by Esme Devlin
She turns her head towards me. “Me? Lewis, when I was talking about “we” I thought we’d both assume I meant you.”
I chuckle at her “Oh that’s how it is? You’re not in the city anymore, princess.”
To give Isla her due, she carried her own axe for about half a mile before I took pity on her. We could have taken the car, but she didn’t think of that so I didn’t bother suggesting it. We also could have taken the chainsaw, but this way will keep me amused far longer.
She’s got on two onesies now and an old waxed Barber jacket she found in a cupboard — I think it was my grandma’s. Her fake antlers are blowing in the wind and I have to keep my eyes on Kimber to distract me from laughing at the sight of her.
“I’m just thinking… why didn’t we drive down here?”
I fight to keep the smile down. Is it fucked up that there’s a big part of me that enjoys teasing her? “Could probably have suggested that a mile back, don’t you think?”
“I didn’t realize how far away it was!”
“It’s not much further now,” I tell her. I’m not being wholly truthful though, we’re probably only half way there.
She’s trudging and the wind is getting worse. I left my phone in the car because there’s no signal, so I’ve no idea what time it is, and there is no sun in the sky — just thick white fog. I’m guessing it’s close to midday though, which is the time that warning kicks in.
Technically we shouldn’t be out here, but if we don’t get this tree out of the way, we’ll be stuck here for the foreseeable. Being stuck here with Kimber wouldn’t be the worst thing that could happen. Being stuck here with Isla? I’d rather sit on a mousetrap. Or chop up a tree in the middle of a blizzard. I plan to go back and get the chainsaw and do it myself just as soon as she breaks.
It’s the least she deserves, really.
Twenty minutes later she pipes up again, although her voice almost gets carried away with the wind. “I thought you said it wasn’t much further?”
“It’s not, it’s just down there.” I nod my head to the bend in the road since my hands are full with both the axes. The tree is almost completely hidden now, the tire tracks from earlier gone and if it wasn’t for the bend, I wouldn’t know it was here.
“I can’t see any tree?”
“You accusing me of lying? That’s a bit rich, coming from you?”
She shoulders me in response. I fight the urge to push her back because she’d probably topple over with the amount of layers she’s got on.
“That was a long time ago,” she argues.
I shrug.
She continues, “And I think you’re forgetting, you came on to me…”
I came on to her? She was in a pub!
“I mean, it’s not like I set out to reel you in.”
“Never said you did,” I tell her. “I’m just saying, you could have come clean at any point.”
She looks up at me, her face covered in flecks of snow and her cheeks rosy. “Like I said, it was a long time ago.”
Aye, it was. No point crying over spilled milk.
I turn away and neither of us speak until we get to the place where the tree should be. The only part of it that’s visible now is the top.
Everything else is buried.
This is fucking hopeless.
“We’ll need to dig it out before we can chop it up?” she asks.
I let the axes drop to the ground while I go over and investigate. Even with the chainsaw, it’s a shit-load of work for one person. When I turn back towards her I see she’s got her arms crossed around her body, shifting from side to side.
She looks frozen.
“Nah.” I shake my head and look up at the sky. “This isn’t happening, not today at least.”
The weather’s getting worse and if it’s already gone midday like I think it is, there are only another three or four hours of daylight left.
“I can’t stay in that place with no heating. I’ll die. We’ll catch hypothermia.”
I’m pick up the axes and start walking back. She’s being dramatic, but she still follows. “Humans have been surviving worse long before castles were a thing, Isla. Have a wee bit perspective.”
Chapter 6
ISLA
A wee bit of perspective.
Like it’s that easy.
I am so, so cold.
My hands are numb. My feet are numb. My nose is actually sore.
By the time we get back to the god-forsaken castle, I feel like I’ll never be warm again.
Lewis is away doing who-knows-what and I’ve come up the stairs to dry and try to pile on even more layers. I brought two onesies and a pair of flannel PJs with me — one for each night — but I don’t think I can physically fit another layer on me.
I’m sorting my cold wet hair into a messy bun when my stomach growls in protest. The girls were supposed to arrive here by lunchtime with the food and drink. Gemma was bringing the food, Jess and Louise bringing the drink, and I got the shortbread at the airport.
So now we’re stranded with no heating and no real food.
Feeling like this day probably couldn’t get any worse, I crawl under the thick bed covers and wrap them tightly around my body. I’ll just give myself five minutes… maybe ten minutes.
Just until I’m warm.
Just until I can feel my fingers again.
I wake up and it’s dark.
It’s not the kind of city dark I’m used to, where it’s never actually fully dark because there are always car lights and an orange glow from the streetlamps. This is 100% pitch can’t see your hand in front of your face dark.
But although I’m still cold, I’m not uncontrollably shaking anymore, which I guess is a positive.
The sound of the windows being hammered by the wind is so loud I wonder how I managed to sleep so long.
What time is it anyway?
