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The hillside and black tights.

     We had decided to go camping to try to alleviate the
gloomy depression that had settled over Andrew in the days
since the birth. His baby son's teeth were beginning to come
through and he'd taken to howling night and day. Emma had
made quite a number of new friends in the year or so that
they'd been living in Canterbury, but Andy wasn't enjoying his
new job and hadn't really settled into his new surroundings
yet. He arrived in Kidderminster on Friday afternoon, having
caught the train.
     "Hi, Andy!" I yelled as he stepped on to the platform
and looked around him. He walked up to me rapidly and
handed me one of his bags.
     "It's very good of you to offer. The journey has been
a nightmare, I got stuck next to some old bat who was on her
way to see her family in Scotland, I didn't have the heart to
tell her she was heading in the wrong direction."
     "You cruel git."
     "Listen you soppy sod, you didn't have her boring the
arse off of you with story after story about her wonderful
grandsons, one of whom is now a lecturer at Imperial and the
other (a bit of a scallywag, she had to admit) is serving time
for possession with intent to supply. I felt quite justified
watching her head off cheerfully towards the south coast."
     "Hmmmm. So are you ready for a couple more nights
of bugger all sleep."
     "Listen, Mark, until you have children you will have no
idea how heavenly a groundsheet and a peace of canvas over
you sounds. Even if they sling up an all night warehouse rave
and a brand new motorway either side of the tent I'll be there
curled up like a baby."

     I doubted that very much, but it was clear that he
needed a break. His eyes were ringed with deep dark bags
which gave him the appearance of either an owl or a heroin
addict. Emma had gone away for the weekend to her mothers
(they always enjoyed having the baby to stay). It was David
who suggested that it might be a good idea to go away
camping. I must say that I've never really been a great fan of
the wild outdoors, I was in the Cubs and the Scouts as a boy
and never really saw the attraction of spending a whole
weekend cold and wet and collecting wood for a fire which
they would eventually give up and light with petrol. David
loved that kind of thing, but then again he also found fishing
a stimulating and invigorating sport.
     "If he's feeling the strain, why don't we all go away
for the weekend camping?" he suggested jovially, "I've got a
three berth tent and all the calor stove cooking stuff, you've
got a sleeping bag haven't you? We could spend two days just
walking on the hills, cooking sausages and bacon and getting
plastered in the local pubs."
     He made it sound so appealing that I phoned up Andy
that evening and organised the trip. But now that I was
packing all of the stuff in to the car I was having serious
doubts that this was quite the stunning idea that I had been led
to believe.

     The drive out to the Malvern hills was uneventful, the
Friday evening was cool and clear. The little traffic on the
roads was heading into Worcester for the weekend. Andy was
explaining to us how he'd almost missed the train because he
couldn't find his keys. Emma had now put up little hooks by
both of the doors so he could hang them up as he came in and
always know where to find them. The last time he'd come in
to the house he'd forgotten about this system (as he was prone
to and flung them absent mindedly to one side. They had
found them just in time underneath a pile of old newspapers.
     The campsite was grassy and on a slight incline, there
was a muddy patch just large enough to park the car. The
farmer who had hired out the plot showed us where we could
get water and said that if there was anything we needed not to
hesitate to call by the farmhouse just a short walk up the lane,
but he'd appreciate it if we didn't disturb him when it was too
late as he needed to be up early tomorrow morning. We paid
him the site charge and he wished us all the best. The cool
afternoon was turning into a bitterly cold evening, Dave's
expertise at tent construction was not quite as good as he'd
led us to believe. Andy and I pegged out the ground sheet as
best we could as Dave tried to work out which poles went
where. The last few pegs were hammered in with the aid of
the flashlight I kept in the boot of the car, for night had crept
along slowly but patiently and engulfed our tent constructing
efforts in total pitch darkness.
     Inside the tent we immersed ourselves in sleeping bags
and hugged the mugs of instant coffee. The calor gas stove
had taken several attempts to light due to the breeze that was
chilling our wet hands. Dave told us about how once he'd
gone camping with a few friends and they'd  lit the paraffin
stove in the entrance to the tent. It was then that one of them
had re-entered the tent and kicked the stove by accident. The
plastic canvas caught light and had gone up in smoke in an
instant, leaving the three of them shaking in the cold, spattered
with the beans they had been cooking and sat on a charred and
smoking groundsheet. The night was drawing on and we'd
planned to go for a stroll early the next morning so we settled
down and quickly fell asleep.
     I am naturally an early riser and so it was that I rolled
over the next morning rubbed my eyes and found to my
surprise that they were damp and dewy. I opened my eyes
slowly and found myself gazing at blue sky. Looking to my
left I saw Dave's sleeping bag poking out between the
groundsheet and the tent, just past him I could just discern
Andy's moist face snoring gently. We had all slipped down the
slope and been so tired that we hadn't even noticed. I pulled
myself up and slipped back into the tent. I shook Dave and he
grumbled slightly until I pointed out Andy's headless torso
next to him.
     "He's going to have such a stiff neck today!" he
laughed loudly.

