James passes it across to me as I’m busy using my sleeve to wipe away some of the smudged makeup from my face. I use my spare hand to take the bottle. It is indeed straight vodka. An expensive bottle too. “He could’ve at least given us some lemonade to mix it with.”
James laughs again but holds his face in his hands like he might also cry. “Oh, bloody hell. What the fuck are we going to do?”
“Get drunk?” I suggest.
“We need to get back.Ineed to get back. My sister… I can’t be here, Felicity.”
“Ok…” I nod, acknowledging his predicament.
James’ phone pings again. He grabs it out, groaning whilst cradling his chin in his hand as the final vibration signifies the end of his battery supplies. “Shit.”
A moment of weakness leaks into my heart at the sight of his sorry expression. Who knew the man had feelings? I really try to stop my mouth from opening. I try so hard but… “I have power. You could use mine if you wanted to?” I suggest. Gosh, why am I being so kind to this man all of a sudden? “Not that you deserve it really.”
He doesn’t respond to my quip. Instead, he stands up and walks away from where I’m sat with all our things, as the skies clear enough for the sun to peek through. A ray of light pushes down and settles on his head, glittering on his damp, dark hair. He stops. And although I can’t see his face, I can tell by his shoulders and the way he thrusts his hands into his chino pockets that he’s taking some deep sighs. I should stop looking at him. If he turns around, he’ll catch me staring and his ego is big enough to assume I’m perving.
I take in my surroundings and my original idea to get to higher ground to decide where to go next is flawed. There’s nothing up here to pinpoint exactly where we are. I take out the map, but it’s all colours and shapes to me right now. I’m hungry and tired, and my brain is pulsing thinking about all the things I should be doing but am not doing. We’re three weeks out from an event. I trust my team to cover a lot of the work. The issue is, they shouldn’t have to.
And now I have a new set of challenges. But I must not let them detract from my overall objectives. I suppose I should add another one, which up until a few hours ago I took for granted.
Objective one: Work up to director position at Starr.
Objective two: Earn the only bonus I expect to earn this year, which means not letting James sneak his idea through Michael.
Objective three (new): Stay alive. First two objectives rely heavily on the success of this one.
“I did my Duke of Edinburgh,” I shout across the space between us. This is probably useless to mention since it was fifteen years ago, and I tagged along with a very knowledgeable bunch of scout leaders who looked after me most of the way. I also remember the walking draining me, and taking a few days to recover.
James laughs, not bothering to look back at me. “Of course you did.”
“Hey… What’s wrong with that?”
“Posh girl,” he says. I don’t know where James gets this impression, but he’s convinced I’m some sort of nepo-baby. I am not.
“What? Didn’t they do it at your school?” I ask, remembering most of my friends from other schools at least had the option to do it. I hardly went to Eton. It wasn’t private or anything. Arguably though, my parents played the postcode lottery well. And could afford to do that.
“It cost money,” he says. “And we didn’t have a lot of that around.”
I chew on my bottom lip as I look down to fiddle with my sorry-looking boots. I don’t want to pry further. I don’t remember the Duke of Edinburgh costing very much and so he must’ve been in a very tight predicament if he couldn’t afford to do it. But also, he could be manipulating me somehow. I wouldn’t put it past him.
“Are you wearing a watch?” I shout. “Do you have the time?”
I’ve stopped wearing mine recently and now rely on my mobile phone but that’s turned off.
“It’s just gone three,” he shouts back.
“Should we find somewhere to set the tent up?” I ask. The tight pang of anxiety resurfaces in my stomach. I can’t believe I have to share a tent with this man. It’s actually not ok.
“Stop freaking out,” James mutters, as he walks back towards me.
I gawp. How can he tell from a distance? And he’s one to talk. “Says the man who was pulling his hair out down by the lake earlier.”
“That’s because I’ve been abandoned with a lunatic.”
“I’m a lunatic? You’re a total psychopath.”
“You’re having one of your epic meltdowns. You know, I can almost hear it happen when I send emails sometimes. It’s like the mood shifts fromGreat British Bake-Offtent to the Death Star in a flash. The air thickens. And it’s not just me who notices.”
“Shut up,” I say. But… “Who else notices?” I realise he’s purposefully baiting me, and I am absolutely falling for it. It’s not true, of course. And, well, maybe he shouldn’t send emails to make me go all Darth Vader. “Whatever… We just…I don’t know.”
