Perfect Strangers

by Dani Atkins

  It took much longer than either of us was anticipating to uncover our SOS message. It was back-breaking trying to dig out the carefully positioned debris-formed letters, and despite the fact that I was wearing a thick pair of Bob’s socks on my hands in lieu of mittens, my fingers were numb and white before the task was even half completed. Logan looked on with concern as I pulled the wet woollen socks from my hands. ‘Are you hot, are you sweating?’ I wrinkled my nose a little, because I could smell all too clearly that I was. ‘Good,’ he replied, ‘then put your hands in your armpits.’

  ‘Ewww,’ I said.

  ‘It’s the best place to warm them up. Or you could put them in mine?’ he offered, somehow managing to make the invitation sound comically sleazy. I folded my arms across my own body and positioned them where he had suggested. Even through the thickness of my borrowed sweatshirt, I could feel them instantly warming up.

  ‘Better?’

  ‘Much,’ I confirmed. ‘How do you know this stuff? Come to that, what is it that you do for a living, because I’ve been wracking my brain trying to find a profession that fits you.’

  ‘Sounds like me at eighteen,’ he said with a laugh.

  I liked the way he laughed, throwing his head back like he was twelve years old, uncaring of how he looked to anyone else. I got the impression that that was the way he lived his life, unconcerned with whether he was wearing the right watch, the right suit, driving the right car, eating in the right places. It was refreshing and very different from what I’d grown used to. It reminded me of how I used to feel, a long, long time ago.

  ‘Are you married, Logan?’

  Whoa. That one stopped the laughter. ‘Where did that one come from?’ he asked, although the light of amusement still danced in his eyes.

  I shrugged, which is actually a great deal harder to do than you think with your hands still embedded in your armpits. ‘Nowhere really. It’s just that I know absolutely nothing about you except your name and that you were travelling from Canada to America, and you took pity on a terrified solo passenger, who you’d been shamelessly flirting with before take off.’

  I blushed vividly at my last words, which had heated my face admirably and made me feel like climbing under one of the many rocks surrounding us all at the same time. Logan, as ever, was perfectly charming in the face of my discomfort.

  ‘I was rather, wasn’t I?’

  I smiled a little shyly. ‘I think I might have been too.’

  He nodded wisely. ‘Oh, you most definitely were. Shockingly forward in fact,’ he said. If my hands weren’t otherwise occupied, I would have shoved him lightly at that; as it was, I made do with jostling into him with one shoulder.

  I really liked this side of him. The easy banter, the teasing good humour. But I wasn’t going to let him divert me from finding out a little more about him. ‘I tell you what, why don’t we ask each other five questions – like a quick fire truth or dare but with no forfeits. Anything you like – no holds barred.

  He fixed me with a dubious look, but eventually shrugged. ‘Okay, you first.’

  ‘Single or spoken for?’

  ‘Currently single,’ he replied easily.

  ‘Really? You surprise me. Is that out of choice or circumstance?’

  ‘Is that your second question?’

  ‘No,’ I refuted. ‘That was just an aside.’

  ‘No cheating now,’ he warned, leading us both over to the edge of the wooded area to begin collecting firewood. ‘Anyway it’s my turn next. Filet mignon or burger?’ I gave a small snort of surprise. Clearly his desire for information was way more superficial than mine. ‘Well?’ he prompted.

  I thought of the countless expensive restaurants William had taken me to over the last five years. The kind of restaurants where even the price of a starter had the ability to take away your appetite. The kind where no one with a credit card that wasn’t coloured gold could afford to dine.

  ‘Burger, every time,’ I said decisively. ‘And it has to be with heaps of fries and a huge dollop of ketchup.’

  ‘I knew you were my kind of girl,’ Logan said emphatically. ‘God, those kids of ours are going to eat appallingly.’

  I laughed at his resurrected joke, and then almost at the same moment we both remembered where he had started that particular teasing comment, and we shared a sober look.

  ‘What do you do for a living?’

  ‘I’m an architect.’

  ‘Ahhh,’ I said, as though someone had just given me the final answer to a particularly tricky crossword. ‘I don’t think I’d ever have got that.’