     The day was cool again, but sunny. We avoided the
shade wherever possible and set out for the top of the hills.
The paths were well worn and Stony, scrubby grass flanked
the trail and hid a multitude of insect life which came tumbling
out into the open as our walking shoes brushed  against them.
     "After I left school I knew that I didn't want to piss
away three more years in education, but I didn't really know
what it was that I did want. I spent a couple of years working
in Sainsbury's stacking shelves on the night shift. The job was
dull and repetitive but because of the unsociable hours it paid
really well. But I got bored of that and I started to look
around for something else. About six months ago I started to
train up as a manager in one of the electrical shops in the town
centre. It means I'm still living with my parents but at least I
can have a nice car and the hours are better than before.
How's Canterbury?"
     "I jut feel a little bit displaced there at the moment, it's
as much to do with the disruption to our lives since Stanley
was born I think, but I just can't stand being in the house
anymore. Emma just whines that I'm not taking enough
interest in my son and when she stops laying in to me the baby
just starts to howl. I don't mind doing my bit, but I find that
no sooner have I stumbled through the door than I'm handed
Stan and being told I'm a lazy bastard. The job has been really
tough, I don't think that the other blokes in the office wanted
an outsider in the job so they're just deliberately obtuse. Once
in a while I head off to the golf driving range after work and
spend an hour or two just hammering little white balls, then I
have to lie to Emm and tell her I've been working late. I just
can't bare being in the house these days."
     "Ahhh," I interjected, "it sounds to me like someone
is falling seriously short of nookie."
     "It's not funny!" he groaned, "Since the baby's come
I just feel knackered all of the time. When Emm does try to
get close to me in bed I'm so tired I find it hard to keep my
eyes open. Whenever I'm in the mood she's usually had a hard
day and tells me I'm being insensitive, but I don't think that
I've had this little sex since I was a teenager."
     "What you need is an affair, I reckon," suggested
Dave, with a wink, "a little bit on the side would do you the
world of good."
     "Look at this, Mr. Monogamy himself giving advice
like that." I laughed, David had been staunchly faithful to
Tracy, his sweetheart since his schooldays.
     "Well I'M not the one who's not getting any!"
     "So," I turned to Andy and wiggled my eyebrows,
"any likely lovers come your way recently?"
     "That's just not funny, Mark. I've got a wife and a
young boy, what sort of a git would it make me if I took a
lover?"
     "Well, I always saw you as a sort of honest, but
slightly gittish person."
     "Sod off."
     "I just think that Dave might have a point, not
necessarily about having an affair, but an outside interest
might be good, something other than taking your aggression
out against golf balls, that just sounds too sadistic for my
taste. . ."
     "I like the driving range!"
     "There's a woman there isn't there?" laughed Dave.
     Andy looked shocked then he smiled.
     "Of course there is, golf isn't exclusively a male sport
you know."

     We reached a slope which had pine trees below us and
bracken sweeping up the other side of the path. In a few
moths time they would burn it all back, I never quite knew
why they did that, but every autumn, regular as clockwork the
hillside had the smoky earthy smell of burning undergrowth.
There were a couple of minute silence as we plied on each
deep in our own thoughts, the track was slightly muddy here
and was speckled with horse tracks. There was a chatter of
birds in the canopy above us and every so often the path
would turn into a swarm of wood ants.

