Chapter 26
After stopping off for more food on our way back to the Yellow Camp (pizza for Elliot, noodles for me) we finally reach the path that leads to my tent.
Hennie has also been alerted about our current whereabouts, and that we are planning to sleep in my tent together. Her replies come in rapid succession:
in your tiny tent??WEEEEEEE ok ok I hear ya
wow wowowow what a NIGHT
ok/
I will stomp home and check on you
if he takes advantage I will kill him
tell him that
!!!!!
And after a pause:
have you told him????
I chuckle at her garbled words. She must be more drunk than I am. In return I demand that she keeps me updated on her well-being, and I tell Elliot to ask the boys to chaperone her back to her tent safely.
Facing rows and rows of mismatched tents and gazebos, I realise that I’ve not yet been faced with the challenge of finding my tent in the dark without Hennie’s assistance.
My sense of direction isn’t exactly my greatest asset, and unfortunately memorising a festival map on an iPhone app did not help me with this problem.
I hum thoughtfully to myself, considering where we should enter the endless sea of tents.
‘Please tell me you know where your tent is,’ Elliot drawls.
‘Of course I know where it is,’ I snap, confidently stepping forward to make my way around an enormous green tent that I feel like I recognise.
I lead the way for us both, darting around tent pegs and strings that threaten to topple me over for a second time.
It feels like a bad decision partaking in what feels like a specific kind of night-time obstacle course after drinking.
I’ve only had a few drinks this evening, but it’s still enough to make my limbs feel a little heavier and my brain power considerably slower.
We pass under another marquee crammed with camping chairs dispersed underneath it. Shit. Haven’t we already been here? My gaze darts back up to the hundreds of colourful tent tops finely dusted in moonlight. They are never-ending.
‘Are we lost, Nora?’ Elliot asks, sounding very amused.
‘Shut up, we’re not lost,’ I whisper back fiercely.
I glance at the tents around me, willing for any to strike me as familiar. With no luck, I veer to the left and hope for the best.
I hear Elliot pipe up behind me again. ‘Alright, if we’re still wandering aimlessly around at midnight, we’re going back to my tent.’
‘It’s just around here, stop fretting.’
To my astonishment, at that moment I see a striped tent that I definitely do recognise. After turning a few corners and hopping over a cluster of camping chairs, I finally spot my dark blue tent tucked next to Hennie’s red one.
‘See? Here we go, all fine,’ I say proudly as we approach the entrance of my tent. It looks even smaller than I remembered.
I unzip it as quietly as I can before crawling inside and scanning the area for any mess I need to clear away for my unexpected guest.
Elliot’s head pops through the opening, his eyes wide. ‘You’re kidding. This is a two-man tent? As in… for two fully-grown people?’
‘Yes, I seem to remember warning you,’ I huff. ‘Or do you not recall? Have you suffered a blow to the head in the last hour?’
‘Someone’s quite snappy this evening,’ Elliot notes, warmth creeping into his voice.
‘Speaking of snappy… however will you cope without your crocodile jumper tonight?’ I ask, as he bends down to step through the entrance, his body folding over awkwardly to fit inside.
The tent is big enough for my bed and all of my things, with just enough room to crouch in.
He looks around with noticeable discomfort, as if he doesn’t know where to put himself.
‘Uh,’ he murmurs quietly, sounding distracted. ‘Guess I’ll die.’
I choke with laughter at his uncharacteristic dramatics and fumble around for my lamp hanging above us to switch it on.
Elliot reels back and shields his eyes with his palm.
‘Fucking hell,’ he hisses. ‘Is this when you interrogate me for crimes?’
‘Sorry, I know it’s a bit blinding.’
‘It’s fine, better than both of us crawling around in the dark,’ he says.
‘Let me find you something warm,’ I say, rooting around in my bag. He’s wearing a navy long-sleeved top and his jacket, which has been warm enough for the evening but probably wouldn’t serve him for the rest of the night.
‘I’ll be fine,’ he insists.
‘Take this.’ I hold out a purple sweatshirt for him. ‘Please don’t be difficult.’
‘You don’t need it?’ he asks. I shake my head.
He takes it without another word and holds it out in front of himself, probably wondering if it will fit him.
‘Good enough for you?’ I ask with a cocked brow.
He gives me a dull look.
‘Purple isn’t really my colour.’
I glower at him but he pulls it on nonetheless, and I try to ignore how it ruffles up his hair. He sits at the foot of my self-inflating sleeping mat, his enormous frame making the tent feel extremely crowded.
‘Don’t suppose you have a spare toothbrush, do you?’
‘Spare toothbrush?’ I busy myself digging in my things for my wash bag. ‘For whom? My bedfellows?’
He snorts and shakes his head, muttering, ‘I should have expected that.’
Relenting, I feel a small wave of guilt for my lack of hospitality. I finally find what I’m looking for and hold out a mini toothpaste tube for him.
‘Better than nothing,’ I offer.
Looking resigned, he presses his lips together and takes it. ‘Thanks. Not my fault if I have bad breath in the morning, just saying.’
Good. Honestly, it will be refreshing to experience something flawed from him. I hope it might be horrible enough to put me off him.
Grabbing my wash bag, I stumble around him to step awkwardly out of the tent. The comforting smell of a warm, summer breeze strikes me as I face the ocean of tents once again.
The sinks are miraculously quiet and I manage to brush my teeth undisturbed.
I nearly moan with relief when I rub my face wash into my skin, which is now smeared in worn make-up, glitter and dirt from the air.
