Free The Lost Guide to Life and Love by Sharon Griffiths Page A

asked.
    She looked down at him and for a brief second seemed almost amused at the thought. Then her mouth hardened again. ’ “Vanity of vanities, all is vanity,” says the preacher,’she said. ‘But you are in need of shelter. If you wish, you can rest out of the rain a while.’
    ‘Gladly. Thank you.’
    He tied the pony to the gate, checked that the tarpaulin was keeping his precious camera dry, and then followed the woman into the house.
     

Chapter Eight
    The next morning was wonderful, one of those autumn days that are almost still summer. Even up there, at the top of the world, I could feel the warmth through the window. It was only my third morning here but already it felt right. I felt at home. I burbled happily to myself as I sat at the kitchen table, with my laptop and a mug of coffee, and kept glancing out at the glorious views while I tidied up my piece on the cheese-maker. Finally, satisfied with what I’d done, I saved it on to a memory stick, ready to go down to the pub and send it off. But I didn’t have to go yet, did I? The sun was shining. That track at the back of the house was too enticing. Work done, I had no one to answer to but myself. Not even Granny Allen could argue with that.
    I tugged on my walking boots, bought last year for a holiday in Wales with Jake. The fleece too. At least I looked the part.
    It didn’t take me too long to get up to the ridge again. Pausing at the top to get my breath, I looked down the dale. I thought about what Dexter had said. It was like looking at ghosts—those abandoned buildings, the ruined houses. A whole industry had thrived here and then vanished. The path plunged down past abandoned heaps of stones that must once have been buildings for the mines. Tall chimneys towered over empty spaces where hundredsof men once worked but now were left to sheep, which sheltered among the soaring pillars and cropped the grass, as if nothing had ever disturbed the peace.
    I felt a little uneasy, like an intruder. Was it sensible to be up here on my own? Jake had thought it wasn’t sensible for me to stay the night in the cottage on my own, but I’d done that, hadn’t I?
    Some new railings and a warning sign surrounded an arched entrance opening straight into the hillside. ‘Danger. Old mine workings. Keep out,’ it said. I peered into the entrance, could see the skilfully arranged pattern of bricks in its ceiling, still supporting the moor above it. At my feet were rusty railway lines. Even though they were much grown over with grass and turf, I could follow them into another vast arched building, open now to the elements, with birds fluttering among the high bricks. I sneezed and the sound echoed and bounced round the huge empty and deserted space. It was an eerie place. What must it have been like here, I wondered, with all those men and machinery, the noise, the activity? The buildings could have been inhabited by a race of giants. Now they had all gone. Now it was just me, the sheep and the birds and silence. Weird. Seriously weird.
    Walking alone in this strange landscape felt like the start of an adventure but just a little creepy. It was reassuring to see a Public Footpath sign. Very twenty-first century. It was a good firm track, too, easy walking on the springy turf. I had no map, no idea of where I was or where I was heading, but I couldn’t get lost. I would just walk on for another twenty minutes or so, then turn round and come back. The track curved round a low hill. I would just see what was on the other side…
    I strode out briskly. The air smelt clean and fresh and was nicely cold on my face. It really woke me up. Bouncingalong a turf path is a lot more fun than pounding away on a treadmill in the gym, and certainly better without the posers and preeners and designer Lycra. Above me I could hear the cries of birds. Didn’t know what they were. Maybe I’d get a bird book and find out, I thought. This country air was definitely getting to me.
    I