  ‘After that incredible shelter I rigged up? I am professionally wounded. Okay. Me now. Childhood dream?’

  ‘To run my own bakery.’ I clapped my hand over my mouth as the admission flew out of it. ‘Oh my goodness, I can’t believe I said that. I haven’t thought of that in ages.’

  ‘You can bake?’ Logan declared. ‘Well, why didn’t you say? I didn’t know we could trust you with anything more challenging than boiling water with a chocolate square in it.’

  ‘Haha,’ I said, smiling sadly. ‘I guess I can still bake . . . I don’t do it so much any more.’ In my head ‘so much’ was replaced with the truthful answer, which was ‘at all’.

  ‘Why’s that? If it’s something you enjoy and you’re good at?’

  ‘Too busy with work and other stuff, I guess,’ I said with a shrug, remembering with perfect clarity the last cake I’d baked. It had been a surprise for William’s birthday two years ago, and it had taken me the best part of my afternoon off work to create. He’d claimed to be delighted, he’d kissed me warmly, commenting that I tasted of chocolate frosting . . . but he’d never eaten so much as a single slice. That night, when we were out with friends he’d jokingly told everyone I’d made him something that would take at least a week in the gym to work off. I didn’t call him on it, but the following morning I’d taken the cake into my office, and when someone had asked in amazement if I’d baked it myself, I’d said no, it was a bought one. I never did figure out why I’d felt the need to lie about that.

  ‘Maybe, after we get out of here, we’ll both want to reassess all kinds of things in our lives. Perhaps it takes something life-changing like this to make you take a long hard look at what you’re doing with your life and whether you’ve ended up on the road you always wanted to travel.’

  ‘And did you? Are you where you’ve always wanted to be?’

  ‘Right this minute?’ he asked, looking around him at our snowy surroundings. ‘Not so much,’ his eyes were thoughtful for a minute before lifting to mine, ‘but generally, yes, I think I’m exactly where I need to be.’

  I envied him that, the certainty that all the pieces in your life were falling into place, like a giant jigsaw puzzle. I used to think my future was set; that I knew where I was going, and who I was going there with. But recent events had proved that there were no guarantees. It was still humiliating to realise that I’d been the last one to know that my plans weren’t going to play out the way I had expected.

  ‘So where’s home for you?’ I asked, resolutely returning to our quick fire round of questions.

  ‘Ah, well that’s a tricky one,’ Logan said with a wry expression. ‘I was born in Canada, spent my childhood in Australia, and then went to college in the States.’ That, at least, explained the curious accent that I hadn’t been able to place. ‘But I suppose if I had to pick just one location, then it would have to be Canada . . . because that’s where Sadie lives.’

  His answer had a surprising effect on me. I paused with my arms half-full of wood for the fire and kept my attention firmly fixed on the assortment of sticks and twigs until I was sure there was nothing on my face that gave away the strange little dart that had pierced me at his reply. If I didn’t know better, and I had to give it a name, I would have to call it jealousy.

  ‘So there is a special someone in your life?’

  His eyebrows rose a good few centimetres, and I
realised that while I’d intended to sound pleasantly interested, I had more closely resembled a cross-examination on a witness stand. ‘Sadie’s my dog,’ Logan said carefully, and I knew he was studying my face curiously. I tried really hard not to look relieved, and I think I might just about have managed to pull it off. ‘She’s a five-year-old Siberian husky, who incidentally would be far better at coping with our current climate conditions than we both are. I’ve had to travel quite a lot with my job recently, so when I’m out of town she stays with my mom, who moved back to Canada to be near her sisters after my dad passed away.’

  I’d learnt more about Logan with that single question than I’d managed to piece together since I’d met him. And all of it I liked. Family was clearly important to him and he was close to his mother. And if all that wasn’t enough, he also loved dogs. Seriously, did this man have no flaws at all?

  ‘Are you a dog or a cat person? I imagine coming from the countryside you must have grown up surrounded by animals?’ he asked.

