Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
Harry
Toby Webley.
I can’t wait for him to wake up every day because I can’t wait to discover what he’s going to say, even though I know half of it will irritate me. But the other half makes me laugh.
He challenges me. Infuriates me.
Makes me want to kiss him madly.
The best thing is every time I feel like that, he is happy to oblige.
Toby and I now frequently kiss without it leading to sex.
Sometimes, we’ll be simply going about our daily tasks, like checking the snares or chopping wood, and I’ll see a particular furrow on his forehead or a quirk of his lips.
I find myself closing the distance between us to kiss him, knowing he’ll always kiss me back.
Toby likes kissing. It’s not surprising because he is naturally very adept at it and likes to flaunt his skills at any opportunity.
Not that I’m objecting.
The other thing about Toby is how he’s always probing beneath the surface of everything, trying to look for a deeper meaning. And because I’m the only person around for him to talk to, I get to be the recipient of the full benefit of his musings.
Today, we’re checking our trap line, collecting a satisfactory haul of two hares, one rabbit, and a squirrel.
“I have to say, I do prefer my meat coming on trays from Waitrose,” Toby says as he looks down at the trap.
I huff a laugh as I bend to untwist the wire around the hare’s neck.
“It’s confronting, being forced to actually catch and kill the food we eat. Do you think if more people had to do this, there would be more vegetarians?” he asks.
I try to hide it, but I actually enjoy being privy to the contents of Toby’s mind.
“I think that’s a reasonable supposition,” I reply.
We resume walking along the trail.
“The forest seemed so bare and desolate when we were trudging through it, but now we’re living among it, it feels different,” he says.
I haven’t actually thought that, but he’s right. When we were first dropped into the forest, it seemed like such a hostile and foreign place.
But now we’re living here, we have time to notice the intimate details. Like the small cluster of late autumn mushrooms growing under a fallen log. They look almost ethereal, illuminated in the pale shaft of sunlight.
“Hey, look, that woodpecker is here again. I wonder if they’re territorial,” Toby says.
We stop to watch the woodpecker fearlessly hammering away at the bark of a nearby birch tree. He continues his rhythmic tapping, undisturbed by our presence.
“I’ve always been a hypothetical environmentalist. I’ve wanted to save the planet because it seems morally right for the next generations rather than having any particular attachment to wild places.
But now, living here…” Toby’s voice trails off as he stares around us.
“Now I feel like I finally understand what’s at stake, what we’ll be losing if we don’t protect places like this. ”
“I’ve been accused of being teal by some members of my party,” I say.
Toby’s forehead furrows.
“Teal?”
“It’s a blend of blue and green. You know, blue for the Conservatives, green for the environmental movement.”
“Oh, sorry. Clearly, I didn’t spend enough time blending paints at kindergarten.”
“I can imagine you spent most of your time charming your classmates into giving you their lunch,” I comment.
“I may have had a lucrative arrangement going where I traded my carrot sticks for Nicola Benson’s chocolate muffin,” he says, and I can’t help but chuckle at the thought of a young Toby learning how his good looks and charm could gain him whatever he wanted.
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” I say.
“I’ve always had a precocious talent for negotiation, even back then,” he says with a smirk.
But his smile fades as we start walking again. “If you consider yourself an environmentalist, how do you reconcile that with your party’s stance on the fossil fuels industry?” he asks.
Toby isn’t attacking me. He actually harbors a genuine interest in my viewpoint.
“We always have to balance the environmental concerns against the human cost.”
“I understand there are multiple factors to consider,” he says. Then he holds his arms out theatrically. “But how can you ever put an amount on a place like this existing?”
It is a sparkling day. There was snowfall two days ago and a hard frost overnight, so everything glitters under the sunshine.
Nature is supercharged out here. The coldness. The beauty.
I slip a glance at Toby.
Despite my best efforts to remain unaffected, it’s impossible not to notice how stunning this man actually is. I’m finding it difficult to avoid acknowledging that his looks are only the beginning of what makes him so stunning to me.
“I agree, it is difficult to assign value to intangible things,” I reply.
“Do you think you’ll change anything about the way you approach politics when you get home?” he asks me.
“Maybe,” I say contemplatively. “You are correct that our experience here is a firsthand reminder of how the environment underpins everything.”
“I think I’ll do more to solve the problems of the number of people without housing.
