Chapter 24
There’s a different atmosphere tonight compared to last night, I note, studying the people around us. The crowds are beginning to cheer with a fresh vigour as the realisation strikes that this festival is not a never-ending, seamless stream of happy memories. Like any other weekend, it has to end.
The night bleeds with a desperation to celebrate and fill every available minute with the essence of Firecrest’s joy.
Any moment that could potentially be crammed with an opportunity to see the weird and wonderful, it begs to be filled now.
The exhaustion due to the demands of festival living has not set in for most, it seems.
We walk through the Yellow camp and begin to trudge up The Lakes hillside in quiet tandem, listening to the sounds of beating drums and the thrum of thousands of cheers careering upward towards the sky.
The hill is mercilessly steep, covered in yellow and brown grass from constant sunlight and heavy footsteps, and tall flags that are dotted up the hill.
This results in a sprawling colourful display when viewed from far away but from where we’re standing, it’s essentially a hill decorated with tall, metal poles.
The drumstick sits, unacknowledged, in my bag. We haven’t mentioned its existence since it last went into hibernation, and I’m content to keep it that way. Obviously I have no intention of sneaking it home, but I’m not keen to discuss it at this point. That can wait.
Veering around another flag pole as we trundle uphill, unease starts to prickle my skin as I try to think of simple, neutral topics of conversation.
Sandwiches, sea creatures? Cloud formations?
Any of them would do but it would also require opening my mouth to speak, which I don’t love the idea of currently.
I’m hesitant to say anything at all, scared to break the silence.
Also he might respond at length and I would have to endure the gravelly and rich tones of his voice which I’ve started to notice make my insides feel like they’re made of hot, sticky caramel.
The same voice eventually breaks me out of my reverie.
‘So…’ He clears his throat and I unintentionally hold my breath. ‘How are you planning on adjusting back to real life this week? Exciting plans or just rest and recovery?’
‘The latter,’ I reply carefully, grateful for the easy topic. ‘Lots of cat time needed. And it’ll be nice to see my housemate. But to be honest with you, I might need to rest for a year after this.’
‘Know what you mean. It’s a specific kind of exhaustion. Just the one housemate?’
‘Yep. Allie. We met at uni, she’s my closest friend aside from Hennie – and an unparalleled board game and snake enthusiast.’
His brows quirk upwards. ‘Niche.’
‘Yeah, I love it. What about you? Any housemates who have to endure you?’
He gives me a sidelong glance. ‘Nope, just me.’
‘Oh.’ I don’t know why I’m surprised. ‘Why?’
He shrugs. ‘I like my space.’
I don’t have the energy or will to come back with a teasing response about the irony of this, given our situation. I’m also growing increasingly out of breath on this never-ending hill.
‘Fair enough,’ I huff. ‘Sorry, but I think I might be dying.’ I stop walking and rest my hands on my hips as I turn to take in the view with my lungs heaving. ‘Is this high enough?’
‘Sure.’ He throws himself down onto the grass next to a flagpole.
I remain standing, still taking in the way Firecrest looks at night from above.
Hundreds of lights lining the labyrinth of pathways are scattered throughout, and I can just about decipher the different areas from the ways they’re lit.
The bold, neon lighting in a far corner indicates the Light Teller’s area, with a more cosy and warm glow sitting quietly next to it, which must be The Warren.
Connecting all the areas in my mind as I look out, the reality of its enormous size strikes me.
The festival stretches out across my entire eyeline and seems to extend even further with the darker camping areas surrounding it on all sides.
It could be a city. I find it hard to believe that I’ve journeyed across the entire space so many times now, and that I’ve become so well acquainted with it this quickly.
It almost seems to beckon to me, with yellow and white spotlights pulsing into the sky and dancing across the clouds.
‘It doesn’t even look real,’ I say, my voice quiet.
‘No, it doesn’t.’
