The Atlas of Us

After a while, she heard footsteps and turned to see Milo approaching with Archie and Blue. He looked nervous, eyes flickering towards the sea then back to Claire.

‘Decided to come up?’ she asked him.

‘Your dog was whining for you.’

She laughed, leaning down to cuddle Archie. When she looked up, Milo’s gaze was focused on the sea, face very sombre, eyes glassy. She looked at him in surprise.

‘You okay?’ she asked.

‘Just the wind.’

Was it really just the wind?

They were quiet for a few moments then he nodded towards the cliff edge. ‘Shall we walk to the edge? You’ll get much better photos from there.’

‘Past the barriers?’

He nodded.

‘Is it safe?’

He smiled. ‘Are we going to have another river episode? Aren’t you the girl who travelled off the beaten track when she was a kid?’

‘That was then.’

‘And now?’

She avoided his gaze. ‘I have tour guides telling me where to go.’

‘Then consider me your tour guide. You won’t fall, I’ll make sure you won’t.’

He put his hand out to Claire. She glanced at it, heart thumping, then reached her hand out too, raising her gaze to meet his.

Then she heard a cry for help.

‘Did you hear that?’ she asked, letting her hand drop back to her side.

Milo nodded and shielded his eyes with his hand as he looked in the direction of the sound. Then he whispered a ‘Jesus’ under his breath. Claire followed his gaze to see two blue ropes tied to a solitary tree nearby, one of them broken off.

‘Looks like someone’s tried to abseil down the cliff face,’ Milo said. ‘Both those ropes should be securely tied around the tree.’

He ran beyond the barriers and stared over the right side of the cliff edge. Claire hesitated a moment then followed him, looking down to see the cliff plunge dramatically into the violent sea below, jagged rocks jutting up from the waves like teeth. And there, pressed against the cliff face about a metre above the rocks, was a man, his face twisted up to stare at them.

‘The rope got stuck,’ he shouted up to them, his voice carried along by the wind. ‘I can’t get up. I’m getting bloody married on Friday, Sarah will kill me if I don’t get killed by the rocks first!’

‘Don’t tell me he’s the one getting married at the inn,’ Claire said.

Milo shook his head. ‘What an idiot. He has no idea of the danger he’s in. It’s not the kind of cliff you want to climb at the best of times, but a few days before your wedding?’

She reached into her bag. ‘I’ll call—’

‘No reception, remember?’

‘Then we should go back, call from the inn.’

‘The tide’s rising, see?’ Milo said, pointing to the waves that were lapping at the man’s feet now. It was coming fast. ‘I’ll need your help. Tie Archie’s lead around the tree.’

Claire did just that as Milo shrugged his coat and jumper off to reveal a black T-shirt, tanned arms. He slipped his coat carefully under the rope.

‘Have you got something on under your jumper?’ he asked, his eyes running over her.

She felt her cheeks flush. ‘Yes, a T-shirt.’

‘Take your jumper off then.’

‘Why?’

‘To protect your hands. We’re going to have to pull him up via the remainder of the rope.’

‘Isn’t that risky? What if it breaks too?’

‘It shouldn’t, not with my coat protecting it from the friction caused by the cliff edge. The risk of us doing nothing is greater.’

‘Right,’ she said, pulling her jumper off to reveal a Bob Dylan 1984 tour T-shirt. She looked down at Milo’s hands. ‘What about you?’

‘I’ll be fine.’

‘Don’t be silly. We can use some of my jumper too.’

‘Are you sure? I’ll have to tear it.’

She tried not to think about the fact Ben had bought it for her. ‘It’s fine, really.’

Milo helped her tear off an arm of the jumper and wrapped it around his large hands before running back to the cliff edge.

‘What’s your name?’ he shouted down to the man.

‘Matt,’ the man shouted back up.

‘Right, Matt. You’ve got yourself into a dangerous situation here. We’re going to pull you up via the intact rope. Can you give me some slack please so I can take some of the rope?’

‘What if it breaks?’ Matt asked, his voice shrill now.

‘It won’t. My coat’s beneath it so it won’t get damaged.’

‘Hundred per cent sure?’

‘No. But I’m a hundred per cent sure the tide’s rising enough to drown you soon if we don’t try to get you up.’

Matt didn’t answer but Claire could imagine his face. She heard movement and saw the rope had slackened. Milo crouched down, taking hold of it.

