6. Morgan
Chapter 6
Morgan
I was so very, extremely, tragically hungover.
Genuinely, it took me a solid minute after waking up to convince myself to open my eyes, and then another minute to determine that I was not, in fact, dead, despite the bright light attempting to blind me. This was made more difficult by the fact that I appeared to be in a granny’s house, with blue chintz wallpaper and needlepoint wall hangings galore. The curtains, which I could now see I’d not sufficiently closed, were so aggressively frilly that I thought surely they were hung ironically. Then I remembered my new friends and the embarrassing dance moves I’d done for them. Or was it with them? God, I hoped it was with them.
Admittedly, it probably wasn’t right to call them new friends – we’d known each other for months at this point. But we’d never spent time together like we had last night. I mean, we had actual inside jokes now! I’d screamed “Superman that ho” at the top of my lungs with Grey! Chloe had challenged me to see who could eat a full mug of ice cream faster without succumbing to brain freeze! If those weren’t friends, what were they?
But mostly what felt different was my head, in that it felt like a small gremlin was trying to chisel its way out of my skull.
So I rolled reluctantly out of bed, shoved my loose tit back into my pyjama top, and lumbered out to the kitchen. I groaned as I clocked the smart home tablet embedded in the fridge, which aggressively displayed a time of only half past six. I really should have shut those curtains better.
The sound of the kettle was both the most grating noise I’d ever heard and the most beautiful one, given the promise of cobweb-clearing caffeine. I leaned forward as it gurgled away and rested my forehead against the marble worktops, the cold stone a relief on my warm, sweat-soaked forehead.
The first thoughts of my situation, which I’d managed to keep at bay for most of yesterday, crept in as I lay bent over the worktop. My house was being sold. I was going to have to move. And I had no one to help me navigate that.
I’d made the mistake of looking up listings online the night I’d found out. Any of the flats that looked reasonable were way out of my budget, and any I could afford looked more suitable for a satanic ritual than a quiet single professional. The properties for sale looked even more laughable; I’d been frugal over the years, but my little nest egg was nowhere near enough for a deposit.
Simply put, unless I found a housemate or a suitcase full of money, I was screwed. Selling photos of my feet online had never seemed like a viable option before, but it was seeming less and less outrageous by the moment.
And then there was the fact that Lauren had tagged me in the rescue’s post introducing Pablo and Percy yesterday morning, which meant I’d spent most of the drive to the cottage mentally calculating the even worse odds of affording a place that would let me have a dog. I’d made the photo Chloe had taken of us into my phone background, so now the reminder was near-constant.
The ache in my head grew stronger as my mental and emotional agony joined the physical. As the kettle switched off, I begrudgingly left the makeshift cold compress on the worktop, poured the boiling water over my teabag and one sugar, and looked out over the grounds whilst I waited.
The river – the same one I’d walked along with Chloe just a couple of days ago – was just visible through the gate of the walled garden. Back in town it was muddy and wide, but here it looked smaller and clearer. Almost swimmable, even , I thought, remembering what Chloe had said about swimming in it as a kid. That would certainly beat a cold shower …
I scoffed. I wasn’t a swimmer – not spontaneously, anyway – and certainly not in front of people who may be new friends but had never seen my bikini line before. Plus, it wasn’t a lido. It was a river, teeming with life, some of it potentially hostile to scaredy cats like me.
But all of the reasons not to go for a dip were easily disputed. Everyone else was still in bed. The river looked placid enough. And, last I’d checked, no one had made the local news for river-dwelling wildlife encounters … right? Though maybe that kind of news wouldn’t have made my particular For You Page. What had made my For Your Page were dozens of videos of people wild swimming and being seemingly fine afterwards.
Plus, it did look rather refreshing. Some might say the perfect cure for a hangover, in fact. So why the hell not?
