Chapter Seven
Seven
He could’ve helped us clean. He could’ve covered for us.
He could’ve given us a break, but he chose not to.
I know Sam didn’t forgive him for that for a while, but I was surprised to find that I also hated him for it.
Because who did he think he was? The opportunity to become the supportive older brother was right there at his fingertips but he chose to rat on Sam instead.
Surely he could’ve told them it was all a big misunderstanding, that the neighbour was being over the top.
It could have been so easy to secretly like Freddie. And yet, he made it impossible.
I stare at the back of his head as he strides into the service station, his short, tawny hair rustling in the breeze, and I think about the call that cost Sam and me hundreds of pounds in repair and cleaning costs. Not to mention the fight with my parents. I wonder if he even remembers it.
Sara stormed off on her own the second we parked, ever Miss Independent, and so I join the queue for the ladies with Priya.
“How’s Ollie?” I ask. Her nine-month-old baby has quite literally ripped a hole through her entire life.
She isn’t going back to work now, since the cost of childcare is insane, and Izzy earns more than her.
Priya is a chef. A damn good one too. That said, she never has many happy words to say about the hospitality industry; despite her love for food, the long hours, the toxic environments and low wages are likely not missed.
And yet, I know she had ambitions and I’m sure she’ll get back to it when she’s ready.
I wish I could help her but, honestly, I’m terrible with babies.
“Ollie’s good, thanks.”
Her short response tells me that I’ve asked the wrong question. I press my lips together briefly then say, “And you?”
This makes her laugh, a crazy look behind her eyes. “Me? Am I a person?”
“Of course you are! Priya, how are you? Are you ok? Talk to me.”
She waves a dismissive hand but then huffs out a breath.
“I just feel like I’m only alive to be a mum these days.
Who am I beyond Ollie? Don’t get me wrong, I’d die for him.
I’m obsessed. He’s perfection in every possible way.
But I don’t have a career anymore. My boobs are always sore, and I have no energy for anything fun.
I’m barely alive. I give him everything.
” She startles at her own words as I peek behind her to the next woman in the queue who seems totally unfazed.
“Shit. I should go home. What am I doing leaving my baby?”
“What? No. Priya. You said Ollie is with Izzy and her mum. They’re fine! This trip away is for you.”
She gives me a look. “Is it?”
“Well, and me a little bit. And Sam. It’s for everyone. We need to let our hair down and enjoy New Years again. Properly.”
She nods, but her dark eyes don’t seem convinced. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“How are you doing since… everything that went down? I haven’t had time to ask you, and I’ve felt so guilty about that, really, but then Ollie is sick, or I need to pump and I just…”
I touch her shoulder as we move forward in the queue. “It’s ok. I’m ok. I’m better. I’m going to be so much better.”
She frowns. “Are you convincing me or yourself?”
“Me, mostly. Are you convinced?”
“If you want me to be.”
I laugh, but I can’t help feeling a little whiplashed. I change the conversation. “Hey, do you know what’s up with Sara?”
Priya looks distraught. “Something’s up with Sara too?”
I shake my head. “No. I’m probably just being overly worried about nothing. You know what I’m like.”
Priya nods, relieved. “You do overthink everything,” she confirms casually like that doesn’t make me think, Do I? Is that annoying for you? Do you hate me because I worry too much?
She changes the subject, pulling out her phone to show me recent photos of Ollie, who is growing at a wild rate. She occasionally scrolls over a photo of her pumping, her boob on full show. For me, it’s a jump scare, but Priya doesn’t acknowledge it.
I know something is up with Sara because I’ve known her too long not to, but I get the impression Priya isn’t in the headspace to take on any more emotional baggage, so I’ll keep this one to myself.
Once we’ve navigated the services and the sun is almost entirely over the horizon, we settle back into the car. I’m dismayed when I offer Sara the front seat, but she shrugs me off, saying she prefers to sit in the back.
Nobody prefers to sit in the back.
That isn’t a thing.
I climb into the front again anyway and buckle in as Priya says, “Ok, two hours to go. I need a distraction. I say we play car rules. I bought some classics from WH Smith.”
My brain sticks on the word ‘classics’ like she’s about to hand me a Jane Austen novel, except she waves a bottle of liquor in the rear-view mirror instead.
“I’m not car drinking, Priya. I’m nearly thirty.”
Priya scoffs. “You wanted a party, right? We play car rules.”
“What are car rules?” Freddie asks as he climbs in too. I shift closer to the passenger door in hopes of escaping his hot-man energy. I don’t even know if that’s a thing but I’m certainly feeling it.