‘Right,’ he shouted down to Matt. ‘You need to help us by pulling yourself up via any bits of rock you find on the way. But be careful not to swing. I’ll shout when we’re ready to start.’

He ran back over to Claire, feeding the rope through with his hands.

‘What if he’s too heavy and one of us stumbles?’ she asked him. ‘We could go over the edge.’

‘I won’t let that happen.’

‘But—’

‘I need you to trust me.’

She wanted to say How can I, I barely know you! But instead, one word popped out of her mouth. ‘Okay.’

‘Good.’ He lifted her hands up, tangling what remained of her jumper around them until they were protected by three inches of wool. ‘I need you to take hold of the rope there a few metres away and pull when I say – like a tug of war, right?’

He headed to the cliff edge, stopping about half a metre away from it. He then crouched down, taking hold of the rope as he dug his heels into the ground. Claire did the same, heart thumping.

‘Ready?’ Milo shouted down to Matt.

‘Yes,’ he shouted back up, voice hoarse with fear.

Milo started pulling, the muscles in the backs of his shoulders flexing as he slowly heaved backwards, feeding the rope back behind him as he pulled the slack. There was the sound of rocks falling in the distance, scrabbling feet, a cry of alarm.

The rope jolted and Claire let out a scream. Milo turned to look at her then started slipping forwards, feet trying to find traction in the ground as he drew closer and closer to the edge. Claire tried to pull him back with the rope but didn’t have the strength.

So she made a decision, doing something the old Claire would’ve done: she took a risk.

She let go of the rope and ran to Milo, crouching down and wrapping her hands around the rope closest to him, her knees against his back.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ he asked her.

‘You need me here. Come on.’

He shot her an exasperated look then turned back to the front, pulling at the rope. Claire did the same, putting all her strength into it and dragging herself back. They staggered backwards and backwards until, finally, a hand slapped onto the cliff’s surface and Matt dragged himself up before collapsing onto the ground.

‘You okay?’ Milo asked him, flinching as he let go of the rope. Claire’s jumper was worn completely away and the skin on his palm red raw.

Matt nodded, unable to speak as he tried to catch his breath.

Milo turned to Claire. ‘You did great.’

She felt a strange sense of pride. She’d never done something like that, helped save a man’s life. It felt good. ‘Is this what happens when you take the better path?’ she asked Milo.

Milo put his hand on her shoulder. ‘Looks like it. Feels good, doesn’t it?’

Claire wasn’t sure what to make of the thunder of her heartbeat as he touched her.

Then she thought of Ben and moved away from him.

Matt stumbled over to them. ‘Thank you so much, both of you.’

‘You’re very lucky, mate,’ Milo said. ‘Just a few more moments and you’d have been fish food.’

A few minutes later, as they walked back to the inn, Matt stopped them, pointing into the distance. From there, they could just about make out the cliff face that had been hidden from them before – the part Matt had been climbing away from. On its side was a huge heart messily painted on the stone with pink paint.

‘I did it for my fiancée,’ he said.

It was the same heart that was shown over and over again on the news in the following weeks.

Chapter Three

Exmoor, UK

When Claire and Milo got back to the inn, they were separated among the back-patting and gasps of horror as Matt regaled a hero’s story that made the two of them sound like Greek gods. He even insisted they join the family for dinner that night, and extended an invite to his wedding reception.

As Claire was talking to Matt, Henry came out, face incredulous as he took in all the attention his brother-in-law was getting.

‘Ready for our lunch, Claire?’ he asked her, frowning slightly. He’d clearly heard she’d gone on a walk with Milo and disapproved.

‘I have a bit of a headache actually,’ she said. Last thing she needed was to sit across from his judgmental eyes. ‘I might just go back to my room. Sorry to be a bore. I got some great pictures though, and I still have two days here. Maybe we can meet for a drink or dinner later?’

He looked over at Milo then turned back to Claire, smiling. ‘Yes, of course. You can try our taster menu. Just come down when you feel like it.’

Claire headed back to her room, sinking into a deep sleep with Archie curled at her side. When she woke, the first thing she smelled was the bell heather she’d placed on the table. It instantly brought back memories of Milo’s big calloused hands clutched tight around the rope; the smell of him so close, bonfires and musk; the way his eyes had lifted to meet hers.

No, it wasn’t right. She needed to drive those thoughts away.