Before I could talk myself out of it, I abandoned my brewing tea, walking back to my room at least twice as fast as I’d left it. I’d definitely over-packed for the weekend, having had no idea what was in store and not wanting to ask too many questions, lest it destroy my image as someone who was totally chill and up for anything. So not only had I packed a huge swathe of options for daywear, but I also had workout clothes, hiking boots, and – crucially – a swimsuit. Two swimsuits, actually, as I hadn’t been sure what water-based scenario I’d be likely to encounter, so I’d brought one sportier one and a bikini. I didn’t suspect I’d be doing laps in the river, and the sporty one gave me an impressive case of camel toe, so I opted for the bikini.
I reached into my bag to pull out a t-shirt to put on over it, but then I realised with horror that the only spare one I had was a black one with the words “LEAVE NO TRACE” on the front, which I’d bought from a fundraiser run by none other than Aria Markham. I didn’t fancy giving Jack’s ex-girlfriend any more airtime between us if he saw it, so I shoved the tee back into my bag and nicked a towel from the shared bathroom on my way out instead.
I slipped through the front door and trotted through the garden in bare feet, the dewy grass cool beneath my steps, the morning air already warm and humid in contrast. At the riverbank though, I lost my nerve slightly, freezing in place a few paces away.
At first I pretended to myself that I was trying to find the best way in, but once I spotted the well-trodden path between the rocks that eased into the water, I had to admit that I was just stalling. I mean, weren’t there issues with parasites in some UK rivers? Sewage, even? Sure, the water looked clear enough, but I wasn’t a scientist. I tried and failed to muster the courage and spontaneity I’d felt inside.
“Gone fishing?” I heard from behind me, and I jumped approximately a full mile into the air, trying to grab my towel and cover myself for some reason, as if I’d been out here skinny dipping. When I turned around and saw Jack standing in the grass, my face went flush.
“Just going swimming,” I said, placing my hands defiantly on my hips to try to seem totally chill and up for anything as planned.
“Looks like you’re thinking about swimming,” he said, closing the distance between us. “Very different.”
I shrugged. “So what if I was thinking about it?”
He smirked at first, but then he started taking off his top, and I was no longer looking at his facial expression. His torso was as tanned and toned as the rest of him, but he didn’t posture or flex like other guys might have in that situation.
“What are you doing?” I asked as he tossed the t-shirt on a rock and started untying the waist of his joggers.
“Going with you,” he said, “if that’s okay.” As his joggers came off, I saw that he was wearing swim trunks underneath. I refused to acknowledge the part of me that was mildly disappointed by the reveal.
I’d once read that women preferred dark-haired love interests in books because dark hair was associated with virility, danger, and masculinity. I couldn’t speak to Jack’s virility, though the mere thought of it made me go light-headed for a second. But in terms of danger … let’s just say I definitely felt very alert all of a sudden. And masculinity was subjective, but I was certain Jack’s abs fit my own personal definition at least.
Jack splashed into the water confidently, and I knew if I wanted to maintain my adventurous air I would have to follow him in pretty quickly. But it took me a few deep breaths to psych myself up before I found myself splashing in behind him, my feet instantly smarting against the pebbly bottom.
I was all the way up to my hips when the temperature registered, and I couldn’t help myself; I let out a Wilhelm Scream-style screech. I definitely should have gone for the sporty swimsuit , I thought amidst my pain. The water was like icy daggers against my skin, and as I forced myself in deeper, my teeth actually started chattering. Jack was cackling at me from the middle of the river, where he was fully treading water – all six-foot-whatever of him.
As I lowered myself further in, I easily imagined meeting a similar fate to a different Jack, picturing my body sinking into the cold water like Leo’s whilst the real Jack watched from the surface on a definitely-big-enough-for-both-of-us door.
“Just breathe,” real Jack said, meeting me halfway as I shakily paddled out to him. It was too deep for me to stand, but I saw him lift up in a way that told me he could still touch the bottom. He grabbed my arms and began rubbing up and down, which had the unfortunate effect of bobbing me up and down in the water. I was far too cold to think of personal boundaries, so I reached my hands out to stabilise myself against his chest. Eventually my teeth stopped chattering, and my breath regulated a bit – just enough for me to be embarrassed at how I was clinging to Jack like a child learning to blow bubbles in the water.
