Chapter Twenty
CHAPTER
20
The campsite is buzzing by the time I wake up. I sit carefully, relieved I’m not too sore. As the others talk and laugh outside, I roll my sleeping bag and mat and bind them up. When I fold Kit’s sleeping bag, it puffs up straight away. Last night Kit was …
He braided my hair and tucked me in. I touched his mouth. He pressed his lips against my wrist. He was gentle and respectful and …
There are at least fifteen metres between the toilet block, the tents and the table where Kit is sitting, but every time I see him I take the long way round. And after a series of contemplative looks, he skirts around me as well.
‘Mac?’
I look up from my cereal. ‘Adam.’
‘I like your hair.’
Even though Kit’s eyes stay determinedly on the bowl of cereal on the table in front of him, my skin warms as I push my cereal aside.
‘It won’t get in the way.’
Only Astrid, who helped store my gear in the bus, looks up from her breakfast. Her gaze goes pointedly from me to Kit.
‘We don’t want complications,’ she says sharply.
My daypack holds a water bottle, snacks, lunch and a jacket, and a waterproof satchel with my sketchbook and pencil box. Yesterday I wanted to show general competence and failed miserably. Today I’ll prioritise what I can do well. If I don’t get to draw, that’s on Astrid and Kit, not me.
Even though there are plenty of vacant double seats on the bus, Adam, with one of his characteristic boyish smiles, sits next to me. But as he immediately puts on headphones, it’s not like we have to talk. The early morning sunshine gets lost in the clouds; a fine sheen of drizzle clings to the windows. It’s a two-hour trip back to Summerfield and the national park. I could call Grandpa, but I don’t have much to report. I won’t be back in time to share dinner with him tonight, but the night nurse will let me in. Maybe Keith Urban can visit too?
‘You’re looking remarkably chipper this morning.’ Dougie, rearranging his camera gear in the caged section at the front of the bus, pulls out a muesli bar and rips back the wrapping. ‘What’s on your mind?’
‘Sneaking Keith Urban into Grandpa’s nursing home.’
He laughs. ‘With his guitar?’
‘Our Keith Urban is a kelpie.’
He takes a bite of the muesli bar. ‘Did Astrid tell you what’s on the program today?’
‘We hike four kilometres to the river, break for a couple of hours and then hike a different way back. After that, we go to the Summerfield mine.’
‘Kit won’t get a break because he wants to climb a cliff. I’ll be filming all day, but no interviews. Nothing formal.’
‘I’ll do my best.’
‘You know what?’ He eats the last of the muesli bar and scrunches up the wrapping. ‘It might work out better if you didn’t do your best. Pretend I’m not there, Mac. Just be yourself.’
***
Kit has the largest pack—ropes and other climbing equipment jangle with his steps. Even though my pack is smaller than anybody else’s, Astrid insists I give it to Adam. The hike starts with a well-marked fire trail and Erik walks next to me, but then we take an overgrown track and walk in single file. Kit could use a GPS because there’s a signal, but when we stop near a set of boulders that block our path, he pulls out his compass. I walk past him to the front and point to the moss-covered divots in the rocks. ‘Climbing on the left is the easiest path.’ His gaze goes from my face to my arm.
‘I’ll go first.’
It’s not easy to clamber up the rocks, but we make steady progress before taking a break at the halfway point. I perch on a rock and look through the trees to the steep-sided ridge that leads to the river. I’ve been here with Dad. And when we were agitating for the closure of the mine, I hiked here with environmentalists from the city. Dougie said I should be myself. This is a good place to do that.
I point through the trees. ‘Look.’ Adam doesn’t hear because he’s listening to music, but Kit crouches beside me and follows the line of my finger. ‘A lyrebird.’ Only vaguely aware of Dougie’s camera and determined not to search for a light, I look up. ‘The female isn’t much to look at.’
The undergrowth thickens under the densely treed canopy as we clamber down the slope towards the river and a sandy embankment that resembles a beach. On the far side, the slope is steep. Windswept debris, brought down the river when it floods, crisscrosses between trees like a sequence of dams.
‘This is the Summers River,’ I tell Astrid, ‘the same river that flows through Summerfield.’
‘There’ll be less water in the river after the dam is demolished and the flow returns to the wetlands,’ Astrid says. ‘Is this a problem for the river?’
‘According to the engineers, there’ll be less erosion and flooding upstream.’
