‘I just don’t want to explain to your psychotic family why your back’s wrecked before the wedding.’
Getting ready for bed is awkward. Teeth brushed in silence in a bathroom the size of a studio flat. Pyjamas changed in the bathroom, avoiding each other. Maggie’s are covered in tiny sausage dogs. Some are wearing hats. Bonkers.
I sit on the edge of the bed. The very far edge.
There’s a vast expanse of bed between us when she gets in.
The room is dead quiet except for the crackle of the fire and the faint sound of the wind. I want to yell at her for taking me here. To make her apologise and promise to take me home first thing. To find a phone and call the police. I’m not certain that her family claims are true, and that she’s not just using them to make me behave. But if they are true… is there more danger in trying to escape, or in just seeing this out?
I clear my throat. ‘So.’
‘So.’
‘When’s the wedding?’
She swallows hard and keeps her eyes on the canopy above us. ‘In six days.’
I snap my head toward her. ‘Six days?’
‘Yes.’
Six days in this oversized cage with my kidnapper.Fuck me.
‘What the hell are we supposed to do until then?’
Maggie fidgets with the hem of her pyjama shirt. ‘There are parties. And rehearsals. And games.’
‘Games?’
‘It’s a whole thing. Society weddings. They don’t just do everything on one day. There are events upon events. Some family, some extended guests.’
‘Fuck.’
Maggie’s eyebrows rise.
‘Not like that. Jesus, Maggie. I don’t even trust I’ll wake up in one piece.’
Her face flushes.
‘Yeah,’ she whispers. ‘Me neither.’
‘That doesn’t fill me with confidence,’ I say.
‘If you’re looking for confidence, you’ve got the wrong woman. I can give you zip ties and anxiety, maybe even some slightly burnt cookies. But for confidence, you need my sister. It’s one of the many reasons everyone prefers her.’
I roll on my side, facing Maggie.
I want to tell her that what she thinks about herself isn’t true. That given half a chance, someone would love to date her. But remembering who she really is… I can’t commit to that thought. The cute but odd neighbour isn’t who I thought she was.
Instead, I close my eyes, blocking her out, and hope to see the morning.
FIFTEEN
MAGGIE
Clay pigeon shootingis another activity that I’m sure was invented to make an arse of me. Slippery mud, loud guns that make me flinch with every shot, and my inability to ever hit anything.
My fingers are fucking frozen, and my ass is numb, and I’m trying my best to curb my runny nose without wiping it on my sleeve like a four-year-old. Everything is green and covered with a glittering layer of frost as far as the eye can see.
