The Atlas of Us

She sank down onto a large rock, putting her head on her hands. This was really happening, wasn’t it? Ben was leaving her, taking all the dreams they’d shared with him too. What was she going to do now? She felt a scrabbling at her feet and looked down to see Archie peering up at her with his one good brown eye – the other had been removed after a bout of glaucoma. He put his front paws on her knees and nuzzled his wet snout into her jeans. She leaned down, pressing her cheek against the warm fur of his neck.

‘At least I’ve got you, haven’t I, boy?’

He wagged his tail in response and she sighed, reaching into her bag and pulling out the book her friend Jodie had managed to get an advance copy of – Memoirs of a Geisha by Arthur Golden. That was the advantage of having a friend who was an arts and culture events organiser; she could sate her craving for good books before other people got their hands on them. Claire had met Jodie during her travels with her family when they were both thirteen – Jodie with her bohemian mum and crazy sisters, Claire with her ramshackle family. Jodie had been her one true friend, still was in a way, other friends just ships in the night due to the intense hours Claire worked. Both of them still somehow managed to meet whenever they could, despite their hectic schedules. She wondered what Jodie would say about her and Ben splitting up. Maybe she’d be secretly happy. Jodie had never really warmed to him.

She looked down at the book and let herself get lost in the words. That was all it took sometimes, the feel of flimsy paper between her fingers, the sight of black ink dancing before her eyes and delivering her into another world. Books were often her only companions on lonely nights during press trips. They’d been there for her when she was a kid craving consistency too, curling up in a little nook somewhere, the characters she’d read about becoming her friends when she only had her family for company as they travelled from one place to the next.

She reached into her pocket for her other companion – chocolate – and luxuriated in this chance to leave all her troubles behind, occasionally stopping to marvel at the scenery around her, her new fortress of solitude.

But it wasn’t long before her fortress of Solitude became a fortress of German tourists as a whole centipede of people appeared on the horizon, trailing one after another on the path above. Among them was a family, a little boy strapped to the mother’s chest in a baby holdall. She’d once dreamed of holidays like that with Ben.

She put her book away, reluctantly acknowledging it was time to head back and get on with the job. Her favourite kind of press trip were the ones organised by the tourist offices where she was met at the airport by a media rep then left to get on with it for the rest of the time, with the odd attraction visit and hotel inspection. But on the majority of her trips, most of her time was taken up by her host – usually someone who paid big bucks to advertise in the magazine – escorting Claire here, there and everywhere on a tight schedule, even just a one-nighter turning into a small kind of torture. She had a feeling this might be one of those trips; she’d met the inn’s owner before and he was a handful.

‘Ready to head back?’ she asked Archie.

He wagged his tail as she jumped up. A few minutes later, she was squeezing past the queue of Germans, apologising to them as Archie jumped up at their legs. Once they were behind her, she paused a moment to watch as they marched towards the sea. It already looked different, the blur of their forms blotting the scenery in front of her.

As she walked back along the path the tourists had come down, she thought of the conversation she’d had with Ben the night before. They’d been driving back from a friend’s wedding reception and she’d been looking out of the car window as the cat’s eyes on the road had blurred into one, creating a jet stream of light down the middle of the windy road. She’d had a bit to drink and had made Ben play Joni Mitchell’s ‘Both Sides Now’ over and over as she’d stared at that light, feeling miserable, thinking of how it was always these nights – these long drives in the dark – that got her thinking about everything they didn’t have. After a while, he’d turned to her, the misery on his face mirroring hers.

‘Maybe you should use this trip to Exmoor as a chance to think about things,’ he’d said.

‘What do you mean?’

He’d looked surprised. ‘You’re not telling me you haven’t noticed how strained things are between us, Claire? How miserable you are in particular?’

She’d felt the panic start to rise. Yes, she had noticed, but then they’d only just finished their last round of IVF two months before, then work had been hectic, her boss seeming to punish her for taking two weeks off for her treatment by making her work longer hours, go on even more trips. She’d barely seen Ben, and had kept telling herself they’d go away once things calmed down and get things back on track.

But things had never really calmed down.

‘Sorry, I’ve been so busy,’ Claire had said to Ben. ‘I’ll take some time off, we can go away like we said we would.’

