Story - It's Never Too Late

 "Don't worry about all that stuff Mum, we'll sort everything out for you.  Doug'll get all the money side organised, I'll go through Dad's clothes and stuff with you, and Doug can sell the car."

"Leave the car please."

"Why?  When either of us come back we'll have our own cars with us."

"I know.  I just want you to leave it for now.  No, you can help me get the ownership transferred into my name, is that difficult?"

"No, it's not difficult, but why would you want to?  You don't drive so it's just going to be sat there as a drain on your money."

"I'm going to learn."  Susan and Doug looked at each other, and turned back to their mother with carefully composed expressions of concerned patience.

Doug spoke slowly, as if he were addressing a particularly dim brexshiteer.  "Why do you want to learn now, after all this time?  We think it might be a bit risky... you know?"

"At my time of life?" snapped Sheila.

"Yes, well no, well, it is quite ... late..."  His voice trailed away.  When his mum looked at him like that he felt about six again.

"Mum..." Susan tried to add her voice, but was swiftly cut off.

"I've thought about this and I know what I want to do.  Stop treating me as if I'm senile and decrepit."

"But it's so soon after..."  She was cut off almost immediately.

"And I'm still in shock from Rob's death?  Of course I am, but this is something I decided a long time ago.  When he was gone, if he went before me, I'd finally get the freedom I've wanted."  Her forty-something children looked at her with a mixture of surprise, sympathy and sheepishness.  "You probably don't even know that I took lessons long before either of you appeared.  But your father rubbished my attempts to the point where I lost all my confidence and gave up.  Never tried again.  He was always there to take me where I needed to go, or at least to the places he said I needed to go.  I'm going to be able to make my own decisions now.  I have plans."

Any further objections were firmly suppressed and her children knew they were beaten.  They'd do what they could to help and advise, but there was no doubt about who was in charge.  

Three weeks after the funeral Sheila had her first lesson.  Hamish, the instructor, was an old friend so he'd been able to slot her in early.  Between lessons she pestered everyone she knew to ride shotgun while she learned to take charge of Rob's old Alfa.  And even she wondered why she felt so confident, so determined, so capable.  Friends and family had to get to grips with this new Sheila, who had opinions of her own and goals in her life.  

She passed.  First time.  Hamish beamed.  Almost as much as Sheila.  After the first outings he'd never doubted her, had seen how quickly she took to driving, how much she'd absorbed in all those decades in the passenger seat.  

Back home she wanted to go out in the Alfa.  Was tempted by the idea of going it alone, going solo.  But there was another temptation too.  Art Baker, a widower who lived a few doors down on the other side, had been one of her most enthusiastic shotgun riders.  Maybe he'd like to go for a spin?  She savoured the cliche in her mind.

He would.  They did.  And together they planned a road trip.  Rob had hated the idea of road trips, so they'd never gone.  She looked forward to telling Susan and Doug.

Story - Fire Starter?

 

We reached the top of the rise and looked around.  With the same result as we'd had on the one before and the one before that.

"Shit" said Davey, his vocabulary more limited after each climb.

"Not only shit, but more of the same shit as last time" I added, my lexicon as exhausted as his.

"We are lost.  We are definitely lost."  Raj's contribution was more to the point and vocalised what we'd all been thinking for the past hour or more.  The sun had been getting lower, and we'd been getting increasingly desperate over the past sixty minutes, as our predicament became clearer.  We looked at the rolling anonymous horizons, we looked at each other.  As one we checked our phones, and back to one another, each showing the same blank expression.  As blank as our signal bars.  My juice was getting low too.

"Do we accept that we are not going to get back tonight?"  One of us had to ask and it might as well be me.  More looks, and resigned nods.  There was no discussion to be had on that one.  "So we need to try and shelter and see what we can do when it's light again.  Either of you done anything like this before?"

Simultaneous snorts of derision.  At least we were still functioning as a unit.  We were city boys, street smart and hill hopeless.  What had made us decide to go on a hiking weekend was a discussion to be had another time, but for now it was our forlorn status that held the spotlight.

We managed to have a sensible, almost panic-free, discussion and swiftly came up with a short list of statements of the bleedin obvious.

