With incidents like this, the outcome was often much worse when it happened in the kitchen. There were too many weapons lying around handy. In this instance, a bloodstained carving knife had been tossed in the sink, where a trickle of water from the tap had splashed the blood into a jagged arc across the porcelain.
Sophie Pullen had been the first to see the danger that day. Its approach was slow and inevitable. And still they’d walked right into it.
The hike onto Kinder Scout had started the same way as it always did. The group had met at the Bowden Bridge car park outside Hayfield and stood for a moment to examine the memorial plaque on the rock wall, as if it was some kind of shrine. Darius Roth made a point of it, and they followed his lead, as always.
The Mass Trespass onto Kinder Scout started from this quarry 24th April 1932.
To Sophie, the group of walkers depicted on the plaque looked much like their own group, a leader striding ahead, a slightly disorganised rabble following behind. The sun cast the skeletal shadows of an oak tree onto the plaque, the remains of a few leaves now brown and withered. There was a wooden bench, too, inscribed with a poem that began:
They called themselves the New Trespassers Walking Club. That was Darius’s idea, of course. A homage to the original Kinder Mass Trespass. And he made sure they would never forget it, with these little rituals at the start and finish. This was Sophie’s fifth annual walk onto Kinder. But for some of the group, it was their first, which gave Darius the opportunity to explain the significance of the event all over again.
Sophie had said hello to the Warburtons, the middle-aged couple who’d booked a pitch for their caravan on the campsite, only a few yards from the car park. For her, they seemed to be the only normal people in the group, the ones she could have a reasonable conversation with, a chat on a subject that didn’t make either of them sound obsessive.
‘It’s a nice day for it,’ Pat Warburton had said, straightening her hat on her grey curls. ‘Let’s hope the sun lasts.’
‘I’m not sure it will,’ said Sophie.
Sam Warburton chuckled. ‘You’re always looking on the dark side,’ he said. ‘It will be a wonderful day. I can’t wait to get up on the moors.’
‘If he makes it that far,’ said Pat with an anxious frown. ‘He’s not as strong as he used to be.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
Sophie wasn’t sure how old the Warburtons were, but certainly in their sixties at least. They’d been coming on the walk for longer than anyone else, apart from the Gould brothers. Sam and Pat both carried hiking poles and wore matching orange Regatta shell jackets with cotton bucket hats. They walked at their own pace, never racing to get ahead of the others, the way some did. Yet the couple were also the most cheerful, enjoying every moment of their day without complaint or argument. That was why Sophie liked to talk to them. It was a refreshing change from Nick and Darius, and some of the others, who seemed to regard the walk as a competition.
Darius was waving his arms overhead like a tour guide to collect the group together. He wasn’t wearing a hat at all, probably so that his expensively coiffed blond hair could stir gently in the breeze. He was the tallest of the group anyway, so it was hard to miss him. Yet he always seemed to want to make himself bigger, and even more noticeable.
‘All right, guys and gals, it’s time for the off,’ he called.
Guys and gals? The phrase jarred with Sophie. That seemed to have echoes of the famous DJ who turned out to be a paedophile. Wasn’t that one of his catchphrases? Could Darius be ignorant of that, or didn’t he care?
But the two students cheered. Sophie glanced at them sourly, their eager faces grating on her. They were both wearing white Columbia Eco jackets, which they claimed were made from recycled water bottles and were free from chemical dyes. Sophie hadn’t worked out yet which of the students Darius was trying to impress. The short, dark one called Millie, or Karina, the taller blonde? Perhaps it was both. In their eagerness to please Darius, they might as well be identical.
Sophie supposed she ought to try to get a chance to talk to them, to find out more about them. There must surely be more. What were they studying at Manchester Metropolitan University, for a start? How had they come to be connected with this group? And how did they know Darius Roth? But Sophie had never asked.
Then her boyfriend, Nick, appeared at her elbow, smiling in anticipation. He looked flushed, his normally tanned skin slightly pinker than usual. He was very fit, exercised regularly at the gym and went for a run every day. Climbing to the top of Kinder Scout was effortless for him. Sophie already knew he would leave her behind before they reached the summit.
Nick hadn’t even bothered with a waterproof but had tossed on a leather bomber jacket, as if he was just strolling down to the pub. He’d bought a peaked Russian Army cap from Amazon, with a red hammer and sickle badge, and earflaps tied over the top. It was a personal jibe aimed at Darius, who so far had pretended not to notice it.
‘Ready, Soph?’ said Nick.
‘Of course.’
‘Hey, have you seen Liam Sharpe? He’s put weight on since last time.’
‘He’s got a new relationship,’ said Sophie. ‘A Hungarian chef.’
‘Oh really? I hope he can keep up. Darius will kick him out of the group otherwise.’
‘Darius doesn’t have the right to kick anyone out. We haven’t appointed him as our dictator.’
Nick laughed. ‘Trying telling him that. Darius does whatever he wants.’
The group were moving off, with Darius at the head. He turned to beam at his followers, flashing startling white teeth, which seemed to catch the sunlight. His wife, Elsa Roth, was close by as usual, but walking slightly behind him, fitting into his shadow, like a small boat catching the slipstream of a much larger vessel. She was dark and very pretty, with masses of wavy black hair tucked under the brim of her hat. She rarely smiled at anyone else. But when Elsa looked at Darius, Sophie saw something special, an expression beyond mere admiration.
Even Elsa’s choice of a burgundy monogrammed Gucci windbreaker seemed to say something about her relationship with Darius next to his Dubarry shooting jacket with a long royal-blue lambswool scarf tossed casually round his neck. Sophie estimated they were wearing the best part of fifteen hundred pounds between them just in their coats. Elsa’s Harris tweed Tilley hat alone had probably cost more than Sophie’s entire outfit.
A burst of laughter came from Theo and Duncan Gould. They looked almost like twins, though Sophie knew there were about five years between them in age. They had the same receding hairlines, similar greying beards and ancient Barbour waxed jackets. They were the only members of the group who wore gaiters, with elasticated ankles and stirrup straps that passed under the soles of their walking boots. They looked like experienced hikers, which was more than some of the group did. And the brothers never split up, but walked shoulder to shoulder, bulky shapes tramping steadily onwards.
The Goulds ran a plant nursery in Chinley and did a bit of landscape-gardening work. Sophie gathered that neither of them had ever married. She wondered what they talked about to each other as they walked, and what had made them both laugh out loud just now. If she could get closer, she might try to listen in.
The group turned left out of the car park onto Kinder Road and passed the hamlet of Booth, with its ancient sheep wash on the River Kinder.