Ben had sighed. ‘It’s not enough, Claire. Watching Robyn and Richard get married today made me realise just how much we’ve changed since we got married.’ His knuckles had turned white as he’d clung onto the steering wheel. ‘We’re broken, Claire. We’ve tried to fix it but it’s time we admitted it’s over.’

She’d attempted to grab his hand, pleading with him it wasn’t over, they just needed to fight for their marriage. But he’d just stared ahead, jaw set. That night, he’d slept in the spare room. The last she’d seen of him was the next morning as he’d watched her drive away, a look of relief on his face.

Relief. Had it really got that bad between them?

As she’d driven away, she’d wondered if he’d realised it was three years exactly from the day of their first embryo transfer. She tried to imagine carrying a toddler in her arms with him strolling beside her. Things would be different then, wouldn’t they? She’d have the secure family life she’d yearned for ever since she’d discovered her dad dying and realised a life lived on the edge just left you all alone. But that life was gone and now, instead of that toddler, all Claire saw were six embryos bobbing up and down in the sea, the same six that had failed to implant, leading to a bunch of negative pregnancy tests she still kept in a box in her wardrobe.

Ghosts of lost hope.

‘Oh God,’ she whispered. She stopped walking and leaned her hand against the hard grey rock of the cliff next to her to steady herself, gulping in huge breaths as she saw the life she’d dreamed of ebbing away.

Then a bark echoed out in the distance. Archie looked up from the patch of grass he’d been sniffing, back straight as a rod as he tried to detect the source of the sound. Claire followed his gaze to see a feral-looking dog running along a dash of path on the other side of the river. She hadn’t even noticed there was another path. Then the dog’s owner came into view: tall, dark hair, long stride. He was walking with purpose, eyes scouring all around him, his dark fringe lifting with every step to reveal a hint of long lashes, straight nose, tanned forehead.

Archie let out a woof that echoed around the valley.

The man paused mid-stride and looked up at them. His dog paused too, ears pricking. Then it let out a thin whine that stretched across the river and steep bank between them. The man stepped forward, whole body alert as he reached into his pocket, pulling out a pair of binoculars. He pressed them to his eyes and Claire froze, feeling like he’d actually run across the river and scrambled up the bank towards her. Even Archie stilled, pressing his small black and white body against Claire’s shins.

The man lowered his binoculars and pulled his walking stick out from under his arm. That’s when Claire realised it wasn’t a walking stick he was holding … it was a gun.

He cocked it up towards her, pressing his cheek against the flat edge of its top, and all the misery she’d just been battling drained away, replaced by fear.

‘Oh Jesus,’ she whispered, finally finding her feet and stumbling backwards.

Suddenly, the air was punctured with a sound like a firework going off. She ducked and there was a terrible keening sound from above. She looked up to see a large deer with spindly antlers and fur the colour of conkers staggering around, blood trickling from a small hole in its head. Archie whined and the stag’s eyes snagged on Claire’s, making her almost choke on the fleeting look of terror and hopelessness in them.

Then it tumbled down the bank, landing with a thump in front of her, one of its antlers cracking in half on impact.

She put her hand to her mouth, unable to drag her gaze away from the deer’s eyes, which were now staring into nothingness. Blood was pooling around its head and Archie tried to get to it, yanking Claire out of her shock. She pulled him back and turned towards the man, ready to scream at him – but he was gone.

She jogged back, whole body buzzing with anger. When she reached the inn, a white marquee was being set up on the expanse of green that fanned up from the river. A woman in her fifties watched from the path with a pretty blonde girl, her face lit up with pride. A wedding?

Wonderful.

Claire darted past them then paused as she noticed glimpses of a large farmhouse in between the leaves, dark and imposing, ivy strangling its gutters. Spread out beyond it was a huge hill that sloped into a valley, cows and sheep dotted all over.

She walked into the inn, the soles of her wellies squelching on the pine floorboards. She found Henry, the inn’s owner, in the plush-looking bar talking to a girl of about thirteen or fourteen with spirals of vivid red hair. She peered up at Claire, green eyes sparkling with curiosity as Archie’s tail wagged against Claire’s chest.

‘You got here!’ Henry said when he saw Claire approach. He bounded up to her, leaving the girl behind and giving Claire a kiss on both cheeks. He was huge, at least six foot three, with thick blond hair.

