Chapter 9
Itap my fingers against my arm before fixing him with a haughty look.
‘So, supposed Queen Ego fan,’ I say, taking in his relaxed pose, his rolled up sleeves and the easy curve to his lips, like there’s no reason he would be anywhere but here. ‘What’s your favourite album?’
I can’t resist asking the question. At least to see if he has a response.
‘I think I’m a little scared to answer,’ he replies, eyeing me with a touch of edginess.
I immediately scoff. ‘You’re not scared of me. And I’m not about to gatekeep or anything. Just give me a little album name,’ I say with a growing smile.
‘Alright…’ he says. ‘Okay. Pillow Fight. What’s the official verdict on that?’
I blink. ‘Oh.’
My favourite album too. I’m not sure if I feel pleased or vaguely miffed that we have that in common.
His hand pauses reaching for his glass with a smirk. ‘I’ve surprised you?’
‘No,’ I bite back, brushing my fringe away from my eyes.
He replies without hesitation. ‘What’s yours?’
‘Pillow Fight, as well. Favourite song?’
He shakes his head. ‘Nope. You go first this time. You might be stealing my answers,’ he teases, earning him a glare.
‘“Amelia”.’ I keep my eyes on his face to gauge any reaction, but his face is as unreadable as ever.
‘Alright. I’m gonna go with “Stage Fright”,’ he says.
Interesting. He’s chosen material that has flown under the radar for most people, so he clearly has knowledge of their discography. I have to stop myself from looking in any way impressed.
‘Predictable,’ I breathe into my glass as I take another sip. Elliot barks out a laugh, eliciting a snort from me in response. Our eyes meet in a silent dare.
‘Looks like I might be a fan, after all.’
‘Maybe,’ I say mildly, refusing to relent.
‘Perhaps you’ll stop quizzing me now and needing to prove you love this band more than I do.’ His voice rumbles under the music.
‘But you haven’t even given me a chance to gatekeep yet,’ I protest.
‘How old are you?’ he asks.
I wheeze a laugh, drinking in his cool smile. ‘Twenty-two.’
‘Have you considered behaving like a twenty-two-year-old? Recently? Or ever?’
I press my lips together to hold in another bout of laughter. ‘Remember when I called you unreasonable?’
‘I’ll never forget it, princess.’
I shrug. ‘I’d just like to reiterate that. You know – again.’
‘Fine. Received.’
Curiosity gets the best of me. ‘How old are you?’
‘One year your senior.’
‘You don’t act like it.’
His overwhelming presence is beginning to settle in my nervous system, and I realise I’m eager to keep him talking. About pretty much anything.
‘Anything else you… do?’
‘What do you mean?’ he asks, his glass frozen next to his lips.
‘You know, when you’re not stealing from innocent, young women and allegedly listening to Queen Ego, what might you be doing? Shot put practice near a children’s playground?’
He snorts with laughter and I feel unreasonably proud of myself for causing it.
‘Underground vole racing? Running a granola-based small business on Etsy?’ I motion at him to elaborate.
‘Is that the vibe I’m emitting?’ he asks with concern.
I consider him for a moment, wrinkling my nose. ‘A little.’
‘Jesus.’
I laugh at his horrified expression.
‘Well, none of those things,’ he says. ‘I just exist solely to irritate you.’
A laugh gets caught in my throat. What is this? Is this man funny all of a sudden? ‘I already know that. I’m looking for new information.’
He looks slightly panicked. ‘Um, I’m not sure. Just see friends, mostly. Live music, obviously. Play basketball. Gym sometimes.’
Ah. That explains the strong curve of his biceps that I may have noticed, by accident.
‘Well.’ I pause, struggling to think of anything that might keep a conversation about sport afloat. ‘Oh! Can you do that thing where you spin a ball on your index finger?’
He grins, then quickly attempts to cover it. ‘I’m not sure if anyone… really does that.’
I nod sagely. ‘Disappointing.’
‘I realise how boring I sound,’ he says, wincing.
‘No, no. I did kind of put you on the spot. Like when someone says “tell me about yourself” and you can’t think of anything so you just panic and say that you have a cat or collect jams.’
‘Do you collect jams?’ he asks politely.
‘Not currently.’
‘That’s a pity.’
‘I do have a cat though,’ I say.
His face lights up. ‘Really?’
‘I do, she’s my world,’ I tell him with pride.
‘What’s her name?’
‘Doctor Stella Fennel.’
His mouth tightens in a way that looks like he’s holding a laugh. ‘So, Stella?’
‘No,’ I say with a frown. ‘Dr Stella Fennel.’
‘Ah, okay. It’s a full-name situation.’
‘Yes,’ I say as if this is obvious. ‘We use her full title.’
‘Right,’ he says cautiously. ‘So, she runs her own medical practice?’ he asks.
‘She does! If running a medical practice involves killing as many mice as possible and then failing to revive them.’
He nods with an alarmed expression. ‘She sounds cute.’
‘You have no idea.’
Luckily, my housemate Allie loves her almost as much as I do and can watch her when I’m not around. Which if I’m honest, doesn’t happen very frequently.
Without even realising it, my body has relaxed and the frazzle of adrenaline that has coursed through my veins since arriving at this festival has sunken to imperceptible levels.
Talking to him becomes easier and easier as we work on our second round of drinks, and I find myself gazing into the ice at the bottom of my glass with a small grimace.
‘I feel like I should ask you what you do?’
