Chapter Eight
James checks his watch and announces we’ve been walking for around three hours. There’s a growing ache in my shins, long and sharp, running up the bone. The part of my spine from my shoulders up to my neck aches from hauling the heavy bag around with me. We’ve crossed a few roads, but they were all abandoned, not a car in sight. I’ll give it to Michael; he’s really tossed us out at the far end of nowhere.
The terrain here is much sturdier. We’ve joined what looks like an actual, real human-formed rocky path crossing a green landscape, its sharp, thorny shrubbery thick and scattered about at random. Some of the bushes have pretty little red berries growing on them and I’m tempted to pick them as the protein bars are already boring me to death. But it’s not worth getting poisoned. Especially all the way out here. I miss meals, and unlimited teas, coffees, biscuits, gravy, chips! It’s only been a day.
Thankfully the sky is a bright grey where the sun is pushing through the layer of thin cloud, but there’s no rain. Not yet at least. The temperature is fresh, and manageable during the day with my sweatshirt on.
We stop by a river that’s approximately ten metres wide, flowing fast through the valley, slashing and spraying as it hits the rocks embedded in the riverbed. I lean down at a calmer part to fill my water bottle.
“Is it time to panic yet?” James asks, holding up the clear bottle of vodka he’s slid out of his bag.
I walk back to where he’s perched on a soft bank of grass, taking a seat beside him. “I don’t know… Do you think I should check if I’ve got signal?”
“Worth a try.”
I open the back compartment sliding out my trusty pal. I turn it on and wait to see if any bars appear. After a few minutes it’s clearly not going to happen. “Guess I should turn it off again.”
James sighs, rubbing his face in his hands. “I wonder if I’m an uncle yet.”
I don’t really know what to say to that. “Let’s toast to it?” I suggest.
“To me maybe being an uncle?”
I take the bottle, unscrew the lid then take a swig. I hate vodka. It instantly burns my tongue and throat, and I want to spit it back out. I make a brave face and swallow, trying my hardest not to wince and shudder as it goes down. “To you maybe being an uncle,” I say, sounding quite exasperated.
I look up at James and catch the corner of his lips quirk as he takes the bottle from me, swigging some himself. The smile stays and he almost looks as if he enjoys the taste. “To me maybe being an uncle. Cheers, Sophie! Hope you’re doing well,” he says to the sky as if she’s somewhere toasting him back.
“To Sophie,” I say. Although I regret it when the bottle is passed to me again and I feel obliged to take another sip. The liquid warms my stomach. It’s probably a good idea for me to get drunk before nightfall if it might help me stay warm. Anything to avoid sharing a sleeping bag with my work nemesis.
Oh, I am never going to live that down.
“What about your other sisters and your parents? Will they be there?”
“Parent,” James corrects.
I wince. “Ah, sorry. You did say.”
He shrugs. “I doubt it. Hannah is busy with wedding stuff. And Josie is more interested in her studies at the moment.”
“She’s at uni?”
He nods, hugging his knees to his chest as the bottle swings from his hands. “Me and Soph made sure both Hannah and Josie could do that. We were close in age, us two, and it was around the time when Mum was trying to feed the five of us on a nurse’s salary. She was working crazy hours. Our nan helped out a lot when we were kids, but she passed away when I was thirteen.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’ve lost all my grandparents too. They all died at different times, with different illnesses. It feels like losing a piece of you, doesn’t it? What I’m trying to say is, I understand how hard it is to lose family.”
James nods. “Yeah. It was pretty hard on all of us. Especially Mum. Soph and I were sort of forced to leave school as soon as we could because of it. To support her, you know? I worked in a local corner shop, stacking shelves and whatnot. Soph was a dishwasher at the local pub until she was old enough to work behind the bar. I got bored easily so skipped around a few things. I’ve had a load of jobs. Learnt a ton. Found my calling as a car salesman.”
I bark out a laugh. “ You were a car salesman?” I don’t know why I find this funny. I look at the shaggy-haired man beside me, with his relaxed, windbitten features. It’s hard to imagine he even sold anything a few days ago. The other version of him though, the slick version in a suit: I can believe that.
He nods, smirking at my expression. “Sold second-hand cars. Made a shit ton in commission. Well, a shit ton for me at the time. I got the bug. I wasn’t beyond putting my dignity aside, approaching people knowing they might well be rude to me. Or asking for a sale. Closing the deal. There’s no dignity in being broke, so you grow a thick skin.”
“And then you got into events?”
“Yeah. Worked at a few other places in between then found the job at The Starr Agency as Sales Manager and progressed from there.”
I smile. I want to say that’s actually quite impressive, and I find myself looking at his face for too long, his dark blue eyes connecting with mine in such a familiar way it sends an awakening shot of energy to my core. So, the words never come. And I’m glad because I’m still not sure where I stand with him.
“What about you?” he asks. “What’s your story?”
I shrug. “Got a master’s degree in marketing. Found a job in the city and never went home.”
