Chapter 56
On the peak of Coniston Old Man, Simon threw off his day sack and collapsed in heap by the trig point. Offered an option, he refused the water and gulped down half the contents of a sports drink. Nicks stared at the imposing Dow Crag opposite.
“Why couldn’t we stop when we were at that lake?” Simon gasped.
“It wasn’t a lake. It was a tarn,” Nicks replied quietly as he scanned the Irish Sea with his mini binoculars.
Si shot him a caustic glance. “Oh! Ok...why couldn’t we stop when we were at that tarn?”
“Because if I’d let you sit down you wouldn’t have wanted to get back up again,” he replied then lowered the binos.
They were silent for several minutes, Simon flat on his back, Nicks admiring the panorama. With the Isle of Man to the west, Helvellyn to the north, he occasionally nodded to fellow travellers. Eventually, he took a deep breath and said, “Have you seen this absolutely beautiful view?”
Simon peered at the horizon. “Yeah, lovely, I’m sure,” he said then took several gulps of water.
Recovering some energy, he delved into his bag. “Right, I’m breaking out the food. What do you want first? Coronation chicken or ham, cheese and tomato or chicken tikka. I’m having the cheese and onion crisps, you can have the salt and vinegar.”
Nicks caught the packet Si threw at him. “I’ll have a ham, cheese and tomato with a tikka wrap,” he replied. “You breaking out the coffee?”
A nod. “How come I had to carry all this?”
Nicks stuffed a handful of crisps in his mouth. “I’m carrying the water.”
Five minutes later, Simon was feeling better as he munched his way through a tikka wrap and sipped his second coffee.
“So, if God’s a spaceman, what’s your view on religion then?”
Nicks shook his head. “You just don’t give up, do you?”
“Just asking. Trying to make polite conversation. You should try it sometime.”
Nicks peered into the bag. “Yeah, well I will. Which one can I have?”
“The coronation chicken’s yours,” he mumbled and swallowed. “So, go on then.”
Simon put his head back and emptied the last of his crisps into his mouth.
Nicks chewed a mouthful of sandwich as he considered what he was about to say.
“Religion is like the Mafia. It’s a business. Generally speaking, it’s well-meaning enough. Serves to instil some core values in people at an early age but after that it’s divisive. It’s got very little to do with a belief in God. That’s just the big shiny silver thing used to distract people.”
He emptied his cup and shook it out before dropping it into the backpack. “Never confuse faith with religion.”
Si stuffed everything back in his bag. “Well, I did ask,” he said with a chuckle. “Which way? Straight back down?”
Nicks shouldered his rucksack. “Nope, we’re going over there,” he said, pointing to Dow Crag.
Simon blanched. “You can fuck right off! I’m not going up that.”
Nicks laughed. “No, you’re not. You need to be a rock climber for that. We’re going the gentle way, down that track and along the top. Come on!”
When they finally got back to the car park, Simon declared, “Gentle way my arse! Not far now, nearly there! You’re a lying bastard, Nicks,” then petulantly flung his kit in the boot.
“Pub, driver! And don’t spare the horses!” he commanded.
Outside the Sun, he sat impatiently at a table. A surreptitious smell of his T-shirt led to a scowl. Nicks placed the glasses down and took a seat.
Si leaned over. “Can you smell me?”
Nicks stuck his fingers in his diet coke and threw the ice on the floor; despite his request, the barman had been in auto mode.
“I’d rather not, if you don’t mind.”
“No! Do I smell?”
“I can’t smell anything from here.”
“Well, I can.”
“That’s because you’ve just had your nose up there. I don’t think anyone’s going to dash over, shout ‘stick ‘em up’ and stuff their face in your armpits.” He lit a cigarette. “I’ve got some deodorant in my bag if you’re so worried. Drink your pint and stop whinging.”
He watched Simon drink half the pint in one go. “I take it you needed that?”
“Fuck off.”
He thought he’d attempt some meaningless conversation. “You still living in the same dump?”
“No, I’ve got a new dump now.”
“Why don’t you move somewhere decent?”
“They’d just trash it, mate.”
“What is it with you and crazy women?”
“Don’t know. I think I’m doomed. There’s something about me that attracts them.”
“Yeah, desperation I think.” Nicks sipped his coke. “You still havin’ trouble with the last one?”
“No, I moved house after she broke in and cut all the legs off me trousers.” He finished his pint and plonked the empty on the table, an expectant look on his face. “On the bright side, I’ve got a cracking collection of shorts.”
When Nicks returned, Simon suddenly asked him, “Do you ever think about the people we er...”
“In what terms?”
“Well, do you ever feel sorry for them?”
“No.” He threw more ice cubes on the terrace. “Why?”
“I was just wondering. I do sometimes.”
“Don’t. They’d slot you in a blink of an eye if it suited their purpose.” A mouthful of cola then he lit another cigarette. “You should put that wasted energy into finding a nice girl but I think you’re attracted to the crazy ones.”
Simon contemplated the matter. “It’s just easier, early on. I don’t have to work so hard.”
“No, all the hard work comes later when you have to move, buy a new wardrobe and plan elaborate ways of avoiding them.”
Nicks suddenly laughed. “That one when you sauntered downstairs in the buff, pulled the curtains back, and there she was striding down the garden path always tickles me. How many hours were you hiding behind the couch?”
Simon couldn’t hide a little smile. “Two. Every time I had a peek to see if she’d gone I could see her peering in through the windows. Thank God for net curtains. She tried to kick the front door to death.” He shook his head. “I had to laugh though when I saw her hobbling off.”
“That was a nice place you had there, had a bit of character. Who’d you sell it to?”
“Some Detective Sergeant. He was well pleased until he came home and found her putting his windows in.”