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suppose so. We can call the RSPB when we get back: they'd definitely want to know about stuff like this going on - shooting hen harriers is illegal, and it's important to notify the authorities. I just wish we could identify the guy who did it. He shouldn't be allowed to get away with this. He should be prosecuted.'
'I could contact my mum,' Ben offered, trying to raise Annie's mood a bit. 'As she's an environmental campaigner, I bet she'd know people who would take an interest in all this.'
'Yeah, I guess,' Annie replied sullenly.
'I just--' Ben hesitated because he knew that what he was about to say would touch a nerve. 'I just don't understand why the RAF would be involved. Why are they shooting rare birds? It doesn't make any sense.'
'It's not the RAF,' Annie said through gritted teeth. 'I know it's not. They go out of their way to look after the environment up at Spadeadam.'
Ben gave her an involuntarily sceptical look. He knew what he'd seen, after all, and it had been Annie herself who had identified the guy's RAF combat dress.
'Don't look at me like that, Ben,' Annie warned him. 'I know you think I'm only saying this because of my dad, but I'm not. Think about it - there'd be an outcry if that amount of land was given over to military training without any regard for the environment whatsoever. There's some other explanation. There has to be.' She stood up, and Ben was alarmed to see tears filling her eyes. 'I'm going to bed,' she said. 'And tomorrow, we walk in a different direction. I never want to see Spadeadam again.'
As she stormed out of the room, Ben realized that the other occupants had all stopped talking and were staring at them. Slightly embarrassed, he sat down again and went back to contemplating his cup of tea. Despite the fact that half of him wanted to follow and have it out with her, he knew Annie well enough to realize that continuing the row now would be the worst thing to do, especially as he was pretty on edge himself. Stuff would be better in the morning, he hoped. Besides, he didn't blame her for being angry - he'd been as shocked as her when they saw the birds plummet to the earth, and like her he didn't feel any desire to head back towards Spadeadam.
'Spadeadam?'
Ben jumped. The voice seemed to have come out of nowhere. He looked up sharply and couldn't see anyone - for a moment he wondered if he had been imagining it.
'Been up to Spadeadam, did she say? The girl? The girl who just left?' The words seemed to tumble nervously over themselves.
Ben realized the voice was coming from behind him. When he turned to look at its owner, however, he had to catch his breath.
He recognized him at once, of course. The long floppy hair; the hook nose; the piercing green eyes; the grey overcoat that he wore despite the fact that it was quite warm in the common room. The ghostly old man from the railway bridge the previous day did not look quite so sinister close up, but that did not stop him from being spooky. He did not take his wide eyes off Ben, and the tic on his face seemed metronomic, like clockwork. Ben found the sudden shock of his presence so surprising that he was unable to answer; he just watched mutely as the old man walked round and took a seat on the sofa next to him, his wild eyes fixed on him all the time.
'I was just going to go to bed,' Ben said uncomfortably, desperate to get away but not wanting to appear rude. At these close quarters the old man was distinctly fragrant - Ben wondered what he was wearing under his overcoat, and noticed that his slip-on shoes were soiled, the bottom of his thin trousers torn.
The old man acted as if he hadn't even heard him. When he spoke again, it was in a conspiratorial whisper. 'Strange things happening at Spadeadam,' he said, his accent a curious hybrid of dialects. 'Always have been, ever since I can remember, ever since Blue Streak.'
Ben shifted uncomfortably in his seat. 'What's Blue--?' he started to say, but the old man continued to talk as though