“It’s my dirty clothes bag,” Nate explains. “Mum always makes us carry one, because it’s easier to separate what’s clean and what needs washing.”
I shake my head. “Great. I love information of how other people handle laundry logistics.” I cock my head at the dead rabbit. “Pick it up, then.”
Nate chews his lip, then pokes round the verge, eventually finding a big stick, which he tries to wedge under the rabbit. But every time he manages to lift it up, the rabbit wobbles off and falls back to the ground.
This goes on for about five minutes, Nate repeatedly trying to pick the rabbit up with the stick, and the rabbit falling back down, until I find him another stick, so now he can – I’m sorry, this is obviously disgusting – skewer it with a pincer movement, and I close my eyes and hold Nate’s dirty laundry bag open, and he drops the rabbit in.
And then it starts to rain.
We hurry up the dirt track, thunder echoing around us, as the rain gets harder and heavier, until we come to a ramshackle wooden sign, on to which the letters Raven Farm have been stuck.
But Nate isn’t looking at that. He’s looking at the other side of the road.
“Is it fine that there’s a big stick with some sort of animal skull on top of it stuck in the ground?” he says.
I glance at it. Admittedly, it’s not the sort of welcome I would expect of a “luxury” establishment.
At this point there is an actual crack of lightning, and suddenly a fearsome, craggy face is illuminated, right in front of us.
I can’t help it, I scream again.
The man stares at me, death and murder in his eyes. “Jack Parker?” he says. “Hope you didn’t have trouble finding the place. I just need you to sign some paperwork, then we can get you settled in – have you brought a car?”
I shake my head. “We can’t drive yet.”
“No problem, son,” he says. “Need any help with your—” He glances down at Nate’s carrier. “What have you got there?”
“Rabbit,” Nate mutters.
The man frowns.
“For Daisy?”
The man crosses his arms. “Daisy? Who’s that, then?”
“Your … dog?” Nate says.
The man shakes his head. “Someone’s been feeding you boys a pack of porkies! Ain’t no dog by that name lives here. Who you been talking to, then?”
Nate’s eyes are wide. “The man! He helped us… He said we had to be careful of the dog at Old Man Cooper’s place – and the abandoned mine.”
“OK, lads, that’s Trevor Hardingham, absolute bellend of a bloke, thinks he’s funny, but all that is nonsense, OK? There’s no mine here. No dog. And no one calls me ‘Old Man Cooper’, OK? Leslie will do. Come on, I’ll show you to the cabin.” He heads off, muttering, “Why would you bring a dead rabbit for a dog, anyway?”
“Yes, why, Nate?”
Nate glares at me.
We stumble our way across a yard, round the back of some abandoned farm buildings, across another lane and into another wood, eventually coming to a beaten-up cabin. “Here she is!” Leslie says. “Enjoy your stay!”
“Do we need a key card?” I ask.
“No keys,” Leslie says. “Perfectly safe here, never any trouble, we just leave it unlocked.”
I want to ask, “Really? Never any murders?” but Leslie already thinks we’re ridiculous.
“W-what shall I do with the rabbit?” Nate asks.
Leslie rolls his eyes. “Give it here, I’ll sort it.” He takes the bag from Nate and ambles away into the night.
I push the cabin door open. “Home sweet home!” I say, flicking the light switch.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
NATE
The cabin is pretty rustic, by which I mean it’s basic, hardly “luxury”, unless the complimentary toiletries and bathrobes count as that. I don’t actually care, I’m just relieved we’re finally here, and it’s way better than being on that campsite with my family. Jack doesn’t seem to mind either, and no sooner are we through the door, and he’s whacked his phone in to charge, than he starts prattling on about getting some photos, and talking about how we need to use phrases like “decompress” and would I like to sit by the wood-burning stove with my knees drawn up to my chest, cradling a mug of coffee and looking content?
“Jack, I’ve never looked content in my life, never cradled a cup of coffee like that, and should we really be lighting a wood-burning stove, because, you know, the environment?” I say. It’s not that I’m not “up” for this Instagram thing, but Tariq’s gonna spot the deception a mile off if he sees pics of me doing things I’d never normally do.