She pulled out her dad’s old postcards and flicked through them. Kangaroos and Niagara Falls; golden temples and bone-dry deserts, scenes from all the countries they’d visited as a family: Australia, New Zealand, Canada, Namibia, Iceland, Paraguay, India … the list went on, all jigsaw pieces of her childhood that she carried with her wherever she went. Her dad had scrawled on the back of some, messages like ‘Littlest Hobo, do you remember the sun rising over that rock? Daddy Bo, xx’, every word still scorched into her memory.

But still, she saw Milo.

So she strode across the room and grabbed her phone, flicking through loving texts she’d received in the past from Ben, trying to find an anchor in him too. When that didn’t work either, she reached for her book. It took a while but, eventually, her shoulders relaxed, Milo’s face disappearing as she sunk into pre-war Japan.

When darkness fell, she put her book aside and walked to the window, peering out across the valley. The skies were clear, stars scattered all over, their bright white orbs lighting the night sky and turning it violet. Claire thought of Ben. What would he be doing right now? Probably watching the news or looking over some documents from work. Would he be wondering what she was doing? When she’d told him there’d be no reception, he’d said that was a good thing; that it would give them proper space from one another. But she yearned to pick up the phone now, hear his voice, have him tell her he’d made a mistake. Her stomach plummeted as she remembered their conversation again and the look on his face that spoke volumes. He was exhausted with the charade, she could see it in the bags under his eyes, the stubble on his cheeks.

She put her fist to her mouth, stifling a sob. Once again, she felt as though she were falling, her body twisting and turning in the westerly wind as she tumbled down that valley into nothingness. What was there for her without Ben and the security he offered?

Thirty minutes later, she was standing in the shadows of one of the cream-painted alcoves in the restaurant, pulling Archie back as he strained to find the source of the delicious smells coming from the kitchen. There was a large table at the back and she could already see Matt sitting at it with the pretty blonde girl she’d seen the day before, presumably his fiancée Sarah.

She felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see Henry looking down at her, face red and sweaty. ‘So sorry, Claire,’ he said. ‘Two of our staff have called in sick. Hangovers no doubt. They certainly won’t be invited back. Means it’s all hands on deck. Can we do lunch tomorrow? I’ve set a table aside for you and have instructed our chef to prepare our famous taster meal. And a sausage for Archie, of course,’ he added, leaning down to ruffle Archie’s head then snapping his hand back as Archie let out a low growl.

She followed his gaze towards the solitary table overlooking the valley. She was used to dining alone during media trips. But tonight it scared her, made her see more nights like this mapped out before her without Ben by her side.

‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Thank you, Henry, sounds lovely.’

When he rushed off, Claire took a deep breath and looked down at Archie. ‘Looks like you’re my dinner date tonight, boy.’ She headed towards the table then noticed Matt look up.

‘Don’t tell me you’re dining alone?’ he called out to her. ‘I said you can join us tonight.’

‘Oh, I don’t want to impose.’

‘I insist,’ he said.

She looked at her lonely table then took in the large table buzzing with chatter and laughter. She yearned to sit with them all, have her head filled with other people’s lives and stories so she didn’t have to think of her own. Milo wasn’t there, maybe that meant he had to help out in the inn – Henry had said it was all hands on deck?

‘Okay, if you’re sure?’ she asked.

‘Of course.’ When she walked over to the table, Matt pulled out a seat next to a blond man. ‘This is Jay Hemingford, my best man,’ he said as Claire sat down. Archie darted under the table as Sarah threw a piece of bread for him. ‘And this is my animal-loving fiancée, Sarah,’ he said, gesturing towards her.

‘Very grateful fiancée too,’ Sarah said. ‘Thank you for saving my foolish husband-to-be.’

‘Yes, I’ve heard all about your heroics, Clara,’ the man sitting next to her said. He was wearing a dark Victorian-style suit, an expensive gold watch around his freckled wrist.

‘Jesus, Jay, her name’s Claire!’ Matt said, shaking his head.

Jay pulled a face. ‘Christ, sorry, I’m terrible with names. Claire, Clara, whatever, you’re still a hero.’

‘Ha, I didn’t have a clue what I was doing,’ Claire replied as Archie tried to jump up at Jay’s trousers. She pulled him away. ‘Sorry, he has a thing for ruining expensive-looking trousers.’

‘And expensive-looking dresses,’ Jay said as Archie turned his attention to scrabbling at Claire’s long print dress. ‘Is that an Alexander McQueen?’

