The Five-Year Plan

‘No, omnivores.’ He fetches a small folding stool and gently lifts my bad leg to rest on it. ‘Can you take your boot off?’

‘Yes.’ Leaning forward, I unzip my boot and ease it off. It hurts like hell and as I slip my sock off, I see it’s already starting to swell. A purple and yellow bruise is spreading across my foot.

‘Can you wiggle your toes?’ He squats and peers closely at my foot and ankle. I try and though it hurts a lot there is some movement. ‘Ah good. I doubt you’ve broken it then, but you’ll have to get it checked at the hospital.’

‘I don’t want to go to hospital! Besides, how would I get there?’

‘Same way you’ll get home, I expect. I’ll take you. The main problem is getting you up the hill to my truck. You saw how steep it is when you came down so I don’t know if I’ll be able to carry you all the way up.’ He places a hand gently on my knee as he peers again at my ankle, then removes it quickly as though realising what he’s doing. I’m not offended by his touch though. It doesn’t feel inappropriate, especially since he’s just carried me bodily through the trees. ‘Really you should ice it. I’ll run up to the farm and see if Ivy’s got anything we can use, but in the meantime I’ll wet a towel in the river. The water’s pretty cold and it might help with the swelling.’

‘Okay. Thank you.’

He roots in the cupboard in his tent and pulls out a blue towel before going down to the river. I watch him through the trees, squatting on his haunches as he submerges the towel, long hair falling around his shoulders. He looks like how I imagined Jesus when I was a child. I’m hoping he can perform a miracle and make my ankle better so I can drive home. I really don’t want to go to the hospital.

The wet towel is freezing cold and I flinch and squeal when he lays it over my ankle. He cringes and squats next to me. ‘I’m sorry. I’ll get the ice.’

‘No, leave it. This will do.’ I pant a little as I get used to the sensation of coldness and he reaches for my hand and squeezes it. Strangely, it seems to help and we sit for a few moments in silence, just holding hands. ‘We may as well do the interview now,’ I say when it starts to feel weird. ‘Who knows, I might feel better by the time we’re done.’

‘Christ, how long’s the interview? Two or three weeks? Have you seen the size of your ankle? That’s definitely a hospital job.’

I scowl. ‘No, it’s probably just a sprain. I’ll be alright. Actually, I’ve got some paracetamol in my bag. That will help.’

Aiden laughs. ‘Ah, optimism. I like it.’

Ignoring him, I find my tablets and pull my notepad from my bag. ‘Okay, are you ready?’

‘No.’

‘But I need to do this interview.’ There’s a note of pleading in my voice that I don’t like, and I cough to try and cover it up.

‘I think you should just rest.’

‘I think I should work. It will take my mind off the pain. Besides, this is my first solo interview. I need to complete it.’

Aiden’s eyebrows shoot up. ‘This is your …? Oh my God! That makes this so much worse.’

‘Yes, I know. Thank you for pointing that out.’ I flip open my notebook. ‘Anyway, it’s really important that I get this interview otherwise I’ll look like a complete failure.’

‘No one can blame you if you’re hurt.’

‘I’m pretty sure they can. So if you wouldn’t mind, I’ve only got a few questions and they’re not especially taxing.’

‘Okay, go ahead.’

‘So, your name is Aiden Byrne and you’re a wildlife photographer, is that correct?’

‘Yep.’

‘Can you tell me a bit about what you’re doing here?’

‘I’ve been commissioned to film and photograph otters, so I made some enquiries and found that this was an ideal spot. Ivy and Bill up at the farm have been great letting me stay down here.’

‘I didn’t even know there were otters around here.’

‘Yeah, they’ve made a big comeback in recent years, and now can be found all over the country. But they’re very secretive animals, coming out mainly at night to hunt and play. It’s not so much that they’re nocturnal, they’re just shy of humans. Around here is great because it’s part of the farm so there are no dog walkers or kids playing or anything else that might disturb them. It’s very quiet so I have more chance of seeing them in the daytime.’

‘Have you seen them?’

He hesitates and scratches his beard. ‘Yes, but not for a while. When I first got here a couple of months ago, I got some great shots of a male and female mating. It’s a miracle really. The timing was perfect. I mean, I was tipped off by the local otter watch. They have people monitoring otter activity along the river and they’d seen the pair together. Not right here’ – he waves his hand at his little stretch of river – ‘but a bit further upstream. So, they phoned me and I got here just at the right time.’

