Chapter Twelve
Something makes me stir. Amongst the night creatures going about their business, I manage to ignore much of the twig-snapping sounds of nearby animals inspecting our tent and fire. This time, however, I’m sure there’s a thud or a cry. I roll over, reaching for James. His warmth is missing but I’m too sleep-drunk to worry myself with his disappearance, especially as the patter of raindrops on the tent is so soothing. I deflate into another deep sleep.
This one takes me somewhere new. Or maybe somewhere old. I’m in a garden enclosed with high hedgerows. There’s a large oak tree in the middle, sucking the moisture out of the lawn, its roots weaving through the ground like snakes turned to stone. I realise where I am. I turn around to see the red-brick exterior of my childhood home.
The sun beats down on my face when I look up at the perfect blue sky. I see how the leaves are turned yellow as the rays of light catch them and turn them opaque. The smell of barbeque wafts over from the patio that wraps around the side of the house. Dad stands with his back to me, handling the food with utensils, looking at peace in being exactly where a dad ought to be. There’s a hissing sound as something drips onto the coals. His polo top isn’t straight at the collar. He’s got a line of sweat running from his neck down to his hips. His hair is darker, like mine. I squint, looking for his silver hairs, but they’re not there.
A warm sense of homeliness comes over me as I walk across the lumpy lawn to the blue hammock Dad bought me, and perch there, watching the afternoon unfold. The recently watered grass glitters in the sunlight. Dad doesn’t look at me, his full concentration absorbed in the task at hand. That’s when Mum appears at the garden doors dressed in summery dungarees over a flowery top. Her hair, blonde but thick like mine, has been tied back with a scrunchie. She’s got a salad bowl in one hand, plates in another. The most noticeable difference is her face. She’s at ease, content with her surroundings. I’ve not seen her like this in so very long.
“Help me set up, darling,” she asks me in her merry voice.
I nod, hopping down from the hammock and skipping into the kitchen. I spin in a circle. I think I’m dreaming. This is the kitchen we had before we renovated. Something feels strange. There’s a crying sound outside. Mum goes to Dad’s rescue, a tea towel in hand. He’s probably just burnt himself. I decide to stay in the kitchen.
I want to venture further into the house full of happy memories. A place I can’t reach anymore in real life. I want to soak it all in and stay for a while. But my feet anchor me to the floor.
Mum calls for me. I can’t reach her though. It’s like I don’t even have feet to move. I’ve faded into a bodyless being. A sleep-induced blob.
I try to shout back but my voice doesn’t work.
When she finally reappears at the door, the sun-bleached garden casting her into a silhouette, her arm is linked through— I blink. It should be Dad. Dad was outside. When the other person appears alongside Mum, his smile is as terrifyingly jubilant as it always is.
His pale skin and ghostly eyes catch on mine. Despite knowing exactly who he is, it sends my pulse reeling. I’d stumble backwards if I could. Run and scream. Why is Mum holding arms with my boss?
Michael’s grin doesn’t fade as he yells, “Fliss!”
I judder awake, clenching my fists around anything I can to ground me. My soft sleeping bag fills my palms. This world is in total darkness. I’m inside the tent. I thrust around, looking for James. Where’s his heat gone? We fell asleep with our sleeping bags zipped together. I had my back to him – he promised not to physically touch me unless I started shivering.
Where’s he gone? I sit up, blinking into the night. Has he abandoned me?
My heart launches into a vicious beat as I clamber out of the bag, unzipping the tent with frantic fingers. I emerge under a drizzly sky, a whisper of moonlight pushing through the clouds. The fire is down to a lightly glowing ember. Smoke billows upwards lazily. Neither offers much in the way of light. It’s silent apart from the menacing cry of an owl in the distance, the trickle of water nearby and the constant swaying of the long grasses and bracken branches up here.
“James!?” I call.
“Fliss.” I hear my name muttered quietly. It’s almost eerie.
I climb up from the ground, patting my knees as I rise to a standing position. The ache from my injured shin makes me wince. I can’t see any sign of life around me. “I swear to god, James, if you’re messing with me, I will murder you and feed you to the otters.”
“Can you hear me?” he croaks. His voice is muffled, as if he’s in pain.
“Yeah!”
“I’m behind the tent,” he breathes. “But be careful, ok? There’s a drop just to the left. The other side of the grass.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, walking in exactly that direction.
“Stop!” he shouts, his voice echoing in the dark. “ Listen .”
“I am,” I insist, standing absolutely still for a beat.
“You need to not step through the grasses or you’re going to land on me.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Just walk behind the tent to the right. Follow it round the slope and you’ll find me.”