1.  It would be dark soon and we could get into real trouble if we were still walking by then

2.  It would be cold soon and we had little more with us that the clothes we stood up in

3.  It would be dinner time soon and we had hardly any food with us

4.  It was going to be the worst night of our lives

"So we need to find the most sheltered spot we can within the next ten minutes, see if we can get a fire going, and share out what little we have to eat.  Agreed?"  There wasn't anything to disagree with.  We found an almost cave like hollow on the slope that looked like it might face west (by city boy reckoning).  Just big enough for three to lie down, some cover if it did rain, and, at least for now, hidden from the worst of the wind.

There was some scrub and bushes a bit further down, so Davey and I went down to get something that would burn while Raj tried to arrange our packs into something resembling a rabbit's bedroom, and worked out how much sustenance there was (if you count crisps, biscuits and lager as sustenance).  

We soon returned with armfuls of combustibles, and did another un for more before the darkness cut us off.  When we got back Raj had 'built' (thrown together) something that might do the job.

"Right, who's got matches or a lighter?"  My hopeful voice was the brightest thing about the night, with clouds obscuring moon and stars.  

"Not me" from Davey.

"None of us smoke" pipes Raj.

"And none of us had a clue what we were doing coming out here." I added, echoing the hive mind.  "What per cent have you got on your phones?"

Twenty three for Davey, seventeen for Raj, a mere twelve from my Samsung.  We had chargers with us, but...

"How do we light a fire?  Anyone been a boy scout?  Fan of Bear Grylls?  Watched I'm a celebrity?  Anyone?"  Nobody dibbed or dobbed.

"All I know is you rub two sticks together or bang stones.  Or something."  Davey wasn't exactly Wikipedia.  "Oh, and you can use a magnifying glass and the sun, eh?"  It was probably as well he couldn't see the expressions on our faces.

"Kindling."  The word came to me from some ancient knowledge.  Pushed to explain I tried as best i could.  "It's sort of easy to catch fire stuff, like paper and things, that then gets the woody bits going.  You light the kindling first to start the fire."  I might not be right, but the others wouldn't know anyway.  "Raj, haven't you got a notebook?"

"Yeah, but..."

"Rip it up, tear it into strips and make a wee pile of them.  Davey, you've got most juice so we best use your phone as the torch for now, so Raj can see what he's doing and look see if there's any sticks in that pile that look rubbable.  While you do that I'll use the rest of mine to look for some rocks to bang together.

Tasks completed we set about it like the cavemen we weren't.  Twenty sparkless minutes went by, three idiots looking defeated in the ever fainter light of Davey's beam.  

"We'd best eat something and try to get some sleep.  I really, really hate to say this, but it's huddle up time guys, but even that's a step up from hypothermia."  They weren't keen, but the freezing to death option was a strong motivator.  We ate our subtle repast, with first my, then Davey's phone giving out.  Time to make our bed and lie in it.

I didn't know if I'd be able to sleep or not, and lay there trying to hold Raj close for warmth, and ignore all the weird sounds out there.  Where was a friendly police siren when you needed one?

"Aw, fuckin hell, I don't believe it!" shouts the weird and scary voice of Davey Munroe.

"What, what?" says a fearful Raj and I.

"Don't know if I should laugh or cry."  Remember that pub we stopped in in that unpronounceable village?"

"Uh huh".

"Remember me saying how old fashioned the place was to have books of matches with their name on them?"

"Uh huh".

"Well... "

"Well??" says a pissed off Raj

"Remember me putting one of them in my pocket?  Because I didn't, but I just stuck my hand in for warmth and that must be what this is."

Raj sat up fast and had his phone out and the light on, eager to see this fabulous treasure uncovered by the intrepid David.  Matches.  A whole book of matches.  

"Thank you old world" I said.

It still took three city boy goes to get the bloody thing alight, but we had a fire going.  There was enough power left in Raj's phone for one more trip to the fuel source, and we had sufficient to keep it going for a while.  We decided to take turns staying awake to ensure it didn't go out and I went first.  Because I wanted to feel smug about kindling.

The city boys would survive the night.