‘How long do they mate for?’ It’s not on my list of questions, but I find myself fascinated by what he’s got to say.

‘A couple of days or so. It’s quite brutal, really. Not the nicest courtship in the world. I was really lucky to capture some of it on camera. The male moved on straight after, so he’s gone now and I doubt I’ll be seeing him again, but I got some good footage of the female on her own afterwards. Some great underwater shots of her hunting for fish too. But then she disappeared, presumably to have her pups, so …’

‘How did you get the underwater shots?’

He turns and looks towards the river. ‘I’ve got underwater trail cams set up in the river.’

‘Oh wow.’

‘Yeah, they stream to my laptop so I can see what’s going on down there. I’ve got hours of footage that I’m still going through. But like I was saying, she disappeared so I assumed she went into her holt to give birth. The problem is, they stay in the holt until the pups are three months old, so basically all sightings of the female have dried up.’

‘Why three months?’

‘Their coats have to be fully waterproof before they can swim, so then the mother brings them out and teaches them how to swim and survive in the wild. That’s the moment I’m waiting for. I’m desperate to get that on camera. I went away for a while, assuming she was giving birth and therefore I had about two months before she reappeared, but I came back early just in case I’ve got the timings wrong or she reappears. So now it’s just a waiting game. Anyway, sorry I’m going on and on. I’m sure you don’t need to know all this for your article, and I told that Phil on the phone that I really don’t want people knowing exactly where I am. I can’t afford to have day-trippers coming down to see what I’m doing or trying to catch a glimpse of the otters. It’s blissfully quiet here at the moment and when I first saw the otters they seemed really relaxed, even coming out in the day. I don’t want that to change, especially if there are pups about.’

‘Okay, that’s not a problem. But I can mention they’re present in Hawksley River?’

‘Yes, of course. Use it as a way to educate people. If they have dogs, let them know they need to keep them on a lead if they’re near a stretch of river where otters are known to be. There are lots of signs people can look out for that tell them if otters are present. Five-toed footprints on muddy river banks, flattened, smooth patches of grass or soil going into the river where the otters have slid in, dead fish and fish scales left at the side of the water, and spraint.’

‘Spraint?’

‘Poo. They mark their territories using spraint, and well-used areas usually get a good coating. There’s a rock along the river I can show you – another day, obviously,’ he says, nodding at my ankle, ‘where the spraint has built up from continued use. Otters are solitary animals, so they don’t share their territories with other otters.’

‘Really? I always imagine them living in big groups, holding hands in the water and looking cute.’

‘That’s sea otters. These are Eurasian river otters. A male otter will have a territory of about eleven miles, and there will be females living within that, but no other males.’

‘Oh, I see. So, who’s commissioned you to take this footage?’

‘A wildlife magazine, and the BBC are interested in any film footage I might get for a wildlife documentary.’

‘Wow, that’s impressive.’

He shrugs and then frowns at me. ‘Are you alright? You’ve gone a funny colour?’

‘I feel a bit sick, but I’ll be alright.’ I shift on the chair and suck in a breath as pain shoots up my leg. ‘Have you contributed footage to any documentaries before?’

‘Yes, several in fact. I’ve filmed bats for a kid’s nature programme, contributed to Springwatch and Autumnwatch, lots of things. I’m never short of work.’

‘Great. What did you do when you left here for a while? Did you take a holiday or do more work?’

‘I just went home to see my family. Usually I’m halfway around the world so it’s great being closer to home and feeling like I can pop back whenever I need to.’

‘Where is home? Dublin?’

‘Close. I’m a country boy. Wicklow. Can I make you some tea or get you something to drink?’

‘No, thank you. Oh, I meant to tell you that the lady up at the house said she’s making scones if you want some later.’

Aiden laughs. ‘Aw she’s good to me. Her cooking’s amazing. I love her scones.’

‘Do you eat all your meals up there?’

‘Not all, but she invites me up for Sunday lunch and the odd meal in the week. I think she thinks I’m mad for living down here on my own. She thinks I’m going to starve to death or something. I tell her I’m used to living like this. This is my life.’

I glance back at the tent with a raised eyebrow. ‘You live like this constantly?’

He nods. ‘I’m always working.’

‘Can’t you stay in hotels?’

‘Where’s the fun in that?’ He laughs. ‘You can’t beat sleeping under canvas.’

‘You can. I’m sorry, but sleeping on a camp bed? That’s no fun, surely?’

