“Absolutely perfect. You sure you made him?”
“Shut up, you prick.”
He guffaws. “You’ll have to curb that potty mouth.”
“Piss off,” she says sweetly.
“Can’t wait to meet him. What’s he called?”
“Bernie,” she says, and I nearly choke on a chip while James sniggers. If Sophie hears she doesn’t say anything.
James looks at me over his phone. “Want to meet my nephew?”
“Oh, it’s ok,” I say, not wanting to intrude on his family moment. But James nods at the spot beside him. I crawl across the bed, planting myself so we’re shoulder to shoulder. If someone had told me this would happen three days ago, when we were abandoned roadside in our work clothes, I’d never have believed it. Look at us. So comfy in each other’s company.
It doesn’t mean anything, Fliss. It can’t last. It’s just a reaction to the situation.
And I know this. I do. But there’s a wonderful energy leaking from his pores now he knows his sister is well and his nephew is perfect. I want to stay right here soaking it in, but I can’t because this is going to end badly. I can sense it.
I hop up, swinging my legs off the bed.
“He’s adorable,” I say. And he is. His soft cheeks, those tiny lips, the little fingers curling round his mummy’s hand. “But I really need a shower. I’m going to…” I don’t finish the sentence, waving to Sophie on the screen and dipping out of the room, clean white towel in hand.
*
I’m deliriously relieved to discover this quirky B&B, with a pink bathtub, flowery-patterned roller blinds and bubbly linoleum flooring, has a power shower. I close my eyes and let the hot water wash over my hair, face and body. I give in to the way it pummels perfectly against my shoulder blades. In fact, I’m pretty sure I’m moaning.
I wash my hair using the shampoo and conditioner that’s been left for me. Then condition a second time, praying that’ll be enough to get some of the knots out. Especially as I’ll need to use my fingers to comb it in lieu of my hairbrush. I scrub all over, trying to get the smell of damp, muddy countryside, and my own aromas off my skin. I crave the feeling of cleanliness.
Once I’ve climbed out, I grab my towel hanging on the back of the door, wrap it around me, and sigh contentedly, as my wet hair drips down my left shoulder. That might be the best shower I’ve ever had. I pat down my body, slowly realising the towel she’s given me is actually very short, barely covering my butt cheeks. I stare at the pile of clothes on the floor for a moment. I could put them back on. That would be the smart thing to do. No need to stoke the fire between me and James further by returning to the room practically naked. And yet the thought of putting those sweaty, mucky things back onto my clean body makes me want to cry.
No. The towel will have to do. I sneak through the door, stepping quietly down the hall to our room, listening for voices. When it’s quiet, I peek in to check I’m not intruding on James’ family conversations.
He’s scrolling on his social media accounts. As he notices me, he glances up, smiling. “How was the shower?”
“Good.So good,” I say, coming into the room a bit more to reveal my incredibly short towel arrangement.
James gulps as he sees, blinking at my legs. He presses his lips together, then opens them to say something, then closes them again.
“I couldn’t bear to put my hiking stuff back on. Sorry,” I say.
“It’s ok,” he says, voice strained. “Tell you what, I’m going to hop in the shower now too. Leave you to get dressed.”
He’s gone, closing the door behind him before I can say I need clean clothes and probably should’ve thought that through before getting in the shower in the first place. I groan, peeking round the room, hoping something will give me inspiration. There’s an old, flowery bed throw I could fashion into a dress.
A dress! I stride across to my bag, whipping out my black skater dress from the flight to Scotland. It’s still a little damp, having not been left out to dry at any point, but once it’s on, it covers enough of me to go downstairs and ask the landlady if she has a lost property box I can pillage.
In luck, I find myself a slightly baggy black vest top, beige cardigan and a pair of leggings. There are even pink sneakers in my size. Then, in a rush to get dressed, I whip some items out for James. He’s tall so there’s far less choice for him. He’ll have to make do.
*
Once he’s out of the shower he stands there, towel folded in at his waist, bare chest glistening, his hair even darker now that it’s been washed and cleaned, frowning at my choices for him. “I’m not sure I believe this was all they had.”
“It’s all there was, I promise.”
“Hmm,” he says, unconvincingly. He pulls the top on over his head, shaking his hair loose as he glances down at me. “Go on, laugh.”
I cover my face as a snigger bursts from my lips. “You look…”
