“I was the one who got all the girls out for school in the morning. I made sure we had dinner on the table. We mostly ate jacket potatoes and beans on toast because it was all we could afford. I’d just turned fourteen when I started working weekends at the shop, and sixteen when I started working full time.” He’s staring at the ceiling of the tent when I realise my gaze has strayed back to his face. “I’m strong because there wasn’t another option for us, my family. I wasn’t going to let anything happen to my sisters.”
I nod. “You didn’t have to do that though. You’re strong because you chose to be, despite what you think. Some people never improve their situation, or else use it to enable their own bad behaviour. You’ve done more than take care of your sisters. You’ve worked hard to get where you are now.”
James grins again as he swallows. I watch his throat working. I have this sudden animalistic urge to bend over and kiss him there. Feel the taste of his skin on my tongue.
Maybe I should go and stand in the rain for a bit. Cool off.
“What about you?” he asks. “Why are you so brave?”
“I’m categorically not brave, James.”
“You are. You have no problem standing up to me. You get up and present in front of huge teams and really important client meetings. It’s like it doesn’t even bother you.”
I shrug. “That’sworkbrave. Notlifebrave.”
“What’s the difference?”
“At work I’m Head of Marketing. I know what I’m talking about and I’m confident enough not to feel nervous doing those things. People respect me enough to listen. I’m not necessarily trying to prove anything. Sure, I want to progress. But I know I’m nailing it. In life? I’m fairly certain I’m failing quite spectacularly.”
I laugh at the absurdity of it all. “I live with four full-grown adults in a three-bed flat covered in mould we all just pretend isn’t there for our own sanity. Surely, by the time you’re Head of Marketing you should be able to afford to rent your own place? My parents honestly cause me constant stress and anxiety. Why can’t my mum just figure out some of her own life issues without using me as her personal therapist? And why can’t Dad make some good decisions for once? I so often feel like I’m the bad guy, coming in to tell them off or call them out on their shit.”
I close my eyes tight, breathing slowly, as I realise I’ve wound up a pang of anxiety. It’s sitting heavy across my abdomen. I want to take all those words back, because compared to James’ story, they’re nothing at all.
“If it makes you feel any better, my mum’s the opposite, always breathing down my neck,” James says. “She loves to remind me that my sisters have settled down.”
“Bet you pay her hardly any notice.”
He shrugs, turning his head to look at me. It’s very intimate being this close as a cloud must cover what’s left of the sun, blocking out the light. His eyes are as dark as midnight. “It’s a stark reminder that I’ve had my heart broken. It’s like she either forgets or doesn’t think it bothers me anymore.”
I can’t look away. I really think I should. Because clearly it does bother him. Whatever happened in his past. My heart rate is increasing, as if I’m facing some sort of threat. Maybe this is what exhilaration feels like. I’ve never had this with a man before. I don’t know why he’s opening up to me so much. Allowing me to see something he normally wouldn’t.
He grins softly. “We’re a pathetic pair, huh?”
I just shrug lightly. I think we both know we’re not pathetic really. We’re just both at a stage where we’re trying to figure out our lives.
I feel a shiver rack through me as the temperature drops. It’s getting later. The sun is fading, and with the thick blanketing of cloud it’s getting darker earlier than usual. The rain picks up. It’s so loud in the tent, thundering down on top of us, I can barely hear myself think. The stream nearby is picking up pace. Wind rattles through the trees. I hug my knees closer to my chest.
James leans across to the zipped-together sleeping bag that’s been shoved in the corner. He pulls it upwards, laying it out and climbing in. As he slides his trousers off with much shuffling and removes his t-shirt, he says, “Climb in before you get too cold.”
Clearly, he’s now in tune with my body.
Warning signals go off in my head.
You’ll be back at work with him next week, Fliss. You’ll have to face him. You’ll have to face everyone knowing what you did. That’s if you do something. Probably just don’t do something. Don’t give in to those urges.
But I am cold. And James, by experience, is very warm. I strip down to my knickers and vest like I did the previous nights. He pretends not to be looking. I climb in beside him, trying and failing to keep my hands safely at my sides. By default, my hand happens to be in the same place as his crotch and I swipe it with my hand before knowing what I’ve even done.
James sucks in a breath.
“Oh, god, I’m sorry. That was an accident.”
He nods, repositioning himself.
“Are you in much pain today?” I ask, trying to change the conversation swiftly.
“It’s manageable.”
“Good, because we ran out of vodka.”
