Goodmans Hotel

***

On Sunday morning, undeterred by more snow, Vincent was keen to head inland to a little town called Pitlochry, and if the road was clear enough to continue up to the mountain pass of Killiecrankie. Part of his reason for wanting to go there was to investigate the area as a potential stopping point for coach excursions from Dunblane, and we were all in favour of an outing of some kind. Snow lay on the roadside verges and surrounding fields, thickening as we drove on towards the mountains, Darren and I following Vincent's hired car in the van. The sky was clear and the forecast promised a sunny day, but at the Killiecrankie Visitor Centre a keen wind made us shiver as we left the safety and warmth of the vehicles.

From the car park a footpath, lightly covered with snow, led uphill through some woods. Lizetta and Darren wanted to walk, but on the assumption we would not venture far on foot in such cold weather I had brought only my town shoes and would have to stay behind. In his usual helpful way Vincent offered to keep me company and suggested that he and I take the van to a pub we had passed on the edge of the town, leaving them the car to drive down later. 'A lot of these country places won't serve food after two, so we'll be able to make sure of having a few sandwiches for you when you turn up,' he suggested.

Feeling had already gone from my feet by the time we reached the van, and I jiggled them up and down on the floor to restore the circulation before setting off. As Vincent had foreseen the pub did not serve food after two, but the landlady willingly wrapped plates of sandwiches in cling-film for us to eat when we were ready. We settled at a table near the radiator. 'It is cold,' he commented. 'You're not the outdoor type really, are you?'

'Something of a city boy, that's true. I'm not that bad, my shoes were the problem, not an aversion to exercise.'

'Walking is a hobby of mine, but I have to confess to an ulterior motive. It gives me an excuse to get away from the family for a few days. For years I've met up with a group of old school friends, six or seven of us, to go walking in the countryside. Several of us invent additional outings from time to time and provide each other with alibis so we can get away from home for other purposes. That's how this weekend was possible. Not that I'm proud of the deception. Things at home have not been easy since my boy with Downs Syndrome was born. My wife has to do most of what's necessary for him. Her outlook on life has changed; she lost interest in the physical side of our relationship after he was born.'