LITMIR.BIZ

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own position of a few minutes earlier. ‘Reduce our ability to resist the cold. I can barely feel my hands and feet as it is.’

      Tara knew what she meant. It was just before twelve o’clock now, but the temperature would continue to drop until well into the early hours.

      ‘Can’t feel our hands and feet, can’t see our hands and feet more like,’ she mused. ‘We’re disappearing by inches.’

      ‘Not funny, Tara, Jesus!’

      ‘Yeah, I know. I’m sorry.’

      ‘At least the slope’s levelling off.’

      Thankfully, the gradient had flattened out again, and a second later they walked into a dry-stone wall. It came to roughly chest-height on Tara, higher still on Jane, and yet the fog was so impenetrable they blundered into it with enough force to induce pain and surprise. Tara switched her phone on. It created a minor capsule of dim aquamarine light around them, and shimmered over the smooth, neatly stacked stones. The wall led away to left and right, quickly vanishing.

      Tara switched the light off again, plunging them back into darkness.

      The wall wouldn’t be difficult to scale, though both of them were aching and bone-weary, but at least it was a solid fixture, and it broke the surreal monotony of this place – not that it was something to actually be reassured by. Hundreds of miles of dry-stone walls snaked across the Lake District National Park, through the lower valleys, up the teetering fell-sides, across the desolate tops of ridges and plateaux. Sure, it was a sign that civilisation wasn’t too far away – as the crow flew, or if you were on horseback. Not so much if you were a tired, and increasingly cold and disoriented foot-slogger.

      ‘So do we climb over it and keep going?’ Tara wondered.

      ‘Why?’ Jane asked.

      ‘What do you mean?’

      ‘Why climb over it? Why not follow it?’

      ‘It won’t lead to a farmhouse, or anything like that.’

      ‘At least we’ll know we aren’t walking in fucking circles.’

      ‘Jane …’ Tara tried to remain patient. It served no purpose to stand here sniping at each other in the murk. ‘Look … people don’t walk around in circles, okay? Not in real life. That only happens in the movies.’

      ‘Oh, Jesus Christ … we’re lost in the middle of nowhere, and you’re giving me Halliwell’s fucking Film Guide.’

      ‘Jane, come on …’

      ‘I’ve got a film for you, Tara. The Shining. Remember that … when he got lost, and in the morning he was dead, covered in ice?’

      ‘That was up in the mountains.’

      ‘We’re in the fucking mountains!’

      ‘Not in Colorado.’

      ‘Look, Tara … below zero is below zero, whether it speaks with a Yank accent or Cumbrian.’

      ‘Jane, panicking won’t help.’

      ‘I’ll tell you what … let’s get over this blessed wall. We have to do something soon, or I’m going to smack you one.’

      Jane’s voice had taken on a new, shrill intensity. Tara imagined that, were she to switch her phone on again, she’d see eyes like polished marbles straining from her friend’s long, boyish face; the skin stretched like shiny parchment over those unattractive, hard-angled bones.

      That was when they heard the whistling.

      Or rather, Tara heard it.

      ‘Wait, shhh!’ she said, fumbling at Jane’s arm.

      ‘Don’t shush me, Tara!’

      ‘No, listen.’

      Because she was in such a state that she’d grab at any straw, no matter how slender, Jane allowed her friend to speak. But of course, she heard nothing herself.

      ‘Yeah, great … the silence that signifies impending doom.’

      ‘No, I heard something.’

      ‘What?’

       ‘Listen!’

      They fell quiet again, and now indeed there was something – a tune of some sort. At first it was very faint, as though being carried on the breeze. Except that there was no breeze. And the longer they listened, the clearer it became. Incredible though it seemed, someone relatively close by was whistling. Both of them recognised the tune, though neither could initially put a name to it, and now they were too excited to try.

      ‘I don’t believe it,’ Jane said. ‘Where’s it coming from?’

      ‘Over there, I think.’ Tara indicated the other side of the wall.

      ‘Hello!’ Jane shouted at the top of her voice. ‘Hello, is someone there?’

      ‘Jane, don’t,’ Tara said.

      ‘What’s the matter?’

      ‘I don’t … nothing. It’s just silly.’ The misgivings Tara had briefly felt, about how vulnerable they were trekking through this endless gloom, had returned; suddenly, pinpointing their exact location seemed like a bad idea. But surely that was folly – a fear born of some ancient animal instinct, whereas logic advised that if there was someone out there, they should draw attention to themselves as soon as possible. ‘I just thought …’

      ‘Shhh!’ Now it was Jane’s turn to hit her friend’s arm. Whoever the whistler was, he was persisting with it. He sounded closer, and yes, it did seem as if he was somewhere on the other side of the wall.

      ‘Hello!’ Jane shouted again, attempting to scramble up the bricks, which wasn’t easy with feet numb inside frozen boots. Tara switched her phone back on, so they could identify hand and footholds. Jane reached the top of the wall first, and straddled it. ‘Excuse me, we’re lost! Can you help us?’

      The whistling ceased.

      ‘He’s heard us,’ she said.

      ‘Hello!’ Tara called.

      The only reply was another dim echo of their own voices.

      Nevertheless, they were sufficiently re-energised to clamber down the other side of the wall. ‘Whoever it is, he probably can’t believe there’s someone else up here,’ Tara said, laughing with relief. ‘Excuse me … we’re over here! I’d like to tell you which direction, but …’ she laughed again, ‘I don’t know.’

      The whistling recommenced. Now they were on the other side of the wall, it sounded as if it was coming from just ahead of them, but a way to the left.

      ‘What the hell is he still whistling for?’ Jane said. ‘Didn’t he hear us?’

      ‘Oh God,’ Tara replied. ‘Suppose he’s got earphones on, and he’s whistling along to a song.’

      ‘Oh shit. Okay … we’ll just have to find him.’ Jane started forward urgently, hoisting the straps at her shoulders with gloved thumbs.

      ‘Strangers in the Night,’ Tara panted.

      ‘What?’

      ‘That song he’s whistling … it’s Strangers in the Night. You know, the old Frank Sinatra number.’

      Jane listened, and she too recognised the timeless ditty. ‘Yeah … what a choice of song for a place like this. Quite apt for us though, eh?’ She chuckled, though there wasn’t much humour in it. ‘Come on, Tara … we’ve got to find this guy.’

      Tara also adjusted her pack, and hurried in pursuit. Again they were blundering through foggy blackness, their feet crunching on clumps of frozen grass. But the whistling

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