He cocks a brow. ‘Like my job?’
‘Yes,’ I nod, feigning extreme patience. ‘Like your job. Your employment. Go on.’
I learn that he has been working as a trainee solicitor for nearly two years at one of the largest firms in London. I listen to him speak with my face impassive as I try not to imagine him in a suit. I’ve never understood much about the industry and I’m not about to pretend I do.
‘Explains why you’re so good at arguing,’ I note, my eyes narrowed.
‘With all due respect, I’m not the one starting the arguing,’ he counters.
‘That’s an interesting argument,’ I say lightly.
‘I’d call it a perspective.’
‘God help the people you work with,’ I mutter, taking another sip from my glass.
He tilts his head to the side as he assesses me. ‘So you studied… what, maths?’
I rear back in surprise. ‘What gave me away? My pi tattoo isn’t even visible.’
‘Am I right?’ He sounds pleased with himself.
‘Almost. Physics.’
His brows lift in surprise. ‘Cool. And where’s the pi tattoo?’
‘I was kidding.’
His face doesn’t change. ‘So was I.’
I nod, keeping a laugh at bay. ‘Ah. If I kept up I would’ve joked it’s on my ass. Left cheek.’
A grin breaks across his face. ‘So what do you do now?’
‘Data science,’ I say. ‘Perfect job for people who like to solve puzzles and be busy.’
‘Do you enjoy it?’
‘Yeah. It’s stressful sometimes, tedious other times. But it’s always interesting. And I work fully remotely, which is a bonus for someone who prefers being indoors.’
We talk more about my job and what my days look like, Elliot firing me question after question. He’s very curious about it for some reason. Perhaps he’s considering a career pivot.
Conversation flows without a hitch until he finishes his drink and puts his glass down with finality. And when he looks at his watch and I follow suit, I can’t believe an hour has gone by. ‘We should go.’
By the time we’re approaching the Pulse tent, which somehow seems even busier than before, I’m sporting a pleasant buzz from the gin.
I’m mercifully grateful that I’m not inside when I see that the entrances to the tent are both full to the brim with moving bodies; it makes me feel ill to even look at it.
‘Looks pretty chaotic in there,’ Elliot mutters. ‘Let me see if I can get in touch with them.’
I reach for my own phone in response, noticing what little battery power I have left. I find Hennie in my recent calls and tap her name. The line is quiet for a few seconds before it takes me straight to her voicemail.
‘She must not have signal in there,’ I sigh.
Elliot seems to have the same problem. I watch him tap a message into his phone one-handed when neither Owen nor Josh answer.
‘I hope they’re okay,’ I wonder aloud.
‘They’re fine. The reception is just terrible here.’ His gravelly voice sounds solid and sure. I know he’s probably right, and this is confirmed when Hennie’s name lights up my phone screen.
IMPOSSIBLE TO GET OUT OF THIS TENT
it’s fucking rammed in here
are you ok??? has elliot driven you to the depths of madness??
A relieved smile escapes me as I type out a response.
I’m good!! Don’t worry
Are YOU ok?
oh I’m having the time of my life don’t worry about me
have I mentioned I love drum and bass???
No? You’ve actually never mentioned it
you comedian
Do you want to stay in there?
I’m really okay, if you are??
I’m totally fine, but that goes against our deal
I want to be sure he’s not a murderer
My eyes flick back up towards Elliot, watching him as he observes the Pulse tent with a calm gaze.
I reckon he’s fine
I am furious with him because he is a thief and a menace
But he’s strangely nice?
Sometimes. Ish
When he isn’t actively thieving
hmmmm ok
well if you head back to our tent I’ll meet you there?
odyssey finish in about half an hour so we won’t be long
that sound ok?? Pls pls be honest
100%, please stay and have a brilliant time
I’m so glad you actually have people to dance in a big crowd with
you’re a lovely sausage
ok share your live location with me please
see you at the tent!!!! call me if you need ANYTHING
Will do!
‘Looks like they’re going to stay in there until the set is over. Too busy to get out. They’re also just having a great time,’ I say, pocketing my phone.
Elliot nods and hooks his sharp gaze onto me again.
‘So… you want to head to a tent to sleep? Or another drink?’ I think he means for his voice to sound casual, but I sense a hint of discomfort.
‘So we are going to share a tent?’ I rest my free hand on my hip, quirking an eyebrow at him.
He looks at the Pulse tent again with great curiosity. ‘I mean… not if it makes you uncomfortable. Although I’m not sure how we’d deal with this,’ he says, gesturing to the drumstick. His raspy voice travels higher as he speaks, I note with amusement. Something in me softens.
‘That’s okay. I’m comfortable with it if you are?
’ I ask, realising that I speak nothing but the truth.
As much as it feels strange admitting it, the idea of sleeping in the same tent as Elliot doesn’t massively concern me.
It’s not like we’re interested in each other like that, so I don’t see why there should be any issues.
He hesitates while his eyes search my face.
‘I’m alright with it.’ His voice falls lower again, reaching its usual depth. ‘As long as you are. My tent is a four-man, so we would have plenty of space.’
I nod brightly, plastering a confident smile on my face as we start to make our way to the Light Tellers exit.
‘Wow, enormo-tent. It’ll just be like sleeping in the same room, right?’
Elliot scratches the back of his neck while he muses at my question. ‘Right.’
Our steps land perfectly in time with each other as we walk through the thinning crowds and honestly, I don’t really think about where we’re heading.