He laughs again. ‘Like I said before, I can sleep pretty much anywhere.’

My eyes get very big as I try to absorb this information. ‘But what about in the winter?’

‘I just use a thicker sleeping bag. Although to be honest I usually work it so I go somewhere warmer. If the weather gets really bad and I don’t need to be out filming, I do stay in hotels. Ivy and Bill have let me stay in their spare room a couple of times when it’s been stormy. It’s nice to sleep in a proper bed once in a while. And I shower up there so it’s great to be able to wash.’

I shake my head slowly. ‘I just don’t get it. Why would you want to live like this?’

‘I love it. I love my job. I don’t have to camp, but I feel more connected to nature when I do and that helps me in my work.’

‘Oh.’ I tip my head on one side, considering. ‘That’s kind of beautiful.’

He smiles and lifts the towel to look at my ankle. I flinch slightly and put my hand out to stop him, but he’s careful not to touch my foot. ‘I’ve got to tell you, that’s not looking good. It’s more swollen than before. I really think we should get you to hospital.’

‘But …’

‘No buts. I insist. I can’t be responsible for you hurting yourself and then not take you to hospital. I won’t have it.’ He stands up and starts to remove his camouflage jacket and trousers. I watch, slightly alarmed that he’s stripping off in front of me, but luckily he’s wearing jeans and a blue T-shirt underneath. Somehow, they make him look a lot more normal. He ducks into his tent and grabs a hooded sweatshirt. ‘Are you cold? Do you want to wear this?’

‘No, I’m okay,’ I say, though I do feel a little chilly.

‘You’ve got goose bumps on your arms. Here, put it on.’ He holds it out for me to slip my arms inside and once it’s on, I feel glad of the soft material. ‘Right, let’s do this,’ he says, lifting the towel from my leg and then my leg gently off the folding stool. I hold my breath, not wanting to move at all, but Aiden is all business as he ties up his hair and then turns and bends down, one knee on the floor. ‘I’ll have to give you a piggyback.’

‘Are you sure?’ I say, with some uncertainty. ‘I don’t want to hurt you.’

‘Don’t worry about me. I’ll stop if I can’t manage it and you’ll have to stay in my tent until you’re better.’ He laughs wickedly.

‘Don’t say that!’ I have a very real fear that it actually will come to that. I can’t believe this tall spindly man will be able to carry me up that hill.

‘Don’t worry, I won’t make you sleep on the floor. You can have my camp bed and I’ll sleep up at the farm.’

‘Wonderful.’

He smiles. ‘Come on, climb aboard.’

Heaving myself out of the chair, I stand on my good leg and wrap my arms around his neck. Aiden hooks his arms around the back of my legs and stands up. Pain shoots through my ankle as it brushes his side and I shout out and bury my face in his neck.

‘Sorry,’ he says, standing very still. ‘Shall I put you down?’

I shake my head against him. ‘No, go on.’

He starts to walk and I keep my eyes closed, teeth gritted as my ankle dangles and bobs with each swaying step. It’s agony, but there’s no way I’m staying in his tent tonight. I start to feel nauseous from the pain and I keep my mouth tight shut, imagining the horror of vomiting down this man’s collar.

‘I hope I don’t smell,’ he’s saying. ‘I did have a shower this morning so I should be alright, but I don’t tend to wear loads of deodorant because I don’t want the animals to scent me.’

‘Do you want to go and put some on?’ I mutter, my stomach turning over queasily. ‘You might get a bit sweaty walking up this hill.’

‘Nah, it’s okay. It’s up at the farm.’

‘Great.’

He laughs cheerfully as we start to ascend the hill. He’s got long legs and thick-soled walking boots, so he’s able to cover the muddy ground quickly. His breathing becomes noisier and more laboured the closer we get to the top and I feel bad that I’m putting him through this. The swaying motion of his walk isn’t doing anything to settle my stomach either, and I have to swallow several times as my mouth starts to water ominously.

‘Right, we’re here,’ he says, letting me slither gently to the ground. As soon as I’m standing on my good foot, I turn and vomit into the dirt.

‘I smell that bad, huh?’

I’m a mortified, trembling mess. My good leg wobbles and Aiden holds me firmly upright while I fumble in my pockets for a tissue. ‘No,’ I say, eventually. ‘It’s the pain.’