I pull back the covers and edge my way along the unfamiliar circular wall, cracking my thigh against a side table on the way. When I finally reach the door I feel around for a light switch, and after some moments finally locate the wee bastard.
I flick it and nothing happens.
Trust me to shotgun the room with no lightbulbs in it.
Honeymoon suite my arse.
The hallway is also in complete darkness, and I don’t think I’m familiar enough with the layout to not come crashing head first down the stairs.
“Lewis?”
When nothing happens, I try again.
Fucks sake.
I’m feeling blind as I make my way along the hall, being careful not to walk into stuff and hurt my already sore thigh again. When I touch the carved edge of the handrail, I drop my toe down, like I’m testing a hot bath, before sitting on my arse and bumping my way down the stairs.
I feel like I’m six again.
Before I get to the bottom I try shouting again, and when I get nothing back I wonder if he’s left me?
Maybe he lives close by and he’s walked it home?
Of all the ways to be an arsehole, that would certainly top all of them.
I picture him, sitting in his nice warm house with his heating cranked up and the fire blazing. Maybe he’s got a big dinner on his lap. A warm one. Maybe some hot soup. Or steak. He’s so hot in his roasting cosy house he’s had to take his top off…
I shake myself out of it and give him some pajamas. Really ugly ones. With antlers. Then I fight a giggle because now he looks just as ridiculous as I do, and it serves him right for teasing me.
I’m sure the living room was that way, so that’s the way I go, and there was definitely a light switch beside the door because I noticed it when Lewis popped his head around.
The door opens with a creak and finally, some light!
And not just any light — a fire.
We have a fire.
I’m so delighted that it takes me a second to realize Lewis is already sitting in front of it. No layers for him, no — he doesn’t need any layers because he’s
been toasting himself all afternoon, apparently.
“You put the fire on and didn’t think to tell me?”
He glances over his shoulder at me and smirks.
“Oh, sleeping beauty awakes.”
I cross the room and sit down on the floor beside him, a couple of meters away from the fire and a couple of meters away from him. Instantly my face warms, and it’s making me ridiculously happy.
“Did you go out and chop down a tree then?”
He wipes his brow with his sleeve. “Aye, five-foot wide it was. Took me six hours.”
Okay, so now I’m feeling a little bad for sleeping all day while he was out doing that. “You didn’t happen to hunt some food while you were at it, did you?”
He chuckles. “Isla I never chopped any trees. You need dead trees for firewood… I just broke up some crates from the basement.”
I turn around and look at him. His sarcastic attitude is getting right on my tits. “When did you turn into such a condescending arsehole?”
“I dunno, when did you turn into such a city-dweller?”
“City-dweller!” I snort at him. “It offends you that I don’t have an in-depth knowledge of what makes optimum firewood?”
He smirks again and looks back at the fire before replying. “No. But it does offend me you’d come to stay this far away from civilization, in the middle of a snowstorm, with nothing but a shite car, a reindeer suit and a tin of shortbread to keep you going.”
I shake my head at him. “And what did you bring? What’s your contribution, oh high-and-mighty one? Some tea light candles and a 1996 tin of instant coffee?”
“I was here to shutter the windows, Isla, I never planned on staying.”
“Well, I wasn’t intending on getting stranded. The girls were going to bring the food. Why don’t we phone Gemma? We can meet her at the tree and she can drive us to her house? She’ll have food.”
“Aye, good idea, except the powers off,” he replies.
I let out a breath and look up at the ceiling. In all the ways we could be fucked, this takes the medal.
We both watch the fire in silence for a wee while, slowly going demented. It’s like waiting for a bus when you know the service finished hours ago.
“Why don’t we make some of your shite coffee and eat some of my overpriced shortbread?” I suggest.
He looks over at me and smiles. “Thought you’d never offer. My stomach thinks my throat’s been cut here.”
Chapter 7
LEWIS
I can’t bide black coffee but it’s better than drinking ice cold water, and the sugar on the shortbread helps it go down easier.
“This has nothing on the stuff my grandma used to make,” I tell her.
We’re back in the living room, the only place in the whole castle that’s vaguely warm. She’d come through to the kitchen with me, but after five minutes of waiting on the water to get hot — and listening to her teeth chitter — I took pity on her and sent her back through to the fire.
“Is the Grandma you’re talking about the same as Gemma’s grandma? If so, then I’d have to agree with you. Her mum always kept a tin of it in the kitchen and every Saturday night we’d get fired into it watching Britain’s Got Talent with a cup of tea.”
I laugh at her. As stupid as that sounds, I forget she’s Gemma’s friend. “Aye, that’s the one.”
“Does she still make it?”
I wonder if she realizes we’re sitting in her old living room? I clear my throat before I answer. “No. She passed away five years ago, not long after my granda’ died. She left me this place.”
“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that,” she says.
“Don’t be. It happens.” I take a drink of my coffee and another bite of shortbread. It’s too dry and not nearly buttery enough.
“What about your parents?” she continues.
