Chapter 6
Six
River could hardly look at Newt when he went down for breakfast. He knew he was an idiot.
No way would Newt have any idea what he’d got up to last night.
But he still felt guilty. Newt chattered away as they ate cereal.
River braced himself for the speech therapy to begin.
He knew he needed to do it, he just didn’t want to.
He was ignoring the fact that if he didn’t start speaking soon, that film role he wanted wouldn’t happen.
“Your physiotherapist isn’t coming until tomorrow. So…like to go for a walk?”
River looked up in shock. That was different. Where was he thinking?
“Max said I wasn’t to take you anywhere you’d be recognised, but it’s a cold day.
Wearing a hat and a scarf should keep you anonymous.
And you could always wear a mask. Even though Covid isn’t in everyone’s mind anymore, there are still people wearing face masks so I don’t think we’d draw attention. Do you have any masks?”
River shook his head.
“I’ll order some on . I don’t know how far you can walk. Would you like to go out in the car and we can explore somewhere?”
River nodded.
It was stupid to be excited about going out but he’d been stuck in this house for weeks.
Max wanted him shut away like Rochester’s wife in Jane Eyre.
He understood why. River didn’t want to be seen like this either, but Newt was right.
Who’d recognise him all wrapped up for winter?
Or in a mask? Even if they did, he didn’t have to try and speak.
Pointing to his throat and shaking his head should give people the message that he’d lost his voice.
He had, but not for the reason they’d think.
He went to the boot room, put on trainers—struggled to tie the laces but just managed it—and his grey peacoat.
Hats, scarves and gloves were kept in the drawer and he pulled them out.
All Newt wore was a fuck-ugly, cheap looking jacket with a rip in the sleeve.
The same place that sweater was ripped. What had happened?
Well, he’d never find out, would he? Because asking was beyond him.
He supposed he could point and maybe Newt would tell him, but…
“Are these the car keys?” Newt held them up. “I found them in a kitchen drawer.”
Newt nodded.
“I have to set the alarm, right? Then we go out through the garage. Stop me if I do anything wrong or forget something.”
But he did everything right.
There were two cars in the triple garage. A silver-blue Aston Martin and a black Mercedes. River didn’t let anyone drive his Aston. But Newt had picked out the Mercedes keys.
Until the gates were closing behind them, River had wondered if this was actually going to happen, but Newt was entering something into the guidance system.
Could I drive? Am I allowed to? He wasn’t sure. Probably not.
When Newt plugged in his phone and the music began, River froze.
Chasing Cars by Snow Patrol. That’s what he’d been listening to in the media room when he’d first seen Newt.
Ah. The sneak. Newt had checked his playlist. Still, that was a kind thing to do.
Nothing worse than being subjected to music he didn’t like, though he could always switch it off.
Newt drove far more cautiously than River had expected. They’d never get anywhere at this rate. Then Open Your Eyes started, and Newt put his foot down during the opening guitar sequence.
“I love this song,” Newt said and began to sing.
River stopped breathing. Fucking hell, his voice. And the words… Why did the lyrics sound so personal? River put his head against the window, closed his eyes, listened, and felt his heart calm. Things had started to change. Maybe Newt was the catalyst he needed.
River hadn’t meant to fall asleep, and only realised he had when Newt nudged him awake.
“We’re here,” Newt said.
River looked around. Where was here? They were parked at the end of a road of nondescript houses close to a footpath winding up a grassy bank.
“Can you manage to walk up there?”
River nodded. He pulled on his hat and wrapped the scarf around his lower face.
“I think you’ll need your gloves,” Newt said.
River put on his right first, then his left. He should have told Newt to help himself to gloves and a hat. He hadn’t thought. Well, he’d just assumed Newt would have them. As he stepped from the car, he sucked in a breath. Fuck! It was freezing. Newt locked up, then came round to his side.
“I’m not going to take your arm or anything, but if you need to rest or want my help, just reach out. We’ll go slow.”
The cawing of seagulls told River where they were before he saw the sea. Now he was excited. It was a long slow walk up the not-very-steep slope, but at the top, the view lifted his spirits. Beyond a line of pastel-colour beach huts lay a stretch of empty beach and a rough sea.