I toss my backpack down before sitting down next to Elliot on the other side of the flagpole. My lungs start to feel fully recovered as I lean my shoulder against it.
Wasting no more time and hoping to avoid chit-chat, I sit up straight to start our brainstorming process on the next clue. We both open up our maps and the line-up on our phones to scan for any hints at all that might link to, of all fucking things, lobsters.
With a delighted gasp, I find an act on the line-up called ‘Sea Girl’ who is playing at The Devil’s Hand at half-past three tomorrow.
‘But that doesn’t match up with the time they gave us,’ Elliot retorts.
‘It’s something though. That can’t be nothing,’ I say, hopeful.
He hums unconvincingly and goes back to looking at his phone, his eyes narrowed in concentration.
After numerous theories and ideas that lead nowhere, I groan with frustration and rub my hands over my face, then lie back against the grass with a hopeless thud.
‘Maybe it wasn’t a lobster after all,’ I say despairingly. ‘Could it have been a crab? We should have taken a picture of it.’
‘It was a lobster, Nora,’ Elliot responds flatly.
I snort at the absurdity of this conversation. ‘You’re very confident about your freshwater aquatic animals, aren’t you.’
‘Yes. Lobsters are saltwater creatures, though.’
I bite down on a grin. ‘Oh God, shut up.’
He chokes out a laugh, quickly snapping me out of my sulky mood. I smirk and look up at him.
‘Sorry.’
‘No, you’re not,’ he says.
‘No, you’re right. I’m not.’
I decide to give myself and my brain a small break. It is a relief that we’ve somewhat slipped back into the familiar territory of pettiness for the moment.
‘At least we have the drumstick if this hunt doesn’t work out,’ I mumble, resting my eyes briefly. Elliot sighs next to me.
‘Yeah, for one of us.’
I decide to mercifully ignore him and enjoy the feel of the cool grass against my neck instead.
‘Right, we need a break and I need a drink. Do you want anything?’
I crack one eye open to see him peer down at me questioningly.
‘Lemonade, please?’ I ask, shooting him an angelic smile.
He nods and walks away without a word towards a tiny, hillside cabin.
Given our brief respite, I take the opportunity to close my eyes and focus on the sounds of muted conversation around me.
Without warning, the image of Elliot’s heavy eyes drinking me in flashes in my mind. My eyes fly open again.
Brilliant. Thrilling. I’m so excited to be haunted by this kiss forever.
I know I’m about to be inundated with thoughts about Elliot and I’m not happy about it. In particular how it felt to have his hands touch me like he wanted to devour me. How impossibly soft his lips were. And what the kiss even meant?
Probably nothing.
Almost certainly nothing.
But who kisses someone only to take it back? Especially a kiss like that? A manner in which I have never, ever been kissed in my life. Something deep in my gut stings.
For a second, I wonder if I should text Hennie.
Because she will be furious when she hears that I kept tonights’ events to myself and I am concerned for my well-being if I procrastinate on telling her for too long.
(Despite the fact that I know The Kiss isn’t significant in the grand scheme of things, and it was likely just the classic ‘boy kisses a girl because he fancies it in the moment during an alcohol-fuelled haze and immediately regrets it’ scenario.) But right now?
The timing isn’t good. I don’t want to interrupt her having a good time with the boys.
I scrape my hands through my hair to massage the scalp underneath my curls, trying to quieten the harsh truth that is slotting itself tidily into the back of my mind.
I’m so desperate to avoid acknowledging it that my thoughts travel elsewhere, to another truth: if he really liked me, he could have made it very clear by now.
He also probably wouldn’t have apologised for kissing me right after kissing me. Unless that’s something boys do. I don’t know. Nothing about this is normal.
I hear a soft thump next to me and tear my hands out of my hair to sit up; Elliot’s hand is already holding out a drink for me.
‘Thank you,’ I say, taking it.
He nods and turns his attention back to the view. I take the opportunity to lie back down, resting my drink comfortably next to me. My body is exhausted.