When we break for lunch, I perch on a log next to Dougie, drink tea from a thermos and eat cheese and biscuits. Kit sits on his own on the sand with his legs stretched out. Cicadas chirrup, birds whistle and squark. The sun peeps through the clouds and warms my shoulders. I pull off my cap, run a hand over my hair.
Neat and tidy. A rope.
‘Mackenzie.’ Kit stands. ‘You know this place?’
I point past the strip of sand. ‘I’ve seen Cryptostylis erecta here before.’
‘An orchid?’ He wraps his leftover sandwich and stores it in his bag. ‘Show me.’
Dougie takes another sip from his drink bottle and waves it in the air. ‘Ten minutes maximum. This light is too good to waste.’
Kit follows me over tree roots to an old-growth red gum. On the far side of the tree there are layers of ferns, grasses and mosses. I crouch and point out the stems of three orchids and the two narrow leaves that jut out of the ground either side of them.
‘These generally grow near the coast. When they flower, the labellum, that’s the lip, is green with red stripes and imitates the odour of a female wasp, which encourages male wasps to linger a while.’ I smile as I stand and turn. ‘When the male flies to another flower, he transfers the pollen he’s picked up.’
Kit’s eyes go to my mouth. Mine go to his. ‘Why did you ignore me?’
After taking a very deep breath, I formulate a response. ‘Why are you so direct?’
He lifts a hand, drops it again. ‘You’re beautiful.’
‘Kit …’
‘Dougie said I have shit social skills.’
‘You seem to get away with that.’
I’m perfectly balanced on two solid rocks, but when Kit grasps my hand I cling on to it tightly. His lips are cool when he kisses my wrist in the way he did last night. He rests his cheek against mine; his breath is warm. My breasts tingle. My thighs ache. When I lean against his body, he wraps his arms around me.
I want to kiss him. He wants to kiss me. His moan or mine as he lowers his head? The tip of his tongue to the corner of my mouth, the tip of my tongue to his. His body is hard. His mouth is soft yet firm. I trail my fingers up his sternum to his neck and the skin at his throat. He smiles against my cheek, kisses my mouth again.
‘Kit.’ His name is a groan on my lips. When I shudder a breath, he looks up.
‘Kj?reste.’
He widens his stance, backs me up to the rocks, and scatters my senses in a searching and toe-curling kiss. His erection is long and hard against my stomach; I stand on my toes to feel more of him against me. He sweeps my mouth like he can’t taste enough. He explores every crevice then goes back to the beginning. I’m breathless, a tingling shaft of lust, when he lifts his head. I kiss his throat. I bite, not soft not hard, but—
‘Fuck.’ The word is a groan. He searches my face, takes my bottom lip in his mouth. His hand goes to my breast and I press against him.
As if he reads my mind, he undoes a button of my shirt. The strap of my vest has slipped over my shoulder. Last time when he saw me in this vest he was cool, detached. This time his eyes are heated. His lips are slightly apart.
‘Vakker.’
He kisses my neck with open-mouthed kisses, a passionate trail to the base of my throat and my pulse, then follows a line down my collarbone. So lightly that only the warmth of his breath tells me he’s there, he kisses my bruises. He kisses again, over my collarbone and down my sternum. He opens my shirt and cups my breast over my singlet. He strokes around the areole with his thumb.
He mumbles words. ‘I want you.’
‘Yes.’ I mouth the word.
His hand stills on my breast. ‘Do you want me, Mackenzie?’
I kiss his throat. Press even closer. I want everything.
‘Say it.’ A growl.
‘Yes.’
Through the singlet, he nudges and teases. He kisses a warm wet ring around my nipple then takes it into his mouth, playing through the fabric until I’m wound up like a spring. When I gasp, he looks up with fiery eyes. My legs wobble. My heart jumps around. His hands tighten on my waist as I cling to his shoulders and all but rub my aching thighs against his leg.
‘Fuck.’ The word against my breast is a frustrated moan. He kisses another trail up my body to my throat and presses soft determined kisses to my mouth. He kisses it again, long, wet and hard. My skin is hot, my breaths are short.
‘Please?’ A request? A plea?
He lifts his head, finds my hand, puts my fingers on his mouth. He kisses them. ‘Dougie.’
I don’t want to hear what he does, but Dougie yells again. ‘Kit! Mac!’
