Chapter Fourteen #2
His voice is low and tighter than I’ve heard it.
He’s wearing a head torch as well, but his has a strong, proud beam that he points at the ground.
He kneels down beside me, frustration practically wafting out with the heat of his body, his eyes glinting in the combined light of our torches.
I’m struck by a sudden urge to hide under the leaf litter that’s currently making my bottom damp.
‘I was just going for a walk.’
I’m trying for mature and classy, but instead my voice just sounds small.
‘Without telling anyone? In a place you’ve never walked before? We’re in the forest , Clarence.’
‘Thanks for the tip, Dad,’ I say, because he is so damn condescending , and I feel foolish enough as it is.
‘The cabin is this way,’ says Declan tightly, gesturing in the direction I was vaguely heading. And I’d like to say that I proudly limp my way back to the site, but the second I take a step on my ankle a streak of pain curls through it. I don’t cry out this time, but Declan still stops.
The light of his torch swings out into the bush, and he bends down again. This time when he stands, he’s holding a long stick. He passes it to me without a word, and the unexpected thoughtfulness of it makes me even angrier.
‘I’m not a child,’ I tell him, even though I quite literally just called him Dad.
‘Could’ve fooled me,’ Declan mutters under his breath, and somehow the fact that he doesn’t say it out loud is more offensive.
‘You’re so arrogant.’ The words burst out of me before I can stop them.
‘I might be “stumbling around in the dark”, but I’m not completely hopeless, you know.
’ The quote from the article lands heavily in the air between us, but I can’t see his reaction, and at this point I don’t care.
‘Perfect Declan Archer, though, right? Never fallen, never made a mistake? I can understand why you’re not dating.
You’re just too good for anyone to live up to your standards. ’
I want to snatch the words back as soon as I say them.
It’s been more than two weeks since he offhandedly mentioned he wasn’t dating at Knit, Stitch and Yarn and now it looks like I’ve been stewing on the information.
But Declan doesn’t answer anyway, just keeps walking two steps behind me until the light of the cabin comes into view.
Jed is waiting on the front porch when we get back, and I’m bracing for another stern lecture about the dangers of going out in the dark. But he just runs down the steps and takes my hand to help me up. ‘She can be a dangerous mistress, our forest,’ he says, which is actually weirdly comforting.
Declan’s jaw clenches when I take Jed’s hand, but he doesn’t say anything, just strides inside and takes a first-aid kit out of his perfectly packed bag.
Jed helps me to a chair and brings me a bowl of baked beans to eat and a small ice brick from the freezer, then crouches down and takes off my shoe and sock.
He holds the ice against my throbbing ankle, and it’s both awkward and a relief to have him doing it.
Declan starts to pass the first-aid bag to him, but Jed shakes his head.
‘You don’t want my brand of first aid,’ he says, nodding for me to take the ice and then getting to his feet, and I’m not even sure what that means , but it sends an uncomfortable anticipation darting through me.
For a second, I think Declan is just going to throw the bag at me, but then he kneels down at my feet.
I automatically pull back, the ice cold in my fingers.
Declan doesn’t look at me, just leans forward to study my ankle, and I can feel the warmth of his breath against my skin.
The hairs on my arms tingle, and it’s almost enough to make me yank my leg back as well.
Declan reaches his hand out, but looks up before it connects, and I can almost measure the air in the space between it and my foot. ‘Are you okay for me to check?’ he asks.
No .
But my foot twinges, and I know that I’ll probably regret it later if I don’t let him look at it. I nod jerkily, and a second later, warm fingers wrap around the arch of my foot. It hurts, but for the first time since I fell it feels secure too, and I fight the urge to close my eyes.
Declan holds my foot steady, moving it slightly and pressing his fingers against the sides to check it.
‘Tell me if it hurts,’ he says. His voice is practical and removed, but his hands are gentle, soft against my skin.
Now that it’s elevated it doesn’t feel as sore, but when he presses the inside of my ankle I wince.
‘It’s a little bruised,’ says Declan. ‘But not too swollen.’ He takes a bandage out of the first-aid kit, wrapping it decisively and firmly round my ankle, like he wants to be touching my foot as little as I want him to be touching it.
Then he looks up. ‘Ice it again,’ he says.
‘But I think with rest and elevation it should be better in twenty-four hours or so.’ He takes the pillow from his bed and throws it at the end of mine. ‘You can use this.’
‘Thanks,’ I manage to get out. Declan nods but doesn’t look at me again. He moves into the kitchen area to get some food, like he’s glad to be away from me.
Then Jed is there again, helping me hobble over to my bed.
My ankle is aching and I am uncomfortably aware that we’re all in one space as I pull out the book I brought with me – the one that’s not Talking to Trees , because right now I can’t bear the idea that Declan might see me reading it – and after re-reading the same page three times I realise that I’m half waiting for Declan to speak again.
He doesn’t, though, just finishes in the kitchen and then goes outside onto the deck. After a little while Jed goes outside as well. I can hear their murmuring through the open door, but not what they’re talking about.
Emotion clogs the back of my throat and I feel tears threaten at the corners of my eyes. I slide my phone out, holding it under the blanket to dim the light while I message Yumi.
Tried to use the head torch tonight and tripped over. Pretty sure I’m not finding myself in the wilderness (my fault, not the head torch’s). How was your day?
Boooo. Do I need to message Declan to ask him to catch you next time?
Please don’t.
Bookshop was good. Guess which book is no longer in our window display . . .!
For the first time in hours, I grin. Every time that Yumi creates a window display she includes an old, obscure book and tracks how long it takes to sell. Her record is three hours, but the latest book has been in there more than three months.
You sold it??!
Gemma Murphy is now the proud owner of A Fisherwoman’s Lover!
She owns the book, I mean. Not a fisherwoman’s lover.
Although I suppose she could own a fisherwoman’s lover as well. I don’t know much about her personal life.
Congratulations, Yumi.
I’m the best! Thanks, boss. Look after yourself xx
My phone screen goes black.
I prop the ice against my foot and lean back, wondering whether it’s worth getting up and getting changed.
But somewhere after she was reprimanded by an irate author, Wilderness Clarrie deserted me.
After a few minutes my exhausted body and brain take the decision out of my hands, and I fall asleep.