I glance over at her. “What about them?”
“You said you inherited this place. Where are your parents?”
Jesus. I guess this is what folk did before there was television and wifi — actually talked to each other. “It was just me and my grandparents since I was a boy. They died before I started school. And you don’t need to say sorry again.”
She smiles. “Noted. So… what about you? Are you married? Children?”
I take another drink again because it’s starting to feel like an inquisition. I know, I know. That’s partly my fault. I’m supposed to be asking her questions, too — it’s called conversation. Is she married? Where did she go? Where does she live now? But honestly, I don’t want to know. I don’t want to know about her perfect life in the big city, and how leaving here was the best thing she ever did.
Not interested.
“Not married. No kids.”
“Why not?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe I like dogs more than I like people.”
She chuckles. “The Lewis I knew didn’t come across that way.”
I give her a sideways glance. “As you said, that was a long time ago.”
“Hmm. Well. I didn’t get married either,” she says before sipping her drink. “I work in a job where it’s hard to meet people. I mean one day I’ll come into work and there will be some crisis in Paris and I’ll be on the next flight. We’ve just opened a hotel in Marrakesh and next year we’re have plans to expand to the Emirates, so it’s only going to get worse.”
I said I didn’t want to know, but I get the feeling that’s not going to stop her… plus maybe curiosity is getting the better of me. “What is it that you do?”
I’m trying to sound like I’m not interested and it doesn’t seem to phase her in the least.
“Oh, I’m a Quality Manager. So we have our flagship hotel in London, and then we have sister hotels in Paris, Rome, and Madrid which I’m responsible for, too.”
Just like I suspected.
She’s a city girl now, through and through. And probably a high-class one at that, used to jetting off to glamorous places. It’s probably a good thing that night ended the way it did — we’d never have worked out.
“Sounds interesting.”
“It probably sounds better than it is, to be honest. It gets lonely.”
I don’t comment on that because I can’t relate. Sitting in my empty house after a hard days graft with the dog at my feet, I’ve only ever thought it was bliss. Lonely isn’t a word I identify with.
“So what do you do?”
“This and that,” I tell her.
“We’re stuck here together for who knows how long. It’ll go quicker if you come up with something better than three word answers.”
“I sell firewood.”
“That was a three word answer,” she bites back.
“So it was.”
She giggles. “You’re doing that on purpose now.”
“No I’m not.”
She turns her face towards me and I look at her. Really properly look at her. The flames from the fire are casting warm light across her face, making her eyes look like they’re dancing.
I swallow because I fucking know I should look away. I should, but I can’t. And she’s not looking away either.
Fuck’s she looking at?
As if she can hear my thoughts she lowers her long dark lashes and then chuckles as she looks back into the flames.
“So what do we do now?” she asks, before finishing the rest of her coffee.
Good question. I don’t even know what time it is, but judging by how long it’s been dark I’m guessing it’s quite late. The power went out hours ago, probably a line fallen down somewhere. It happens from time to time, sometimes it’s only an hour or two and sometimes it’s days.
“I dunno about you, sleeping beauty, but I’m shattered,” I tell her. I’ve always been an early to bed type. I like to be up before the crack of dawn and getting on with the day. Never cared much for late nights, not since I was younger.
“I could sleep,” she says.
“Well, we
should both sleep in here. It’ll be warm for a while after that fire dies.”
She gives me a sideways glance but I continue before she can say anything. “You can have that big couch there, I’ll take the wee one.”
“A true gentleman,” she says.
A gentleman indeed.
Chapter 8
ISLA
The howl of the wind is so loud I wake up in a panic.
I’ve forgotten where I am, who I am, what is life.
Then it all starts trickling back to me.
I’m cold.
Seriously cold… again.
The castle. The power cut. The storm. Lewis.
I lie still for a few moments, wrapping the covers around me and trying to think warm thoughts. The storm outside sounds like it’s about to come through the windows at any given moment.
And I really am cold.
It’s the strangest feeling. I can’t see anything, and since I’m unfamiliar with the room, I can barely even visualize where anything is. The windows, the furniture, Lewis. All I’m getting is the roaring of the wind and I don’t like it a single bit.
I wonder if he’s sleeping.
If he is, I can’t wake him up, can I?
I really want to though. I want to feel like I’m not alone. I want someone to tell me that it’ll be alright. It’s been years since I’ve had to deal with this shit. The wind screaming, the power cuts, the bitter cold. When I was little, I’d sneak into my mum and dad’s bed and everything would seem better in the morning.
I’m not saying I want to sneak into Lewis’s bed (he doesn’t even have a bed)… but I want someone here.
Could I ask him?
I don’t think I’m his favorite person and waking him up would probably just piss him off even more than he already seems to be.
But on the other hand, we seemed to make progress tonight. Well, we actually talked. I don’t feel like we’re strangers anymore. Are we friends? If we are friends then it would be totally acceptable to wake him up, wouldn’t it?