I’ve been in the Lake District a lot lately, especially the Ambleside area, where I did my teacher training. Walking up Stock Ghyll got me thinking about setting a novel right there, and I penned a first chapter. I’ve put aside my epic romance now it’s finished, before I think about where to send it. So … Stock Ghyll becomes Black Ghyll Falls and here’s the opener. What do you think?

Black Ghyll Falls by Paula Hillman

Chapter one

      Lia

There is no sound but the roar of water rushing down the ghyll. It travels with a destructive force, skimming pathways, drowning tree roots, tearing clumps of moss from rocks. Foam, silver-and-white, crashing towards its destination. Rain falling for six straight days. The lake is full. The railings hold me back while I take a moment to enjoy the sensation of icy spray on my face.

           The car is exactly where it was this morning. A small red hatchback, mud-splattered, with grimy windows and a half-used box of tissues on the back seat. I’d peered in on my way to work, hoping, hoping there was no one dead on the back seat. There wasn’t. The clearing at the foot of the falls isn’t for parking, so I’m surprised one of the village-watch crew hasn’t already had the car removed. The crew are a force for good, though it can feel intrusive. Either way, if the car isn’t moved soon, the soggy ground underneath its tyres won’t provide traction.

           There is another half mile uphill before I reach home. I stick to the road, where tree overhang is less dense, though the tarmac is saturated, water pooled around the leaf-clogged drains. I walk briskly, picturing an evening of locked doors, closed blinds and cosy reading. I resolve to telephone Georgie’s father about the car if it is still there in the morning. His attitude is that a policeman never retires, only morphs into neighbourhood watch or Samaritans. One word from him and the scruffy red hatchback blocking the public right-of-way will be gone.

           My house is part of a small, terraced enclave halfway up the road on the side of the fell. We have a shared lawn with stepping stones from each front door, and porches built from local slate. Tonight, rain has left glittering black pools on the grass. There are lights behind most windows, a welcoming glow that’s missing from my own life. As I fumble with my key, water cascades from the guttering and bounces off the porch gable. Opening the front door creates a wet puddle on the hall floor. I step inside and toe off my boots. It’s unlikely there will be any callouts tonight. The fells are tempting in all weathers but even the most intrepid walkers opt out of torrential rain. There’s no adventure to be found in sodden feet and the cold creeping through a leaky anorak zip.

           Once I’ve unravelled a roll of kitchen paper and created a pathway from the front door to the boot room, I hang up my parka and slip out of my waterproof leggings. I flick on the television and tune in to the news headlines. It’s a gloomy story of flooding in the Lancashire valleys and a jack-knifed lorry blocking three lanes of the northbound M6. I think about the abandoned car at the foot of the falls. If it had broken down, recovery should have happened by now. Other people must have noted it; perhaps they have informed the powers that be. It’s making me uneasy. Could someone be stuck on the pathway at the water’s edge? In this day of digital connection, there would have been a telephone plea for help by now. Unless it wasn’t possible. By the time I’ve changed into sweatpants and a fleecy jumper, and stuck a frozen pie in the oven, my mind is made up. I will send a message to Niall and see if he wants to send a small team out for a recce.

           My pager bleeps. A text message is in, a call to the police from a location at the top of Black Ghyll Falls. Mountain rescue team required, two people trapped, possible fatality. Georgie’s message follows closely behind: she will meet me at the bottom of the road by the Old Courthouse Gallery. From there, we are two minutes jog away from the base. Once we arrive, Niall will share more information with us and the rest of the team, and we can make some decisions. In the meantime, I run through my rituals: turn off the oven; flick on the kettle and make a flask of hot coffee; undress, tug on thermals then climbing trousers and arran sweater; pick up my torch. Deep breaths. No one will have died.   

          The police are already in attendance. I pass them on my way down the hill. They are sheltering in a patrol car with the wipers swishing and blue lights rotating. Their lack of urgency hints at less a fatality and more a pair of stuck walkers thinking it would be cool to do a ghyll scramble in the rain. Either way, a mountain rescue team have the expertise that police forces can only dream of. I like that. It makes me feel less embarrassed about my flaky past.

           Georgie is standing under the gallery portico, scrolling through her phone.