“Nah, I don’t buy it. There’s more to you than that. No one works as hard as you do for nothing. There’s always more.”
I blush at his comment. I feel seen. I don’t like it. “Well, I… I applied for the job, and I got it. I like working in events and…”
James snorts. “You don’t even like what you do!”
My jaw drops. “Yes, I do!”
“Which part?”
“The creative part… The, erm… I like being in control of the whole marketing process. It’s rewarding to see the hard work I’ve put in making someone’s day. I like…” Well, fuck. What do I like? I frown across the river as I notice something dark brown worming its way through the current. An otter pops up at the other side, holding something in its front paw, then shoots away into the nearby grasses.
“You’re addicted to it. Like I am,” James states.
“Addicted to what though?”
“Success. The difference is mine is money. Greed, if you like. You’re only addicted to the recognition. And Michael is very good at manipulating you with it.”
I scoff. That’s not right. That doesn’t happen. And that’s not the only reason I love my job. Sure, the recognition is nice. Michael always compliments our team on our design, press releases and radio advertising. I have a clever team underneath me who support all the challenges I face with fast-thinking, proactive and creative abilities. I can’t say I don’t enjoy that part of my work. Working with people.
“He doesn’t manipulate me,” I say quietly, partly because I’m busy juggling every memory I have of Michael and wondering if maybe I’ve missed something.
From the corner of my eye, James frowns, passing me the bottle again. This time I take a bigger swig.
“Didn’t you want to go to university?” I ask, because it felt like the thing everyone was aiming for when I was at school. We went from this tight-knit friendship group to a loose-fitted version, scattered across the country, barely staying in touch.
“Never really thought about it. Wasn’t an option.”
“But you’re smart,” I say, despite myself. Is he?
“Not all smart people go to university, Felicity.”
I roll my eyes at the use of my birth name. “Are you ever going to just call me Fliss? Everyone else does!” I huff.
“No, I prefer Felicity.” He winks. I roll my eyes.
“What would you have studied had you gone?” I ask.
“Hmm, I guess I’d have studied sports science, or something to do with sport.”
I give him a full body scan. He’s certainly got a sporty physique. Although I’ve never actually seen him doing any sport. He’s tall, lean and muscular, and wears a suit in the way you’d expect a professional sportsman to.
I close my eyes, looking away. For some reason, James talking about the human body has inspired a very naked image of him in my head. I will the image away but it’s not leaving quickly. Nope, must not think about him naked . I haven’t even seen him fully naked. How the hell has my brain jumped here?
By the time my eyes open again, I’m warm, and I can’t tell if it’s from the vodka or my dirty thoughts.
“What would you do? If you could do anything in the world?” he says, slightly changing the subject.
God, why are we talking about this! This is a scary question for me. I take a moment to consider it. I’m a very important, driven businesswoman, but there’s always been a part of me who’s imagined the home life I’d want. There’s an image that finds me from time to time. I’ll be sitting on my comfortable, expensive high-backed sofa in a Victorian-style front room, with pastel-coloured patterned wallpaper, and tall bay windows. I hold a book in my hand, occasionally peeking out at the green, leafy street I live on. He (whoever he ends up being) calls my name from the kitchen at the back of the house asking if I want a hot drink. Sometimes there’s a dog, a small one with a long snout, cosied up by my feet. I imagine my cream-painted fireplace. The open shutters. The light breeze that tangles in the curtains. And that’s my happy place.
The issue is that isn’t my real happy place. It’s not an attainable thing. And that brings with it this overwhelming sense of failure.
I’m thirty. The longest relationship I’ve ever had was ten months and he left me for a career move. I said at the time I couldn’t go with him because of my own job, but the reality is he didn’t even ask.
I should have a happy place in my current world. But I don’t. So maybe I do numb it by making myself busy. Marrying myself to my work.
“Felicity?”
“Huh?” I start, realising I’ve been daydreaming.
“What would you do?”
I squint across at James, who’s watching me closely, as if he’s trying to record my reaction. I look down at my hands, fiddling with my laces, to escape his gaze. “I’m not sure, really. Think I want what most people want. A sense of commitment from someone else. A place to call my own.” I shrug. “I’m happy with my job. I don’t see me going anywhere else.”
James sighs deeply, rubbing his chin in his hand. “You probably shouldn’t put all your hopes into becoming a director though.”
His comment is like a punch to the gut. I’m instantly on the defence. “Why not? We’re both here, aren’t we? Doing this challenge Michael set us?”
He makes a face, looking away. We watch a large black crow hop along a grassy plane, pecking the ground. “I just don’t think you’re getting the respect from Michael that you think you are. I mean, look at where we are now,” he adds, raising his hands as if to demonstrate his point.
My heart drops. I’m not sure what James is doing but it feels like some form of trickery. “Right,” I say with a touch of venom, rising to my feet, shrugging my bag onto my aching shoulders and striding in the direction of this bloody castle again.