“You’re not seriously saying what I think you are. Because that would be insane.”
“Oh, come on. You can swim, can’t you?”
“Not in freezing-cold rushing water, I can’t.”
James rolls his eyes, pushing his hair back from his forehead – it’s completely flat and floppy now. It would be cute, endearing, if it wasn’t on an arrogant arse. “There you go again,” he says. “Shooting me down.”
“You’re hardly an exotic bird, Gloatman. You can stomach a small dose of rejection. Might even do you good.”
“And that means?”
“That you’re way too confident and self-important.”
He laughs, the sound rich with frustration. “I’m sorry. Should I be more like you and require someone to be clapping for me at every step of the way?”
I scrunch my nose. “I don’t need that.”
“You absolutely do. And you don’t like me because I refuse to pander to your childish insecurities.”
Silence.
I realise at some point my jaw’s gone slack and I’m standing here with a ridiculous face, so I shake it out and draw my folded arms even closer to my body, as if I can somehow protect myself from his words.
He’s not right. Is he?
No. I don’t require recognition. Is it nice to receive it? Yes, of course.
James taps his foot, as if waiting for something. If he thinks he’s getting an apology he’s got another thing coming. Probably in the shape of a knee to the groin.
I can’t do this much longer. I certainly don’t think I can do another night in a tent with James. Now that might be the last straw.
Looking across the water, I try to measure the speed of the current, the distance to cross, the depth. It seems shallow enough. Maybe it is a good idea. A mad one. But it could get us to the castle quicker.
An upper body shiver consumes me in an uncomfortable way. It feels wrong. It feels like I’m making a bad decision. But maybe that’s just because it’s Gloatman’s idea. “Fine,” I say, defeatedly. “I’ll cross the damn river. But if I die, and I might, it will be your fault.”
James nods slowly. “I’m not going to let you die, that would be fairly counterproductive to this mission, wouldn’t you say?” He smirks. “But if for any reason you do die, I promise not to tell anyone about last night.”
I groan, exasperated. “Yeah, right.” I take my bag off my shoulders, have a sip from my bottle and consider how best to dress for this next step. I don’t want to get my trainers soaked through. My only other footwear is my poor, unfortunate red boots. They might be salvageable now, but submerging them in the river will certainly destroy all hope. The next issue is my trousers. They’re long, and I suspect there will be some swimming required.
“Strip down to your underwear,” James says, as if he can read my train of thought.
I laugh. He’s joking, obviously. I look at him. He’sjoking, right? I flash him awhat the fuck?face. “You’re kidding?”
But he’s already got his trousers off and is efficiently rolling them up into his bag. He stands before me in just his boxer shorts looking quite proud of himself. I only take a quick glance to see if there’s an outline. God, there actually is… and… it’s…Wow.
Look away, Fliss. Look away!
And damn the heat rushing into my cheeks.
“It’s the only way you’re going to keep your stuff dry,” he says. “We’ll get our bags across on a float of some sort. That way we’ll hopefully save them from getting drenched. Or at least the contents. The outer layer is waterproof anyway.”
“But I’ll freeze.”
“And then you’ll have dry clothing on the other side. You have spare underwear, right?”
“Yeah, but…”
“What?” James smirks at me in that patronising way again, except there’s a bit more softness to it this time. “Too shy?”
