Chapter Twenty-five
Declan is gone when I wake up in the morning, and the tent seems emptier than it did before he came in last night.
There’s condensation gathering on the roof, my pillow somehow smells like him and the sleeping bag is squarely on top of me, like he might have moved it to cover me when he got up.
The mortification of last night feels as fresh now as it did then.
All I want to do is burrow under the sleeping bag and hide, but I can hear movement outside: our day has already begun.
So instead of closing my eyes and pretending I’m still asleep, I push myself up to a sitting position, stifling a groan when all my muscles protest. I unzip the tent, and I step blinking into the light.
Jed is packing up Bri’s tent, humming cheerfully as though he’s never had such a good sleep in his life, and Bri is kneeling by a rock chopping fruit. They both look up when I emerge.
‘Morning, Clarrie!’ says Bri with a wave as Jed nods.
The tarp is gone, and the sky above the trees is a clear, crisp blue.
There’s no hint of the storm from last night in the sky, like I might have imagined the whole thing.
But the grass is soggy, there’s a lingering scent of rain in the air and the droplets glimmer on the leaves. There’s no sign of Declan.
But, just as I’m pretending to myself that his absence wasn’t the first thing I noticed, he materialises from between the trees.
His hair is scruffy and his clothes look rumpled, and the sight of him makes my heart stumble.
I go to tuck my hands in my pockets before realising I don’t have pockets, so I cross them across my chest instead.
Good one, Clarrie.
Declan looks up, and he hesitates ever so slightly at the sight of me.
‘Good morning, Clarrie,’ he says, and the sound of his voice sends a stab of something to my gut.
I lift my hand and smile tightly, but then he’s still moving closer and I swear I can feel the heat of his body even though he’s at least two metres away and suddenly it feels like I have too many hands. Or too many feet. Too many or too much of something.
I turn round to busy myself, to start packing up the tent and, miraculously, I actually manage to avoid tripping over a rope.
‘Well done,’ says Jed cheerfully. ‘Tripped over that rope this morning myself. This is the one Declan put up.’
I can’t help glancing at Declan, and his eyes dance, but he just nods.
‘I think it was,’ he says gravely. ‘My apologies, Jed.’
Jed nods, and I want to hug him because it feels like it would be safe and warm.
I don’t hug him, though, because it would also be super weird to do that.
I just pull the pegs of the tent Declan might-have-but-probably-didn’t put up, stay as far away from him as I can and listen to Jed resume his humming.
The rest of the pack-down goes smoothly, but I’m grateful that we’re not doing it every day and that we’ll be in a motel again tonight.
The mood at the campsite is . . . strange.
Declan and I barely talk to each other and when we do it’s painfully polite.
But I’m always aware of where he is and what he’s doing, like my subconscious can’t help keeping track.
Is this the state of play now? Did I send the truce that had developed between us backwards?
I mean, either way, it’s fine. That’s fine.
Not that Jed and Bri seem to notice anyway.
If I’m not mistaken – and it’s entirely possible I am, given my preoccupation with the situation with Declan – they are flirting .
At one point, I would swear that Jed is flexing his muscles while he’s washing the dishes, but it seems so impossible that I’m assuming I must have imagined it.
When everything is packed away, we load up the cars.
And, honestly, I’m actually looking forward to travelling with Jed today.
I am ready for consistent, reliable silence punctuated by the occasional bird chat.
No tension-filled silence, or looks that I spend half an hour trying to analyse.
Hell, after my nature-embracing moment in the rain last night, I even feel like I might be able to take the lead on pulling over and running into the forest to find birds.
But when I walk round to the passenger seat of the van, Bri gives me a meaningful look, and the memory of our conversation yesterday pours over me like icy water, colder than the rain on my face last night.
Crap.
After the interview and the tent last night, I totally and completely forgot that I’d promised her we could trade cars. Bri is wiggling her eyebrows at me, a massive smile on her face, and there’s no way I can pretend I don’t remember the conversation.
I prise my fingers from where they’re gripping the van’s door handle – apparently not all of me is quite ready to give up on the idea of an easy, uncomplicated car trip – and I step quietly back.
Declan looks up from where he’s unlocking the 4 WD , and when he sees me very much not getting into the van, his expression freezes. Jed rests a hand on the top of the van and frowns at me over the top.
‘Everything okay, Clarence?’ he asks.
‘Clarrie and I are trading today,’ says Bri brightly, totally and blissfully unaware of the tension that’s grabbed hold of the car park.
She swings a bag over her shoulder and smiles sunnily at Jed, and despite the frown that deepens across his face he also looks like he might be secretly overjoyed. Excellent. Good for them.
I automatically return Bri’s hug when she bounds forward and wraps her arms round me, meeting Declan’s eyes over her shoulder. He seriously looks as though he might be in physical pain. Cool. Cool, cool cool.
I can feel his eyes on my back as I walk round behind the car, the gravel loud beneath my feet.
It’s a lot like walking into a particularly unpleasant doctors’ visit.
Albeit one where you might be attracted to the doctor, who has explicitly told you he doesn’t date and pulled away when you tried to kiss him.
Bri and Jed both hop into the van and Bri honks the horn three times before they peel out.
From where I’m standing at the passenger side of the 4 WD I can see Jed turn to frown at her.
A spark lights my chest at the sight, and I have half a smile on my face when I finally get into the car.
Declan climbs in at the same time, and there’s a matching laughter in his eyes when they meet mine.
He clears his throat and looks straight ahead again.
