Chapter 40
Chapter Forty
Harry
I’m lonely.
It’s absurd to be lonely when I’m constantly surrounded by people.
Prunella. My parents. Paul and my other bodyguards.
Advisors in every shape and form. A psychology team, because apparently there is awareness I’ve gone through an ordeal, though I suspect their concern has more to do with my public image and getting me election-ready than my personal well-being.
My ordeal wasn’t just the physical challenges I faced in the wilderness. It’s the emotional upheaval I’m still struggling to recover from.
A clean break from Toby. That’s what I thought I needed to sever the intense, all-consuming bond we forged in the wilderness. I had thought it would give me a chance to regain my equilibrium, to remember who I am without him by my side.
But it’s not working.
Instead, I think about him constantly. I continue to envision the conversations we’d have if we were together, trying to work out what observations and retorts he would make if he were here with me.
Thinking about Toby leaves me with an ache I can’t get rid of, no matter what I do.
My PR team has scheduled an interview with the BBC, so Prunella and I obligingly attend. As negotiated extensively with my PR team beforehand, the interview has a Team GB, national, patriotic pride vibe, focusing on how two British politicians defeated the terrorists hunting them.
“Toby Webley and you have a history of animosity, yet you obviously managed to work together for the common good,” the interviewer prompts, leaning forward with a gleam in her eye. “Can you tell us more about how you put aside your differences and learned to work together?”
How can I sum up the experience with Toby? How can I convey the profound impact those forty-two days have had on me? The way Toby challenged me, supported me, and ultimately changed me in ways I’m still trying to understand?
“When you’re reliant on another person for survival, you quickly learn to put aside your differences and focus on what really matters,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “You learn to appreciate each other’s strengths, trust each other implicitly, and have each other’s back no matter what.”
I take a deep breath, fighting to keep my expression neutral, to respond with the measured, dispassionate tone that has always been my hallmark. But I can feel the cracks in my composure, the way my voice threatens to waver under the weight of all I’m leaving unsaid.
The unemotional mask I’ve always hidden behind chafes as if it’s no longer a comfortable fit.
Prunella squeezes my hand, and I’m grateful for that, although equally, one part of me notices how wrong her hand feels. I hate that her hand still feels so wrong entwined in mine.
“And I think the fact I’ve proven I can work with anyone, even those with opposing views, underscores my leadership strength and my ability to put the nation’s interests above partisan politics,” I add the carefully scripted words my PR team generated.
When the interview ends and we emerge from the studio, Paul is ready with one of his trademark jokes.
“Knock knock.”
“Who’s there?”
“Boo.”
“Boo, who?”
“You don’t need to cry. It’s only a joke.”
“Are you all right, Harry?” Prunella asks me in the car.
I look at her, startled. “Yes, I’m fine. I think that went rather well, don’t you?”
She gives me an inscrutable look.
I stare out the window at the darkening sky. It’s been a week since we were rescued. A week, and Toby has not contacted me. It appears he can easily leave everything that happened in Finland behind him.
But I’m not as strong. I can’t leave things between us completely unaddressed. I want him to know I’m thinking about him, and a selfish part of me wants to ensure he’s thinking about me.
So, when I get home, I sit at my laptop and arrange for a present to be delivered to him.
I manage to find the exact same brand and model of survival kit we had. Only I arrange for a couple extra items to be added in: marshmallows and lube.
I wish I could see his face when he gets it. But just imagining his smile is enough.
Two days later, I receive a package addressed to me delivered by courier. Prunella watches curiously as I unwrap it.
Inside is a framed print of one of the scenes from We’re Going on a Bear Hunt, showing the characters traipsing through a snowstorm.
My heart beats an erratic rhythm. I can’t stop the smile overtaking my face.
“Who is it from?” Prunella asks.
“There’s no note with it,” I answer.
Prunella fixes me with a stare. “Who is it from, Harry?”
“It’s from Toby,” I say quietly.
“I thought so.” She studies the print for a minute. “Does it have a special meaning?”
I have to clear my throat before I answer her. “Yes.”
“You should hang it in your bedroom,” she suggests as she walks away.
And so I do.
That night, I lie in bed, looking at the picture hanging on the wall.
Tomorrow is the State Opening of Parliament. My strategy team has agreed the pageantry of the occasion will make it the best setting for me to re-enter the political fray.
But I’m not thinking about optics or strategy or soundbites.
I’m not thinking about anything except the fact that after over a week of separation, after all the longing and confusion and desperate attempts to put Toby out of my mind…
I finally get to see him again.