I wasn’t aware of David Nicholls’ reputation as one of the nicest men in publishing, but before we had even spoken, I was thinking it. Neither of us could work our Zoom link, and after panicked texts and 15 minutes of faffing, he insisted we do a video call so we could see each other – “it’s nicer” – even offering to continue the interview while walking to his next appointment. It didn’t come to that, but it would have been fitting given walking is a central theme in Nicholls’ latest novel.
is told from alternating perspectives of two middle-aged characters, both divorced and both, although loath to admit it, lonely: 38-year-old Marnie, a sardonic London copy editor and the more reserved (and more wounded by his loneliness) Michael, a 42-year-old geography teacher from York. The two are introduced by a mutual friend, Cleo, who has rounded up a party for a walking trip across northern England. Michael, the diehard walker among them, and sceptical at the amateurs Cleo has assembled, has decided to secretly keep walking beyond the planned three-day itinerary, and the reluctant Marnie, who has packed dresses and even heels alongside her GORE-TEX accessories, initially plans to drop out after one day.
But gradually, as they tramp across hills and dales, past lakes and across moors, occasionally in driving rain, they realise they’re both enjoying themselves, and soon develop feelings for each other. Like all his novels, it’s full of rapid-fire banter, recognis.
