Chapter 12 #2
As arranged, we meet the designer in her workshop, stopping in for a cup of tea, and sign for five items. Will’s quiet, and his usual charisma in these situations is lacking.
He’s perfectly polite, but I know the difference.
When I look at him, sitting in a sunbeam cast through the skylight of the leather workshop, he’s glassy-eyed and pale.
We don’t linger for more than half an hour, and I place the boxes of handmade leather items in the back of the Land Rover.
Will gets into the driver’s side in the meantime, and when I get into my seat again, I study him. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
I frown. “You look not great. I mean, you always look great. I mean… forget it. Look, we’ve only eaten crisps and road food. Maybe we should have a proper lunch before heading back to London.”
Will positively greens at the mention of food. “I’m not sure that’s a great idea.”
“Ha. I knew you weren’t feeling well. C’mon, let’s go into the village, at least, and stretch our legs. We don’t have to eat anything.”
We drive the five minutes into the village in silence. Will parks, then rests his head against the steering wheel over his folded arms, closing his eyes for a moment.
“Okay, now you’re legit scaring me. What’s wrong?” Frowning, my hand hovers over his shoulder, not sure whether to touch him. I pull my hand back. We don’t have a touching kind of relationship.
I hear him draw a couple of deep breaths. “I feel poorly,” he concedes at last. “I’m not sure I can do this.”
Even his suffering is kind of adorable. Who says “I feel poorly” outside of the nineteenth century? And I’m a museum pro. I should know.
“Huh. Right, I can see that. Not the first time a man’s used that line on me. What can I do?”
Will makes a sound between a laugh and a groan.
He doesn’t move or say anything for a moment.
Then, he springs out of the Land Rover, walks a few steps, and vomits into some shrubs along the side of the road.
Will stands out there, staring into the distance before he comes back to sag into the driver’s seat. He closes his eyes.
“Fuck, tell me what’s wrong.”
“Migraine.”
“You could have told me that. Do you want me to drive us back to London?” Admittedly, it’s right-hand drive, and I’ve never driven an SUV before, but I’d do it to get him back to London.
“No.”
“I know you’re precious about your car, but—”
“It’s… it’s the insurance.” Will’s blunt, grimacing. “You’re not on it.”
“I wasn’t the one who swerved back there, by the way.” But then I let it go because he looks like a whole mess.
I glance around. There’s a low building across from us, made of stone like the rest of the village, more or less.
It looks residential, terrace houses. There’s a corner shop and an antique shop, neither of which is too helpful.
I pull out my phone and look at nearby options.
There’s a pub with a hotel a short walk away from this parking area, along with a Boots.
Though nothing is too far in this village.
Which, given the current situation, is probably a good thing.
Will’s still sitting back in his seat, eyes closed, with his hair rumpled.
“’Kay. I’m making an executive decision. Stay right there.”
He makes no effort to move and stays right there without a peep of protest. I slide out of the SUV, determined.
Someone’s got to do the problem-solving here.
I walk down the sunny lane, following the map on my phone to the pub.
Seventeenth-century pub, according to Google, and it’s a cool old building.
I go in, and it’s everything you’d expect an old pub like that to be: dark, compact, wood-beamed.
I go to the bar, and the woman who’s working doesn’t seem to be much older than me.
The pub is busy on Friday afternoon, and I wait my turn in the queue.
At last, she turns to me, giving me the once-over, which ordinarily I would appreciate and bask in the attention. But now, I’m too worried for that. “Who do I talk to about getting a room at your inn?”
Honestly, it feels like I’m living a surreal sort of episode out of one of the thick fantasy books I like to read now and again, pulling up with my horse in the stables for a night in the tavern.
“Ooh, I don’t know if we have any rooms left. I mean, it’s July, the height of our season.” She nods at the busy pub. “We’re sold out. And they’re sold out across the way, too, at the hotel.”
“Shit.” My face falls, and I slump. I must look desperate, and she relents.
“I can check.”
“Please. My friend’s quite sick. I’d appreciate if you could.”
She nods and calls over her colleague, who goes off to investigate.
Meanwhile, I sit on a stool, glum. Who knew getting stuck in a postcard village could be such a downer?
I’m sure people come from all over to take in the sights here and explore the area.
But right now, it’s all lost on me, worrying about Will.
I left the door open for some fresh air so it didn’t get too hot in the car, but I don’t want to leave him for long.
I scroll quickly through my phone, looking for other options.
Worst case, maybe I could convince him to let me drive to the next village.
Maybe I can make some calls around to see if there’s any place to stay nearby.
Maybe a bed-and-breakfast or, hell, camping if we’re desperate.
We could pull out somewhere in the countryside.
That Land Rover should come with a tent and camping supplies—
I’m cut off in the midst of my spiraling worries and plans.
“You might be in luck,” says the woman, looking at me curiously. “We’ve had a cancellation for tonight, and I don’t know if you—”
“I’ll take it.” I immediately produce my credit card and hand it over. “Please.”
She gives me a wry smile and hands over the key. “It’s upstairs. Room 7. Do you want to see it first?”
“Oh no, I’m sure it’s fine. Perfect, even.”
“Alright, I’ll ring you through.”
And she does while I fidget with my wallet.
It’s been at least ten minutes since I left Will.
