Chapter Sixteen
It’s the gentle murmur of voices that wakes me. At first, they’re incorporated into part of my dream. I’m ordering a coffee, the sweet smell of delicious caramel lattes wafting into my nostrils. I ask for a millionaire shortbread to go with that too. Oh, how I long for sugar and caffeine. But the lady serving me is asking me questions. I keep blinking at her until I realise it’s a man’s voice coming out of her lips. I startle awake.
James is talking too. There are two voices.
“We’re here on a work trip, of sorts. It was kind of unplanned and unexpected.”
The other voice mutters, “Christ.”
“Our boss is… insane. Thought it would be some kind of fun team-building challenge to drop us Londoners off in the middle of nowhere with two badly packed bags and a fifty-pound note.”
“That’s fucking wild,” the man replies. “This area is hiking on steroids. It’s for the pros.”
“Mate, I know. We’re a bit worse for wear. That was our third night.”
“You’re kidding? Hope you’re going to sue.”
James snorts. “We’ll see, huh?”
“Well, look. You want to follow this path through the forest about another three miles and you’ll find a road. Could hitch a lift from there.”
“Yeah? Great. Cheers for that.”
I turn around in the sleeping bag, and consider climbing out, but decide to leave James to the talking, partly because I must look like hell right now. Straight up cavewoman. My hair is all over the place. I occasionally touch it and can feel how knotted it has become. It’s like in the noughties when we thought it would be a good idea to back brush our ponytails for discos, then spent three days washing and combing it back out.
Oh no. Last night. There’s no hiding from it. We’ll have to talk about it today. What happens now? What next? This thing we have going on between us. How do we work together on Monday?
James is still talking to the other voice. “Any chance you have a phone we could borrow?”
“Sorry, pal. When I go wild camping, I go wild.”
“That’s pretty mental,” James mutters.
“Your boss didn’t give you phones? How strange. Was he trying to kill you?”
“We had our own but mine died the first day out here and my… hers …” He coughs to clear his throat. This is going to be so awkward. He doesn’t even know what to call me. “Got wet in the river.”
“Ah, right,” the voice replies with limited interest. “Well, like I said. An hour’s walk in that direction will lead you to a pretty busy road. I’m sure someone’ll help you out.”
And with that, footsteps crunching across twig-strewn terrain fade off into the distance. When I don’t hear any sound from James, only the rustling of leaves in the morning breeze, the trickle of the stream, I unzip the bottom of the tent and pop my head out. He’s nowhere to be seen. But he can’t be far. He was literally just talking to some random guy. I didn’t make that up. Did I?
“James?” I call out.
“Yeah?” he replies within close proximity.
“Where are you?”
“Here.” Helpful as ever.
I sigh, pulling on my clothes, not bothering with a bra just yet, using folded arms for support instead. I try to smooth down my hair a bit and wipe the eye bogeys away with my fingers. Then, climbing out into the morning sunshine, I’m instantly warmed in its generous glow.
Once I’m standing, he’s pretty easy to spot. There, sitting comfortably in the middle of the stream, the water circling around him like he’s a boulder in the way, is James Boatman. Almost naked, apart from his very damp boxer shorts now practically submerged.
I pull a humoured face. “What are you doing?”
He squints back at me, flicking his head to get his floppy black hair out of his eyes. I hate how it sets the butterflies off in my stomach. “Cooling off.”
“Why?”
He gives me a bemused glance, tilting his head. He’s leaning back in the water with both arms propped to hold him up. There’s something very sexy, alluring, about it. He looks like he’s posing for an eighteenth-century portrait by an opium-addicted artist who also writes poetry about treeline backdrops and valleys of hills, mountains and untouched nature for as far as the eye can see.
“Why do you think?” he asks, with a gentle grin.
“You run at an unnaturally high temperature?”
“Fliss.”
“Yeah?”
“I woke up with a raging hard on.”
Heat rushes up to my face. I raise my hands to cover it. But that’s only going to make it more obvious. So, he does like me? Or is this just a standard morning thing? That’s pretty normal, isn’t it? Probably shouldn’t overthink it.
“Wait… Were you sat like that when that guy walked past?”
He nods. “Yeah. He didn’t blink an eye.”
“Oh god.” Now I’m laughing. This is ridiculous. James joins in too. There’s this moment where we’re both smiling at each other. Then we realise we’re both smiling at each other and get really serious, swallowing in unison and busying ourselves with other things. James plays with the water. I fiddle with my hair.
