Fyrish Monument, Alness

I'm not a massive fan of hillwalking.

Just walking is fine. Great exercise, of course. But, for me, it's a means to an end. A way to get to the shops. Or the pub.

But walking up a hill? For fun? Hard pass.

Did you know there are nearly 300 mountains in Scotland over 3000 ft? These behemoths are called "Munros", and there are some people who actually go out of their way to climb all of them, effectively collecting the set or "bagging" them? 

They just . . . walk, uphill, for hours on end. Get to the top, finally, take some photos, maybe have a picnic. And then just . . . walk back down again! It beggars belief, really. They'd probably say it was for the endorphins. But I can get those just doing a Tae Bo workout on YouTube for half an hour before walking to the pub. Seems far less of a wasted day to me!

Anyway, the hill that the Fyrish Monument sits on top of is nowhere near Munro status, thankfully. However, the trek uphill is still slowly killing me. My ankles hurt, I can feel blisters forming on my heels, and my thighs are burning. I've been out of breath pretty much since we left the car park.

"If we were in Portugal, I would not be doing anything like this right now," I pant at Nessa, who is also struggling. We're trailing at the back, while Owen strides ahead with Debbie and Michelle. "If I was doing any walking, it would be towards the bar to order another Pina Colada."

"I agree," Nessa nods. She smirks. "But if we hadn't ended up here, you wouldn't have been reunited with Mr Portpatrick over there."

"Don't," I groan. "You know he was the last person I wanted, or expected, to see."

"So you're not even a little bit pleased to see him?" My best friend asks, raising an eyebrow disbelievingly in my direction. Her voice softens. "You really liked him back then, Mir. I remember how smitten you seemed when you told me about his messages. I was so delighted for you when he came to find you that night; you were so happy you were practically glowing."

"Yep, I was. And then look what happened," I sigh.

"He said that he wants to explain himself, right? Can't you just hear him out?"

I grind abruptly to a halt at that. "Ness, you know better than anyone how much he hurt me; why would you even ask that of me?"

She shrugs. "Because he's here, and he actually wants to tell you what went down? Some people never even get a chance for that closure; wouldn't you rather know?"

"Hey, you two! Move your arses; we're almost there!" Debbie, of course. They're significantly ahead of us now. How are they finding this so easy?

As we hustle to try to catch up, I wonder once again if I really want to know what happened that summer in the Canary Islands. What really caused Owen to decide to stay in Lanzarote indefinitely rather than return as planned?

I'm just not sure I'm ready for the truth yet. Before, I could just tell myself he was a selfish arsehole, especially as time faded my memory of him, allowing me to warp and mould him into a villain. But, faced with him now, my real memories are flooding back. And, unfortunately - because I'm fighting it as much as I can - my true feelings.

I told myself, after everything that went on with Donnie, that I wouldn't allow myself to fall for another guy. And I've stuck to that vow. Unfortunately, there seems to have been a loophole there that didn't take Owen's existence, and the metaphorical candle I once held for him, into account.

We pass a tiny lochan as we continue up the hill and then encounter a massive dog. The dog looks like a German Shepherd on steroids and writhes around the ground in delight as we stroke it, looking up at us with massive adoring brown eyes. We laugh out loud when we ask the owner its name . . . Turns out she's a girl, and she's also called Mirren.

"Maybe Dog Mirren is your sign to be more trusting," Nessa sniggers as we finally reach the top of your hill. I can't resist pushing her, although apparently I don't know my own strength, and she nearly topples over. Oops.

The Fyrish Monument is right in front of me, and I'm forced to admit to myself that it's pretty cool: a grey stone structure consisting of three arches with a pillar on either side. It's an amazingly clear day today, and the view from up here is actually spectacular, I realise, spinning around to view the water below. "That's the Cromarty Firth down there," Owen says from behind me.

"Okay . . .with scenery like this, I'm maybe starting to finally understand why people climb hills," I murmur, pulling my phone out of my pocket to snap a photo. All my aches and pains have been temporarily forgotten.

Owen laughs, the sound sending a delighted shiver through my body. "It can get pretty addictive," he says. I'm still not convinced about hill-walking, but I could definitely get hooked on that voice in my ear, and it makes me move away from him, pretending I want to see the monument and view from a different angle. I'm sure I hear him sigh as I walk away.

I wait until everyone has regrouped until I head back towards him - safety in numbers and all that. "So . . . The workers had to carry the stones all the way up the hill?" Nessa is asking Owen.