‘Alexander who?’

Jay laughed. ‘Maybe not then.’

‘I got it from Singapore.’

‘Very nice. So, Matt tells me you’re a journalist?’

‘Yes, I write for a travel magazine.’

‘Splendid. Which one?’ he asked.

‘Travel Companion? You won’t have heard of it. It’s a trade magazine.’

‘Ah, no.’ He took a sip of the champagne he’d been nursing. ‘I’m a journalist myself.’

‘Who do you write for?’

‘Daily Telegraph. I cover the European markets.’

‘That’s impressive.’

‘Honestly, my dear, if you caught sight of my pay cheque, you wouldn’t think it impressive at all.’

Claire looked at his expensive suit. She knew exactly how much national newspapers paid. If the Daily Telegraph hadn’t paid for that, she wondered who had. A gust of cold air drifted in as someone opened the entrance door. She peered towards it – still no sign of Milo. She felt a mixture of relief and disappointment.

But once the starters arrived, he appeared, no wax jacket and wellies this time. Instead, he was wearing a dark grey shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal his tanned forearms, his hand wrapped in a bandage. His hair looked newly washed, and he’d shaved.

He paused at the entranceway to the restaurant and fixed his eyes on Claire, making her stumble over her sentence.

‘Finally,’ Matt said, jumping up and placing his hand to his heart. ‘My hero.’

Everyone laughed and Milo’s gaze broke from Claire’s.

‘He even looks like one, doesn’t he? Tall, dark, handsome,’ Matt said, striding over to him and shaking his hand. Milo flinched. ‘Jesus, of course, sorry. How’s your hand?’

‘I’ll survive. How’s the ego?’

Everyone laughed as Sarah clapped her hands.

‘Bruised,’ Matt said, leading Milo to the chair across from Claire’s.

Claire didn’t remember much about the start of that dinner, just the way Milo looked, his lips red from the wine, his dark fringe in his eyes. And how, each time he caught her eye, she felt her skin turn warm. So she avoided his gaze by watching the happy couple instead. Had things been like that with Ben before they married? She thought so, despite how stressful it had been balancing her job with organising caterers and florists and God knows what else. Was it natural, this gradual abrasion of feeling? Or was the infertility just the death knell for a marriage that had been weak from the start? She took a quick sip of wine. Why was she being so bloody negative? She should be fighting for her marriage, riding the good waves and the bad, as her sister Sofia would say.

Milo caught her eye again and she felt the heat rise in her cheeks. Did fighting for her marriage mean blushing every time a handsome farmer looked her way?

Sarah shot Claire a knowing smile as she looked between them. Claire wanted to shake her by the shoulders, tell her she’d got the wrong end of the stick, it was just the emotion of the day, the drama.

When pudding arrived, so did Milo’s brother Dale. He pulled a chair up next to Claire. ‘I hear my brother nearly shot you yesterday,’ he said, pouring himself a glass of red wine, some of it sloshing over the sides. His eyes were like Milo’s: penetrating, intense. But there was something else there too, a detachment that unsettled her.

‘Not quite,’ Claire said. ‘It’s all a bit embarrassing now really.’

‘It’s just the way it is. If an animal needs to die – for food, to put it out of pain, to save a younger animal – you kill it. That’s what our father used to say.’

Claire laughed nervously. ‘You make it sound like Milo was trying to put me down.’

Dale didn’t return her laugh, just stared at her with that dispassionate look in his eyes. Then he turned his gaze to his brother. ‘Milo’s too soft, you know. When he was sixteen, one of our bitches had a mongrel litter and Dad was about to shoot them all and who turns up but my little brother, the sap. Just goes and stands right in between that gun and those pups, kicks up a stink, saves their lives. Dad told me he beat him black and blue after,’ he added, laughing. Claire moved away slightly, feeling uncomfortable. She could see what Henry meant now about Dale. Maybe seeing all he’d seen in the Falklands had made him like this? ‘Five of the pups died anyway,’ he continued in a bored voice. ‘Only Blue survived. Milo reckons it was worth a broken rib to save that mongrel.’

‘He does adore Blue,’ Claire said, not sure what else to say. Dale gave her a cold smile in response, his gaze holding hers for a beat more than was comfortable.

