want the puppies bounding all up and down the mountains.

‘We could play shithead,’ I say, offering a fully-clothed alternative.

‘Now you’re talking,’ says Ben.

‘Why don’t I get the pasta on?’ says Laura. ‘And then we can start the evening’s festivities.’

‘Great plan,’ I say, suddenly excited rather than miserable about the night ahead. ‘I’ll give you a hand.’

‘Shithead!’
I shout into Ben’s face, laying the card down and standing up from his bench to do a victory dance.

The boys are not happy. That’s the third game in a row that either Laura or I have won.

I collapse back down on to the folded duvet that’s acting as a cushion and watch the rest of the game unfold.

‘I can’t believe you won again,’ mutters Ben. He’s still holding a large hand of cards, and if
he’s not careful he’s going to end up shithead again. A position he’s held to my king status twice now, and both times I’ve had him running round the bunkhouse doing my errands. A cup of tea here. A beer there.

‘So what is it this time?’ he says, throwing down the last of his cards when he narrowly loses out to Giles who has a smug look on his face. ‘Beer, tea, a grape peeled for you?’

‘Do we
have any grapes?’

‘Alas, no,’ he says, shaking his head.

‘Hmm, well, I’ve still got tea, and I’m not hungry,’ I say, looking round for inspiration. It seems like a bit of a waste not to get him to get me anything. ‘Oh, I know. You could get me my foot cream. It’s in my make-up bag, in one of the side pockets in my backpack.’

Ben gives me a mock salute, and goes off out of the room.

‘Why can’t
I win with you as the shithead,’ says Laura to Giles. ‘I’d love for you to be my bitch.’

‘But I’m always your bitch, sweetie.’ Giles leans over and gives her a quick squeeze on the arm.

There’s a real intimacy between those two that’s lovely to see. She brings out a whole different side to him to the one I usually see in the office. There he’s all gangly limbs and goofy jokes.

‘Right, then,
here you go,’ says Ben, handing me the foot cream.

I’m about to take it when he sighs.

‘I’m guessing you’re going to make me rub it on your feet too, aren’t you?’

That wasn’t what I had in mind, but now that he’s mentioned it, a little foot rub would be quite nice. It would be good to give my feet some pampering before they trek up those hills, and we did walk all that way from the car.

I
open my mouth to say what a wonderful idea, when I catch Sian’s expression out of the corner of my eye. I know that smug, I-told-you-so look.

Instead I reach over and take the cream. ‘You’re OK. Maybe if I win again.’

‘Something to look forward to,’ says Giles, raising his eyebrows. ‘I sit on the opposite side of the office and I can still smell those bad boys.’

‘Oi,’ I say, reaching under
my bum and grabbing the pillow I’m sitting on and playfully beating him round the head.

‘Not that I’m put off by the thought of stinky feet, but I think I’m going to head to bed,’ says Ben, trying to hide a yawn behind his hand. ‘I want to get up early tomorrow and go for a blast on the bike before we set off.’

‘Are you mad?’ I say, thinking there is something seriously wrong with this man.
Surely that much exercise isn’t good for anyone.

‘I can’t miss having a ride on these hills. Besides, it’s not like we’re climbing a mountain or anything tomorrow. Oh, wait . . .’ He gets up, smiling, and Laura stands up too.

‘We probably should get to bed too,’ she says, rubbing Giles’s shoulders. ‘That early start this morning did me no favours.’

We all slowly stand up. All except Sian, who’s
looking up at us.

‘But we can’t go now, I haven’t won yet,’ she says a little grumpily. ‘Plus, there’s still wine to drink.’ She shakes the half-full bottle of red at us.

‘We can pop the cork back in and have it tomorrow,’ I say.

I’m instantly hit with a look of death.

I shrug. I’m too sleepy to respond to telepathic death threats.

Everyone starts to drift towards the door and I hold my hand
out to Sian, who ignores it.

‘Pete, you’ll stay and have a night cap with me, won’t you?’

He looks between Sian and me and then back at the others who are disappearing out of the door.

‘Um, I think we should probably call it a night. You don’t want to be hungover for the walk.’

I shudder at the thought. I’m not doing two of my challenges feeling like I’m knocking at death’s door.

Sian sighs
loudly, and folds her arms like a petulant schoolgirl.