“Wow,” Newt said. “Look at those waves. They’re huge.”
River glanced at him. Newt was staring intently, as if he’d never seen the sea before.
“Want to sit up here or go down?”
“D… D…Dip.” His attempt to say down failed and frustration sank its fangs deeper in his heart.
“Look at me,” Newt said and despite himself, River looked. Oh fuck, you are so cute.
“Down.” Newt exaggerated the sound and the movement of his mouth and teeth. “Down. Try.”
River pressed his lips together. He did his practising alone in his room. He felt stupid. He’d get it wrong again.
Newt just shrugged. “Come on, then. I don’t want to spoil this.”
He carried on walking down the slope, then waited for River to catch up. For some unaccountable reason, he was annoyed that Newt hadn’t tried harder to persuade him to speak, but as they neared the sand, his irritation faded. He was tired but he wasn’t going to stop until he reached the water.
It was a struggle over the loose sand with a leg that didn’t work properly but once they’d crossed that and reached the area swept smooth by the sea, it was much easier.
River was still limping but he tried to step with a full-foot strike and keep his weight even, as his fucking horrible army sergeant of a physio, Jorge, drilled into him.
It was much better doing it here than on the treadmill. Here he had a goal.
That was clever of Newt.
Except it was really cold. The wind was whipping across the beach and finding a way through his coat to chill his back. Newt had to be freezing, but he still had that look of wonder on his face. When Newt suddenly ran at a seagull and it took off, cawing into the sky, River smiled behind his scarf.
“I used to do that when I was little,” Newt said. “I wanted them to fly away before my brother threw stones at them. No excuse today. Sorry, gull!”
Even under the protection of his scarf, River could taste salt on his lips. He tugged the scarf down and took a deep breath of sea air. It still looked a long way to the water.
“You can do it,” Newt told him. “We should make it back to the huts before the tide comes in. Well, I will, anyway.”
That Newt would tease him was astonishing. Everyone walked on eggshells around him. Apart from Max and now Newt. River kept going. The sea was there, beckoning, and he was determined to reach it.
“Did you use a crutch and then a stick for a while?”
River nodded.
“How long since you’ve not used anything?”
River held up two gloved fingers.
“Two weeks?”
River nodded.
“Wow. Then you’re doing well. You’ll be chasing seagulls pretty soon.”
The sun came out, cheering River’s success, as they finally reached the frill of foam at the water’s edge.
The waves crashed down onto the sand, running in a long way until they fizzled out with a hiss and drew back.
He marvelled at the colour of the water.
Under full sunlight, it looked just as enticing as any tropical sea.
Then the sun went in and that was no longer true.
He found himself smiling and when he registered Newt was looking at him, he wiped the smile away.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Newt said. “Awesome and scary at the same time. If I didn’t think my toes would fall off, I’d go for a paddle.”
Really? Newt was shivering. That jacket was useless.
He was irritated that Newt not being suitably dressed was spoiling his enjoyment.
Oh fuck, listen to me. I’m such an arsehole.
But why wasn’t he in decent gear? Had Max just told him to pack a bag fast?
He knew he only had one bag because he’d seen it in the hall when he’d come down for lunch the day Newt had arrived.
I can’t even fucking ask him if he wants to go back to wherever he’s come from and get some more stuff. If he can go back.
“Uh oh. We need to run. This wave is going to swamp us.”
River turned round, set off back up the beach and stumbled. If Newt hadn’t caught his arm and kept him upright, he’d have fallen. Newt hurried him on, laughing as the wave came closer and closer to their heels. Finally, they were safe and Newt let him go.
“Usually, I’d say no running until you can walk,” Newt said. “No dancing until you can skip. No flying unless you grow wings. My three rules. But no getting caught in a tsunami is in there too. That was close.”
River concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other and by the time he was back to the promenade in front of the line of beach huts, he felt more stable.
Still limping but maybe not quite as badly.
He should walk more often, not use the treadmill.
There were plenty of routes in the area around the house.
Though by the time they’d reached the car, he’d changed his mind. He was shattered. He’d not felt so tired for a long time. Not just physically, mentally tired too.
“Sorry,” Newt said. “I’ve made you do too much.” He started the engine and turned up the heater.