They’d met once before during a press trip to the boutique hotel he’d once owned in Oxford. She’d always found him a bit overwhelming and had been dreading spending more time than she needed to with him this weekend. That dread had grown after everything that had happened with Ben; how could she keep up the fake smiles today of all days? That was the thing with editing a travel trade magazine aimed at tour operators: you were forced into situations with people you wouldn’t usually want to spend much time with.

‘The new hairdo suits you,’ Henry said, smiling.

She put her hand to her head. That weekend, she’d impulsively asked her hairdresser to cover the usual brown with bright red and chop it to her shoulders. She hadn’t changed her hair in such a long time, her boss preferring her to keep the same style so she didn’t confuse the magazine advertisers. But she’d felt like she needed a change. When she’d stared at herself in the mirror afterwards, it seemed to have changed her face somehow, making her brown eyes look even bigger, skin even paler.

‘Did you arrive okay?’ Henry asked. ‘All checked in?’

‘Not checked in yet,’ Claire said as she tried to catch her breath, hands still trembling half with anger, half with shock at having a gun pointed at her. ‘We’ve just been for a walk. Look, I just saw—’

The girl approached, eyes on Archie, huge smile on her pretty face as she crouched down in front of him. She was wearing muddy jeans and wellies, and a green faded hoodie that matched the colour of her eyes. Archie backed away slightly, wary after the rough treatment of other children.

‘Your dog’s a bit nervous, isn’t he?’ the girl asked Claire.

Claire smiled. ‘He can be. He only has one eye so it makes him quite anxious with strangers.’

‘Oh yes, I can see now. You hardly notice with the black patch of hair. Thought it’d be something like that. Dad gets Jack Russells in to kill the rats on the farms sometimes and they’re always so confident. Uncle Milo says I’m to get myself to a dog’s level if they’re scared.’

‘That’s enough now, Holly, Claire doesn’t need to hear your uncle’s theories on canine behaviour, thank you very much.’ Henry leaned in close to Claire. ‘I’m afraid my niece hasn’t been taught manners,’ he whispered rather too loudly.

Rude git, Claire thought.

Holly frowned slightly at Henry’s comment as she slowly reached her hand out to Archie. He hesitated a moment, considering his options, then slunk towards her, head low, tail wagging. She softly stroked his ears and he drew even closer, leaning against her shoulder as she smiled.

‘She’s a wild one,’ Henry continued. ‘No surprise considering she’s part of my wife’s crazy family. I’ll tell you all about that after a few glasses of wine,’ he added, tapping his nose. ‘Plus she’s not had a proper mother figure all these years and has been brought up surrounded by pigs and tractors in the farm up the road.’

Claire thought of the farmhouse she’d seen just a moment ago. ‘Maybe all kids should be brought up on farms then?’ she said. ‘She’s wonderful with Archie.’

Holly looked up at Claire, a hesitant smile on her face. ‘Uncle Milo says I should be a vet. But I’d prefer to be a journalist, like you.’

‘She’s seen the magazine,’ Henry said, noticing the confused look on Claire’s face. ‘Been excited about your visit for days.’

‘Oh, it’s only a small magazine,’ Claire said to Holly. ‘How old are you?’

‘Fourteen.’

‘You have a while to decide what you want to be yet. Why don’t you look after Archie while I talk to your uncle?’ She handed Archie’s lead to Holly. ‘Make sure you hold the lead tight though, he likes to chase birds and cars.’

‘Just like your uncle Milo,’ Henry said, guffawing as he steered Claire away. His face grew serious when they got out of earshot. ‘Everything okay, Claire?’

‘Not really. I just saw a deer shot right in front of my eyes.’

His jaw twitched but he didn’t look surprised. ‘Whereabouts?’

‘On the path on the way to the cliffs, about twenty minutes from here. It was a man with dark hair, in his thirties I think. He had an old dog with him, it looked like a wolf with grey fur, and—’

‘Milo,’ Henry said, sighing.

Claire thought of what Holly had said. ‘Holly’s uncle?’

‘Yes, my wife’s bloody idiot of a brother. I told you that family is cuckoo.’

