The Head Case by Bill Rogers

Author:Bill Rogers [Rogers, Bill]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2010-09-18T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 14

They had planned it weeks ago. It was sod’s law, Caton reflected as they drove past the Tickled Trout, out of the Ribble Valley and up the long motorway incline, that the heat wave should choose to end this weekend. On the other hand, the coolness had come as a relief and, as far as he was concerned, sunny spells and showers were what the Lake District was all about. It felt good to be getting away with Kate beside him, her head tilted back as she drank from a bottle of spring water.

‘How come you’ve never been to the Lakes before?’ he asked, lowering the volume on the radio.

She turned to look at him, spluttering as some of the liquid went down the wrong way.

‘You shouldn’t try to drink and speak at the same time. It’s not an endearing habit,’ he said, grinning.

She screwed the top back on the bottle, replaced it in the holder behind the handbrake and punched him playfully on his shoulder.

‘That doesn’t answer the question,’ Caton told her.

‘I think mum and dad thought the world ended north of the Watford Gap, and I never had cause to come up here. All roads pointed south. When we were young, it was always Devon or Cornwall for holidays, in B&Bs or chalets, and then when I was older, and independent, it was as easy to hop across the Channel. That’s how I got interested in France, and Italy.’

‘But why not when you came up to uni?’

‘I don’t know. There was just so much else to do in Manchester. And I always went back to Teddington to visit my parents at Christmas, and I worked for most of the other vacations. It’s not as though I was ever a rambler or a mountain climber.’

Caton smiled. ‘You don’t know what you’ve been missing, you Southern softie.’

By the time they’d reached Tebay Services, Kate already had more than an inkling of what he meant. The first glimpse of the mountain ranges standing proud on the far side of Morecambe Bay had made their mark, and then the Howgill Fells reared like a herd of elephants above the motorway as it threaded its way through the Lune Valley.

‘You were right,’ she said, ‘it is lovely up here.’

‘You’ve not seen anything yet,’ he told her as they stretched their legs in the car park. ‘This was voted the best motorway service area in the country. And I dare you not to buy something from the farm shop.’

They sat by the long window, looking out across the rolling fells towards the peaks, making the most of the late afternoon sun as it dodged in and out of the thickening patchwork of clouds.

‘Remind me, why did you say you brought me this way?’ she asked.

‘Because this is about the worst possible time to visit the Lake District. The southern lakes – especially around Windermere – will be teeming with day trippers, clogging the car parks and creating endless tailbacks as their coaches attempt to negotiate impossible bends.

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