Turning slightly, I spy what appears to be a shed, also black, and looking a bit further, I see solar panels in the clearing.
Suddenly the door to the cabin opens and Ash storms out, carrying a towel and fresh clothes.
‘You’re trespassing on private property,’ he warns.
‘Got any handcuffs?’ I ask, holding my wrists out to him.
My adrenaline has spiked again.
His eyes narrow momentarily and then he shakes his head and stalks off, muttering under his breath.
The sound of running water grows louder as I follow him out of the woods onto a circular patch of long grass hugged on one side by a medium-sized river.
He dumps his clothes by the shore on a handmade bench formed from three logs, then bends down and unlaces his boots, peeling off his socks before unbuttoning his shorts.
I glance up at the ominous-looking clouds in the sky – it is definitely not the right weather for a swim – and then the sound of splashing water yanks my attention back to the river.
Ash is in up to his waist, his hair wet and slicked back from his head.
I watch as he starts to scrub at his hair with soap, lathering it up into a foam.
‘Coconut wax from the Body Shop will really have its work cut out if you shampoo your hair with soap,’ I point out, trying to get a reaction, preferably an amused one. ‘It’s very dehydrating,’ I add, a little delirious.
He turns his back on me, soaping up his body.
The buzz I feel at finding him after the enormous high of discovering that he not only didn’t marry Beca, but sold Berkeley Hall to the National Trust, outshines every other emotion. The wild goose chase I’ve been on has also been full of highs and lows, but, just for the briefest of moments, a sickening apprehension kills off my dizzying light-headedness and I suddenly feel dark.
Does the Ash I knew exist any more? What if I’ve lost him for good?
The thought is so unfathomable that with the greatest will I quash it, steeling myself to break through his shell.
I drop my tote bag to the ground and start to take off my shoes. They were white earlier; now they’re a filthy, muddy, sodden mess.
I almost lose my balance as I’m tugging the damp fabric away from my swollen feet, and then I’m carefully treading over the slippery rounded stones on the shore until I’m standing several inches deep in the water. My body has a delayed reaction to the temperature.
‘How can youswimin this?’ I force myself to stay put, hoping the cold will soothe my mushrooming blisters, but Ash ignores me as he sinks fully beneath the water, a trail ofwispy foam floating away from the place where I last saw his head.
He re-emerges and flicks his hair back, then swims to the bank and climbs out, inch by inch, foot by foot, until – okay, so he’s naked.
I look the other way, my cheeks burning. As he dresses, the dark feeling swallows me whole. He’s acting as though I don’t even exist.
He’s on his way again before I remember that I’m barefoot.
‘Wait, hang on.’ I quickly turn around to climb out of the water, but my head begins to spin.
Whoa.
I put my hands out, but there’s nothing to hang on to and I suddenly feel queasy, my vision turning red and then blackening. I’ve fainted once before and I know what it feels like – there’s nothing I can do to stop it from happening again.
The shock of the cold jolts me back to full consciousness, but I’ve fallen to my side into deeper water and it’s so disorientating, I panic. I can’t keep my head fully out of the flow. I’m gasping, spluttering up liquid ice, trying to find my footing on the rocky riverbed, and then there’s a loud splash and two strong hands are lifting me up from behind and dragging me out of the river.
Ash lays me down on the grass.
‘Are you hurt?’ he asks urgently as he checks me over.
I’m soaking wet from head to toe and shivering uncontrollably. That was so fucking scary, I felt like I was drowning.
‘Are you okay?’ he demands, placing one hand on my cheek.