There are black spots at the corners of my vision, and I feel weak and light-headed. I’m only dimly aware of our surroundings – the square courtyard, the large, white farmhouse, the blue sky overhead, the red pick-up truck – but they’re all spinning. Aiden swears softly as he struggles to hold me up while opening his truck door, then he lifts me up and onto the cracked black leather seat inside. The door slams, then he’s sitting beside me and the truck’s rumbling out of the yard.

‘I’m sorry,’ I keep repeating, my eyes tight shut.

‘Don’t be sorry. Tell me if you need to be sick again and I’ll pull over.’ He changes gear and the truck shudders. ‘Sorry about the truck. It belongs to the farmer, Bill. He lets me borrow it whenever I need to. I don’t really like driving her because she’s such an old wreck and I can just imagine the amount of pollutants coming out of her exhaust.’

I can’t answer him. My mouth is clamped shut and all I can do is murmur slightly. Every bump the truck encounters judders through me. Aiden keeps talking, and even though I don’t listen to the words he says, his deep, soft lilting voice is soothing. After what seems like hours but is probably only minutes, we reach the hospital and Aiden parks the truck. I start to tell him that I don’t want to be here, I want to go home, but he doesn’t listen and instead gets out and opens my door. ‘Come on,’ he says, scooping me into his arms. ‘Let’s get you sorted.’ He shuts the door with his shoulder and then he’s striding across the car park to the accident and emergency department.

Some kind of miracle has occurred and the waiting room is almost empty. There’s only me and a boy of about 12 holding a compress to his swollen eye. I give the receptionist my details and Aiden and I sit together in the waiting room. We’ve been sitting there for at least five minutes before I realise I’m holding his hand. I stare down at our entwined fingers, wondering how and when it happened. His thumb moves steadily back and forth against the back of my hand and I’m amazed by how comforting this contact is. It makes me realise how important another person’s touch can be, even when they’re essentially a stranger.

‘Would you like some water?’ Aiden asks quietly.

I nod and he gets up and goes across to the water dispenser in the corner of the room. He comes back moments later with a small plastic cup and I take it gratefully. The cool liquid washes the sour taste from my mouth and I lean against him, feeling weak. He takes my hand again and resumes the gentle massage with his thumb.

*

The doctor examines my ankle and then sends me for an X-ray. He says he thinks it’s probably just a sprain, but he can’t be sure.

‘Do you want me to phone someone for you?’ Aiden asks as we wait in the X-ray department. I’m in a wheelchair and I’m sure he’s glad he doesn’t have to carry me everywhere anymore.

‘No. It’s a Friday night, everyone will be going out and my mum has to take my sister to her drama club.’ I look at him, realising perhaps for the first time that he might not want to be stuck here in the hospital, waiting around with me. He has owls and otters and badgers to photograph, after all. ‘Don’t feel you have to stay with me, though. You should go,’ I add.

‘No, no, that’s not what I meant at all.’ He looks earnest as he takes my hand again. ‘I want to stay, I just thought you might prefer someone else other than me to be here.’

It’s weird, but at that moment I can’t think of anyone better than him. My mum would fuss, my dad would just be useless and my best friend wouldn’t stop talking. Aiden’s quiet, calm demeanour and gentle manner are just what I need right now. I smile and shake my head just as the door to the X-ray room opens and they call me in. Aiden pushes me to the door in the wheelchair but stays outside while they X-ray my ankle.

To my relief, my ankle is just badly sprained and not broken, though I’m amazed that something that’s not a break could hurt so much. They bandage it up and give me advice about keeping it iced, elevated and rested before letting me go. Aiden wheels me to his truck and then returns the wheelchair to the hospital before driving me back to my flat.

I live on the ground floor of a new-build apartment block. It’s just one bedroom, a bathroom and an open-plan kitchen and dining room, but it’s home. I see Aiden sag with relief when he realises he doesn’t have to carry me up another flight of stairs.

‘Are you sure you don’t want me to call someone for you?’ Aiden asks as we enter my flat and he deposits me onto the sofa. I shift sideways so I can keep my leg propped up. ‘I really don’t like thinking about you on your own like this. How are you going to get to the toilet? What will you do if you need something to drink?’

‘It’s fine, I’ll text my friend Katie. She only lives upstairs.’

‘What if she’s out? Do you want me to stay? I’m happy to stay with you overnight.’

‘No, you’ve done enough.’ I smile up at him, touched by his kindness. ‘Thank you so much, and I’m sorry for causing you so much hassle.’

