Could someone be tracking one of their phones? That too seems impossible – they all lost reception ages ago and no one has even a bar of signal. But what if someone fitted some kind of device to the bus? You see it all the time on films and TV shows; they stick a gadget to the underside of a vehicle and monitor where it goes using GPS. Do people do that in real life? It’s too dark now to check. He’ll do it in the morning. In the meantime, he rules it out as a possibility on the basis that it’s extremely far-fetched. The fact he’s even considered it is probably a symptom of increasing paranoia.
Could it have been one of the locals? The kids they passed earlier? They stared in amazement at the bus; perhaps one of them was intrigued enough to try to get a closer look. Or a birdwatcher? The exotic birds Reubyn is interested in are nocturnal, so maybe a nature lover turned up at night hoping to spot one. Yes, that seems likely. The more Miles thinks about it, the more plausible it becomes.
He racks his brain for another theory. But he can’t think of anything. Miles tries to consider it rationally, calling upon the problem-solving techniques he learned at school: logical inference, abductive reasoning, Occam’s razor. The simplest conclusion is usually correct. So, who or what did Jessie see at the bird hide?
The longer he thinks about it, the more certain he becomes.
Either Jessie was mistaken, or they simply had an awkward encounter with a late-night birdwatcher. The alternative doesn’t bear thinking about.
Chapter 35
George
George wipes sleep from his eyes and lumbers into the kitchen to make a coffee. It’s nearly noon and he is the last to rise. He tips out the remaining coffee machine pods and groans; all the sensible ones have been used up, and only a handful of unappealing flavours are left. He picks what he hopes is the least offensive – roasted hazelnut – and fires up the machine. It grumbles away at a similar volume to the rain’s steady patter against the roof. He moves to the window. Outside, there is movement; leaves shiver, and the thinner branches shake and sway. George hears a voice, and the serious tone seizes his attention. It’s not coming from the living area, where Elis, Polly, Jessie and Faith chat in hushed voices. It’s at the other end of the van – the bedroom. The coffee machine falls silent, and George removes his cup. He places it on the sideboard, which is dark and flecked with grey: a synthetic imitation of the kind of black granite used to make modern gravestones. Miles sounds annoyed, or in some way animated. George creeps out of the kitchen and loiters by the bedroom door, where the voices of Miles and Reubyn are more audible.
‘... I can’t do that to her, don’t you see that?’ Miles says, a tinge of exasperation to his question. ‘It’s not fair, after what’s happened.’
‘You’re beingwayoversensitive,’ Reubyn says.
‘I am not.’
‘You are. She probably imagined it anyway. You know what Americans are like, they’re dramatic. It wouldn’t surprise me if she made the whole thing up as part of some damsel in distress routine.’
‘That is incredibly unfair!’ Miles shouts, and George takes a reflexive step back. ‘She’s really freaked out,’ he says, his volume returning to normal. ‘And, frankly, so am I. To be honest, Reubyn, I thought you would understand that.’
There’s a silence, and George clenches his teeth.
‘What do you want me to do?’ Reubyn says.
‘You know what I want – I want you to drive us the hell out of here.’
‘And you know I can’t do that, not yet. I’ve got a bit left to do on this video.’
‘But I’m not safe out here.’
‘Of course you’re safe – this is the safest place you can be. We’re miles from anywhere. Trust me.’
‘You’re putting yourself before everyone else.’
‘Well, if it’s altruism you’re worried about, how about this: you tell Jessie the whole story, and I’ll drive us out of this forest. Right now.’
Another silence.
‘I’m not ready to do that.’
‘I know. And I’m not ready to leave.’
George hears footsteps, and darts into the bathroom. The bedroom door opens and out comes Reubyn, who glances his way. George turns on the tap and pretends to wash his hands as Miles passes him.
That was ...odd.One wouldn’t describe it as a furious argument, but he can’t remember the last time Miles and Reubyn had cross words.And Reubyn doesn’t want to leave? He’s notreadyto depart this dump? What’s going on here? How bloody long does he need?
George towels his hands and returns to the kitchen for his coffee. He takes a sip and grimaces. It’s absolute garbage. Coffee should never be flavoured with hazelnut – or any nut, for that matter. Isn’t coffee a flavour in itself? No amount of flavouring – be it caramel, gingerbread or bin juice, as this tastes like – will improve upon it. He slams his mug on the side and approaches Reubyn, who stands by the door locked in a fierce battle with the zip of his raincoat.
‘Hey, Reubs,’ George says. ‘Are we busting a move soon or what?’
Reubyn rolls his eyes. ‘Not you as well? Why is everyone in such a rush, all of a sudden?’
‘Because we’re supposed to be on holiday right now, not languishing in a ruddy gulag.’