“I’m s-sorry,” I said, and the embarrassment had the fortunate side effect of warming me even more.
“You’re fine,” he said, his voice deep and soothing. “Just keep holding onto me, and we’ll go in a little bit deeper so your arms can adjust. Is that okay?”
He waited for me to nod before taking a long, slow step backwards, and sinking just a couple of inches further into the water. Then he paused.
“Just checking, you can actually swim, right?”
I rolled my eyes, already feeling a bit better. “Yes, Jack, I can swim. Don’t worry, no mouth-to-mouth needed today.”
He laughed a bit, but I was pretty sure I detected a slight flush passing across his tanned face.
Because the water was so clear, I could see a refracted version of both our bodies below. They were close – probably too close. But I actually couldn’t push myself away very easily, since I was now upstream from him, and the gentle current was pushing me towards him as he stood grounded on the riverbed. If I let go of him, I could have swum backwards slightly and created a bit more space. But for the sake of both warmth and stability, I wasn’t ready to do that just yet, so I let the current push us together until we were almost touching.
“You’re up early,” he said.
“Didn’t close the curtains all the way.”
He nodded in sympathy.
“You, too,” I said.
“Yep, every morning. I could stay up until five, and I’d still be up at half six.”
“Lucky you. I have to drag myself out of bed kicking and screaming most mornings.”
He chuckled, and I felt the sound reverberate through him beneath my hands. “Who do you kick if you’re the one doing the dragging?”
I shrugged. “Mostly Cara. Looks like I’ll have to get a cat for all my kicking needs.”
He let out a perfunctory laugh – more of a bark, almost. “You’re funny,” he said.
“Thanks, I practise all my jokes in the mirror.”
I closed my eyes and focused on the feeling of the water moving around me, which I was surprised to find no longer stung me the way it had a few moments ago. My head no longer throbbed, either. I had been right; the swim was doing wonders for my hangover.
“Better?” Jack asked. When I nodded, he reached up and put his hands under mine, lifting them away from his shoulders. I tried not to be embarrassed about the fact that he was literally removing me from him.
I swam into the middle of the river and did little laps back and forth, getting more and more acclimatised to the cold water as I did. When I closed my eyes and leaned back, holding onto one of the rocks breaking the surface, all I had was feeling: the movement of the river around me, the sun on my face, and the contrast between the chill on my back and the warmth on my front.
And then, just as I began to feel as relaxed as I ever had, I felt something brush against my thigh.
“Nopenopenope,” I said, my tone pitching upward as I repeated the word, immediately pushing myself away from the spot I’d been floating in and swimming back to the riverbank.
“Did something happen?” Jack asked, a bit of alarm in his voice.
“Something touched me,” I said, scrambling up to sit on a rock just on the water’s edge and drawing my knees to my chest. Jack laughed.
“It’s a river, Morgan. Of course there’s stuff in there. Fish, kelp, probably a few types of water spiders…”
I shook my head. “Yeah, that’s all a big nope from me, thanks.”
“Honestly, what did you expect?” he asked as he came to sit next to me on the rock. It was small, and we were close enough that our shoulders brushed against one another. I leaned into it.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I’ve seen people rave about wild swimming, and Chloe was going on about the river the other day, and it looked so refreshing this morning, and I wanted to try it. Just take a few steps in, even if part of me was convinced there was a river monster waiting to drag me into the depths.”
With how close he was beside me, I felt rather than saw Jack shrug his shoulders. “Well then, it sounds to me like you did what you set out to do, because you definitely took more than a few steps into that water.”
“Oh,” I said, surprised to realise that he was right. I might have run from the river like a baby, but I’d technically exceeded my initial expectations.
“I take it you’ve never done it before then?”
I shook my head, and my wet curls brushed over my shoulders, sending a fresh chill through me. “I’m not the most adventurous person, to put it lightly.”
