Five
Then
By the time we’d managed to cook burgers on the tiny portable grill Dougie had brought with him, the sun was sinking low in the sky. It hovered an inch above the horizon, the first hues of a beautiful sunset spreading out over the cloudless blue. I leaned back in my chair, stuffed full of food, and let the last of the day’s heat play across my face.
“Time to get the fire going, d’you think?” Martin asked quietly. At the word fire, both Dougie and Darren jumped up, their expressions eager and enthusiastic, Darren losing the cool, superior look he usually wore. It made him look a lot younger suddenly. Nicer. I almost smiled at him as he rubbed his hands together, practically gleeful. “Definitely,” he said.
Neither Emma nor I moved. It was obvious that this was a boy thing. I wondered, as I watched them dig a hole and then rearrange a hastily gathered bundle of firewood, whether any of them were ever Boy Scouts. Martin, maybe. He seemed to be moving the most purposefully, taking charge of constructing the twigs into a tepee shape, cradling a crumpled wad of paper in the center, and setting a match to it.
“This’ll get it going,” Darren announced, holding up a bottle of something. Vodka, I realized.
“No!” Martin yelped, jumping up with an arm aloft to halt Darren, who was already halfway toward pouring the alcohol onto the smoking wisps of fire.
In an instant, the friendly camaraderie was gone. Darren bristled, narrowing his eyes in annoyance. Martin took in Darren’s posture—the way his fingers curled themselves into a fist, the broadness of his shoulders and curve of his bicep revealed under a ludicrously tight T-shirt—and his expression went from alarmed and irritated to supplicating.
“Don’t want to waste it,” he said, attempting a smile. “The fire will catch, just give it a second.”
“But since you’ve got the vodka out…” Dougie appeared behind Darren, a stack of plastic cups in his hand.
There was an awkward moment where Darren continued to stare at Martin, aggression barely veiled, before he turned and started to fill the cups as Dougie held them out to him. I watched as the liquid inside rose at least halfway up the side of the transparent plastic before Dougie topped it off with Coke. This time, when he handed me one, I didn’t hesitate. After all, it wasn’t like I’d never had a drink before…
I took a sip and, aware that Dougie at least was watching me, did my utmost to keep the grimace of distaste off my face. The Coke did nothing to disguise the sharp tang of the alcohol. It was nasty. Like drinking hair spray. Still, no one else was complaining so I took another mouthful. It didn’t improve. Making my way back to my seat, I made a mental note to sneakily add more fizzy cola as soon as possible. “So what shall we do?” Darren asked from across the circle.
As Martin promised, the fire had caught and Darren’s face was illuminated by flickers of orange light. Dusk had fallen quickly, and behind him the landscape melded into layers of darkening shadows.
“How about Truth or Dare?” Emma suggested with a giggle.
“Truth or Dare?” Martin repeated. His tone was scathing, but it was apprehension that I read in his eyes.
I was with him. My stomach dropped at the very thought, imagining what I might have to say or do in front of Dougie, but he was grinning enthusiastically.
“Sounds good,” he said. He turned and raised a questioning eyebrow at me. “Heather?”
What else could I say? “I’m in,” I muttered.
Martin sighed unenthusiastically. “Fine, then.”
“All right, Truth or Dare.” Darren emptied his cup and quickly poured himself a refill, pausing to top off Emma’s drink before stashing the already half-empty bottle protectively between his feet. “Who’s going first?”
“Why don’t you?” Martin suggested, as sure as I was that Darren would refuse.
“All right,” Darren said, rising to the challenge.
“Truth or dare?” Emma asked eagerly.
“Dare.”
She pouted, and I knew she’d had some awful question planned for him—probably whether or not he loved her! I doubted Darren had drunk enough for something like that. Neither had I. I took another swig, knowing it would soon be my turn.
“I’ve got one.” Dougie leaned forward, rubbing his hands together. “I dare you to go into the sea. Right up to your chest, then duck your whole head in.”
