Sarah Hall - The Wolf Border

It’s great you could come along, Huib says to her.

He has already given her one of the receivers to hold, tuned to Ra’s transmitter, with an explanation of how it works — the basic operating procedure; Chloe is not intimidated. She is of the generation that intuitively understands technology. She leans forward towards the driver’s seat.

Thanks for having me. Dad says it was his favourite thing, looking after them.

So, are you going to be a vet, like your dad?

She shakes her head.

No, I’m not quite exactly sure yet. I think I’m going to be a geneticist.

Oh, really?

Rachel smiles. She is very glad Huib is coming along; his ability to make conversation with anyone will be an asset if she herself stalls with the girl. The idea that she might be expected to bond makes her slightly nervous, much as she likes Alexander’s daughter.

I saw a programme on the telly about crops, Chloe says. It’s all very well having people and animals, but they have to eat and soon there won’t be enough food.

That’s very true, Huib agrees. We do need more disease-resistant strains. I read an article in New Scientist last month about it.

The TV programme said lots of money has been spent on making tobacco better. But we don’t actually need that.

But it’s big business, right? Smokers spend a fortune.

Yes, Chloe says, a little sadly, and leans back. If only they’d stop.

Moral, kindred spirits, Rachel thinks. It is heartening to imagine the girl could go on to such achievements, and that Charlie could too.

Do you want a mint, Chloe? Huib asks, taking a packet off the dashboard. He holds the tube over his shoulder.

Thanks. I’ve got some rhubarb and custards in my bag. We can have those later.

Good one, Huib says. But wait a minute. Is it rhubarb and custards, or rhubarbs and custards?

Chloe sucks her mint and thinks for a moment.

Rhubarbs and custards?

Rachel laughs.

You are a pair of pedants.

What’s a pedant? Chloe asks.

They drive cross-country alongside the fence for a few hundred yards and pull up at the western gate of the enclosure. Rachel gets out, keys the code into the lock, and the gate opens. They pass through, the gate closes, and the lock reactivates. As little estate traffic as possible has been inside the domain since the release; the codes are held by a handful of workers only. Rachel asks Chloe which way she thinks they should go. Chloe checks the signal and they head south, following an old drove track. Light strobes across the grass and bracken, over blackened bushes. Somewhere on the reddish, sleet-dampened moors Gregor is using a shepherd’s bothy as a base, and has been filming their progress. There are several dun hides set up across the estate, covered in besoms of heather and bracken, camouflage netting. She sent him a text message that morning saying they were heading in.

They drive to one of the known rendezvous points, where the wolves have been returning frequently, park, and head towards the coordinates. They walk downwind. They do not hurry but Rachel feels unfit, the breast is heavy and sore inside her coat, burning — the start of an infection, perhaps. Chloe doesn’t speak — she is now in silent mode. She walks alongside Rachel, hands cupping the rims of the binoculars, ready. The signals are strong, but Rachel feels obliged to issue another gentle disclaimer.

If we don’t see them we’ll try again another day. They might be in the forest, in which case probably they’ll stay hidden.

The girl nods.

OK.

They walk on. There’s a pause, then Chloe says,

But they’ll see us, won’t they?

Yes, they will, Rachel says.

Chloe grins and is pleased. The logic: being seen by a wolf is nearly as good as seeing a wolf. Rachel is relieved. The girl is clearly very sensible, but one never knows when disappointment might lead to tears or sulking. The cold, streaming wind has made Chloe’s cheeks very red, and her nose glistens. She holds her sleeve up to blot it, strides on beside them.

Rachel checks her phone for messages. There’s nothing from Sylvia. Her plan was to be an incautious, trusting mother, able to come and go without obsessive monitoring. In practice, it seems harder. They walk over the rough, gingery moorland, between granite slabs and patches of bog. Chloe has fallen back in a state of hyper-awareness, not speaking, scanning the terrain. Rachel leans towards her and speaks softly.

What we’d like at this stage is for them to want to have a litter. To be nuzzling up to each other and sleeping really close, that kind of thing.

Chloe turns and nods. Yes , she mouths.

They walk for an hour or so, looping round towards the lower bields. The signals are strong; they are close, but remain out of sight.

We might do better staying put and seeing if they make an appearance, Huib suggests. Let’s go over there. We don’t want to go too high, Chloe — they don’t like you being higher up than them.

Because it’s an advantage for watching things? Chloe suggests.

Exactly. And ambushing.

On a shallow rise, near a brisk upland stream, they sit and eat sandwiches. Huib and Chloe swap halves — ham for hummus — like bosom friends. For her age, the girl has an impressively high degree of patience. She does not fiddle with her phone and seem bored. Every once in a while she lifts her binoculars and scans the terrain, replaces them against her chest. They wait — forty-five minutes, an hour. The wind flushes past them, freezing, hinting at more snow. Chloe’s sleeves are dark with wet patches where she has wiped her nose. Her sniffs are regular and adenoidal. The light is fading. Rachel is about to suggest they leave — the ache in her breast is intense now, and it is not feeling like a lucky day. Then, a text from Gregor arrives. Wolf coming over Caston Bield . He must be close to where they are sitting, stowed like a sniper in the moorland grass. They raise their binoculars. Chloe tugs Rachel’s arm. She points.

Is that one? I think that’s one.

On the horizon, bracketed between two trees, Ra is standing looking towards them.

Bingo, Huib says. You have good eyes.

Chloe rests her elbows on her bent knees to hold the glasses steady. Merle walks up behind Ra. Her coat ripples in the wind. The pair take stock of the intruders, then begin along the hill, laterally, cutting down towards the river, picking their way past boulders and trees. They move mostly in plain view, disappearing for a time behind roods of stone, Merle smoking through the brown bracken. Ra’s pale coat glows in the winter gloom like halogen. They disappear into a grove of trees beside the river. The group keeps watching for a time, but they do not reappear. Rachel hopes it was worth it for Chloe — less than a minute’s payoff for half a day’s investment. But when she looks at the girl, she can see the excitement and delight. She is the first child in England to see wild wolves at large — surely there will be kudos for it at school. Huib holds up a hand and they high-five.

Let’s have those rhubarbs and custards, he says.

Chloe rustles around in her bag and brings out a handful of old-fashioned yellow and red sweets. Rachel hasn’t seen them in years, not since Binny sold them in the post office in big, dusty plastic jars. The thought makes her anxious to see Charlie. They walk back to the Land Rover. Huib and Chloe chat casually on the ride back to the office — it becomes clear the child is excessively bright, interacts well with adults who are essentially strangers. Rachel tries to ignore the burning discomfort in the glands of her chest, the wet feeling against her T-shirt and creeping unwellness. Mastitis. When they arrive back at the Hall, the baby is crying, an acute pitch of great distress. Sylvia is walking him in her arms backward and forward across the office.