Hi all, this the second option for the opening of the new thing. More direct, less description, but is it as hooky as the slow build, or more hooky? (This is very rough, don't worry about thon English and gramma )
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It was just as darkness was falling, up at the second waterfall, when Snoops found a baby in the glen. Lying under a bower of ivy, the collie’s bark brought Jim through the thick bracken to where Snoops was standing, tail going back and forth, a flash of white in the darkness.
Jim pushed back the bracken, sure it would be a fox cub – Snoops had form for finding such things – or a frog. But, there, fists balled, wrapped in a plain white sheet lay a baby. Very young, if he was any judge, maybe close to just born.
He leaned on his stick and listened. The wind through the trees, the occasional swish of tyres on the road above but no slamming of a door, or the start of an engine, to show that someone had left the baby and returned to the road - but no one had passed him on the way up through the glen, either.
“Hello!” he yelled. “Anyone there?” But there was no answer. Snoops looked at him, and then the baby, and back at Jim, and he nodded. “Aye.” The baby would did of exposure, left here.
He leant down and pushed back the long grass that half-covered the baby. The blanket wasn't damp; the baby had been just left. Long out of practice – it had been twenty-odd years since Lauren had been a baby, and her own children hadn’t been even born when the accident had happened, and with that thought the world went into a spin around Jim, and he had to take a breath and a moment before he was able to reach for the child again.
Carefully, he lifted the baby, remembering to support its head. The glen around was still silent, no late-calling bird, or early evening mammal making noise in the bushes. What would cause a person to leave their baby here? If he and Snoops hadn’t come along – and they didn’t always; he hated to admit it to himself but the climb up to here, following the river that thundered over two waterfalls and through the glen, right down to his house, was more than he liked to do some nights. His balance wasn’t what it had once been and he was acutely aware that if he fell, there would be no Joan waiting in the house with his dinner in the oven to miss him.
“If you’re here,” he said, into the air. “I’ll take the wee one down to Glen House, at the bottom. You’ll see it, it’s the house just before the village.” More in the glen than the village, truth be told, making him and Snoops feel that the glen was their home as much as the house, and only borrowed by those that visited, the families, and the walkers, and the wild swimmers who turned up even in the middle of winter, the mad eejits, getting changed in the cold air with all their bits hanging out.
No answer, but he could imagine her listening, maybe set back in the bushes. Maybe she was a young mum, taken aback at the arrival of the baby and in a panic. She might need a doctor herself, and the baby checked over – although it felt solid in his arms and didn’t appear distressed. Its breaths, too, were steady and he could feel the warmth of the child, snuggled in the blanket.
“You go first,” he told Snoops. It would be hard enough getting down without his stick to help – he had no hands free, not even for the railing – without the dog tripping him up. Snoops headed down, the streak of white on his tail the only sign of where he was as he wove to and fro across the path, never stopping, always on the move. Jim took his time. The wooden steps, cut into the cliff face, were wet from the damp autumn air, and slippery. The railing, on one side, gave a false sense of security; it wasn’t strong at the best of times. He reached the first section of path and stumbled along. It really was getting dark now. He clutched the baby against his chest, hoping he’d past another of the villages on their nightly dark walk. Stephen Drake and Finn were often out late, but there was no sign of them, of course.
Another flight of steps, this one longer and twisted past tree roots, led to the first waterfall, the spray hitting his face telling him exactly where he was on the path. The pool at its foot was still, no swimmers today, and the smell of peaty water heavy in the air. With relief, he made it to the last section of the path, over the little footbridge that was well used by tourists and sturdy. Snoops waited at the end, lapping from the river below. It didn’t matter how much water was left out for him in bowls; the dog liked the river water better.
Still no one passed. Jim supposed he should keep walking, down the path into the village, and get someone to help him. What was he supposed to do with a baby, a man of his age on his own? He barely knew what to feed one. But his right leg had gone numb. It would stiffen and, he knew, could give way, spilling the baby onto the path. Instead he followed the glen round to the gates of his house and down the path to his back door, pushing it open. He’d never locked it. He had little enough to steal and, besides, who’d know it was open?
He went through the kitchen to the living room and the good rug that Joan had bought not two months on a spending spree that he’d complained about at the time and now wished she was alive to do again. His throat tightened but, for once, he had something else to concentrate on with the baby still held against him and he found that he was glad of that distraction; there had been little enough before this.
He laid the baby on the rug. It was quiet, watching him, not even grizzling. He sank into his chair as Snoops lay beside the child, hunched and guarding.