           ‘Howdy, Fox,’ she says, without looking up. ‘Rooney’s not sent any more information, so I’m guessing it’s nothing urgent.’ Water is dripping from the hood of her regulation waterproof parka. She is in the habit of addressing everyone by their surname. Including the MR team leader. Niall Rooney is a guy we look up to but he’s also our nemesis in terms of how the team is run. There can be no opposition; what he says is what happens.

           ‘Let’s get going, then.’ I take her arm. ‘Put your phone away. It’s getting soaked.’

           The earlier twilight has expanded to a thick darkness. There is no one about, though some of the windows above the shops show signs of life. One has an early Christmas tree and a stencilling of fake snow. This makes me smile. The Lake District hasn’t had a white Christmas since 2004.

           ‘Good day at work?’ Georgie is asking. ‘Mum says it’s hell-on-Earth at your place right now. Is she over-egging it?’

           ‘Not over-egging it exactly. But the new boy is trying everyone’s patience.’

           ‘In what way?’

           ‘Wherever they put him, he disrupts. They’ve even had him in nursery, to give everyone a break, but he flipped.’ I have to be careful what I say. Georgie’s mother is the headteacher of my school, and I’m not as fond of her. ‘Batting him about isn’t getting to the heart of the problem, in my opinion. But it’s easy for me to say, when I’m not responsible.’

           ‘If I know mum, she’ll be trying to make him fit into her schemes. Trying to batter the arrogance out of him and replace it with candyfloss. Something’s got to give.’ Georgie sends a sideways glance from under her hood. ‘I’m aware of my mother’s faults, Fox. It doesn’t make you the bad guy if you agree with me.’

           I shrug. Criticism shouldn’t come from someone who failed at the job.

           We arrive at the base in time to see Niall backing one of the Land Rovers out of the garage. The building resembles a slate and glass townhouse, with a pair of huge electric doors that lift to reveal our gear. I experience a feeling of exhilaration coupled with belonging. It’s potent enough to keep me coming back here, despite the risks. Judging by the languid way Niall is moving, there won’t be too much adrenaline on offer tonight.

           ‘Just us three and JJ needed for this one, ladies.’ Niall rests an elbow on the open window and peers at us, his chiselled expression at odds with his lack of haste. JJ is a quiet guy named James who has joined the team recently. He passed the Niall test easily, perhaps by being unobtrusive.

           ‘I’m wondering who the ladies are, Rooney.’ Georgie squares up for a challenge.

           ‘Not tonight, George, for fuck’s sake. The police are waiting for us at the bottom of the falls. Get your gear.’ Niall flicks his gaze to me. ‘The Landy’s loaded up for a waterside rescue. Put your kit on and fetch JJ. He’s radioing Langwathby to keep them informed in case anything develops.’

           ‘I’ve let the air ambulance know we’ve got a shout,’ JJ calls as I’m changing into my MRT waterproofs. ‘Not that they can do anything if there’s a fatal at the top of the falls.’

           ‘A fatal? Niall doesn’t seem overly troubled. Are we getting mixed messages coming through?’

           JJ stomps towards me, arms unbending. ‘It’s a bit obscure to be fair. And the Wi-Fi signal isn’t great at the moment. We need to get up the ghyll. Which won’t be easy because‒’

           ‘Because of the rain. I know.’

I slip on my helmet and head torch, then we hurry from the equipment room and jump into the back of the Land Rover. Georgie rides up front with Niall. The radio crackles but the words are indistinct. I think about the red car and wonder if it will prevent us from getting near to the foot of the falls. Not that it matters. The four of us are well used to scrambling up the rocky pathway, and the danger signs don’t apply to us. We have trained with a lightweight stretcher, but often climb the area for the fun of it. That I can do this without anxiety helps me feel better about myself and my shitty career choices.

           It takes minutes to arrive at the foot of the falls. The police officers jump from their car and greet us with the latest news: a call came in half an hour ago from someone on the fellside directly above the highest stretch of waterfall, a thirty-six-year-old male, cold but coherent; he had sight of a body.

           ‘Get the stretcher, Lia,’ Niall calls as he dives for the Land Rover’s boot. ‘George, you and JJ set off up the path. We’ll be right behind with the first aid and warm kits.’