     "The girl who runs the driving range is quite pleasant."
Andy mentioned, attempting to sound offhand, but failing
miserably.
     "What do you mean?" interrogated Dave, he suddenly
seemed slightly angry.
     "I just. . ."
     "What's she like?" I enquired.
     "Just a normal girl, I don't know why I even
mentioned it."
     "Does she work there or is it a hobby?"
     "I think that she plays the violin, but apparently it's
very difficult to get work as a musician these days, so she
works on and off at the driving range and the golf course
down the road."
     "Do you fancy her?" asked Dave, still sharply.
     "She's an attractive girl, but no, I love and adore my
wife." he answered coldly, it was clear that he thought Dave
was pushing his luck somewhat.

     We came out into the open once more and found that
we were near the peak, a couple of hundred yards ahead we
could see the little rock marker that they place at the highest
point of each hill. Etched into the stone were little arrows
pointing out the directions of the cities and towns which were
visible from this point on a clear day.
     The gloomy air lifted once more and we looked about
us, struck dumb by the landscape and the distance of the
horizon.

     The conversation on the way back hinged on the safe
topics of football and cricket and laughing we arrived back at
the campsite to find our tent had blown over. Andy rubbed the
back of his neck which was still stiff from the night before.
     "Why don't we see if we can find a nice bed &
breakfast around here. I really feel the need for a nice, long,
hot, shower."
     We all agreed and having packed up the tent and
camping equipment I drove into Malvern. There was a whole
street of little converted houses, some of them seemed to think
of themselves more as little hotels than bed & breakfasts. We
opted for one which was advertising that it had a games room.
     The games room turned out to be a small back room
with a table and a bookcase with tatty copies of fiction
paperbacks. In a plastic box tucked away in the corner was a
Monopoly set, a pack of cards which was missing the two of
clubs and a chess set with a little paper book of the rules. We
decided to see if we could find a pub. The owner reminded us
seriously as we left that she bolted the front door at 10:30
sharp. We nodded seriously and stumbled into the small
village, feeling cleaner and altogether happier at the prospect
of spending the coming night in a real bed.

     "I think it's important that I clarify the thing about the
girl and the golf range." slurred Andy over his fourth pint, "it's
quite peculiar. I'm in my late twenties with a wife and a child
and suddenly I'm a adult. I'm working nine till six for my
family at home. You just begin to feel, oh, I can't explain it.
It's as though you're stuck in a rut and the next 18 years of
your life are already planned out. I love it in some ways, but
I miss being a  young man'. It's not as though I did much
when I was younger though. So it probably just boils down to
regret."
     "You are rambling now, what about the girl?" I
reminded him. He took a long sip of lager and then continued.
     "It's not as though I want to fuck her or anything like
that." he whined, "I mean, it's not even vaguely that sort of
situation." he was beginning to slur his words quite badly.
     "So what have you got to  clarify' about her then?"
asked Dave, who had lost the thread of the conversation some
way back.
     "She just makes me feel like there will be other things
to look forward to. Like when we were up on the
mountainside, you kept asking all these questions and they all
just boiled down to whether I wanted to get into her black
tights. I just felt so angry because you weren't even listening.
Then we all stopped talking and I fumed for a while. Then I
saw the trees and the sky and it all felt so fresh and
unexpected. That's what it feels like when I talk to her. The
strange thing is that she wears these dark black tights, I can't
keep my eyes away from them. I catch myself glancing down
at them so often it's embarrassing."
     "I'm sorry." I hiccupped, "I just don't follow what you
mean. All I seem to be hearing is that over the last eight years
you've lost your sex drive and developed a penchant for
women's black tights and the open air?"
     But he was lost in thought gazing into his glass, and at
that moment the light was warped by the fluid. For a split
second I saw the pair of black tights and then it reverted to the
distorted image of the pub. It was then that I knew I'd had too
much to drink.

©1998 Mark Sexton