Jack accuses me of pissing on his bonfire.
But he’s not done yet.
Another idea: would I like a candid photo of me just by the fire in my “loungewear”?
“Do you mean my pyjamas?”
“Yes,” Jack says. “Loungewear.”
God, I hate the world and all the stupid words and phrases.
“OK,” I say.
I can tell Jack’s surprised by my sudden enthusiasm, but his delight soon fades when I reappear in the pyjamas – Detective Pikachu branded, a joke from my (hilarious) dad last Christmas, which I packed purely for comedy value.
“OK, so that’s funny,” Jack scowls.
“No good?”
“I was anticipating a grey marl jersey short, or some open-hem joggers?”
I look at him blankly.
“Maybe with your top off…?” Jack continues.
“Not happening,” I tell him.
“It’s not very hygge.”
“Is it not, no?”
“I don’t think you’re taking this seriously,” Jack tells me. He grabs his phone off charge, swipes, and offers it to me. It’s Dylan and Tariq’s latest post. They’re both at the edge of an open-air infinity pool, apparently on the roof of some tall building, arms across one another’s shoulders as they gaze out over what looks like London. They’re so fucking serene and loved up I want to commit a homicide.
“Just tell me what to do,” I tell Jack.
Jack smiles. “Amazing. OK, you’ll be snuggled up in the armchair, fire in the background, and we’ll have a candle, a blanket and a book in the shot, you can’t get more sodding hygge than that!”
I give him a nod, and he scurries around the cabin, trying to find the props. There’s a candle on the shelf at the side of the main room, and then he heads into a bedroom to find a blanket and a book. But when he comes back, he looks ashen.
“Nate,” he whispers.
“Yeah?”
He comes up to me and tugs at my shirt, so I follow him into the bedroom, and we’re both peering down at this corn dolly thing that’s sitting on top of a chest of drawers.
“What?” I say.
“It’s like a weird voodoo doll thing.”
“It’s a corn dolly.”
“It’s like from a horror film. It’s cursed.”
“Jack, it’s a corn dolly, it’s a harvest custom thing in the country. It’s fine.”
“There’s one on the shelf in the main room too.”
“So?”
“And don’t you think it’s weird that Old Man Cooper—”
“Leslie.”
“—said there was paperwork to do, and yet where is the paperwork? There wasn’t any!”
“We’re not starting this again. I’m going to go and chill in the other room.” And I walk back out, just as Jack shouts, “Oh my god, there’s another one in the en suite!”
I’m tired of his relentless paranoia at this point, so that’s why I do it. If he’s determined to be scared, I’ll play ball. I flick the lights off in the main room, then stand like a statue in the corner, facing the wall, like what happens in that film The Blair Witch Project.
And then I play the waiting game.
“So, there’s actually two in the bathroom, and— Nate?” I keep perfectly still and quiet.
“Oh my god,” Jack whisp
ers to himself. “Nate? Nate, where are you?”
He’s already bricking it, this is hilarious.
“Nate?” His voice is quivering now. “N-Nate?”
Then he flicks the main light on, and I hear him gasp as he sees me, standing in the corner. I’m expecting him to say, “Ha bloody ha, very funny,” or something maybe more cutting, because this is Jack. What I get is:
“A A A A A A A R R R R R G H H H H H H H ! AHHHHHHHHHHHH!”
And he is literally TOTALLY FREAKING OUT, running around all over the place, crashes into a floor lamp, which falls over, TOTAL PANIC, he is SCREAMING, I’ve never seen such unmitigated HYSTERIA and nothing I can do will calm him down, and he’s still,
“AAAAAARGGGHHHHH! AAAAHHHHHH!” AHHHHHH!
So I wrestle him to the floor and try to put my hand over his mouth, but he’s fighting me off like he thinks I’m possessed and—
“Um, hi, guys?”