Jack smirked, and I rolled my eyes, but I also chuckled.
“Not what I meant.”
He shrugged. “I know. But still, what makes you say that?”
“I mean, I’ve never even been out of the country.”
“I have,” he said. “It’s overrated.”
I laughed. “The whole world is overrated?”
“Okay,” he said, “not what I meant. But we do live in one of the best places in the world for adventures.”
“Such as?”
“Well, swimming,” Jack said, gesturing at the river. “And hiking?—”
“Your favourite,” I said, remembering last night.
Jack nodded. “Well, my favourite would technically be camping. And then there’s kayaking, climbing…”
“Okay,” I said, “I get it. You’re Mister Outdoors.”
“I mean, it’s not that hard to get into. Maybe don’t jump straight in with climbing, but you literally just have to start walking and you’ll hit a hill you can walk up. Get some XP so you can level up to the next thing.”
“Sorry,” I said, “get some what now?”
“XP,” he said, then paused, as if I would know what he was on about. “Experience points?” I shook my head. “They’re a gaming thing. You get enough XP, you level up.”
“We don’t use that in Fatima’s game,” I said.
“No, we use milestones. But they’re pretty common in D I leaned back to take in the full, shirtless picture of Jack Evans, gesturing at his body and face. He looked like a Greek god, if they’d all had blonde hair and fewer daddy issues. I could practically hear the local population of dating app users crying out in agony at what they were missing.
“That’s right,” he said. “I just figured out what works for me. And when it comes to dating, the cost/benefit analysis just doesn’t work out.”
“Cost?” I asked, scoffing.
“People always hurt each other,” he said. “It’s human nature in romantic relationships. So I’ve built a life that means I don’t need them. I have family and friends that I love and care for, and that’s enough for me.”
I definitely didn’t mention that there were other needs friends likely wouldn’t be able to take care of, and certainly not family. I knew I wasn’t one to talk; I hadn’t exactly been in a relationship, either. But I also hadn’t written off the entire concept.
“And you can talk to those other people in your life the way you would to a partner? Chloe? Phil? Your family?”
“Sure,” he said, shrugging. “Of course I do. I mean, there’s not much to talk about. I’ve built my life to look exactly the way I want it, so there’s no drama. Nothing to bother people with.” Fuck’s sake , I thought. This guy has so many blind spots that he shouldn’t be allowed on the roads.
“And when things aren’t going well?”
“That’s the thing,” he said, plastering on a grin that felt somehow forced. “When your life is exactly the way you want it, there’s no way for it not to go well. Not enough to make a whole thing of it.”
I narrowed my eyes at him, taking in his hunched shoulders, his slight lean away from me. He was feeling super defensive, that was for sure. Clearly I’d touched a nerve. And as curious as I was, now wasn’t the time. And hell, I probably wasn’t the person. This was only the second real conversation we’d ever had.
But I couldn’t help myself being a bit sarcastic.
“Sounds like I’m not the only one due a bit of self-discovery,” I said. “Maybe you need some emotional XP.”
Jack scowled at me, and I scowled back.
“Breakfast!” Phil’s voice called from the house, and we both turned our heads to look back in that direction.
“Look, Morgan,” Jack said as I looked back at him, “you’re barking up the wrong tree with this emotional XP stuff. If you want me to show you around a bit this summer, I’m happy to. But I promise you there’s not some big, dramatic truth to uncover here.”
I narrowed my eyes at him; I did actually like the sound of having him show me some local spots. I didn’t believe him about there being nothing to uncover; he wasn’t self-aware enough to be a credible source. But I couldn’t exactly say that to him. So instead I just nodded.
“That would be nice, thank you.”
“Great,” he said, hopping up from the rock and offering me a hand to help me down.
I paused for a moment as he grabbed his clothes from the ground and walked back up to the house, admiring again his tanned skin and golden hair. If I was going to have to push myself, try new things, then at least I’d have a bit of eye candy along the way.