‘Speaking of snappy… however will you cope without your crocodile jumper tonight?’ I ask, as he bends down to step through the entrance, his body folding over awkwardly to fit inside. The tent is big enough for my bed and all of my things, with just enough room to crouch in. He looks around with noticeable discomfort, as if he doesn’t know where to put himself.
‘Uh,’ he murmurs quietly, sounding distracted. ‘Guess I’ll die.’
I choke with laughter at his uncharacteristic dramatics and fumble around for my lamp hanging above us to switch it on.
Elliot reels back and shields his eyes with his palm.
‘Fucking hell,’ he hisses. ‘Is this when you interrogate me for crimes?’
‘Sorry, I know it’s a bit blinding.’
‘It’s fine, better than both of us crawling around in the dark,’ he says.
‘Let me find you something warm,’ I say, rooting around in my bag. He’s wearing a navy long-sleeved top and his jacket, which has been warm enough for the evening but probably wouldn’t serve him for the rest of the night.
‘I’ll be fine,’ he insists.
‘Take this.’ I hold out a purple sweatshirt for him. ‘Please don’t be difficult.’
‘You don’t need it?’ he asks. I shake my head.
He takes it without another word and holds it out in front of himself, probably wondering if it will fit him.
‘Good enough for you?’ I ask with a cocked brow.
He gives me a dull look.
‘Purple isn’t really my colour.’
I glower at him but he pulls it on nonetheless, and I try to ignore how it ruffles up his hair. He sits at the foot of my self-inflating sleeping mat, his enormous frame making the tent feel extremely crowded.
‘Don’t suppose you have a spare toothbrush, do you?’
‘Spare toothbrush?’ I busy myself digging in my things for my wash bag. ‘For whom? My bedfellows?’
He snorts and shakes his head, muttering, ‘I should have expected that.’
Relenting, I feel a small wave of guilt for my lack of hospitality. I finally find what I’m looking for and hold out a mini toothpaste tube for him.
‘Better than nothing,’ I offer.
Looking resigned, he presses his lips together and takes it. ‘Thanks. Not my fault if I have bad breath in the morning, just saying.’
Good. Honestly, it will be refreshing to experience something flawed from him. I hope it might be horrible enough to put me off him.
Grabbing my wash bag, I stumble around him to step awkwardly out of the tent. The comforting smell of a warm, summer breeze strikes me as I face the ocean of tents once again.
The sinks are miraculously quiet and I manage to brush my teeth undisturbed. I nearly moan with relief when I rub my face wash into my skin, which is now smeared in worn make-up, glitter and dirt from the air. As it washes down the drain, my hands go still as it hits me like a truck that I’ve just left Elliot alone with the stick for the first time. Without even thinking about it.
I suppose that my mind was distracted by other issues – mostly the issue of how I might navigate the last day of being attached to Elliot without unravelling completely, or behaving like a hopelessly besotted teenager.
What the hell am I doing getting distracted like this? What if he actually takes it and after all this, I lose the drumstick to someone that I thought I could trust?
I pause. Is that really true? Do I trust him? Memories tug at me, reminding me of his relentless support and surprising gentleness. He met my fears and my tales of struggle with nothing but compassion today.
I wrestle my thoughts to a stop.
Of course, that doesn’t mean he likes me the same way I like him. Important to remember this.
