He clears his throat again, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he hands me the bottle of vodka. “Painkiller.”
I unscrew the lid. The first sip is as awful as it was earlier. I squint, stick out my tongue and shudder as James places the leaf carefully onto my cut, slowly and meticulously wrapping his shirt around it to secure.
James passes me another protein bar, making a joke about fine dining with a view. I look around at our surroundings. We’re in somewhat of an angular glade, so you can see right out into the distance. There’s no sign of human life. It’s all wilderness for as far as the eye can see. Bracken is thick across this part of the world, leaving a layer of soft greenery for the wildlife to hide amongst, but today we’ve seen all sorts of creatures, from grey rabbits to red deer, their antlers held fiercely above them as their calves pootle around their legs, looking for teats. Unfamiliar with human activity, they’re slow to dart away, so we both get a good look.
“I’m sure we could eat something out here,” I say. “What about fish in the lake?”
“Do you know how to fish?”
“No,” I laugh. “But if I get desperate enough, I’ll go all savage and stab them with sticks like they do in the movies.”
James snorts. “I’ll make traps out of shredded shirt sleeves. We’ll be the wild people of Scotland.”
As the first midge appears, I suggest we play a game to pass the time. But James is dead set on getting a fire burning before the light completely diminishes. For the next thirty minutes he busies himself looking for stones and firewood. Once he’s got a half-decent set up, he gives me a look, and asks, “You know how to make a flame?”
“You’re kidding, aren’t you? You just did all that, and you don’t know how to make a flame?”
“I don’t have matches.”
“Aren’t you supposed to scratch sticks together?”
He has a go, trying several different things. Then, through sheer force and persistence, he manages to spark a flame. He does the same thing again and again until, at last, a small fire is glowing a few metres from our tent. I practically launch forwards, tucking myself fully into my sleeping bag like a slug, with just my face visible. I perch on the ground once again.
The heat is lush. James disappears to find a few more pieces of firewood to keep it alight throughout the evening as I interchange between sipping vodka and taking bites of my protein bar. When I get back to normality.IfI get back to normality. I will never touch one of these nasty bars again. The taste and texture are already turning my stomach.
I drink more vodka. When James returns, he smiles. “Look at those red cheeks. You feeling a bit better?”
I nod. “I’ve had quite a bit of this,” I say, holding up the bottle. I noticeably sway, even in my seated position. “You should have some now before I drink it all.”
He comes over and sits beside me. His sleeping bag is dry too, so he steps into it, making himself cosy. He positions himself so that he’s hugging his knees over the material. “What game did you want to play?”
“What about that one where we choose a celeb and the other has to guess who we are?”
“Boring,” he says.
“Fine,” I say. “Let’s play truth. Except instead of me asking the questions, you just have to give me deep, pressing, emotional truths and I will do the same.” Hmm. I’m not sure how good of an idea this is now I’ve said it out loud. Can I trust Gloatman, or am I dangerously tipsy and at risk of being too candid and vulnerable?
James is looking at me with a face that is undoubtedly sincere. “Me first?”
I nod. He shuffles, getting comfy as he takes a bite of his bar. I watch his face run through a mix of emotions as he considers what to tell me first. He’s clearly got a lot of truths he could say. I’m not even sure I have enough about me to play this game. Why did I suggest this again? I take another sip of vodka whilst I wait.
“Alright, let’s see,” he muses. “Well, I’ve had two serious girlfriends end things with me,” he announces. Andwow, wasn’t expecting that. “One was my sixth-form girlfriend, who didn’t want a boyfriend before university. And then again before I moved to London. Er, actually, I moved to London when I was twenty-three because of the breakup. Our town wasn’t big enough for the both of us, as the adage goes. Especially as she broke up with me to get with my best friend.”
I’m dead still, listening. Did he really just tell me that? Is it even true? Was he in love with them? I can hardly imagine him with a girlfriend, let alone being dumped by one.
“Have I stunned you into silence?” he asks when I don’t say anything.
“Yeah,” I reply with a laugh. “I didn’t have you down as the long-term relationship type.”
He laughs too but doesn’t share any more details. “Your turn.”
“Right, ok. Sorry about that. That’s… It’s really rubbish. I sort of wish I’d known that about you before now.” James gives me a pleasant smile. It’s too intimate in the lowering sun, dropping an orange glow behind the landscape. I swallow as heat pools in my core again. “Because I’d have been able to jibe you for it, obviously.”
James makes a humoured face, nods. “Fair.”
“Ok, my turn. Um, so, my parents told me they only stayed together for fifteen years of their marriage because of me, and I guess I feel like I can never pay them back for that sort of misery.”
James nods again to show he’s listening but doesn’t say anything, so I assume he wants me to say more.
