Free Shared by the Highlanders by Ashe Barker Page B

Will does as I suggest. He lowers the binoculars, his expression puzzled. “It’s just a blur, like looking through a glass of water.”
    “You need to focus them. Turn that wheel while you’re looking through them, until it all clears.” I indicate the focusing control and urge him to try again.
    He does, then suddenly stiffens. “Shit! Holy Mother of God, how did it do that?” He drops the binoculars onto the springy grass and scrambles back, glaring at them in suspicion.
    I retrieve them and hand them to Robbie. “Would you like to see?”
    Robbie repeats Will’s actions, and forewarned as he is he manages not to make such a spectacle of himself. He lowers the glasses and regards me with his usual wry expression. “How far away from us is yonder stand of trees?”
    I shade my eyes to see where he means. “Two miles, maybe.”
    “Yet I can pick out the oaks from the beech, even at this distance. These could come in very useful, I’m thinking.”
    “I expect they would. Would you like to keep them?”
    Robbie shakes his head and hands the binoculars back to me. “Nay, lass, I didn’t mean to commandeer your belongings.”
    I don’t take them. “Please, keep them. As a gift. To remember me by. When I’m gone.”
    Will reaches across to loop an arm around my shoulders. “Gone? Where are you planning on going to then, wee Charlie?”
    “Back to the twenty-first century. I hope. If I can find the way…”
    “If you managed to find a hole to wriggle through to bring you here, there must be a route back. It stands to reason. And if there is, we’ll find it.” Will has recovered his composure sufficiently to take the binoculars and try again. He seems equally impressed with their power and stands to survey the landscape in every direction. Robbie and I remain seated on the ground, grinning to each other at his obvious delight in the new toy. “Did you say we could keep these?”
    “Yes. Please do. I have other stuff too. Maybe not as exciting, but you might like to see…” I rummage in the bag again, and this time produce my humble notepad and a ballpoint pen. I demonstrate their use, and as I imagined both men are impressed. Robbie takes the pen and wraps his fist around it, clearly not familiar with the correct way to hold a writing implement. I have momentary pang of embarrassment. It never occurred to me they may not be able to read and write. Then, as I watch, he scrawls his name awkwardly on the paper.
    “Aye, it’s a queer thing to be sure, but I could get used to it, I expect.”
    And I expect I’ll be leaving quite a lot of my kit behind. I wonder if I’ll cause a temporal meltdown by leaving items in the wrong chronological place, alter the course of history somehow. Still, it’s too late now. The next items I retrieve are my food supplies, a couple of packets of dried vegetable soup, four cereal bars, several teabags, and some sachets of long-life milk. It had been my intention to eat in pubs and hostels as much as possible so I haven’t stocked a great deal in the way of provisions. It’s just as well my current companions seem adept at living off the land.
    My car key is dismissed without question, other than to remark on the peculiar material it’s made from. It’s one of those that looks a bit like plastic credit card and opens the doors while it’s still in my pocket. Even I still find that a bit magical.
    I wonder if I’ll ever see my trusty new Renault again or if it will remain in the car park in the centre of Glenridding, abandoned until someone eventually notices and raises the alarm. Perhaps they’ll search for me. In fact, they surely will. The fell rescue volunteers will be out combing the Cumbrian hills, there’ll be announcements on the news, my picture broadcast. My family will be distraught even though we don’t see each other for months on end usually. My mother and sister will be interviewed, pleading for me to get in touch. I fight back tears as I experience a