I do as he tells me, exasperated to be out in the dark with just a (still) slightly damp top and knickers on. It’s making me shiver already. With bare feet, I’m cautious to place each foot down carefully to prevent impaling myself on a sharp rock or spiky twig. I should’ve clambered around in search of my trainers. That would’ve been smart.
“Stop,” James croaks again. I pause, my hands out in front of me as if that’ll help me find my way through the darkness somehow. “Down here.”
I squat down. Behind what I assume is a sort of rocky edge, we’re in total darkness again. A hand grabs mine. I squeal, batting at it.
“It’s me, you ninny,” James says.
“You made me jump! Why’re you on the floor? If this is all some stupid game, it’s not funny.”
“Don’t be daft! I fell.”
“Why did you do that?”
James coughs a laugh. “Because I fancied taking flying lessons and I wanted to see if I was any good at it.”
“You’re an idiot,” I say. “Did you know there was a drop this close to where we pitched?”
“Clearly not,” he says, audibly frustrated. “It was obscured by the grass. I’m in so much pain, Felicity.”
I kneel carefully, wincing as the tight-fitting bandage rubs against my wound. There’s only a slight pressure there now. I think it’s best though not to put my weight on it. I realise I’m possibly still a bit drunk. Must’ve been why I was in such a deep sleep. I groan. This is not going to help my mood in the morning.
And no caffeine. Weep!
“Why are you freaking out, right now?” James complains. How the hell can he tell in the dark? “I’m the one who may have broken his back without any way of calling for help.”
“There’s no way you’ve broken your back.”
“I’m sorry, when did you become a doctor?”
“You’d be screaming in pain, Gloatman, or else you wouldn’t be able to move at all. You’re probably winded.” I offer him my arm to help him up to a sitting position, but he just groans, being a big baby and refusing to move. I place my hands gently on his body to try to work out what position he’s in.
He’s topless. I think I find his abs, his chest. I walk my hands upwards to find his face. Except, I happen upon… NOT his face. I get a good handful… A really good handful . I yelp, snatching my hands back.
“ Really , Felicity? Fuck’s sake,” he says. “First you plaster yourself to me all night. Now you’re groping me?”
“Why the hell are you naked!?”
“I was taking a piss. My pants are halfway down my legs. I can’t sit up to pull them up. I’m sorry. Alright?”
I laugh with disbelief, staring up at the moonlight leaking through another break in the clouds. A force of wind pushes itself through the valley, rocking some nearby trees as the rattle of leaves makes it hard to hear.
“Let me get this straight. You were taking a piss and fell?”
“Yes. Well, I’d finished.”
“Then you stepped forwards?”
“No. I turned and stepped backwards.”
I laugh again. “Did you fall into your pee?”
“No, luckily… But now I’m in a precarious position. I’ve been waiting for you to hear me calling, hoping no animals or, god forbid, people, find me first.”
I sigh. “If only you did see a person. They might have a phone and then we can finally get the fuck out of here. I’d charter a helicopter at this point,” I say. “And claim it back on expenses.” I chuckle.
James moves slightly, making a hissing sound as he does.
“Ok, so then what happened? How long have you been down here?”
“Must have been about an hour ago now,” he mumbles.
“Why didn’t you yell?”
“I did! I’ve been calling your name for ages. You were really out for the count, huh?”
I scrunch my face. I’ve been told I do this. It used to be an enjoyable game at sleepovers when I was a teenager. Once I’m asleep, I’m deeply asleep. Usually sounds, smells and even someone touching me are incorporated into my dreams. It’s almost a little scary at times. I worry I won’t wake up for a fire alarm. Somehow, I’ve trained myself to know when my actual morning alarm is going off. I would really hate to be late for work.
“I think I had too much vodka. I’m not really much of a drinker,” I say. “I was also having a really weird dream.”
James sniffs a laugh. “Fine, fine. I just want to get back to the tent. Any bright ideas on how to get me up there?”
“Where’s the pain?”
“Everywhere.”
“Ok, well that’s actually probably a good thing,” I say, not really having any clue but trying to motivate him to get up. It’s not exactly like I’m going to be able to carry him. He must weigh two stone more than me. I’m not one of those amazing women who can bench my own weight. Quite the opposite. Me and my flatmates went to a bootcamp in the local park a few weeks back and I couldn’t even manage a single press-up. It was pretty pathetic. I found myself at an intersection; keep training and better myself, committing to the cause; or never return and hope the embarrassment will one day fade. Obviously, I went with the latter.
James sighs. “Can you help me up now?”
