scrambled to my feet, brushed down my trousers like I could rub off the smell, the dirt, the bits of leaves and God knows what I had stuck to me.
‘What you doing hiding out in the bushes, you freaking weirdo?’
‘Can’t a man take a leak without …’ He tried to sit up, but he lacked the coordination skills required for the task.
Please let his trousers be up, I thought, praying now for the moon to duck back behind its cloud. Pitch-black was preferable to the reality I was facing. But the moon resolutely ignored my pleas. Instead it seemed to brighten, illuminating the man on the ground in front of me.
He was dressed against the cold, some awful stinking anorak tied round his middle with what looked like a piece of rope. He had a woollen hat on his head. His breathing was shallow and fast, and an awful thought struck me. What if I’d caused him to have a heart attack? He didn’t look in the best of health. Guilt flooded my system. I held out my hand and tried to pull him to his feet.
‘Sorry. I thought you were someone else.’
He got as far as his knees and put a hand on the ground to steady himself. He bent over, almost doubled up and I braced myself for his collapse. I’d be charged with murder. I deserved nothing less.
‘Don’t suppose you’ve got a cigarette?’ he wheezed.
‘’Course.’ I dug out my packet of Golden Virginia. ‘Help yourself. Here, let me make one for you.’
As he pushed himself upright, I tried to roll him a fag. My hands shook, and my mouth was so dry I could hardly summon up the spit to seal the paper, but I managed to produce a fat one. He took a seat on a fallen tree trunk and reached for the cigarette.
‘Light?’
‘Yeah, sure.’ I handed him my lighter and watched him attempt to spark it into action three or four times. When the burst of flame finally came it illuminated his face for a brief second, so that I could see the ruddiness of his skin and the weather-beaten lines that zig-zagged across his forehead. I said nothing as he slipped my lighter into his pocket.
‘Could have killed me,’ he said.
I didn’t tell him the thought had already occurred to me. I didn’t say it because I knew there was still time.
‘Minding me own business, nice and quiet like.’
‘I am so sorry.’
‘Crashing through the bushes …’
‘Do you think you should go to hospital?’ I didn’t like the way he was breathing. His chest rattled like someone shaking a tube of Smarties. It didn’t help when he inhaled a long, deep lungful of smoke.
‘A wild animal.’ He coughed and spat onto the ground.
‘I’ve got a phone.’ I patted my pockets. What had I done with my phone?
‘Nearly finished me off.’
‘I could ring an ambulance.’ Please don’t make me ring the police, I found myself thinking, and cursed my own selfishness. I couldn’t leave him here.
‘Me leg might be broken.’
‘Lee?’ Jo’s voice floated down across the valley, filling me with relief. She’d know what to do. ‘Lee?’
‘Jo.’ I cupped my hands around my mouth to make my voice carry. I tried to think what directions I could give. ‘Down. Down here.’
The man stood up. ‘Who’s that?’
He looked terrified. The sounds of Jo crashing through the undergrowth didn’t help. I could hear her swearing as she stumbled down the hill.
‘Got the price of a cup of tea?’ he asked. ‘Something for the shock.’
‘’Course.’ I rooted around in my jeans pockets, emptying all the cash I had. I handed him a fistful of loose change and a couple of scrunched-up notes as Jo appeared, a small twig caught in her bleached blonde fringe.
‘What happened?’ asked Jo, panting like a steam train. She frowned at the old fella. ‘Where’s Brownie?’
‘I’ve just attacked this poor man.’ They say confession is good for the soul. For me, it just meant another flood of curdled guilt. ‘Thought he was Brownie.’
‘Could have killed me,’ the man said, for the second time. ‘My time of life.’
‘Well, she didn’t,’ said Jo. ‘So perhaps you’d better be on your way.’
‘Dodgy ticker.’ He banged his chest. ‘Doctor says it’s bad for me to get stressed.’
‘But you’re all right now,’ said Jo.
‘We don’t know that for certain,’ he said. He brushed the dirt off his coat. ‘Could have internal bleeding.’
‘Serves you right,’ said Jo.
‘Jo!’
‘Go find someone else to wave your willy at,’ said Jo, ignoring me. ‘Else I’ll call the cops.’
Just as I was about to take issue with her lack of care for the elderly and the infirm and the disadvantaged, just as I was about to argue about stereotypes and jumping to conclusions and judging a book by its cover, the man leaped to his feet, turned his back to us and sprinted off in the direction of the beck.
‘How did you know?’ I asked, as we watched him go.
‘Obvious, innit?’ said Jo. ‘Come on, let’s get the fuck out of here. This place gives me the creeps.’
We climbed back up the embankment hand in hand, taking it in turns to pull each other up through the undergrowth until we found the top path, which leads to the gate. ‘Why didn’t you answer your phone?’ said Jo. ‘I’ve been ringing you for the last ten minutes. I didn’t know where you were.’
‘I think I left it at the office.’
‘Useful.’
The sarcasm wasn’t hard to miss. Jo knows I hate mobiles. I hate the idea of being permanently available, that anyone can just crash into your world, without warning. My hatred isn’t my fault, it’s genetic. According to Aunt Edie, my grandmother would never have a landline in the house because she thought the whole concept was plain rude. And we never had one at home because there was no one my mum wanted to speak to.
I tried to deflect the conversation onto another path. ‘How come you missed him climbing out of the window?’
Jo didn’t reply so I linked arms with her and we headed back towards Woodhouse. As we got to within a hundred yards of the gate I heard it click. A moment later an Asian guy in a dark jacket entered the woods. I felt Jo tense beside me, but
