Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Harry
Toby’s just being melodramatic. He has to be.
Toby’s always had this tendency towards hyperbole. It makes him a good debater in the Chamber, and he gives newsworthy soundbites. But it’s definitely not helpful right now. In fact, I’m beginning to get rather irritated.
Somehow, surviving a plane crash is not dramatic enough for him. He has to manufacture more opportunities for drama.
“I think your melodramatic tendencies are overtaking your rationality right now, Toby. Perhaps you can restrain them for the benefit of those of us who have the misfortune of being stranded in the wilderness with you,” I say coolly.
At that moment, there’s the sound of helicopter blades beating through the air.
Relief courses through me.
Thank goodness. This ordeal is about to end.
Hopefully, we’ll be flown straight to Oslo, and in a few hours, I’ll be sliding into crisp sheets in an impersonal hotel room, and my memories of Toby Webley’s sunlit chest will quickly recede into insignificance.
“See. Kade has called rescue services just like he was meant to,” I say.
I start to wave at the helicopter, even though we’re probably at a distance where it can’t see us, when Toby grabs my arm.
His fingers wrap around my biceps, and I fancy I can feel the heat of his hand through my shirt and jacket.
I swallow, my face feeling oddly flushed.
“What are you doing?” My voice sounds like it has been strangled on the way out. I clear my throat as I wrench my arm away from him.
But Toby is not paying any attention to me. His focus is on the helicopter buzzing towards us.
“It doesn’t have any markings. Wouldn’t a rescue helicopter have bright markings?”
“Perhaps they do it differently in Norway,” I say.
“I think the principles of visibility and easy identification of rescue helicopters would remain the same internationally, wouldn’t they?” Toby asks, his voice strained.
He’s right that the helicopter coming towards us is black. Something is menacing about it, like it’s an overgrown wasp about to sting.
“They probably just sent the nearest available helicopter,” I say.
Toby squints at the approaching helicopter.
“Holy shit, I think it has guns,” he says.
“Guns?”
He stalks back to the plane and picks up the survival kit from the wing where Kade left it.
“What are you doing?”
“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m getting the survival kit.”
“Why?”
“Why does a rescue helicopter need guns, Harry?” he asks as his eyes dart between the approaching helicopter and the tree line.
“Maybe there are bears around here?” But even I can hear my lack of conviction.
He turns back to me, clutching the survival kit to his chest.
“Harry,” he says, his voice low.
“Toby,” I instinctively reply. Because for years, that’s how we’ve greeted each other—cool acknowledgment without wasting extra words in niceties.
But despite the familiarity of our exchange, I’m aware Toby has never looked at me like this before. With utter seriousness on his handsome face.
“Let’s just stash ourselves at the edge of the forest so we can get a look at our rescuers before they see us, all right?
And if I’m wrong, you can mock me as much as you want.
You can do an interview with The Daily Chronicle about what a conspiracy theorist I am.
You can stand up in Parliament and openly replay this incident and use it to accuse Labour of being a party full of paranoid lunatics with no grasp on reality. ”
There’s something about the sincerity of his gaze that catches me off guard.
Toby is a smart man. I may disagree with his ideology, but I can’t deny his intelligence.
“All right.” The word seems to fall from my lips without my permission.
Toby blinks. It’s almost like he didn’t expect me to agree so easily.
“As long as you know I’m already drafting my commentary on your overactive imagination,” I say. “I think it will provide a nice complement to a critique of the government’s overblown promises of the benefits from their NHS reforms.”
“Great. You can continue to script that out while we find someplace to hide.”