She peered towards Holly. ‘I don’t want to cause a family argument. I just think he needs to be a bit more aware of how terrifying it can be, having a gun pointed at you.’

‘Oh, he’ll be made aware, all right.’ He peered at the clock. ‘Do you want to freshen up? Then I have one hell of an afternoon planned for you.’

Claire forced herself to smile. She really didn’t want to be here. She wanted to be back home, saving her marriage. ‘Great, see you in twenty minutes.’

She turned away but not before she caught sight of her brown eyes reflected back at her in a nearby mirror. She thought of the hopelessness she’d seen in the deer’s eyes before it tumbled down the bank.

Claire picked up the pint of sweet cider she’d just ordered and settled back into the plump sofa, staring out of the window beside her towards the darkening valley and blanket of trees below. Her room overlooked the same scene a floor above. It was all cream carpets, mahogany furniture and plush red chairs, just like the bar she was sitting in. It felt too plush and romantic for just her. She yearned for Ben to be here. She’d told him she wouldn’t go when they’d got home from that dreadful drive, but he’d insisted. She’d even suggested to him that he join her. Her company forbade partners from attending trips but this was a special circumstance. But again, he refused. He’d clearly made his mind up and it should have shocked Claire to the core. But the truth was, she wasn’t surprised. She’d been in denial and now it was all unravelling.

So instead of Ben being her dinner partner, she’d had to endure Henry all afternoon and over dinner too. Only he could draw what would usually be an hour’s tour into four hours. And now she was sat here alone, belly full of Exmoor’s finest lamb, head already woozy from the few sips she’d had of her cider. She checked her phone, not that it was much use considering there was no reception here. When Henry had said the place was remote, he’d meant it.

She caught sight of the notepad she’d brought. She needed a distraction. Maybe she could start work on that travel memoir she’d always wanted to write? Except when she opened it, the blank page mocked her. She swirled a pattern in the margins, flowers tangled around the punctured holes like ivy, then wrote the word ‘Exmoor’ and her name, then a line – A watercolour of grey …

A gust of cold air wrapped itself around her, lifting the corners of her notepad. She looked up to see the man who’d shot the deer walk in, dark hair whipping about his head, the ash from the cigarette he was holding dancing towards her. Under the light of the bar, his brown eyes looked almost gold, his lips very red. He appeared younger close up, taller too. He was wearing what he’d had on earlier: black jeans tucked into green wellies, a typical farmer’s wax jacket. She had to admit he was very attractive – what her friend Jodie would describe as a ‘dasher’, all legs, rugged features and windswept hair. That didn’t detract from the fact he’d nearly killed her.

A man prowled in behind him. He looked a little like Milo but older, thinner, with hair a shade lighter than his. His brother? He hunched his shoulders and narrowed his eyes as he scanned the pub. Behind him, the feral-looking dog she had seen earlier slinked in. Now she could see it close up, she recognised some Irish wolfhound in it, maybe a touch of German shepherd too. He looked quite a few years older than Archie, his back legs a bit rickety.

Milo stubbed his cigarette out on the wall as he passed her, bringing with him the smell of grass and bonfires. He stared at Claire then looked down at her notepad. She slammed it shut, trying to look suitably indignant. He frowned slightly then strolled to the bar as Claire peeked at him under her eyelashes, taking in how short his hair was at the back, a contrast to his long fringe.

As his dog passed, Archie let out a low threatening growl. The dog paused, surveying Archie with startling blue eyes. Milo tapped two fingers on his thigh and his dog bounced to his side, pressing his face close to his owner’s leg.

Henry walked in from the restaurant with a thin, dark-haired woman – his wife, Claire presumed, and Milo and this other guy’s sister. She strolled up to her brothers as Henry disappeared behind the bar. Claire could see the similarities between the three of them. Same long, sinewy limbs; same brown feline eyes; same distinctive bone structure. She thought of what Henry had said earlier about them being ‘cuckoo’. She wondered what he meant by that. They certainly gave off a certain energy, the atmosphere in the bar charged in their presence.