Claire looked over at Milo. He was talking to Sarah, his face animated as he tried to explain something to her. How different your first impressions can be of someone. When he’d killed that stag, she’d thought him heartless, violent. But it appeared he was very far from that, just a man who cared deeply for his family and the animals in his care. His brother, it appeared, was a different story.

Dale followed Claire’s gaze. ‘He’ll be gone soon enough. He’s got the travel bug like our grandfather, always going on about running a farm in another country.’ He laughed. ‘Wonder if he’ll end up putting a gun in his mouth and blowing his brains out like our grandfather did?’

Chills ran down Claire’s spine. How could he say things like that so flippantly?

He slugged back more wine, some of it spilling from the side of his mouth, leaving a trail of red down his chin. ‘He’s definitely got the bug all right. Just needs to save enough money. Then I’ll be left alone to deal with all the crap.’

Claire looked towards Jay as a way to escape but he was deep in conversation with the man to his right. She could make her excuses and go to the toilet but what about Archie?

‘Ah, the blushing bride,’ Dale said, leaning back in his chair and watching Sarah over the rim of his glass. ‘They’re never as innocent as they look, you know, especially the pretty ones. I told Henry to stop doing the weddings, makes us look like a bloody chain hotel. Makes me sick, every one of them.’ He slugged back another mouthful of wine, his face stony, shoulders tense. Milo peered over at his brother, his face clouding over as though he could sense the tension.

‘All right there?’ he asked, looking between Dale and Claire.

‘Just saying how tedious it is,’ Dale said in a loud voice, ‘seeing one wedding after another here. They all blur into one after a while, one boring sentimental mess.’

The table went quiet and Sarah’s blue eyes widened. Milo’s face flushed. ‘Dale, why don’t we—’

Their sister Jen appeared then, exchanging a look with Milo. ‘Dale, can you help me get a keg from the cellar? I can’t find Henry anywhere.’

‘Maybe that’s because he’s hiding in the waitress’s knickers,’ Dale said under his breath, his lip curling. Jay raised an eyebrow and Claire looked at Jen to see if she’d heard but her expression remained unchanged. Dale stood up, nearly knocking over Claire’s drink. Milo leaned forward and grabbed the glass before its contents spilled all over Claire’s dress, mouthing a ‘sorry’ to her as Dale stumbled off after his sister.

‘What a romantic soul your brother is,’ Jay said to Milo.

Milo swallowed, clearly uncomfortable. ‘He gets a bit cynical after having a few.’ He turned to Sarah. ‘Sorry, he didn’t mean any of it, not really. He’s had a lot of stress recently.’

‘Oh, it’s fine,’ she said, smiling. ‘I completely understand, must be very difficult for farmers.’

‘What about you, Milo?’ Matt asked. ‘Are you cynical about love? Or have you managed to find yourself a farmer’s wife in between all that muck-clearing and cow-milking?’

Milo dug his spoon into his apple crumble, his expression unreadable. ‘No time to look for anyone really.’

‘Surely they come searching for you?’ Sarah said.

Milo’s cheeks flushed.

‘You better get a move on,’ Matt said. ‘Every man needs a good woman to look after him.’

Sarah flicked her napkin at her fiancé. ‘Since when did you turn into a chauvinist pig?’

‘Damn, I was hoping to keep that bit hidden from you until after the wedding.’ He glanced back at Milo. ‘So?’

‘You don’t need a wedding ring on your finger to look after someone. A couple can be just as secure without a piece of paper binding them.’

Claire stared at her wedding ring. She’d actually been the one who wanted to get married quickly after Ben proposed. He’d wanted to wait, save more money. But she’d needed that piece of paper, that ring on her finger, to prove she wasn’t like her dad and to start on her road to security.

Jay turned to Claire. ‘Do you agree?’

She glanced up, noticing everyone’s eyes on her. ‘I don’t know what I think really. But my dad’s old friend gave his wife a ring made from goat’s hair,’ she added, hoping to lighten the conversation. ‘That sounds fun.’

Everyone around the table laughed but Jay frowned. ‘How strange, my friend’s father was a bit of a hippy and did the same with his wife too. His name was Josh Pyatt, he worked for the Independent. Maybe it’s the same guy?’

‘I don’t recognise the name. But my dad wrote a travel column for the Indie so chances are it’s the same man.’

‘Wait a minute,’ Jay said, his blue eyes bright with excitement. ‘Don’t tell me you’re Bo Shreve’s daughter?’