‘Oh, really? I hadn’t noticed!’
‘Come away and finish your coffee. All that hot air isn’t going to make one bit of difference.’
Mutely and mulishly, I allow him to steer me over to the tiny dining table, no doubt leaving wet footprints in my wake. My frozen toes are the only thing I can contemplate as my mind is unable to process my current predicament.
I’m stuck. Bloody stuck!
‘Here,’ he says, bringing over my coffee cup and placing down a pair of thick blue socks, folded in half. ‘I doubt even your bag has an endless supply of these.’
‘How long is this going to last?’ I ask, finally looking up.
But Greg just shrugs.
After two coffees, half of Greg’s omelette, and an hour warming my frozen toes by the fire, I’ve established four things.
I’m going nowhere.
Greg’s phone is a different brand, hence his charger is no good to me.
Greg’s phone is also a POS and gets no signal in any corner of this place. Not even by a person balanced on a chest of drawers and half hanging out of the upstairs window.
I still don’t know who’s to blame for our circumstances.
Discounting God, Mother Nature, the Universe, leaves only Mo.
‘Aren’t you annoyed? Supremely annoyed?’
Lying on the sofa, I wave both hands in the air before bringing my legs up straight to touch my toes, pulling on the ends of Greg’s comfy socks a little. I’m irritable. Bored. I rarely have time to sit and do nothing—I don’t know how this is supposed to work!
Or how I’mnotsupposed to work.
‘At the weather?’ he asks, clearly perplexed. And clearly gorgeous. He’s wearing a pair of jeans that I suspect have seen a lot of washes and a dark Henley that clings to the contours of his chest. And socks, the same colour as the ones I’m examining hanging from the ends of my toes.
‘Yes, at the weather. At the situation. At me!’
‘What would be the point?’
‘To vent . . . to air your frustration!’
‘I think you’re doing enough of that for the both of us.’
‘One of us shouldn’t be here!’ I repeat.
‘Aye. You.’
‘You wish,’ I huff.
‘Look at it this way. If you were here on your own, you’d be screwed.’
I wish.
Maybe.
Or maybe not.
God, who am I kidding?
Sex is never the answer in my experience. In fact, sex is rarely even the question.
