Chapter 35 George
George
George wipes sleep from his eyes and lumbers into the kitchen to make a coffee.
It’s nearly noon and he is the last to rise.
He tips out the remaining coffee machine pods and groans; all the sensible ones have been used up, and only a handful of unappealing flavours are left.
He picks what he hopes is the least offensive – roasted hazelnut – and fires up the machine.
It grumbles away at a similar volume to the rain’s steady patter against the roof.
He moves to the window. Outside, there is movement; leaves shiver, and the thinner branches shake and sway.
George hears a voice, and the serious tone seizes his attention.
It’s not coming from the living area, where Elis, Polly, Jessie and Faith chat in hushed voices.
It’s at the other end of the van – the bedroom.
The coffee machine falls silent, and George removes his cup.
He places it on the sideboard, which is dark and flecked with grey: a synthetic imitation of the kind of black granite used to make modern gravestones.
Miles sounds annoyed, or in some way animated.
George creeps out of the kitchen and loiters by the bedroom door, where the voices of Miles and Reubyn are more audible.
‘. . . I can’t do that to her, don’t you see that?’ Miles says, a tinge of exasperation to his question. ‘It’s not fair, after what’s happened.’
‘You’re being way oversensitive,’ Reubyn says.
‘I am not.’
‘You are. She probably imagined it anyway. You know what Americans are like, they’re dramatic. It wouldn’t surprise me if she made the whole thing up as part of some damsel in distress routine.’
‘That is incredibly unfair!’ Miles shouts, and George takes a reflexive step back. ‘She’s really freaked out,’ he says, his volume returning to normal. ‘And, frankly, so am I. To be honest, Reubyn, I thought you would understand that.’
There’s a silence, and George clenches his teeth.
‘What do you want me to do?’ Reubyn says.
‘You know what I want – I want you to drive us the hell out of here.’
‘And you know I can’t do that, not yet. I’ve got a bit left to do on this video.’
‘But I’m not safe out here.’
‘Of course you’re safe – this is the safest place you can be. We’re miles from anywhere. Trust me.’
‘You’re putting yourself before everyone else.’
‘Well, if it’s altruism you’re worried about, how about this: you tell Jessie the whole story, and I’ll drive us out of this forest. Right now.’
Another silence.
‘I’m not ready to do that.’
‘I know. And I’m not ready to leave.’
George hears footsteps, and darts into the bathroom. The bedroom door opens and out comes Reubyn, who glances his way. George turns on the tap and pretends to wash his hands as Miles passes him.
That was . . . odd. One wouldn’t describe it as a furious argument, but he can’t remember the last time Miles and Reubyn had cross words. And Reubyn doesn’t want to leave? He’s not ready to depart this dump? What’s going on here? How bloody long does he need?
George towels his hands and returns to the kitchen for his coffee.
He takes a sip and grimaces. It’s absolute garbage.
Coffee should never be flavoured with hazelnut – or any nut, for that matter.
Isn’t coffee a flavour in itself? No amount of flavouring – be it caramel, gingerbread or bin juice, as this tastes like – will improve upon it.
He slams his mug on the side and approaches Reubyn, who stands by the door locked in a fierce battle with the zip of his raincoat.
‘Hey, Reubs,’ George says. ‘Are we busting a move soon or what?’
Reubyn rolls his eyes. ‘Not you as well? Why is everyone in such a rush, all of a sudden?’
‘Because we’re supposed to be on holiday right now, not languishing in a ruddy gulag.’
Reubyn huffs as he tries to free the fabric snared in the teeth.
‘I need to do some more filming before we go. Plus, I’d like to see if this weather calms down a bit – it might be dangerous driving a vehicle like this in high winds.
It’s not like I’m an expert.’ Finally, he zips up his coat and turns to Faith. ‘Are you ready?’
Faith gives the affirmative, and they venture out into the rain, some of which blusters into the bus before the door swings shut. George sees Miles is staring at him from the kitchen, and when they lock eyes, Miles jerks his head a fraction – a discreet order to join him.
‘Everything all right?’ George asks in a low voice.
‘Not really,’ Miles says. ‘It’s looking like we’re going to be staying here another night.’
George raises an eyebrow. ‘We’ll see about that.’
Miles’s eyes are drawn to the living area, where Jessie sits with Elis and Polly. He turns his attention back to George. ‘I need your help,’ he whispers.
‘Shoot.’
‘Do you think it’s possible we could’ve been followed here?’
‘By your stalker, you mean?’
Miles nods.
George thinks for a moment. ‘I don’t see how. We definitely weren’t being tailed by a vehicle. I mean, we were both looking out for that, and there was nothing, the whole way.’ He pauses, deep in thought. ‘Although . . .’
‘What? What is it?’
George points towards the bedroom. ‘Let’s talk in there.’
They go inside and George closes the door behind them. The room – where Jessie, Faith and Polly slept last night – is a mess of clothes, make-up and bags. A bed is still made up on the floor.
‘We’ve got outsiders with us,’ George says. ‘Isn’t it possible one of them could be in cahoots with your stalker? I mean, how much do we really know about Jessie and Faith? Come to think of it, how much do you really know about Elis?’
‘Elis? He’s a mate. As for the other two, I don’t think we need worry about them.’
George opens the door, checking for eavesdroppers, and closes it again. ‘Are you sure about that?’
‘Okay, let’s test your theory,’ Miles says.
‘Let’s suppose that, for some bizarre reason, one of them is working with my stalker and wanted to tip them off with our whereabouts.
How the hell would they even do that? We all lost signal ages ago.
And Reubyn has been super tight-lipped about where we’re going. ’
‘Fair point.’
‘So, it’s not possible, is it?’
George goes quiet and rakes his fingers through his hair. ‘All right, look. I wasn’t sure if I should ask this, but have you considered the possibility that Jessie might have been lying about seeing a man in the forest last night?’
‘What? No. No chance.’
‘How can you be so sure? We only met her a few days ago.’
‘Trust me. You should have seen her – she was terrified, shaking like a leaf. I think it’s possible she was mistaken, but I don’t think she’s lying.’
George frowns. ‘She probably wonders about you.’
‘I’m not lying! I just haven’t told her the whole truth yet. But I will.’ Miles shakes his head. ‘This is getting us nowhere.’
‘Look, mate, for what it’s worth, I get why you’re anxious. But I really don’t think we’ve been followed, so try not to worry.’
Miles exhales slowly. ‘Thanks, I’m sure you’re right.’
George nods and reaches for the door handle.
‘Wait,’ Miles says. ‘One more thing.’
‘Go on.’
‘This might sound paranoid but hear me out.’
‘Okay.’
Miles takes a deep breath. ‘A tracking device. Do you have any idea what one looks like? And how we’d find it if someone fitted one to the bus?’
George places a hand on his friend’s shoulder. ‘I’ll help you check over the vehicle, if you like, just to be on the safe side. But I’m afraid you are being paranoid, mate.’
Miles shakes his head. ‘I need to show you something,’ he says, digging into the pocket of his shorts. Miles reveals an object lying on his palm.
George’s eyes go wide. ‘Crikey. Where did you get that?’
‘It was in an envelope left for me at reception at the hotel.’
‘It looks real,’ George says, examining it.
‘That’s what I thought.’
George turns it over in his hand. It appears to be a piece of live ammunition.
But it’s not the type he’s used to dealing with – game cartridges filled with shot pellets.
This is more compact, with a pointed front end.
A more sinister kind. He’s never held one of these before, and it sends goosebumps flaring across his skin. A bullet.