  ‘I did,’ I said with a smile, remembering with fondness the succession of furry family members we’d loved and lost over the years. ‘I’d probably be angling for a pet now, if it wasn’t forbidden in our tenancy agreement.’

  And even if it wasn’t, it was hard to imagine a dog or a cat messing up the crisp monochrome décor of the docklands flat William and I shared. Despite my protests, William had hired an interior designer when we’d moved in, who’d done a great job – if you liked black and white, that is. Despite the colourful touches I’d subtly sneaked in here and there over the years, I still felt like the flat itself would be far happier if I actually never sat on the white leather settee, never dirtied up the black marble-topped worktops in the kitchen or slept in the silk-covered bed. There was a very good chance the flat might just get its wish, one way or the other, given current events.

  ‘Aha,’ declared Logan, sounding suspiciously like Sherlock Holmes when he’d just grappled an elusive clue to the ground.

  ‘Aha what?’

  ‘You said “our”. So I take it that means you live together . . . you and the guy you’re running away from?’

  ‘Well, I travel a lot, and I couldn’t find anyone to look after him when I was away . . . so yes.’ Sarcasm is unbecoming, I know, and I really wished it wasn’t my go-to reaction whenever I felt cornered or uncomfortable.

  He took my comment on the chin, and with surprising good humour. ‘Okay, sorry. I remember. You don’t want to talk about it.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Logan, I didn’t mean to be rude. But I’ve spent the last five weeks talking about practically nothing else with Kate. There’s not much left for me to say.’

  ‘Well, if you change your mind, or you want a guy’s perspective on it, I’m a pretty good listener.’

  I smiled, to show him that I appreciated the offer. ‘I’m sure you are.’

  ‘By my calculations you’ve got one more question left. Use it wisely,’ he cautioned, solemnly wagging a finger in my direction. I knew he was probably expecting something trivial. But suddenly I didn’t want to know which baseball team he supported, whether he preferred tea or coffee, or even his favourite sexual position.

  ‘Are we going to die here, Logan?’

  He dropped the branches he was holding in a noisy clatter and tugged at my sleeve, causing my own collection to fall down beside his, like a giant game of Pick-Up-Sticks. He pulled me into his now vacant arms and wrapped them tightly around me. I could feel the pressure of his chin resting on the top of my head – quite a novel sensation for someone my height. Logan’s reply was unequivocal, with no trace of hesitancy. ‘No, we’re not, Hannah. Not if I’ve got anything to do with it. You and I are going to make it out of here.’

  I nodded into the padded quilting of Bob’s jacket. We’d had to rip the seams to get it to fit Logan’s broad shoulders, but I really didn’t think our benefactor was going to mind too much. ‘But, I have been thinking,’ Logan continued, his breath warming my forehead as he spoke into the disarrayed mess of my hair. ‘Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps we should explore a little further afield after we’ve built the fire up again.’

  I’m not usually an ‘I told you so’ kind of a person, but if there was ever a moment when those words were itching to be said, it was now. Logan released me from the hug and crouched down to begin picking up our dropped firewood. I joined him. ‘We’re going to look really foolish if there’s a five-star ski resort just beyond the lake, aren’t we?’ he asked, with a twinkle in his eye.

  It was hard walking away from the blazing warmth of the fire, even though it had been my idea. ‘I reckon we’ve got a couple of hours of daylight left, maybe less,’ Logan advised. ‘So, whether we find anything or not, we have to turn back after forty-five minutes.’

  I was surprised how scary it felt to leave the sanctuary of our very basic camp. Even more so when Logan solemnly picked up the two homemade spears and passed one to me. We trudged silently through the powdery fresh fall of snow, which was now deep enough to find a way of unpleasantly invading my high-top trainers.

  ‘What if we got lost?’ I asked on a sudden moment of panic, as we walked further away from the lake. ‘How will we find our way back here?’

  Logan smiled and gently turned me around so I could see the two sets of footprints we were leaving in the snow, clearly marking our passage. My own – not inconsiderable – shoe size was totally dwarfed by the size of his feet. Totally inappropriately, I remembered Kate once humorously advising me to: ‘Find a man who treats you right, with good prospects, a large bank balance and huge feet!’ Logan would definitely meet with her approval on every single count, I thought with a smile. Although, given her current frame of mind, any man who wasn’t William was a preferable choice.