I flip up my hood and sling the fold-up stretcher over my shoulder. My stomach rumbles with hunger and anticipation. It’s never good to retrieve a body. The guy who found it will be in a state of shock, and there’s little we can give in the way of solace until we get him back to the Land Rover. We’ve no information about whether this pair are friends or it’s a chance meeting. It could be a murder scene for all we know. The police officers’ concern seems to stretch no further than keeping themselves warm and dry.

           The ground is sodden, a slippery mashup of fallen leaves and mud. We put our heads down and march uphill, footsteps falling into a familiar pattern, pace picking up as we get control of our breath. The water roars past with a force, noise preventing communication, but we know where we are heading. I’m surprised when Niall breaks into a run and gets ahead of Georgie and JJ. They’re usually first on scene because of the extra bit of trauma training they’ve had. We’ve all got basic first-aid qualifications, but they’re first-responders. That responsibility would be too much for my shredded nerves.

           The gradient of the path increases as we move into a denser area of woodland. I switch on my headtorch, and shift the heavy stretcher pack to my other shoulder. In another hundred yards, the public right-of-way ends, and we will be scaling the ghyll in a different way. It is possible to reach the top of the falls by dropping down from the fellside. If this is what the walkers did, they would have found themselves stuck. Proper scrambling gear might have allowed them a descent without falling into the raging water and being jettisoned enough to break bones; the average walker doesn’t carry scrambling gear.

           Niall shouts a warning to anyone who might be perched above us on the falls, but no answer comes. He continues to call as we put together a basic belay which will allow us to climb the slippery rocks. We are hampered by his apparent preference for haste over safety.

           ‘What’s up with him,’ mutters Georgie from the depths of her hood. ‘Something feels off.’

           I peer into the darkness. ‘Not sure. Spooked by the thought of a body?’

           ‘Not his first though, is it.’

           JJ interrupts, voice clipped and tense. ‘He’s paranoid about a landslip, if you must know.’

           ‘Fair enough.’ Georgie tugs on the loop of rope above our heads. Niall has made it onto a ledge, and is hammering in another spike. He continues calling into the dark, though the roar of water is muffling every sound. We follow, one after another, putting our upmost concentration and care into every step. There is urgency, but we can’t sacrifice our own safety. It’s something Niall has drilled into us over the years. JJ is the newest member of the team, but he is as diligent as the rest of us.

           ‘I heard something,’ he says when we reach a flat boulder that looks out of place. ‘A voice, a cry. At least we won’t be looking at two bodies.’ He runs a hand over his face and manhandles the water from his beard. ‘It doesn’t make sense though does it?’ When we don’t answer, he continues. ‘Why come to the top of the falls and get stuck? Just head back the way you came and follow the fellside path down.’

           ‘Unless one of them took a tumble. A bad one.’ I shine my torch up to where Niall has stopped. He’s reached the highest point of the waterfall. We’ve been up there many times in daylight. It’s little more than a moss-covered rocky glade where the torrent hits a deep pool then bounces over a sill and plunges downwards. Beyond that is the steep but open fellside with the river in a different phase of its journey.

           ‘If one of them had taken a tumble, we’d see, wouldn’t we. There’s no one?’ Georgie has picked up on JJ’s mystified tone. She is interrupted by Niall’s shout. We scramble up the final rocks, leaving the belay in place. An overpowering smell permeates the rain. It is sickly-sweet yet rancid.

           Niall is crouched by a figure in dark clothing. It’s a man. He’s wearing a beanie and hooded sweatshirt. Hardly suitable clothing for protection against the teeming rain. He is in a sitting position on the ground at the side of the river. There is no sign of anyone else. The guy is shivering violently.

           I hunker down beside him. ‘I have coffee. Would you like some, sir?’ His response will tell me what I need to know. Incoherence will mean he is in the throes of moderate hypothermia and shouldn’t be given hot drinks; a coherent reaction will allow me to administer coffee.

           ‘I would,’ he stammers at the same time as giving a shaky sigh. He peers at me from under dark brows. ‘Your man over there’s looking at the body. Hideous, it was.’

I track his gaze to where Niall is kicking at the soft, muddy ground. His assessment of slippage had been correct. A fissure has opened up at the side of the water. What was a steeply inaccessible mudbank now has a gaping flap. And hanging half out of the dark fissure is a body.