Maybe fifteen. He’s fine, I tell myself.
I mean, it can’t be his first migraine. But he looked so awful, and we’re far from his home and shit.
I don’t know what brought it on, but I hate seeing him like that. My stomach twists.
After an eon, she passes back my card, and I hurry off back to Will. When I get back to the Land Rover, he hasn’t moved. Is he sleeping?
“Will?” I ask softly.
“Mm.” He sounds miserable. “Sorry.”
Not sleeping, then.
“Don’t worry about me,” I tell him sternly. “I’m worried about you. We’re staying here. I found a place for us—”
“You don’t need to do that—”
“It’s fine. C’mon.” I go around to his side and open the door. He moves reluctantly, squinting at me. I give him my sunglasses, because I’m not sure where his have gone, and he takes them, grateful. “Can you make it up the street, or do you want me to drive?”
“Please don’t drive my Land Rover.”
He’s so plaintive I have to laugh. At least it’s still Will. “’Kay. Let’s go, then.”
I help him out, taking his arm. Adding to my catalogue of firsts, it’s the first time I touch him, and he leans into me for a moment before I let go. He stumbles into the bright afternoon before he gets his footing.
“Take your time,” I tell him. “No rush.”
Will straightens, looking the most out of sorts I’ve ever seen him.
“This way.” I start to walk and turn to glance over my shoulder.
He walks slowly, unsteadily.
“Shit, Will. C’mon.” I don’t care who’s watching or what he thinks, but I put my arm around him and his arm over my shoulders, and he limps his way to the inn.
I don’t know why he’s limping, but he’s obviously miserable.
I take him to the base of the narrow stairs that lead up to the rooms over the pub.
He takes off the sunglasses, and I look at him in the dim light. He’s still squinting, washed out.
“Can you do the stairs?” I ask belatedly. The staircase isn’t wide enough for us to easily go side by side up. So much for seventeenth-century period features. “I don’t think there’s a lift.”
He groans, then nods. “It’s fine.”
Will white-knuckles the hand railing and starts up the stairs. I put a hand in the small of his back. “I’m right here,” I tell him in my most reassuring voice. “I won’t let you fall.”
He stumbles, each time he does stopping my heart. When we finally get to the top, I quickly put my arm around him again and guide him to the door that has the number seven on it. I try the key, and the door opens.
It’s definitely not like the hotel rooms I’m used to back home. This is tiny, with slanting, low ceilings. There’s a small window, but the room’s nicely decorated, and it has a double bed with a pristine white duvet and floral quilt at the foot of the bed—
Wait.
There’s only a double bed.
Forget that.
“Here,” I say comfortingly, leading him over to the bed. “You can lie down. I can help you take your shoes off—”
“No. Don’t do that.” He sits heavily on the edge of the bed, rubbing his eyes. He steps on the heels of his shoes and slides them off his feet. Will presses the heels of his hands against his eyes, trembling.
“I can go to Boots and get you something. I mean, we’ve got nothing but time, no rush. The room’s ours for the night. I mean, I’ll cancel my plans—”
“Shit, you have plans—”
“It doesn’t matter,” I say nonchalantly, even though I was looking forward to the date. “It’s only a date. I can reschedule.”
He groans, looking truly wretched now.
“Honestly, it’s fine. He’ll understand.”
“Another man from Grindr?” He squints at me, frowning. “Surely you’re joking.”
I shake my head at Will and give him a wry smile at the idea he’s paying attention to my dating life. “You remember that? C’mon, it’s fine. People meet people on Grindr all the time. Just lie down.”
He shakes his head.
“Why not? Don’t you like the room? I mean, it’s kind of small. But I can sleep on the floor—”
“You can’t!”
“I sure will. Watch me. I don’t care, I’ve slept in worse places, believe me. Up to you: I can tell everyone back at the office you wouldn’t share the one bed.” I put enough humor in my voice so he knows I’m joking.
I’m rewarded with the thrill of his laugh.
“I’ll put the quilt on the floor and take a pillow from the bed.”
“God, I’m ruining everything. Your plans.” Will chews his lip.
I snort. “Listen, I’m the last person to worry about in this scenario.
How about you lie down, and I can go to Boots and get you something for your migraine, okay?
If you’re real lucky, I won’t even tamper with the meds.
I’ll text Lily and tell her we made it back to London, so we’re off the hook with her, and she won’t know.
And you better not still be sitting on the edge of the bed when I get back. ”
Will gives me a shaky smile and shifts more fully onto the bed, sinking into it on his side.
“Good.” Satisfied, I nod. “I’ll be back before long. Call or text if you need anything. You have your phone?”
“Yes.”
“’Kay.”
And I head out, quietly shutting the door and locking it with a soft click.
By the time I get back with a paper bag of meds from the chemist’s, Will’s sprawled on his side on top of the covers, fast asleep this time.
Good.
I put the bag on the bedside table with a glass of water and leave him to sleep for a while. As for me, I walk up and down the narrow, winding lanes of the village to explore, call my date
to explain and reschedule for Saturday night, then return a while later to check on Will again. Still sleeping.
So, I find a spot in the pub with the book I picked up from one of the shops, have a meal, and stay down there before it starts to get even busier with the evening crowd, when at last I go back upstairs to our room.