After a beat of hesitation, he pushes the radio on and reverses out of the car park. I slide my sunglasses onto my face and rest my head against the side of the window. At least it might be a good chance to catch up on some rest.
What feels like twenty hours but is probably only one passes, and Declan and I exchange a total of three sentences.
The first is when he asks if I mind if he switches the radio station (I don’t), the second is when I magnanimously ask if he would like a snack from my bag (he doesn’t) and the third is when he points out a bird on the side of the road and I don’t see it.
Thankfully, the tension simmering in the car is cordial enough that we can both at least pretend to ignore it. We’re both reasonable adults. No big deal.
I know that I, for one, am very much not wishing that I could sink into the car seat every time Declan’s hand shifts on the wheel, or when my attention drifts to the heartbeat pulsing in his neck and I remember last night.
I open my mouth to say something – anything – when Declan suddenly brakes, swerving off the side of the road and then back on again.
There’s an audible bang from the front of the car, and almost immediately the driver’s side starts to dip and drag, clanking along the road. Declan’s arms tense and he curses under his breath. He flicks on the indicator, easing on the brakes this time and pulling over.
We both sit there for a second, saying nothing. Declan closes his eyes and takes a breath.
‘I’m so sorry,’ he says, his voice low. ‘There was an animal in the middle of the road.’
‘It’s okay,’ I tell him, because even though I’m shaken too, he was the one driving and that’s . . . awful. ‘I’m sure the animal had a nice, long life.’
Declan huffs out a laugh, his eyes still closed. ‘It probably still will,’ he says. He opens his eyes and meets mine, and there’s an apology there. ‘I missed the animal, but I think the cost of that was our tyre. It sounded like something punctured it.’
‘I’m sure our tyre had a nice, long life too,’ I say solemnly.
‘I’m just going to change it,’ Declan says, stretching his arms on the wheel. ‘Unless you want to?’
He’s not being facetious, or joking. He is genuinely asking me if I want to change the tyre. Yumi’s offered to teach me how to change a tyre at least ten times, but I drive so little that I’ve never taken her up on it. I will, when I get back, I decide. But right now . . . I shake my head.
‘I’ll let you get this one,’ I tell him.
Declan nods and opens his door, and I lean back in my seat.
We’re on a two-lane highway, but the road is silent and still. There’s scrub and bushes out of the window, but not much else.
Declan walks round the front of the car, then makes his way to the back. The boot creaks open and I hear him rummaging around, then it swings closed again, and when Declan reappears beside me it’s with trepidation on his face.
A feeling of foreboding settles across my skin.
‘There’s no spare tyre?’ I say.
Declan’s jaw tightens. ‘There’s no spare tyre,’ he says. ‘And no phone reception. Unless yours has some?’
I pull my phone out of the side pocket of my bag. There’s less than twenty per cent battery remaining and . . . no reception. I shake my head and almost in unison we look towards the road, where a total of zero cars have driven past in the five minutes we’ve been stopped.
Declan sighs.
‘There was a petrol station a couple of kilometres back,’ he says. ‘I can walk until I get there or at least until I find reception.’
‘I’ll come with you.’ It’s a near thing, but it turns out I want to avoid Declan less than I want to sit alone in the car on the side of the road.
Declan doesn’t question me, just pulls his water bottle out from the side pocket of the driver’s door and nods.
I unpack half of my snack bag and then jump out of the car, lifting my pack and the rest of the snacks out with me.
Declan watches me and he raises an eyebrow at my snack bag.
‘Don’t complain to me when you have so little energy that you can’t keep going,’ I tell him.
‘I’ll be sure to keep all complaints to myself,’ says Declan, before shutting the door.
I start walking back in the direction we came from, and Declan falls into step beside me, clicking the key fob to lock the car. The beep is loud on the silent road.
‘Jed would have words with you about that beep,’ I say. ‘It probably scared away at least ten different kinds of birds.’
Declan doesn’t respond, and the joke falls awkwardly flat.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says after a little while, and my stomach lurches uncomfortably at the possibility he’s apologising for last night. But then he adds, ‘I shouldn’t have swerved like that.’
‘I mean, I don’t really think it’s your fault,’ I tell him, relief making my knees weak. ‘But I’ll forgive you if you forgive me for Alex’s book club in Candon.’
‘Right,’ Declan agrees. ‘You did leave me at a book club.’ Then he falls silent. He definitely doesn’t tell me he forgives me.
I turn to look at him pointedly. He meets my eyes, his expression carefully bland.
‘Did you have anything you’d like to say, Declan?’ I ask him.
‘Not that I can think of, Clarence,’ he says.
I push him into the bushes and the element of surprise is enough to catch him off guard.
He yelps as his arm scrapes on an errant branch, stumbling awkwardly.
‘I’m not sorry,’ I call back to him, marching ahead.
Declan jogs to catch up to me, a smile hovering at the corner of his lips despite the fact that his arm is scratched and I am actually, in fact, a little sorry. The good news is that the exchange seems to have lightened the tension that was lingering between us.
We walk in silence for a little longer, but it feels different; less charged.
The highway remains empty and still, and after a while I find myself relaxing.
Maybe we won’t see each other after the tour, but we can at least be semi-comfortable for the rest of it.
The occasional chatter of birds punctuates the silence, and Declan lets me set the pace.
We’ve been walking for maybe ten minutes when he clears his throat and, whatever I’m expecting him to say, it’s not what he actually does say.
‘My mother wrote the dedication.’