” Toby kicks at a patch of snow with his boot, a contemplative look on his face.
“Now I’ve lived without a house, without knowing where my next meal is coming from, I understand the fear and uncertainty of not having a stable place to call home.
No one should have to live with that kind of insecurity. ”
“A strong economy will solve the problems of housing insecurity,” I say, and Toby rolls his eyes.
I stop at the next snare, which is empty, but somehow, the trigger has been disengaged. As I fix it, I can’t help pondering what else I will change when I get back home?
Perhaps my ability to live in the moment more.
I have spent so much of my life plotting and planning for the future. Nearly everything I’ve done has been designed for one purpose, to become the prime minister of the United Kingdom. But I’ve definitely capitulated to Toby’s ‘Enjoy the moment’ philosophy.
Now, walking in the pristine wilderness in the autumn sunshine with Toby by my side, philosophizing and challenging me, I can’t deny the simple emotion flooding me.
Happiness.
The days are getting noticeably shorter, which translates to the evenings becoming longer.
This is what I have surprisingly relished the most about our time so far in this cabin. The long evenings Toby and I spend together in our cozy cabin in front of the warmth of the fire.
There is no technology to distract us. Instead, we only have each other. But Toby’s company is more than enough to keep me entertained. We trade stories, debate and discuss, whiling away the hours in a cocoon of warmth and companionship.
A week ago, we discovered a battered pack of cards stashed in the back of a cupboard, so now we play cards together every night.
Some evenings, the sledging gets more intense than it used to when we faced each other in the Commons Chamber.
But instead of trying for a newsworthy soundbite, the main objective of our battle of wits now is to make the other laugh.
I treasure these quiet moments when the world outside falls away and it’s just the two of us, lost in conversation and the crackle of the fire.
But tonight, as I lean forward to add another log to the fire, a sharp twinge in my neck shatters the spell.
I stretch my neck, putting my hand up to rub it.
“Are you all right?” Toby asks from his place on the old, battered sofa.
“I think I pulled a muscle chopping wood today,” I say as I sit back down next to him.
“You want me to give you a massage?” he offers.
I lift an eyebrow at him. “I didn’t know massages were within your repertoire.”
He quirks an eyebrow right back. “I don’t think you’ve fully explored my repertoire.”
I flush, as I nearly always do when he references our sex life. I’m fairly certain that’s why he does it, actually.
Toby moves over to me, nudging me down to the ground so he can sit above me. He gingerly puts a hand on my neck.
“Oh, how I’ve always wanted to have my hands around your neck,” Toby says, and I tilt my head back to laugh at him.
“Why am I not surprised you don’t have more refined fantasies?”
“Oh, I think you’ll find you’ll enjoy my fantasies.” He sends me a flirty wink.
His hands slide down my neck to my shoulder blades, and I give a small moan of appreciation.
His hands work their magic, the tension slowly releasing from my knotted muscles. I can’t stop groans of relief escaping my lips as he finds and eases each tight spot.
He leans down and kisses the back of my neck, just below my hairline, and my breath hitches.
Because this is what I struggle to cope with.
These random moments of affection from this man.
Moments that cause my heart to start beating a hopeful rhythm.
I know I shouldn’t read too much into these gestures.
Toby is an affectionate person by nature, and it’s only natural our physical intimacy bleeds into other aspects of our relationship.
But still, I can’t help how my heart leaps at his casual touch and my skin tingles under his lips. It’s a dangerous thing, this hope fluttering in my chest. I know better than to let it take root, but sometimes, in moments like these, I find myself wishing for unattainable things.
Toby drops his hands from my neck. “Right. Do you think that’s enough so you won’t use a stiff neck as an excuse when I give you an arse-whipping tonight?”
“Is that one of your fantasies?” I ask. “I don’t know where we’re finding the whip though.”
Toby splutters before he recovers. “I was referring to cards.”
I seldom get to discomfit this man, so I relish the moments when I do.
But he’s grinning, shaking his head as he starts to shuffle. “Harry Matheson is engaging in dodgy innuendos. My corruption is complete.”
“I guess you do belong to a party that knows all about corruption,” I say lazily.
Toby quirks an eyebrow. “Do you really want to compare the history of scandals between the Labour and Conservative parties?”
“No, I would prefer to play cards,” I say.