‘Look, we don’t have to get up early on Monday so we can stay up later tomorrow night,’ says Pete, a slight twinkle appearing in his eye.

‘You promise?’ asks Sian.

‘I promise.’

Oh, boy, I think, he’s on a promise all right.

Ignoring my previous efforts to help her up, she reaches her hand out to Pete and allows him to pull her to standing.
It doesn’t escape my attention that they continue to hold hands until they’re almost out of the room.

Tomorrow’s supposed to be all about me ticking mountain hiking off my bucket list, and I selfishly hope that Sian and Pete wait until they are back in the safety of the bunkhouse before anything happens. Sian’s not averse to al fresco fornication and I don’t want to have to worry about them nipping
off to some crofter’s hut for a quickie. It’s going to be hard enough getting up that mountain without keeping tabs on my best friend when she’s acting like a horny teenager.

Getting up the mountain. I’d almost forgotten with all the fun and frivolity tonight that we were here for that reason.

Tomorrow I’ll be conquering my personal Everest. I try and tell myself that it can’t be worse than
cycling the Isle of Wight with a hangover, but I’m not entirely convinced.

One thing’s for sure: I’m here now and I’m going to do it, by hook or by crook.

Chapter Eighteen

Two weeks, six days of the list to go, and the end is nigh. After today there’ll only be three more challenges to do . . .

Something weird is happening to me. I don’t really know how to explain it. I’m standing on a plateau of rock, looking out at the mist-shrouded valley below. I’ve got my cagoule pulled tightly round my face with only my eyes visible, and I look like I’m
doing an impression of Kenny from
South Park
. Despite the Gore-Tex waterproofs my body feels damp and my hair is starting to go frizzy. My calves are aching in that freshly used way and I could really do with a sit-down and a cuppa. But you know what? I’m enjoying myself.

At fourteen fifty-six this afternoon I, Abi Martin, reached the summit of Mount Snowdon. There might not have been fixed ropes,
crampons or oxygen, but by golly I stood on my first mountain top. There wasn’t a right lot to see, thanks to the mist, but I know I was there, and I got my all-important photo.

It was actually surprisingly easy. We took a vote this morning and because of the weather we opted to go for one of the easier routes up. No one fancied scrambling up damp rock with limited visibility. Despite the rain,
it was all quite civilised – there was even a tea shop at the top, and I treated myself to a scone laden with clotted cream and strawberry jam, and a hot chocolate with whipped cream and marshmallows. Well, I must have burned off a lot of calories on the hike.

And, to my amazement, Sian has been very well behaved. It seems that the rain has dampened her horn. She can be as naughty as she wants
tonight now that I’ve achieved my objective – the photo of me on top of Snowdon.

‘Did you ever wonder what the magic words were?’ says Ben, walking up behind me.

For a second it takes me a moment to register what he’s talking about, before I remember our last conversation had been about
SuperTed
.

‘I can’t remember there being magic words. Didn’t he just rip off his fur and there was his SuperTed
outfit?’ I say, trying to remember the beloved eighties cartoon.

‘Yes, but only after he said something.’

‘No,’ I say, shaking my head. ‘I don’t remember that. Or what Bananaman said either, come to think of it.’

‘I don’t think he said anything, did he? Didn’t he just eat a banana?’

‘Oh, right, that would make sense,’ I say, laughing. This trip down memory lane has distracted me almost all
the way down the mountain.

‘What are you two talking about?’ asks Sian, catching us up.

‘
Bananaman
and
SuperTed
.’

‘Right,’ she says. I can hear her rolling her eyes, even if I can’t see it. ‘This weather is seriously pissing me off now. My feet are all soggy.’

‘We’re nearly back at the bunkhouse,’ says Ben. ‘And then you can have a nice lukewarm shower.’

Sian lets out a humph. Ben takes it
as a sign to leave us alone and walks a little faster to catch up with Giles.

‘So, it’s nice watching you two together. Clearly just platonic friends,’ says Sian with a sarcastic tone to her voice.

‘Well, that’s what we are.’

‘Yeah, really looks like it. You obviously can’t see what’s in front of your nose. I mean you’ve been talking to each other non-stop all the way up and all the way down
this bloody mountain.’

I think over the day, and she’s right – I haven’t really spoken to anyone else. I suddenly feel a bit bad that I begged Sian to come and I’ve left her on her own the whole time.