Читать книгу The Book of the Bothy онлайн

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I lingered a while thinking how near I was to the rest of the world, yet how far removed I felt from it. Despite the early autumn warmth I felt myself tingle – a shiver or a burst of excitement, in my current predicament – I know not which one. But there I stayed, dwelling on this sensation just a little longer.

Eventually, I checked the time and was taken aback to realise it was already the next day – five past midnight to be exact. I thought of what other people my age would be doing on this, a Saturday night. Some would be out in the pub, surrounded by snippets of other people’s conversations – the yell of an overexcited storyteller in one corner, the hushed toned of a confession in another – others would be at home with their loved ones snuggled up on the couch, with the warmth of central heating, their faces turned multi-coloured by the glow of the light from the television. But me? I was here alone in a bothy, on my own mini-adventure.

I went inside and changed ready for bed, threw another log on the fire and began to boil some water so that I might make some hot chocolate. Then I caught sight of myself in the reflection in the window. I chuckled... I may be a lot older than five but I was lying before – I knew exactly what it felt to be Ellie, and it made me smile.