“Did you hear about the road?” he asks, hardly even looking my way.
“Yeah.”
“Shall we pack up and go?”
“Sounds like a plan.”
*
Once we’re packed up again, James has clothes on and we’re both wearing our backpacks, we make off in the direction we were advised to. James had a quick look at my injury before we set off. He changed the leaf as he has every twelve hours or so. It’s looking much better now. I wouldn’t exactly recommend leaves as suitable gauze unless you have to, but it seems to be working for me.
My shoulders are burning today. James groans as he hoists his rucksack onto his back. All his muscles are aching since his fall. In hindsight, we’re lucky it wasn’t worse. Especially since we’re both without our phones by this point. He’s still carrying more than me. I feel sort of guilty about it. I’m a committed feminist, I should be sharing the load. That’s why I calculated the ratios based on my weight, and a guessed weight for James, and decided, actually, I’m doing my fair share. But his tight facial features this morning suggest he’s possibly in more pain than he’s letting on.
The path dips into a new valley as we emerge from the forest. We stop as the vista before us opens up under the glorious sunshine, beams of light stretching lazily over the long patches of lush spring grass. Ahead of us, we can hear a low rumbling of cars. A promise of escape.
James looks back the way we came. “There’s something magical about being the only people amongst such vastness, isn’t there?”
“The magic is fading now, huh?”
He gives me a look, scrunches his forehead on a frown. “The low hum of exhausts isn’t going to kill the magic.”
Then, before I can say too much more, he takes my hand, squeezing as if to tell me this is going to be ok, then releases it again as we descend a gravelly, curving path in between ruts and swamps leading towards a car park about a mile in the distance.
*
Once we reach the main road, James confidently strides up to the edge where a black BMW is speeding towards us. The road has been carved through the Scottish Highlands in the most absurd way. Only humans could create something so unappealing to the eye, surrounded by such incredible natural beauty. It’s a long, straight Roman road. We can see it goes on for miles, which suddenly hits me in this overwhelming sense of panic. How are we even alive? How did we, two city people surrounded by unlimited food outlets, taxis and trains and concrete, make it across so much of wild Scotland like this and live to tell the tale?
The first car does not stop. In fact, it speeds up, swerving James as if they half-expect him to throw himself in front of them. I wonder how we appear to passersby. I look down at myself: the stained ripped shirt material bandaged around my calf, the sweaty black top and scuffed, dirty shorts. My trainers are already split. Clearly, budget-priced versions. I peek across at James too, stood with his hand out, thumb up. His hair is completely wild, swirling around in the wind. His t-shirt, also black, is sweaty too, trousers ripped in two places. When did that happen?
Luck is not on our side whilst we look like this. Car after car passes by, giving us strange, slightly terrified glances. James, though, is totally unfazed by the rejection. Meanwhile, I’m dissociating from him with every step backwards from the edge of the road. When there’s a gap in the cars he peers over his shoulder.
“What are you doing?” he calls.
“Dying from embarrassment.”
“What? Why? Because we’re trying to hitch a lift?”
“I’ve never been a hitchhiker before. It’s mortifying!”
He laughs. “Oh, bloody hell, it’s not that bad.”
I cringe at him, decidedly disagreeing with his statement. This is about as awful as it gets. Especially, looking like this.
As more cars come over the hill in our direction, James steps out again, this time blocking more of the road. It’s like he’s playing a game of chicken. I can’t help but wince as cars get closer, then dart around him. One, then another, then another.
“It’s no use!” I shout. “Nobody is going to take us looking like this. We look like murderers from the wild.”
James’ shoulders droop. He looks back to me, squeezing his jaw. “Well, I guess we follow the road then. Have you got that map so we can work out which bloody direction we need to go in?”
I nod, whipping my bag off my shoulders and sliding the map out of one of the front pockets. It got partially ruined during the river incident. Luckily, we can just about make out the main points when we spread it out across a boulder on the side of the road. The gravel slides under my shoes as I lean over it.
“I reckon this is the road,” I say, pointing to the long, straight line with only minor curves in it where it allows for rivers and lakes. “But I’m not sure where we are on it or what direction we’re facing.”
James crouches down beside me, his hair ruffling against my chin. It smells like the outdoors. Tree sap, mud and water. It’s pretty sexy actually. I have no idea why. As if he can read my mind, he squints upwards, his blue eyes blinking at me, before looking back towards the road. More cars pass but they pay zero attention to us.