“I did offer a minute ago.”
“Well, I’m ready now.”
I offer my arm out again. James takes it and applies some of his weight to pull himself into a sitting position but, shit , he’s heavy, I topple forwards, landing on his bare chest with a thwack.
“Argh!” he cries out as I panic, pushing off him with both hands on his chest. He grabs me, squishing me tight to him. “Stop. Stop moving. Just stay there. Argh, that’s so painful.”
“I’m sorry…”
His arms bunch around me, squeezing. “Just don’t move. No more moving.”
“Ok…” My eyes are wide, my cheek flush with his cool bare skin. Well, this is intimate. I try very hard to stay still. The issue is, at my very core, I’m a chronic fidgeter. It’s bad enough I haven’t had a phone to scroll through over the last few days – that usually allows me to sit still for a while, but the chances of me staying totally still for long are always going to be slim. A phantom fly lands on my forehead and I whip my hand up to get rid of it.
“Stay. Still.”
“It’s impossible,” I complain.
“You’re the worst,” he groans.
I sigh, trying to go to my happy place whilst I wait for him to release me again. We’re going to get cold out here eventually. Then I think of a clever idea. “Whilst I have you,” I say.
“Whilst you have me? Are we on a Teams call?”
“Whilst I’m on top of you…”
“Gawd, don’t say that!” he moans.
I laugh. “Ok, whilst you hold me captive, whatever, can I ask you something?”
“You’re going to anyway.”
“True. What’s your long-term plan for The Starr Agency?”
“My long-term plan ?”
“Yeah. Like where do you see it in ten years?”
James scoffs. “Well, if I’m still there in ten years will you do me a favour and shoot me? I really don’t think my mental health can handle that.”
“Why not? You’re not seeing all this hard work now as a long-term investment? Or strategy?”
“Hell no! Or well, yeah, in a way. None of it is for Starr though.”
I scowl. “You’re planning on leaving then?”
“I’m planning on travelling the world. Having enough money to buy my own house. Some nice cars. Get a decent retirement pot under my belt so I can call it quits at forty and hang out on a Mediterranean island for the rest of my days.”
I’m quiet for a moment. I’m not sure why my head goes there but I compare his happy place with mine. They don’t fit together too well… Of course they don’t! This is James Gloatman. Why on earth is my brain even attempting to match up our long-term plans? It’s not as if I want to do what he’s doing – far from it. Maybe it’s just one of those “last man at the end of the world” things. He’s the only option out here, and therefore my horny mind is doing the math and equalling Gloatman.
Disgusting, really.
I mean, he’s not necessarily disgusting. He has a nice body. His hair is kind of cute now it isn’t gelled into his usual style. When it flops over his forehead, and he has to push it back, it makes me want to reach out and tangle it in my fingers. Just thinking about it makes my hands tingle.
Must be the vodka talking. I’m beer goggling.
“What about you? What’s your plan?” he asks, still holding me tight to his chest.
“Well, obviously, part of it was to grow the image and awareness of the brand. Make The Starr Agency the real go-to musical event organiser. Find new revenue streams and more but I guess…” I pause, biting my lip.
“What?”
“My vision sort of planned on you being there. Despite you being the worst person in the office, you’re also pretty good at your job. The hospitality sales are nearly always on budget and you’re brilliant at finding new revenue streams.”
“I know.”
I laugh and roll my eyes. James grunts as I accidentally move a leg. “Always so, so humble, Gloatman.”
“It’s one of my strengths,” he says. “What about you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Where do you see yourself in ten years?”
“Hmm…” I consider telling him about my happy place since he told me his. And yet, I decide not to. It feels like we’ve healed some long-weeping wounds between us in the past twenty-four hours, but that doesn’t mean I’m ready to get that vulnerable. It’s bad enough I’ve divulged as much as I have – this is precisely why I’m not a heavy drinker. “That’s easy. I’m going to be a director at Starr.”
James, once again, says nothing about the promotion, letting the conversation run dry. I suspect he doesn’t think I’ve got it in me to be a director. Either that or he dreads the thought of me becoming his boss. But the silence I’ve been met with since he told me not to set my hopes on it the other day seems to be getting louder in my head. Is he hiding something from me? Does he know something I don’t? I’m about to ask him. I’m about to push him for his opinion and demand to know what it is he doesn’t like about my plan, when he shivers beneath me. The remaining ounce of empathy I have for him and our situation overrides my ability to fight with him. Instead, I lift myself up and put on a brave face.
“Come on,” I say. “Let’s work out how we’re going to get you back to the tent.”