“You can’t play, sorry. You’re the designated driver,” Priya points out. “But as a reminder to the rest of you, and for your info Freddie, this is something we invented for car trips in our third year of uni.”
“I’ll play,” Sara says, and it almost sounds like she’s agreeing to it because I’m not, and so I twist in my seat again to look at her, but she’s staring away at the rows of parked cars.
“And me,” Sam says.
“Fine, I’m in too,” I say.
Freddie drives us back onto the motorway whilst Priya takes us through the rules again. “Ok, so we each get a bottle of drink. I found WKD and Smirnoff Ice in the shop. Honestly, what a throwback.”
“You say that like we could afford WKD at uni. We just drank the fake shit,” Sam says.
“Yeah, until we became immune to it and needed the stronger stuff,” Priya adds.
“Oh, don’t get me started on the absinthe nights. The hangovers were shocking,” Sara mutters. I hear a clinking behind me as bottles are passed around. Priya taps me on my shoulder and hands me mine.
“Why does it look like dirty dishwater?” I ask.
“It probably is,” Freddie says, giving me a quick grin before turning back to the wheel with a scowl. Whiplash. These people are giving me emotional whiplash. “Did you do absinthe?” he asks.
“Me?” I ask. Why am I squeaky? He obviously means me. “Yeah. Once or twice.”
There’s a collective snort in the back row. Ok, so it was a few more times than that. I turn a glare on Sam, who gives me a strange look in return, because, yeah, why am I downplaying it to Freddie? Why is there heat coursing through my body? Why can’t I just be cool around his older brother?
“We sip when there’s a lorry,” Priya says. “We sip when there’s a yellow car. If we see cows, we sip. If someone says, “What?” because they weren’t listening, we drink also.”
Freddie makes a face. “What?!”
“DRINK!” Priya says.
I unscrew the lid and take a sip. “Christ, this stuff is shite. Like murky lemonade.”
“LORRY!” Priya shouts.
“We can’t drink for every lorry, Priya. We’re on the M4. It needs to be more specific, or we’ll be stopping at every service station to buy more bottles.”
Priya refuses to add specifics and so our bottles are drained within the hour. Sam feels sick. Sara is sleeping, and Priya is smiling like she’s on cloud nine. I, on the other hand, am surprised this stuff has made me feel tipsy. I was convinced it was mostly sugar and E numbers.
As the navigation takes us off the M4 and into the forest, Freddie connects his phone to use Google Maps without commenting on my earlier embarrassment. I feel it nonetheless, cringing internally.
It’s completely dark in the car except for the lights on the dashboard.
I take my phone out and notice the long string of messages from Fliss demanding to know if I’m ok. I quickly reply to get her off my back, eyeing Freddie to make sure he can’t see my screen.
The motorway was rapidly thinning of vehicles as we closed in on the Forest of Dean, but now we’ve driven off the slip road, it feels deserted and even darker under the cover of trees.
We drive for at least another twenty minutes down tight, winding lanes with high hedgerows and half-crumbled tarmac before we reach a steep hill and a lane that breaks into two.
One goes down to the left, the other carries on up and looks so narrow, the car might struggle to squeeze itself between the trees and the wall.
“Wait,” I say to Freddie as he signals left. “Google Maps says to go up.”
He stares in concentration at the slope, the lights from the dashboard highlighting the small wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. “Why would Sam book this place? It’s in the middle of nowhere.”
“In his defence, I did ask for rural.”
“I can hear you,” Sam mutters. “And I’m going to be sick.”
“Yeah, we heard you the first time,” Freddie says, ever the sympathetic older brother.
I turn to Sam, the red glow of the brake lights catching on his face enough for me to see his outline. “You want to swap? Sit in the front?”
“I just want to get to the lodge.”
Freddie leans forward to get a proper look at the road going up the edge of the hill. There’s a crumbled wall to one side. The first fifty metres or so are so steep, I reckon I’d struggle to walk up it, but it evens out.
“You sure it’s up there?” he says.
“No. I’m just telling you what the directions say.”
“Alright, well, let’s give it a go.” He puts the car in first gear and revs it up the steep incline. The car thankfully makes easy work of it and Freddie’s casual and relaxed driving style has me fidgeting but at least we’re in the clear.
When did I become attracted to competent, sensible driving?
“This is really rural, Sam,” I mutter, staring out into the darkness. I haven’t seen a house or any lights in a while.