And we both stop and look up, and there are three girls about our age standing in the doorway.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
JACK
So it turns out that Abi, Beth and Josie are an absolute riot, they’re actually staying in the cabin next to ours because, funny story, I didn’t book a remote cabin the woods, but a cabin that’s near quite a few other cabins, because this is actually a holiday park, and now we’re all in the hot tub together, we’re drinking Prosecco (will look like champagne in the pictures) and we’re actually having a really nice time, like, finally.
“And you were screaming because?” Beth asks.
“It was just a bit of banter,” I assure her
“And you were wearing those pyjamas because?”
“Again, banter,” Nate says. “Just a joke.”
Beth doesn’t look entirely convinced, but we’ve already established she and her mates are actually a year older than us, so they probably see us as jokes anyway – although luckily I flipped Nate’s shirt over so the name tag his mum sewed in there wasn’t being proudly displayed for our new sophisticated friends to see, from where he’d dropped it at the side of the hot tub.
Abi takes a long sip of her drink. “So what’s the deal with you two, then?” She’s pretending to be interested in her drink, making it sound like an off-the-cuff question.
I sense Nate tense.
“No deal,” I say. “We’re mates.”
“You’re gay, though, right?” Abi says to me.
“Right.”
She shifts slightly towards Nate, who she’s sitting next to. “What about you?”
He doesn’t look at me. He doesn’t look at anyone. “Well” – he shrugs – “it’s 2020, isn’t it?”
My eyes widen because what the hell is that supposed to mean? Like, seriously, what does he mean? Because what it sounds like is some “let’s not label it, it’s 2020, we’ve moved beyond all that” thing – coming from the boy who literally just told everyone at prom he was gay.
Whatever, it seems to satisfy Abi. “Ha ha! Right, babe.”
Nate laughs too, sips his drink.
OK, fine, of course it’s up to him. He came out as gay at the prom, but if he’s changed his mind, or it’s different now, then that’s his business. I guess he caught me off guard. Maybe I need to be more open to things. I mean, it’s 2020, isn’t it?
“Top up, Jack?” Beth pours the fizz in anyway.
“Why not?” I say. “It’s 2020!”
Beth laughs. I glance up and Nate is giving me daggers.
“Ahhhh!” Abi squeals, suddenly excited. “You know what we should play? Never Have I Ever!”
“Really?” Josie says. Josie is wearing a vintage-style Cath Kidston swimsuit – she’s clearly controlled and together and I suspect never loses this game.
“Yes!” Abi says. “No one is anywhere near drunk enough!”
So that’s decided. Beth refills all our drinks, and Josie has the first question. “Never have I ever … said ‘I love you’ without feeling it,” she says.
Abi drinks.
Beth drinks.
I think about Dylan. I told him I loved him – but did I? At the time, I felt I did. But if I really did, why am I not more cut up? Why am I not more like Nate is about Tariq? I drink anyway, because YOLO, and no one’s gonna ask (or care) about reasons.
Josie and Nate do not drink.
“Aw, you’re really cute, Nate,” Abi says, smiling at him, all doe-eyed.
Nate takes a big gulp of his drink. “Huh? Am I? OK. Thank you,” he says.
“My turn!” Beth says. “Never have I ever … watched porn.”
Here we go. Beth takes a drink, I drink, Abi drinks, Josie does not drink, but just sits there smiling sweetly like she’s really trying not to look disapproving about this, and finally Nate drinks.
“So!” says Abi. “What sort of porn do you watch, Nate?”
Nate chews his lip a bit. “Oh, er … you know, just… Like, nothing too … not hardcore stuff, obviously.”
(I mean, this is all sounding like lies, but OK.)
“Maybe just like … hand stuff?” he continues.
Abi screws her face up. “Hand stuff?”
Nate’s eyes widen. “Like, um…”
And he comes this close to making a wanking gesture with his fist, I mean, that boy, I just have to stop him.
“Nate!” I say. “Button it! Seriously, you’re ridiculous.”
“You’re ridiculous!” he hits back.
“Never said I wasn’t,” I mutter. “My turn. Never have I ever kissed someone of the same sex.”
I down the rest of my drink, just to be absolutely clear that I’ve done a fair bit of that and I’m damn proud of it too.