‘Can I do anything before I go?’

‘I tell you what, you can help me into the bedroom, actually. I’m really tired so I’ll just go straight to sleep. And the toilet is within hopping distance so I’ll be okay.’

He helps me up and supports me across the room and into my bedroom. I love my bed. It’s all white: white frame, white duvet, white fairy lights entwined around the headboard, but it’s never looked more welcoming and comfortable than it does now. I can’t wait to get into it. Aiden sits me down then goes back to the kitchen to get a jug of iced water and a cup of tea to keep me going.

‘Anything else?’ he asks, hovering in the doorway.

‘You couldn’t get my pyjamas out, could you?’ I point to the chest of drawers across the room. ‘Second drawer down.’

He goes willingly, looking huge and masculine in my very feminine bedroom. ‘These ones?’ he asks, holding up a pair of candy-stripe pyjamas.

‘Yes, perfect.’

‘Do you want me to help you into them?’

‘No!’ I give him a look and he grins as he backs away, hands held up in surrender. ‘I’ll be going then. Nice to meet you, Orla.’

‘Nice to meet you too, Aiden. And thank you for looking after me.’

‘My pleasure.’ He smiles, hovering in the doorway like he doesn’t know whether to stay or go. ‘Well, have a nice life.’

‘You too.’

The front door closes with a final click.

Chapter 3

My mum’s appalled when I phone to tell her what’s happened.

‘You were stranded in a forest with a man you’d never met before?’ she says. ‘Anything could have happened to you! What’s your boss playing at, sending you into dangerous situations like that on your own?’

‘It wasn’t a dangerous situation, Mum. I just went to interview someone for the paper. Phil had to be somewhere else so I volunteered. It wasn’t his fault. Besides, I was glad to do it. It was my first solo assignment so I was really excited.’

‘Your first solo assignment? And you didn’t even get the interview?’ Her voice switches from concern to disappointment. I assume she’s disappointed on my behalf rather than disappointed in me.

‘Oh, I got the interview. I just got a sprained ankle as well. It’ll be okay soon though.’ I look down at my bandaged foot, hoping that it really will be soon. I’m still in my pyjamas and have no intention of struggling into any sort of real clothes today.

‘You’re lucky the man was kind. What if he’d been a rapist or a murderer? You shouldn’t be meeting strange men alone in the woods. Even without you falling and hurting your ankle, that was a dodgy situation to be in.’

I suppose I hadn’t really thought about it like that, I just thought it was the job.

‘Lots of journalists die, you know,’ Mum goes on. ‘Didn’t you hear about that woman who went to interview some inventor and never came home?’

‘Yes, Mum, but it wasn’t a dodgy situation really. I think I was supposed to meet him at the farm, but he’d forgotten all about it and when I spoke to the farmer’s wife, she sent me down to where he’s camping by the river.’

‘Well, it all sounds most peculiar to me. Why is he camping?’

‘I told you, he’s trying to photograph the otters down there. He lives out in the woods so he doesn’t miss anything. He’s a really interesting guy, although I don’t know how he lives like he does. I couldn’t do it.’

‘Sounds like a bit of a weirdo to me.’

‘Mum! He took care of me. He took me to hospital and stayed with me and then brought me home. He was lovely.’

‘Was he handsome?’

I roll my eyes. There it was, the question she always asks any time I mention a man. She’s desperate for me to get a boyfriend, though I’ve already told her I don’t have time for a relationship right now. ‘Well he wasn’t ugly, but he wasn’t my type.’

‘Why? What was he like?’

‘Tall, scruffy, long hair, beard.’ I feel a sense of shame for selling Aiden so short when he’d been so lovely, but when it came to my mother, it was best to nip these things in the bud.

‘Oh dear, well perhaps you could smarten him up a bit. Unless he was old? Was he old?’

‘No, late twenties, I think. But look, I doubt I’ll even see him again. We did the interview already and it’s only a short piece, really to inform people that there are otters in the river. It’s not a massive deal, although he’s working for the BBC so perhaps our local otters will end up on TV.’

‘Oooh!’ Mum says, as though impressed we have potential celebrity wildlife. ‘That will be exciting.’

‘Yes, Mum.’ My ankle is starting to hurt again and I reach for the painkillers from my bedside table. ‘So, I know this is a bit cheeky, but I was wondering if you could pick up my car for me? I’ve left it parked at the Lark Rise Farm, just past Innswood village.’