  I spotted it only seconds before Logan did. I clutched at his arm, my gasp sounding deafening in the snowy landscape. ‘What is that?’ I asked, my voice a terrified squawk. My arm was visibly trembling as I raised it and pointed to what we had both seen high up in a tree a short distance ahead of us. The shape was large and dark, and from where we stood it looked exactly like something I don’t think either of us would have been able to cope with.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ said Logan, gently disentangling my hand from his arm. ‘Wait here, I’ll get closer and check it out.’

  His steps were a little less confident as he continued on without me. He paused and looked back over his shoulder several times, smiling gently in bolstering encouragement. I couldn’t smile back. Not until I knew I was definitely mistaken, and that the dark misshapen blob we’d found was anything but what we were most fearing to see . . . the body of another passenger from our plane.

  It seemed a very long time before he had completed his survey of the tree from just about every angle imaginable, but finally he called to me across the snowy expanse between us. ‘It’s okay. I think it’s one of those big backpacks, the kind that hikers use. It must have fallen from the hold.’ I ran towards him, sending up tiny little white flurrying snowstorms where my feet pounded the earth.

  ‘Oh thank God, I thought it was—’

  ‘So did I,’ he admitted, looking up into the high branches of the tree where the bag had lodged. It was probably at least fifteen metres above our heads and from this angle, masked by branches and foliage, it was impossible to see if it was still intact or in tatters.

  There was a soft rustle as Bob’s quilted jacket was discarded and thrown down onto the snow, quickly followed by a dull thump as the do-it-yourself spear joined it.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I asked, my voice rising several decibels in alarm.

  ‘Climbing up to get it, of course,’ Logan replied easily, approaching the tree and looking for a foothold.

  ‘No,’ I cried, gripping hold of his back, my fingers fastening onto his shoulders like a monkey in a hurricane.

  Good-naturedly he turned his head and looked at me over his shoulder. ‘It’s going to be much harder to climb this tree with you
on my back,’ he said equably.

  ‘You can’t climb it,’ I protested. ‘It’s not safe. Look how high up the bag is, and how thin the branches are up there. You’ll fall,’ I declared solemnly. I sounded like the very worst type of nervous playground mother, forecasting imminent disaster by the jungle gym.

  ‘No I won’t,’ he said, trying very gently to shrug off my hold on him.

  ‘It won’t hold your weight. You’re going to fall and break your leg, and I won’t be able to drag you back to camp, and then the wolves or the bears or some damn Sasquatch is going to come tearing out of the forest. And when they’re done with you, I shall probably have to end up eating your remains just to survive.’

  He looked a little nonplussed by my tirade, although his eyes twinkled in amusement as he replied. ‘Oh, okay. I thought for a minute you might be in danger of overreacting, or something.’

  ‘Logan, seriously. If anyone has to climb the tree, it should be me.’

  ‘How do you work that one out?’

  ‘Well, I saw the bag first,’ I claimed.

  ‘Totally irrelevant,’ he dismissed.

  ‘All right then, I’m way lighter than you – and it would be very un-gentlemanly of you to dispute that.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll give you that one.’

  ‘Also, if I slip or fall, there’s at least a chance that you might be able to catch me, or break my fall. Whereas if you fall . . .’ I left the outcome hanging in the air.

  ‘You’d just stand back while I go splat on the ground?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  I knew I’d convinced him when he bent down and picked up his jacket and put it back on. ‘Do you at least know how to climb a tree? Are British girls even any good at that?’

  ‘I am totally going to disregard that slur on my sex and my nationality,’ I said, looking up at the tree in front of me. Up close it seemed like an awful long way to climb before I’d reach anything solid enough to stand on. ‘You’re going to have to direct me from the ground,’ I advised. Logan shook his head worriedly, and I knew if I hesitated for even another minute he was going to disregard my objections and climb the tree instead of me.