Even still, I’m keen to cast the theory out of my mind today. What’s the point in entertaining it? It will inevitably end in one of two ways: heartbreak or humiliation. Or – perhaps even more likely – both.
I’d rather bypass that altogether, honestly. Whatever is happening between us is purely transactional. That’s all.
I shoot her another grateful smile anyway.
‘Right.’ She throws herself back down on her bed with a dramatic hair toss. ‘Good. Next thing to discuss: how am I to go on with a hangover like this?’
29
I’m tearing through my belongings to search for something fresh to wear when Hennie steps in to get my opinion on her outfit. My go-to method of approving her look is mostly acting like I’ve been utterly overwhelmed by her beauty and pretending to faint. Today she’s sporting lime-green shimmery flared trousers and a baggy cropped shirt, with her enormous Doc Martens.
She steps out, pleased with my reaction, and I realise I don’t have much time to get dressed. I sit in my bra deciphering whether to wear a plain white cropped t-shirt or the same top that I wore yesterday. Unfortunately all of my clothes are starting to feel, for lack of a better term, rotten.
Going with the plain white tee, I shove the other option back in my bag when my tent is zipped open again.
Assuming it’s Hennie returning, my head whips round as Elliot’s head pops into view through the door. Our gazes meet before his eyes frantically run over my state of undress and he quickly slams them shut with a throaty groan of ‘fuck.’ I feel my body prickle with heat as he quickly stands and flings the door closed.
His ragged voice pierces through the tent. ‘Nora, I’m so sorry, I’m an idiot. I just assumed you’d be dressed, I’m sorry!’
Hennie’s voice cuts over him, icy and biting. ‘What are you doing? We don’t need you perving around here.’
I look down at myself to double check what he just saw and make a note to mentally thank any and all the gods that I had put on my least comfortable but arguably most appealing white bra with blue lacy flowers today, due to the fact that my everyday bralette simply needs to go in a washing machine. Feeling my cheeks burn scarlet, I note with a fresh dose of mortification that my nipples are absolutely visible through it. I repress a scream.
Why the fuck did I buy this?
I cover my face with my hands and let myself drop head first onto my sleeping bag. How will I ever summon the courage to leave this tent again?
Hennie is still berating Elliot outside, and I oddly can’t help but feel for him. She can be scary.
‘Hey, it’s fine!’ I call out, my voice tight. ‘Just give me a minute.’
‘Do you want me to kill him so he can learn some manners?’ Hennie shouts.
I bite back a laugh and reply, ‘No, he may live,’ just as Owen responds with a, ‘Yeah!’
‘You should sue him, Nora,’ Josh joins in.
Oh, good! Everyone is here to witness my humiliation.
I tug on the rest of my outfit and grab my backpack, heading outside to face them. The second my head is outside, Elliot is already in front of me with an agonised expression. His hair is sticking up so wildly that I can only assume he’s run his hands through it approximately eighty times in the last minute. Or he’s finally run out of hair gel. Good.
‘I’m so, so sorry. I left my belt in there,’ he says quietly. ‘I should have checked, I swear it won’t happen again.’ He seems so earnest and horrified that I soften.
‘It’s okay,’ I say brightly, trying to meet his eyes and failing. ‘Just erase the imagery from your brain and everyone will be well.’
He falters for a second, and I just catch a glimpse of his reddening cheeks as he quickly ducks inside my tent to retrieve his belt. Hennie’s eyes are scalding when he emerges.
‘I’ve got my eye on you,’ she warns.
‘He’s fine,’ I murmur, casting her a reassuring smile.
‘Well, as much as I’d like to photograph Elliot’s very red face… maybe we should head out,’ Owen says.
Josh nods with eagerness, his halo of sandy hair even more messy than usual today. He’s wearing the same t-shirt as when we met him two days ago, but it’s now ten times more creased. ‘So, what’s the plan? Where’s the next clue at?’
Elliot and I exchange a quick glance. ‘We hit a dead end and were actually planning to ask you,’ he says. ‘So, if you were to see a scribbled drawing of a lobster and a clock pointing to five o’clock, would that mean anything to you?’
The group is silent.
