Shattered by Teri Terry

weather sensors?’
    Finley shakes his head at Madison. I jump in before anyone else can answer: ‘It’s conservation. National Parks can’t put equipment up there, it’s against their mandate.’ John nods.
    Len the fell checker appears. He’s older than I expect, long grey hair tied back, a wild grey beard and a crazy glint in his eyes. He chats with John, and it is decided we’re still on for Catbells. As Len strides off I stare longingly at his back, feet itching to chase after him and ask if I can go up Helvellyn with him instead.
    ‘You coming?’ Finley calls out, and I see our group is starting off. John is leading the way, with Finley as back marker, bringing up the rear.
    We walk through Keswick to the river, then down the side of it onto a footpath along fields, into woods, and climbing to the turn to Catbells. There is soon more snow on the ground as we start up a steep hill. Madison is gasping, slowing down, and Finley laughing and pushing her from behind. Then holding her hand. The way they are with each other pulls inside, finds the ache that is always there.
    Imagine if Ben were here. Holding my hand as we walk up the hill. Imagine we were alone instead of in this straggling line of walkers.
    I speed up and let Finley and Madison drop behind. Giving them some alone time, I tell myself, or is it just that I can’t watch them any more? I push my legs and muscles and one by one overtake the others who are slowing as the path steepens. Before long I reach John at the front.
    ‘Slow down there,’ he says cheerfully. ‘I can’t let you disappear ahead, and I can’t speed up and let the others drop behind.’
    ‘How about if I go ahead, but stay in sight? I ask, itching to just see open path in front of me.
    ‘Go on then. But don’t get too far ahead,’ he says. ‘Wait every now and then for us to catch up.’
    I head out front. The snow has slowed like the weather report said it would, and the sky is lightening: the view opens up ahead.
    The open path at my feet calls me forwards; every step I feel I’m getting closer to something without knowing what. I force myself to wait now and then for the others to catch up as promised, then take off again. The cloud gradually lifts, and one by one the surrounding peaks reveal themselves. Something inside is letting go, untwisting bit by bit. This is where I belong .
    I reach some rocks; the wind has swept the snow away from this exposed place, leaving the glimmer of ice behind. A short scramble up is needed. Stella’s right: I am part mountain goat. I climb the rocks easily and wait at the top for the others at John’s wave. Most get up without much difficulty, but Madison looks alarmed and it doesn’t look like an act designed to get Finley’s attention. I scramble back down again and help her up before he notices.
    Across the first ridge, another scramble, and then I’m alone on top of the world. The lake stretches out below, Keswick beyond. The other way, higher fells and steeper climbs call out to me, and I promise myself: another day.
    Up here you can believe anything; you can be anything . Words whispered inside: Danny the Dreamer. I repeat them out loud.
    Steps come up behind me; John stands next to me. Did he hear? ‘True. And these mountains and lakes have been here a long time, longer than people have. They’ll be here when we’re all gone.’
    We say nothing else. The world below, and its Lorders and problems, seems remote, of no consequence.
    The others catch up, and before long we must leave to make it down in daylight. Back to reality.
    That evening at dinner Stella tells us that an inspector is coming for lunch tomorrow: a JCO. All must attend, no excuses, and be on best behaviour. She doesn’t say a name: is this my grandmother, the one Madison mentioned? The one whose photos are hidden away inside a box in a locked wardrobe? Glances are exchanged, nothing else said, but the mood is dampened down, as if she’d just thrown a bucket