Abi doesn’t drink.
Beth takes a small sip. Not sure what that means.
Josie takes a huge gulp, which delights me. I always end up loving girls in Cath Kidston.
Nate just stares into the bubbles of the hot tub. Oh, boy. But fine, OK.
It’s Abi’s turn. “Never have I ever … forgotten my first love.”
There’s some appreciative and nostalgic-sounding “awww”s and “ahhhh”s from the girls and not one of us drinks.
“Who was your first love, Jack?” Rosie asks.
I flick my eyes from Nate to her. “Um … SpongeBob,” I say, smiling.
“Nate?” Abi says.
Nate shakes his head. “Nah, it’s… Let’s just leave it.”
“Still hurts?” Abi says
Nate won’t look at anyone. “A bit. It’s fine.”
“They say you never quite get over the first,” Beth muses, looking into the middle distance.
“I think it’s really special,” Josie agrees. “I mean, they’re the first.”
Nate’s still just staring into the water. “Well, anyway—” I begin, knowing we have to move away from this.
Abi ignores me. “His name was Archie, my first. I mean, we were young, but I was so in love with him. You know? And when we split up, I was sure I would never get over him.”
Nate glances up, his eyes a bit puffy. “And did you? Get over him?”
“Kind of,” Abi says. “But also, kind of not. It’s funny, in a weird way, no one since has ever lived up to the… I don’t know, the magic of him. But maybe that was just because he was the first. Maybe that’s the thing.”
I watch as Nate exhales unsteadily. He’s in so much pain, he’s literally seconds away from losing it, sobbing uncontrollably, I can tell, and I can’t let this carry on. I crash down to my left, water splashing everywhere. “Oh! Ahhh!” I shout. “Oh my god, sorry – dizzy!”
“Are you OK?” Josie says.
“Should we call someone?” Abi asks.
“No,” I say. “It comes and goes sometimes, I’m not sure what it… I just need Nate – I’m sorry – sorry to put a downer on all this…”
Nate looks utterly confused as I lean weakly on him, and he helps me out of the tub, puts a towel around my shoulders, and we both hobble back towards ou
r cabin.
“I’m so sorry, ladies!” I call back to them. “I’m OK, I’ll be fine, just need…” We’re by the door to our cabin. “I just need to rest, and then … oh!”
Nate bundles me inside and once the door is closed, I straighten up and slide the bolt.
He just stares at me.
“I just thought you needed to get out of there,” I tell him.
His face darkens. “I can look after myself.”
“I know, but—”
“Don’t need your help,” he mutters.
“OK. Sorry!” My stomach knots as I realize I’ve somehow done the wrong thing again and upset him. I swallow and gesture to the door. “Go back, if you like.”
He stares at me, mouth clamped tightly shut.
And then he walks into his bedroom and slams the door.
CHAPTER TWENTY
NATE
We’re back in the camper van, heading nowhere fast because of constant traffic jams, and I haven’t said a word to Jack since last night.
Sure, I didn’t want that conversation with the girls, but I don’t need Jack assuming he has to get me out of there, like he knows me so well, when actually he doesn’t. Just like he assumes he knows the reason we stopped talking in year nine, when actually he doesn’t. Like he assumes I’d wanted to be outed in front of the girls with his stupid “kissed someone of the same sex” question, when all I want is to go back to my quiet life, keep myself to myself, because honestly, that’s the best way. That’s safest.
If it wasn’t for something else, I’d be calling this whole thing off.
I messaged Tariq last night.
I know, I know.
But I was feeling angry with Jack; we were both just shut in our rooms, not talking, and I was generally confused and upset, and just wanted to see how he was.
The WhatsApp message is showing two blue ticks.
He’s seen it.
He has not replied.
I mean, in the circumstances, that’s a big “fuck you”. That’s a “hey, look, I’m with someone else now and you are no longer a priority in terms of responding to messages”. So, I don’t know where that leaves me, except I’m going to double down on this whole Instagram thing because what else have I got and also … how dare he? How dare he rub it in with his pics of infinity pools and not return my message? Did I really mean that little to him?
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