“I reckon that’s the forest we camped in. Look, that’s the castle. So, if we keep travelling this way…” He uses his finger to demonstrate. “That should lead us to this town. Glenbonn. No idea what’s there but they might be able to get us to this train station.”
I peer at where his finger has landed. There is indeed a train station with a line that travels through mountains on its way back to Inverness. Not that that is even where Michael is, but at least there are taxis from there. We could probably use our money to get back to the hotel I assume he’s staying in.
The things I have to say to that man… Then I think about the reason we’re in this predicament in the first place. I still want to be promoted. I can see the long-term benefits, not to mention the rumoured six-figure salary.
Being a director is what I’ve longed for. So why do I suddenly have a sick, twisting feeling in my stomach when I think about Michael and returning to Starr. I guess this whole thing has shone a new, unflattering light on him.
“I’m so done with walking,” I mumble, wiggling my aching toes. The blisters my boots caused at the start are practically raw open wounds now. “How far do you think it’ll be?”
I half-expect James to groan and come back with something sharp and annoyingly witty but instead I get a face of sympathy. “That’s why I was trying to get us a lift. You look beat.”
Oh, so he has noticed how dreadful I look. My heart sinks. It was all pity last night. That’s why he didn’t let me return the favour. I bite my lip to force away the threat of tears. James must sense my shift in mood because he stands and pulls me into him. At first, I’m not entirely sure what is happening as his arms wrap around me. My face is squished into his shoulder. I ride his chest as he takes a deep breath. He rests his chin on the top of my head as I slowly relax, melting into him. It’s nice. This hug. I feel safe, and warm, and oddly protected.
“What’s this for?” I mumble into his chest.
“I needed a hug. And I think you did too.”
“Mmm,” I agree. I did. I’m not sure how he read that though. The tears start to overflow but I manage to keep the flooding at bay, calmly blinking them away or onto his top. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything.
“What’s worrying you about hitching a lift?” James asks. “It’s just, me and my sisters have done it quite a lot and, well, usually the people willing to give lifts are really good people.”
I scrunch my face even though he can’t see me as I talk into his t-shirt. “I guess it’s just not something I’d ever do on my own.”
James frowns. “Ok, would you rather walk then? We can.”
“But I’m so tired.”
James laughs now. “Ok, then we’ll catch a lift?” He holds me away from his chest, squeezing my shoulders. “What would make you feel safer?”
“I don’t know,” I admit.
“How about we don’t use our real names? Or agree to anything you’re not happy with?”
I sigh out some of the anxious energy. “Ok, deal. At least I can rest my legs for a bit. I’ve never walked this far in my entire life.”
James nods. “I’ve always had to walk places without cars and stuff but never this far in one go.” We’re quiet for a moment, ignoring the cars passing us, leaving a breath of dust in their wake. “About last night…” he says, just as a loud horn blares. I jump, peering around James’ side to see a huge red lorry, with faded sides, pulling over towards us. James shifts as he looks too, squint-cringing at the sight of it.
“What about last night?” I ask. We were about to have an important discussion but have been rudely interrupted.
The window on our side of the lorry comes down and a raspy voice shouts, “You need a lift?!”
James steps up to open the door. A large waft of cigarette smoke washes over us. I force myself to smile, deciding that maybe I should trust James with this sort of thing. He did say he’s done this a lot. He must be able to read the situation. I follow him up to the door to get a better look. The man smiling down at us is missing a few teeth. He wears a stained white t-shirt with a picture of Rihanna on the front. His grey hair is missing through the middle of his head which is smoothly bald, the sides thick and long. I can see the promise of a ponytail at the back. But the most stand-out thing is his Saruman-style beard. And yet, his warm brown eyes are bright, kind looking. Maybe I am overreacting to this whole thing.
“Where you headed?” the man asks.
“The nearest town with decent connectivity,” James says in his usual confident voice as if he’s about to sell this man corporate hospitality. “Or a train station. Whatever is closest.”
“Aye. Well, I’m headed towards a few of those. In you hop.” The man gives us one of his friendly smiles.
I give James a glance. I hope it says, I’m trusting you again, please don’t let me down this time.
He returns a warm grin. You can trust me, Felicity.
He reaches out, offering me his hand to help me up. Once I’m seated, I tentatively look to my right. The driver is beaming at me. I smile back awkwardly as James throws both our bags in and closes the cabin door.