"Surely not?" I gasp. I hadn't even considered how the monument had actually gotten up here.

"Well, they were hardly going to fly it up here," Debbie snorts. "I'm pretty sure helicopters weren't exactly commonplace in the 1700s, Mirren."

Walking up the hill had been hard enough without having to imagine carrying heavy pieces of stone at the same time. It sounds like some sort of Ironman challenge. I wince at the very thought.

"Do you want me to get a photo of the four of you in front of the monument while there's no one else here?" Owen asks.

Michelle nods. "Give him your phone, Mir," she tells me, noticing I still have mine out. Reluctantly, I hand it over . . . Of course, this triggers the memory of me passing his phone back to him all those years ago, and my gaze flicks up to him as our fingertips brush together. And I may be hopelessly out of practice, but it's still impossible for me to miss the longing that flashes in his eyes.

I feel like I've been sucker-punched in the gut. I don't know how he can even still like me when I've been nothing but a little bitch to him since we became reacquainted yesterday. In a way, it makes me judge him even more.

Why am I such an awful person?

We move over to the stone structure to pose in front of it, and while Owen lines up the shot, I take the opportunity to assess his appearance. No glasses today - he must be wearing his contacts - but that designer scruff is still darkening his handsome face. He was certainly in the Stubble Gods' good books the day they were giving that out. He's made good on his promise to ditch the uniform and is instead wearing a short-sleeved khaki shirt and jeans. He looks . . . Well, he looks fucking incredible actually, and I find myself briefly wishing we could rewind the clock ten years and actually rewrite the past after all.

He tells us to "say cheese" and we hold a couple of ridiculous poses while he snaps a few photos. I feel self-conscious and stiff -  as seems to be my default mode around him - but hopefully I look more relaxed than I feel.

"You probably should know that Debbie and Michelle have a bet going," Nessa tells me as we're retracing our steps towards the car park.

"What about?" I ask, only half listening. I'm too preoccupied with gritting my teeth against the pain of my blistered feet.

She laughs. "About you and Owen, of course. And how long it's going to take the two of you to get together."

I roll my eyes. "I hope they haven't staked too much money on it because I can promise you it ain't happening."

"We've only put like a tenner each in," Nessa assures me, and I narrow my eyes at her.

"Oh, 'we', is it? You traitor!"

She shrugs. "Just going with the odds!"

The fact that my friends are now betting on this makes me even more determined to avoid Owen. I'm very stubborn like that.

And then, like the idiot I also am, I walk into a tree. 

Okay, it's not quite as dramatic as that, but I'm not paying proper attention, too caught up in my own thoughts, and a sharp branch catches me across the left side of my forehead.

"Fuck!" I mutter. I put my hand up to my head and yep, I'm bleeding, of course!

"Mirren, you eejit!" Nessa exclaims. "You could have taken an eye out there."

"No shit," I say sarcastically. 

"Owen," Nessa calls out, ignoring my frantic pleas to not involve him, of course. "Mirren's had a little accident."

He's back at my side in a flash, practically before Nessa has finished her sentence. "Does it hurt?" He asks briskly, all business, pushing my hair back from my face so he can study the wound.

"My pride hurts more than anything else," I joke weakly, very aware of his hand in my hair.  He pulls a tissue from his pocket and hands it to me, reminding me of the night where he wiped my tears away. Is he part-man-part-tissue-dispenser?

"If you hold this against the cut, it should stop the bleeding. We're nearly back at the car park so we can clean the wound there." He turns and walks away as I realise this uber-efficient mode he's suddenly snapped into is also exceptionally attractive.

And so I find myself sitting on the bottom step of the bus just a few minutes later, while Owen Sullivan gently dabs antiseptic cream on my forehead. I tried to insist I could do it myself, but if I'm being completely honest, I didn't insist that hard. 

I might be the twat who walked into a stabby branch because I was - being totally transparent again here - too busy staring at Owen's arse, and I might be fooling myself into thinking I feel nothing for him . . . But I'm really liking having his undivided attention.

I also like the faint freckles sprinkled lightly across the top of his cheeks, his long curling light brown eyelashes, and the sincere concentration on his face as he tends to me. He's crouching beside me, and he's so close right now that I realise I could steal a kiss before he even had a chance to object.

And, in this moment, I know one of my friends is probably going to win that bet after all. Because, despite everything, I'm not sure I can resist this guy much longer.

I hope you're enjoying the story! 💜