‘Where is it?’ I hear him ask.
I know what he’s referring to.
‘In my bag,’ I tell him, my eyes still closed.
The sound of my bag zip opening cause me to tilt my head down to him with a glare.
‘Rude.’
‘Don’t worry, just grabbing the stick. I’m not taking your wallet.’
‘Not yet anyway,’ I snort.
His dark brows pinch together as he turns the drumstick over in his hands.
‘What are you thinking?’ I ask dryly. ‘That this strange agreement probably wasn’t worth it?’
His head snaps up to me, apparently affronted. ‘No, not at all. It’s just been… a surreal weekend.’
You can say that again. I hum in agreement and his eyes meet mine. There’s something tender and timid in his gaze as he clears his throat, and I have to wrestle my eyes away from his. I pull my jacket more tightly around myself as a cool breeze hits my skin.
‘I don’t know.’ He swallows. ‘I’m not sure if there’s going to be a happy ending with this. I’m starting to feel sorry that I didn’t just let you have it,’ he says, his voice small.
‘Well.’ I prop myself up on my elbows. ‘It’s not too late to do the right thing,’ I tease, trying to inject lightness into my voice. I take a sip of my drink and shudder as the icy contents course through me.
‘Do either of us really need it though? Would it change anything?’ he asks, his eyes piercing mine.
I don’t know, I realise, because I don’t truly know why he’s even holding onto it.
‘For my general well-being, technically I don’t need it, no. I realise it’s not a magical object.’ I pause. ‘But would I get to keep a memento from my favourite band forever? Yes. And would it serve as a reminder of something I achieved and worked through? Also yes.’
‘Hennie would remind you, I bet. And that’s not a feeling you’ll forget anytime soon, surely?’
As much as I hate to admit it, he’s right.
‘Yeah. Maybe.’
‘Also, I’ll be here to remind you. If you ever need it.’ His gaze is warm and unrelenting.
I wonder if I will ever get used to the sensation of him studying me so closely. These moments of softness never fail to stupefy me.
My voice retreats into a whisper. ‘Thanks.’
‘I just – I don’t know.’ He sighs roughly. ‘Maybe… maybe we never needed this at all, you know?’ he says, rotating the drumstick in his hands again. I feel myself frown.
Without pausing, he straightens and rears his arm back – arranging his frame as if he’s about to launch the drumstick over the edge of the hill. My blood goes cold.
A loud gasp leaps out of my throat as he begins to launch his arm forward with sudden ferocity.
But just as quickly as he starts to throw it, he stops, his head whipping to me with a growing smirk. Upon seeing my face, he breaks into a grin and his body collapses inward with a hearty wheeze of laughter.
My mouth hangs open as I watch him.
The cad was never going to throw it, this is just his idea of teasing me.
Perhaps I am capable of murder. I wonder if his body would roll all the way into the lake if I pushed him down the hill.
He leans towards me with another rough laugh. ‘Oh my God, I can’t believe you actually thought I was going to throw it?’ His voice is uncharacteristically unsteady as he struggles to restrain his mirth. ‘After both of us being attached to it for more than twenty-four hours?’
My shoulders start to shake with disbelieving laughter.
‘I – fucking hell, this thing could kill someone if it hit them from this height,’ he says incredulously with another laugh, wiggling the drumstick at me.
Trying to fight the unstoppable smile that’s growing on my face, I crawl toward him to get the stick back.
‘I’m glad you think murder is so funny,’ I snap. ‘You clearly cannot be trusted with this.’
I snatch the drumstick out of his hand easily. He’s still laughing to himself, to my irritation.
‘Sorry – I’m sorry, I think that’s Josh’s effect on me,’ he says, running a hand through his hair and leaning back down on the grass. ‘I can’t believe you bought that,’ he breathes with awe. ‘That was so easy.’
‘I hate you,’ I growl, deeply resenting the grin that’s refusing to leave my face.