Tracy Buchanan - The Atlas of Us

The man lowered his binoculars and pulled his walking stick out from under his arm. That’s when Claire realised it wasn’t a walking stick he was holding … it was a gun.

He cocked it up towards her, pressing his cheek against the flat edge of its top, and all the misery she’d just been battling drained away, replaced by fear.

‘Oh Jesus,’ she whispered, finally finding her feet and stumbling backwards.

Suddenly, the air was punctured with a sound like a firework going off. She ducked and there was a terrible keening sound from above. She looked up to see a large deer with spindly antlers and fur the colour of conkers staggering around, blood trickling from a small hole in its head. Archie whined and the stag’s eyes snagged on Claire’s, making her almost choke on the fleeting look of terror and hopelessness in them.

Then it tumbled down the bank, landing with a thump in front of her, one of its antlers cracking in half on impact.

She put her hand to her mouth, unable to drag her gaze away from the deer’s eyes, which were now staring into nothingness. Blood was pooling around its head and Archie tried to get to it, yanking Claire out of her shock. She pulled him back and turned towards the man, ready to scream at him – but he was gone.

She jogged back, whole body buzzing with anger. When she reached the inn, a white marquee was being set up on the expanse of green that fanned up from the river. A woman in her fifties watched from the path with a pretty blonde girl, her face lit up with pride. A wedding?

Wonderful.

Claire darted past them then paused as she noticed glimpses of a large farmhouse in between the leaves, dark and imposing, ivy strangling its gutters. Spread out beyond it was a huge hill that sloped into a valley, cows and sheep dotted all over.

She walked into the inn, the soles of her wellies squelching on the pine floorboards. She found Henry, the inn’s owner, in the plush-looking bar talking to a girl of about thirteen or fourteen with spirals of vivid red hair. She peered up at Claire, green eyes sparkling with curiosity as Archie’s tail wagged against Claire’s chest.

‘You got here!’ Henry said when he saw Claire approach. He bounded up to her, leaving the girl behind and giving Claire a kiss on both cheeks. He was huge, at least six foot three, with thick blond hair.

They’d met once before during a press trip to the boutique hotel he’d once owned in Oxford. She’d always found him a bit overwhelming and had been dreading spending more time than she needed to with him this weekend. That dread had grown after everything that had happened with Ben; how could she keep up the fake smiles today of all days? That was the thing with editing a travel trade magazine aimed at tour operators: you were forced into situations with people you wouldn’t usually want to spend much time with.

‘The new hairdo suits you,’ Henry said, smiling.

She put her hand to her head. That weekend, she’d impulsively asked her hairdresser to cover the usual brown with bright red and chop it to her shoulders. She hadn’t changed her hair in such a long time, her boss preferring her to keep the same style so she didn’t confuse the magazine advertisers. But she’d felt like she needed a change. When she’d stared at herself in the mirror afterwards, it seemed to have changed her face somehow, making her brown eyes look even bigger, skin even paler.

‘Did you arrive okay?’ Henry asked. ‘All checked in?’

‘Not checked in yet,’ Claire said as she tried to catch her breath, hands still trembling half with anger, half with shock at having a gun pointed at her. ‘We’ve just been for a walk. Look, I just saw—’

The girl approached, eyes on Archie, huge smile on her pretty face as she crouched down in front of him. She was wearing muddy jeans and wellies, and a green faded hoodie that matched the colour of her eyes. Archie backed away slightly, wary after the rough treatment of other children.

‘Your dog’s a bit nervous, isn’t he?’ the girl asked Claire.

Claire smiled. ‘He can be. He only has one eye so it makes him quite anxious with strangers.’

‘Oh yes, I can see now. You hardly notice with the black patch of hair. Thought it’d be something like that. Dad gets Jack Russells in to kill the rats on the farms sometimes and they’re always so confident. Uncle Milo says I’m to get myself to a dog’s level if they’re scared.’

‘That’s enough now, Holly, Claire doesn’t need to hear your uncle’s theories on canine behaviour, thank you very much.’ Henry leaned in close to Claire. ‘I’m afraid my niece hasn’t been taught manners,’ he whispered rather too loudly.

Rude git , Claire thought.

Holly frowned slightly at Henry’s comment as she slowly reached her hand out to Archie. He hesitated a moment, considering his options, then slunk towards her, head low, tail wagging. She softly stroked his ears and he drew even closer, leaning against her shoulder as she smiled.

‘She’s a wild one,’ Henry continued. ‘No surprise considering she’s part of my wife’s crazy family. I’ll tell you all about that after a few glasses of wine,’ he added, tapping his nose. ‘Plus she’s not had a proper mother figure all these years and has been brought up surrounded by pigs and tractors in the farm up the road.’

Claire thought of the farmhouse she’d seen just a moment ago. ‘Maybe all kids should be brought up on farms then?’ she said. ‘She’s wonderful with Archie.’

Holly looked up at Claire, a hesitant smile on her face. ‘Uncle Milo says I should be a vet. But I’d prefer to be a journalist, like you.’

‘She’s seen the magazine,’ Henry said, noticing the confused look on Claire’s face. ‘Been excited about your visit for days.’

‘Oh, it’s only a small magazine,’ Claire said to Holly. ‘How old are you?’

‘Fourteen.’

‘You have a while to decide what you want to be yet. Why don’t you look after Archie while I talk to your uncle?’ She handed Archie’s lead to Holly. ‘Make sure you hold the lead tight though, he likes to chase birds and cars.’

‘Just like your uncle Milo,’ Henry said, guffawing as he steered Claire away. His face grew serious when they got out of earshot. ‘Everything okay, Claire?’

‘Not really. I just saw a deer shot right in front of my eyes.’

His jaw twitched but he didn’t look surprised. ‘Whereabouts?’

‘On the path on the way to the cliffs, about twenty minutes from here. It was a man with dark hair, in his thirties I think. He had an old dog with him, it looked like a wolf with grey fur, and—’

‘Milo,’ Henry said, sighing.

Claire thought of what Holly had said. ‘Holly’s uncle?’

‘Yes, my wife’s bloody idiot of a brother. I told you that family is cuckoo.’

She peered towards Holly. ‘I don’t want to cause a family argument. I just think he needs to be a bit more aware of how terrifying it can be, having a gun pointed at you.’

‘Oh, he’ll be made aware, all right.’ He peered at the clock. ‘Do you want to freshen up? Then I have one hell of an afternoon planned for you.’

Claire forced herself to smile. She really didn’t want to be here. She wanted to be back home, saving her marriage. ‘Great, see you in twenty minutes.’

She turned away but not before she caught sight of her brown eyes reflected back at her in a nearby mirror. She thought of the hopelessness she’d seen in the deer’s eyes before it tumbled down the bank.

Claire picked up the pint of sweet cider she’d just ordered and settled back into the plump sofa, staring out of the window beside her towards the darkening valley and blanket of trees below. Her room overlooked the same scene a floor above. It was all cream carpets, mahogany furniture and plush red chairs, just like the bar she was sitting in. It felt too plush and romantic for just her. She yearned for Ben to be here. She’d told him she wouldn’t go when they’d got home from that dreadful drive, but he’d insisted. She’d even suggested to him that he join her. Her company forbade partners from attending trips but this was a special circumstance. But again, he refused. He’d clearly made his mind up and it should have shocked Claire to the core. But the truth was, she wasn’t surprised. She’d been in denial and now it was all unravelling.