The door opened again and Holly bounded in. She was wearing a blue taffeta dress that seemed a little childish for her age, the sleeves too short, the edges frayed. She whirled around the pub before Milo’s brother grabbed her arm and reprimanded her, making her pretty eyes fill with tears. Milo frowned and placed his hand on his brother’s arm, whispering something to him. His brother relaxed slightly and pinched Holly’s cheek playfully as she looked down at her feet, biting her lip. Claire’s heart went out to her and she shot her a quick smile. Holly’s face lit up and she smiled back at her. But then Milo’s brother glanced towards Claire and glared at her. She quickly looked away.

Yes, there was something a bit off about that family.

Henry handed a pint over to Milo who held his gaze with a long, cold stare before strolling towards a table in the corner, his brother and niece joining him. Milo sunk into a chair, taking a sip of his beer, his eyes drilling into Claire’s over the top of his glass as his brother knocked half his pint back, slamming it on the table and wiping his mouth. Claire turned away again, taking several gulps of cider in quick succession, panicking as she felt the bubbles working their way back up her throat and towards her nose. She coughed into her hand. Milo smiled to himself and she felt a stab of annoyance.

Henry caught her eye and strode towards her, crouching down beside her table. ‘Sorry I can’t join you, we’re short on staff tonight.’

‘Oh, it’s fine, I’m quite happy sitting here, taking it all in.’ Claire peered towards Milo and his brother. ‘Is that your wife’s two brothers?’

Henry followed her gaze and rolled his eyes. ‘Yes, the infamous James brothers, Milo the Mystery Man and Dale the Deranged.’

‘Deranged?’

‘Screw loose,’ Henry said, making circles with his finger over his temple. ‘Came back from fighting in the Falklands one sandwich short of a picnic.’

‘He’s a soldier?’

‘Was a soldier, until he spent a few months in a mental institute. I told you that family is nuts, something runs through those veins of theirs, a connection gone wrong in their set up. My wife Jen’s the only one who’s normal. You know their grandfather shot himself?’

Claire followed his gaze towards Dale who was clenching and unclenching his jaw as he stared into the distance. ‘That must have been very hard for Dale, being in the Falklands.’

‘We all go through tough times. Don’t turn us half-mad, do they?’ Henry leaned closer, lowering his voice. ‘I talked to Milo about how upset you were. I also told him he won’t be paid for that deer he shot.’

Claire thought of the red notices she’d seen on the drive down, the smoke on the horizon, the rotting stench as dozens of herds were culled. She’d even written about BSE, or Mad Cow Disease as it was known, for her magazine after many of the UK’s farm attractions had closed to tourists, the disease not only killing cattle but also being linked to vCJD, a brain condition in humans. But tourism was the least of the farm world’s problems. The worldwide ban on all British beef exports the year before was crippling them.

‘No, Henry, please,’ Claire said. ‘Farmers need all the money they can get with this BSE crisis.’

‘The farm’s problems started way before all this BSE nonsense! Thank God I came along and bought this inn off the family, otherwise there’d be no money left.’ He raised his voice as he spoke. Milo’s brother turned to look at Henry before sliding his gaze to Claire, the anger visible on his face.

She stood up. ‘I’m going to call it a night, Henry, it’s been a long day.’

‘But it’s only eight!’

‘I’m very tired.’ She manoeuvred out from behind the table. ‘Don’t say anything else to your brother-in-law, all right? And please, don’t dock his pay.’

‘But—’

Claire looked him in the eye. ‘Really, Henry. I’ll see you at lunch tomorrow as planned. I want to explore the area a bit in the morning then we can discuss what you have planned for the rest of my stay.’

She found herself taking one last look at Milo, who was now laughing at something Holly had said, then walked out of the bar, Archie trotting after her. As she reached the staircase, she heard footsteps behind her. She turned, thinking it was Henry then froze when she realised it was Milo.

Archie jumped up at his legs, tail wagging erratically.

Traitor, Claire thought.

‘I’m sorry about what happened earlier,’ he said. His voice was deep with a slight West Country twang. ‘Henry said you were upset.’

‘I think the deer was more upset,’ Claire said.

‘It was a red stag actually.’

Claire rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, that makes it better then.’

‘It does when it’s been trampling all over our crops and killing endangered wildlife,’ he said with a raised eyebrow.

She felt her face flush. She wasn’t qualified to have an argument about this. ‘Just be more careful in the future. I didn’t expect to have a gun pointed at me on my first day here.’