“Well,” said Jim. “What do we do now?”
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It was just as darkness was falling, up at the second waterfall, when Snoops found a baby in the glen. Lying under a bower of ivy, the collie’s bark brought Jim through the thick bracken to where Snoops was standing, tail going back and forth, a flash of white in the darkness.
Jim pushed back the bracken, sure it would be a fox cub – Snoops had form for finding such things – or a frog. But, there, fists balled, wrapped in a plain white sheet lay a baby. Very young, if he was any judge, maybe close to just born.
He leaned on his stick and listened. The wind through the trees, the occasional swish of tyres on the road above but no slamming of a door, or the start of an engine, to show that someone had left the baby and returned to the road - but no one had passed him on the way up through the glen, either.
“Hello!” he yelled. “Anyone there?” But there was no answer. Snoops looked at him, and then the baby, and back at Jim, and he nodded. “Aye.” The baby would did of exposure, left here.
He leant down and pushed back the long grass that half-covered the baby. The blanket wasn't damp; the baby had been just left. Long out of practice – it had been twenty-odd years since Lauren had been a baby, and her own children hadn’t been even born when the accident had happened, and with that thought the world went into a spin around Jim, and he had to take a breath and a moment before he was able to reach for the child again.
Carefully, he lifted the baby, remembering to support its head. The glen around was still silent, no late-calling bird, or early evening mammal making noise in the bushes. What would cause a person to leave their baby here? If he and Snoops hadn’t come along – and they didn’t always; he hated to admit it to himself but the climb up to here, following the river that thundered over two waterfalls and through the glen, right down to his house, was more than he liked to do some nights. His balance wasn’t what it had once been and he was acutely aware that if he fell, there would be no Joan waiting in the house with his dinner in the oven to miss him.
“If you’re here,” he said, into the air. “I’ll take the wee one down to Glen House, at the bottom. You’ll see it, it’s the house just before the village.” More in the glen than the village, truth be told, making him and Snoops feel that the glen was their home as much as the house, and only borrowed by those that visited, the families, and the walkers, and the wild swimmers who turned up even in the middle of winter, the mad eejits, getting changed in the cold air with all their bits hanging out.
No answer, but he could imagine her listening, maybe set back in the bushes. Maybe she was a young mum, taken aback at the arrival of the baby and in a panic. She might need a doctor herself, and the baby checked over – although it felt solid in his arms and didn’t appear distressed. Its breaths, too, were steady and he could feel the warmth of the child, snuggled in the blanket.
“You go first,” he told Snoops. It would be hard enough getting down without his stick to help – he had no hands free, not even for the railing – without the dog tripping him up. Snoops headed down, the streak of white on his tail the only sign of where he was as he wove to and fro across the path, never stopping, always on the move. Jim took his time. The wooden steps, cut into the cliff face, were wet from the damp autumn air, and slippery. The railing, on one side, gave a false sense of security; it wasn’t strong at the best of times. He reached the first section of path and stumbled along. It really was getting dark now. He clutched the baby against his chest, hoping he’d past another of the villages on their nightly dark walk. Stephen Drake and Finn were often out late, but there was no sign of them, of course.
Another flight of steps, this one longer and twisted past tree roots, led to the first waterfall, the spray hitting his face telling him exactly where he was on the path. The pool at its foot was still, no swimmers today, and the smell of peaty water heavy in the air. With relief, he made it to the last section of the path, over the little footbridge that was well used by tourists and sturdy. Snoops waited at the end, lapping from the river below. It didn’t matter how much water was left out for him in bowls; the dog liked the river water better.
Still no one passed. Jim supposed he should keep walking, down the path into the village, and get someone to help him. What was he supposed to do with a baby, a man of his age on his own? He barely knew what to feed one. But his right leg had gone numb. It would stiffen and, he knew, could give way, spilling the baby onto the path. Instead he followed the glen round to the gates of his house and down the path to his back door, pushing it open. He’d never locked it. He had little enough to steal and, besides, who’d know it was open?
He went through the kitchen to the living room and the good rug that Joan had bought not two months on a spending spree that he’d complained about at the time and now wished she was alive to do again. His throat tightened but, for once, he had something else to concentrate on with the baby still held against him and he found that he was glad of that distraction; there had been little enough before this.
He laid the baby on the rug. It was quiet, watching him, not even grizzling. He sank into his chair as Snoops lay beside the child, hunched and guarding.
“Well,” said Jim. “What do we do now?”
