I blink and stare into the gloom. I guess Mabon’s ‘go away’ was not rhetorical. But I am still surprised that Tristan obeyed it.
And now I don’t know what to think. I have so many questions. Where the hell do I begin?
“How did he find you?” I ask.
Because that seems like an important one. Because if he can, who else is able to?
“We are brothers,” says Mabon, as if that explains everything. And perhaps it does. He doesn’t seem worried about it and I’m sure he’d tell me if there was a problem and we needed to pack up camp.
He may not be worried, but he is all curled up. Small and sad. I don’t think it is from his brother’s teasing because I’m pretty sure Mabon can give as good as he gets. No, I think other things are on his mind. Tristan’s appearance has reminded Mabon of his real life and everything he is returning to.
I hate it. I hate this reminder of what I am taking him back to. I took him out of the frying pan and into the fire, and now I’m taking him out of the fire and back to the frying pan.
It’s a mess.
My fingers find his chin. I tilt his head up and kiss him. We are running from one problem to another. But here and now, in this strange in-between, it is calm and relatively safe, and he should get to enjoy it. Because right now he is free.
I’m going to kiss him until he forgets about everything else. And yes, I’m distracting myself too, but when it feels this good, who cares?
I certainly don’t.
Chapter thirty-eight
It’s getting dark already. Winter days are so short, but that’s not all bad. It means we will have to make camp soon. Long before we are knackered. Which means we get to lounge around by a fire enjoying each other’s company. Just me and Mabon, no one else.
And then there will still be energy left for naughty stuff. Though, I highly suspect that Mabon will always have energy for naughty stuff.
A smirk spreads across my face. I really hope Mabon doesn’t look back at me right now. But I think I’m safe. He is walking along quite happily, humming a tune to himself.
My fingers once again tighten around the small paper bag in my pocket. I can’t wait to give it to him, but I’m also terrified he won’t like my gift. The conflicting feelings are making me feel giddy.
Buying it in the first place was nerve-wracking enough. I’d been an anxious mess at having to walk through a small town. Then realisation had slowly dawned on me. Mabon and I havebeen walking cross country for days now, and sleeping rough. We are unkempt, tatty and muddy. Add in our rucksacks and the fact that we smell of wood smoke, and we appear homeless.
And nobody sees homeless people. Their eyes slide off of them in aversion. Their minds clock the scruffy clothes, and then never look at the faces. Mabon and I have become invisible.
Nevertheless, leaving him sitting on a bench while I darted into a shop to get water and beans is still something I hope to never have to do again. Even though it went without a hitch. And I was right about it being far quicker without him.
The real excitement was when I stepped out of the Tesco and saw it. A shop loved by teenage girls because its shelves groan with cheap accessories. Colourful tights, gaudy necklaces, bracelets and earrings. And an overwhelming amount of things for hair.
Suddenly, the bag rustles extra loudly in my pocket, announcing its presence. I wince, but Mabon doesn’t seem to hear it. He continues to walk blithely along, and I puff out a silent breath of relief.
He points suddenly to somewhere over towards our right. “That looks like a good spot to camp.”
An ancient ruined house is standing amongst a collection of weeds. Stone walls stretch up to the sky. Dark and brooding against the sunset colours. The roof is nothing more than a memory.
“Looks promising,” I say.
He flashes me a smile and we head over to the crumbling ruins.
Inside the four walls, the ground is dry and mostly free of weeds. The air is motionless and free from the chill of the wind. There are no trees to offend with our fire. It is a good spot.
“Perfect,” I say.
Mabon nods his agreement and we get to work. We’ve developed a little routine. He collects wood for a fire. I put up the tent. I love that we work so well together. It is seamless, with no need for words. We just fit like that.
As I unroll the sleeping bags, an idea strikes me. The ground is rocky and crumbly but bone dry. I can spread the sleeping bags out around the fire and we’ll have something semi-comfortable to sit on without making our bedding soggy.
I quickly carry out my plan. Then I step back to admire my handiwork. It looks good. Almost cosy.
