Harold was an old man. Not a walker, let alone a pilgrim. Who was he hoping to fool? He had spent his adult life sitting in confined spaces. His skin stretched like a million tessellations over tendons and bones. He thought of all the miles between himself and Queenie, and Maureen’s reminder that the furthest he had ever walked was to the car. He thought too of the Hawaiian shirt laughing, and the businessman’s scepticism. They were right. He didn’t know the first thing about exercise, or Ordnance Survey maps, or even the open land. He should pay his bill and take the bus home. He closed the bedroom door without making any noise and it was like saying goodbye to something he hadn’t even started. As Harold crept downstairs to the reception, his shoes on the carpet made no noise at all.

♦

He was replacing his wallet in his back pocket when the door of the breakfast lounge burst open. The waitress emerged, followed by the two grey ladies and the businessman.

“We were worrying you’d left,” said the waitress, smoothing her red hair and slightly out of breath.

“We wanted to say bon voyage,” piped up the plump lady.

“I do hope you make it,” said her tall friend.

The businessman pressed his card into Harold’s palm. “If you make it as far as Hexham, you should look me up.”

They believed in him. They had looked at him in his yachting shoes, and listened to what he said, and they had made a decision in their hearts and minds to ignore the evidence and to imagine something bigger and something infinitely more beautiful than the obvious. Remembering his own doubt, Harold was humbled. “That is so kind,” he said softly. He shook their hands and thanked them. The waitress nipped her face towards his and kissed the air above his ear.

It was possible that as Harold turned to leave, the businessman snorted or even grimaced, and it was also possible that from the breakfast lounge came a shout of laughter, followed by a suppressed giggle. But Harold did not dwell on that; such was his gratitude, he heard and laughed with them. “I’ll see you in Hexham,” he promised, and threw a large wave as he strode towards the road.

The pewter sea lay behind, while ahead of him was all the land that led to Berwick, where once again there would be sea. He had started; and in doing so Harold could already see the end.

5

Harold and the Barman and the Woman with Food

It was a perfect spring day. The air was sweet and gentle and the sky stretched high, an intense blue. Harold was certain that the last time he had peered through the net drapes of Fossebridge Road, the trees and hedges were dark bones and spindles against the skyline; yet now that he was out, and on his feet, it was as if everywhere he looked, the fields, gardens, trees and hedgerows had exploded with growth. A canopy of sticky young leaves clung to the branches above him. There were startling yellow clouds of forsythia, trails of purple aubrietia; a young willow shook in a fountain of silver. The first of the potato shoots fingered through the soil and already tiny buds hung from the gooseberry and currant shrubs like the earrings Maureen used to wear. The abundance of new life was enough to make him giddy.