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.
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.