As it washes down the drain, my hands go still as it hits me like a truck that I’ve just left Elliot alone with the stick for the first time. Without even thinking about it.
I suppose that my mind was distracted by other issues – mostly the issue of how I might navigate the last day of being attached to Elliot without unravelling completely, or behaving like a hopelessly besotted teenager.
What the hell am I doing getting distracted like this? What if he actually takes it and after all this, I lose the drumstick to someone that I thought I could trust?
I pause. Is that really true? Do I trust him? Memories tug at me, reminding me of his relentless support and surprising gentleness. He met my fears and my tales of struggle with nothing but compassion today.
I wrestle my thoughts to a stop.
Of course, that doesn’t mean he likes me the same way I like him. Important to remember this.
Maybe it just means that he can at least be trusted for now with the stick, without running off with it.
Right?
My breath freezes in my chest for a moment.
Then I’m rushing to throw all my products back into my bag and making my way back to my tent. I waste no time, hopping over numerous tent pegs and strings at speed until my tent comes into view.
Wait – is the tent door open? Oh my God, did I leave it open?
Imagining the worst, I storm to the entrance to rip it open only to be met with Elliot’s harshly lit face. He peers up at me with surprise.
Oh. Right.
He’s wearing a grim smile. ‘Surprised to see me still here?’
I feel blood rush to my cheeks.
‘Er…’ I hesitate. ‘No, I mean – of course not.’
‘Good,’ he replies gravely. ‘I thought it was clear that I wouldn’t dare take the stick at this stage. No doubt that if I did you’d track me down and choke me.’
Hell, if he was into it I would.
I mentally scold myself and force a tight smile as I step back inside.
‘You’re not wrong.’
Stop having thoughts. Or have the thoughts later when he isn’t here, for fuck’s sake.
I turn away from him and start to look for my fluffy pyjamas. I threw them somewhere in here when I came back this morning and I’m so excited to get into them that my hands are practically shaking.
‘You don’t really think I’d steal it from you at this point, do you?’ His voice is dry with humour, but I think I can hear just a hint of hurt in it too.
‘After everything we’ve been through? No.’ I turn around to shoot him a more genuine smile this time. ‘Having said that, you did have me thinking that you might throw it off the side of a hill earlier, which I’m still processing.’
‘That’s–’
‘Could you turn around please?’ I ask, twirling my finger to demonstrate. ‘I need to change.’
He stops short and gives a quick nod. ‘Sure, just let me–’ He leans over to zip the tent entrance closed and sits back down facing the opposite direction.
‘Thanks.’
I resist moaning with ecstasy when I tug down my tight denim shorts and pull on my soft pyjamas.
‘Done,’ I announce, turning back to Elliot and my bed. Or rather – our bed.
My sleeping bag and pillow lie rumpled on the single sleeping mat. It’s never looked smaller. I try to regain control of my pulse.
Elliot clears his throat and rubs the back of his neck nervously.
‘So, uh – how do we want to do this?’ I ask.
‘Same as yesterday? Unzip the sleeping bag?’
‘Sure. I’ll get you a pillow,’ I say. ‘Do you want to do top and tail or something?’
‘Do I want to – what?’ Elliot says, his voice cracking.
‘Sleep top and tail? You know, have my head this end and your head the other end,’ I reply, pointing at either side to demonstrate. It would be a relief to have his face as far away from my face as possible.
‘Oh,’ he says, with a nod of understanding. ‘I mean this with respect, but no.’
I push down a laugh. ‘Why not? It works, I’ve done it.’
True. When I was nine.
‘Well, princess, I hate to break it to you… but you kick vigorously in your sleep and I’d prefer to keep my face as un-maimed as possible.’
‘What?’ I pin him with a glare. ‘Nobody has ever accused me of kicking in my sleep before.’
‘I must get special treatment in bed with you then.’
I nearly wheeze.
‘No sign of that sleep talking, though,’ he points out with a knowing look.
‘Well, maybe tonight will be the night,’ I say mildly as I stuff my jeans and a t-shirt into a spare jumper before handing it to him.
‘Oh, thanks.’
He throws it down before turning back to me and sadly colliding with my hanging lamp. He yelps and gives it a quick glare before reaching out to steady it.
‘Christ, does this lamp have a setting that won’t permanently damage my retinas? No one needs to witness me in this much detail.’
‘Agreed,’ I mutter under my breath.
‘What was that?’ he asks, leaning toward me with the tiniest smile.
‘Relax, I’ll save your retinas and turn it off.’
I switch it off and immediately plunge the tent into darkness. Picking up on my mistake, I realise that we now face the mammoth task of settling ourselves into the tiniest bed of all mankind… in the dark.
Without touching each other. Lest I risk going insane.
There are a few awkward fumbles and quiet apologies as I navigate my body onto my sleeping mat and draw the sleeping bag over us.
For a moment we both just lie together facing upwards, listening to the distant hum of chaos surrounding us. Our only point of contact is our arms brushing which, for now, I feel I can cope with.
I can’t resist breaking the odd silence that has fallen.
‘You were right,’ I murmur.
I feel him stiffen.
‘About what?’
‘Purple isn’t your colour.’
I shriek with horror when Elliot rolls over and takes the entirety of the sleeping bag with him, leaving my body exposed to the cold air.
‘That’s illegal,’ I snap, trying to wrestle it back from him. ‘I could have you killed, you know.’
I barely hear the muffled wheeze of laughter escape him.