Kit grumbles against my neck. Then, with slightly unsteady hands, he fastens my buttons and smooths my shirt. His hands go back to my hips and he pulls me close again.
‘Kit!’ Astrid is closer than Dougie. When I push against Kit’s chest, he mutters complaints but takes a step back. He checks I’m steady on my feet, kisses my forehead, talks against my skin.
‘Hjort.’
My breaths are up and down, my hands flutter between us. ‘What does that mean?’
Kit’s eyes are bright. He tips his head to the side, runs a finger down my nose.
‘Deer.’ He blows out a breath. ‘Fawn.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Don’t run.’ His kiss on my mouth is hard and possessive. ‘Stay.’
Still in a bubble of lust and confusion, I stand mutely as he takes my hand and threads our fingers. When he kisses my thumb, takes it into his mouth and touches the tip with his tongue, my legs wobble.
‘Kit!’ Astrid again.
My breathing all over the place, I take a shaky step back. ‘We have to go.’
Kit shouts over my shoulder. ‘Wait for us there!’ He’s not a mess. He’s calm and collected. Are we different in that way as well? I’m suddenly cold. As cold as I was last night.
A splash in the water, a shoal of fish. Silvery bodies dart over the rocks. When Kit holds out his hand, I pretend I haven’t seen it and jump lightly over the water. He jumps too and we face each other again. When he takes my hand, I tug it free.
‘I don’t want Astrid to see!’
‘It doesn’t matter.’ The water in the creek flows softly behind him. Not a flood or a waterfall, but even if it was, I don’t think he’d care.
‘I want her to know I’m capable. What would she think if she saw us together?’
He frowns. ‘She already suspects.’
I step back, wipe my hands down my pants. ‘I don’t want that. I don’t want her to think that I need you, that I need anyone.’
‘You said you—’
‘No!’ I wave my hand in the direction we came from. ‘No.’
‘Mackenzie …’ His voice is soft. A warning.
I clear my throat, but no more words come out.
‘We don’t have to hold hands.’ He growls the words. ‘Not yet.’
‘We shouldn’t have done that.’ I cross my arms even though it hurts. ‘I’m here because of the documentary. Nothing else.’
Eyes narrowed, he reaches over my shoulder and pulls my plait forward. The plait that he threaded. I shouldn’t be trembling. I should shove him away. Kick him in the shin. Push him over the rocks and into the creek.
‘Explain.’
A part of me wants to kiss his arrogant mouth. Another part wants him to go back to the alternate Viking world where he belongs. I take a jerky step back. Another one.
‘Weeks ago, at the saddlery, you said you were leaving the decision on the trial to Astrid, Erik and the others. Can you clarify why that is?’
He rubs around the back of his neck. ‘I have a conflict of interest.’
‘You don’t!’
A string of angry words that I don’t understand. Then, ‘I disagree.’
‘Erik said he’d consider the submissions on their merits. That’s all I’m asking for.’
‘Do you think I’d undermine you?’
‘Right from the start, you’ve seen me at my worst. You think I’m vulnerable. You think I need your help.’
‘This …’ He speaks quietly. ‘This is different.’
‘Kit! Mac! Dougie wants you!’
I take a circuitous path around Kit, stepping over tree roots as I make my way through the bush. Hands on her hips, Astrid is standing twenty metres away. Kit said she already suspects. Earlier today, she said …
I stop dead in my tracks. I spin around. ‘Astrid said she doesn’t want complications. Did she mean personal complications?’
He squares his shoulders. ‘It’s possible.’
‘I don’t want people to look at me or gossip about me.’
‘I don’t want that either.’
‘You’re known all over the world. You date famous actors and Olympians and …’ I wipe an arm across my mouth. ‘Astrid has supported me in the past. If I lost that support, you wouldn’t care. Is that why you kissed me?’
‘You accuse me of that?’
Anger was easy, this is … ‘No.’ I link my fingers, pull them apart. ‘That was unfair.’
The pulse in his throat beats double time. ‘I wouldn’t harm you.’
If he caused me harm in respect to the project, he’d be upfront about it. But what about the other kind of harm? How many hearts has he trampled? A goanna the length of my leg scuttles over leaf litter and disappears into the undergrowth.
‘I didn’t know about complications. I don’t want to let my grandfather down.’
‘You don’t understand me.’
‘No.’
His expression is closed, impossible to read. ‘You don’t want to learn.’