Darren gaped at him.
“That’s the friggin’ Irish Sea. It’s freezing!”
“Chicken!”
The word seemed to animate Darren. He jumped up from his chair in one sudden movement.
“All right, then.” He began stripping off his clothes carelessly, almost tossing his jeans into the fire before Emma snatched them free of the flames. “I’ll keep my boxers on, seeing as there are ladies present.”
He winked at Martin, wickedly amused, then took off, jogging across the sand.
It was a good fifty yards to the shore, but we still heard his gasp as his feet touched the water. He plowed on, though, his outline silhouetted against the last of the light. When he was out almost far enough for his shoulders to disappear beneath the waves, he dropped, leaving the horizon flat once more. Just a second later he emerged, half swimming, half running back to the beach. As soon as he broke free of the water, he burst into a flat-out sprint for the warmth of the fire.
“Christ, it was Arctic!” He shivered, dancing on the spot, holding his hands out to the heat. His body was covered in goose bumps, impressive muscles twitching beneath the skin. His boxers were soaked, clinging indecently to his body. I tried not to look, especially as he yanked them off before diving back into his jeans.
“Aren’t you going to put your shirt back on?” Martin asked sourly as Darren settled himself back in his chair, still topless.
“Think I’ll dry off a little first.” Darren grinned at him. He held Martin’s eyes and twitched both pecs, one after the other, in an obscene little dance.
“Show-off,” Martin muttered so quietly the words only reached me because our chairs were close enough for the arms to touch. Darren smirked a little wider, and I wondered if he could guess what Martin was thinking.
“Who’s next?” Darren asked.
“You get to choose,” Emma told him, prodding his splayed thigh with her toe.
“Then I choose you. Truth or dare, gorgeous?”
Emma giggled, reveling in his attention. I turned my head to the side and rolled my eyes, catching Martin’s gaze. He discreetly mimed shooting himself in the head, and I laughed silently.
“Ooh, I don’t know.” More giggling.
“Pick one, Emma,” I said, perhaps a little too sharply. She stuck her tongue out at me.
“Dare,” she said eventually.
“Okay…” Dougie began, but Darren held up his hand.
“I’ve got one.”
“What?” Emma eyed Darren apprehensively. As did I. I didn’t want him to set a precedent of humiliating dares, because I knew exactly what Emma would ask if I opted for truth.
“Lose your top.”
“What?”
“Come on, babe. I’m feeling exposed, half-naked here all by myself.”
“You could just put your shirt back on,” Martin offered, but Darren ignored him, gazing at Emma and wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.
She bit her lip indecisively for a moment, then whipped her sleeveless T-shirt up and over her head. Underneath she wore a string-bikini top. I would have died. Emma, my Emma, should have been mortified, but instead she seemed to enjoy the attention. I saw her glancing around, checking that all three boys were looking at her. Of course they were, though Martin tore his eyes away after a moment. Dougie continued to stare, his eyebrows lifting in appreciation, a half smile on his lips.
My stomach squirmed uneasily. First, because he was looking at her like that. Seco
nd…there was no way I was taking my clothes off. Was that the way this evening was going? I gulped down the rest of my drink to douse the apprehension writhing in my belly. Darren saw the gesture and offered me the bottle. After just a moment’s hesitation, I held out my cup and let him pour me another healthy serving. Dougie passed me the Coke, and I filled the cup to the brim.
“Okay,” Emma purred, pleased with her moment in the spotlight. “I pick Dougie.”
“Truth,” he said, not even pausing to think.
Emma looked pointedly at me, and I felt ice slither through my veins. Don’t, Emma. Please don’t, I thought.
“Are you interested in anyone?” she asked.
I tried to swallow another mouthful of vodka, but it wouldn’t go down. The world in front of me seemed to be receding a little, as if I was viewing it through a tunnel. I wondered if it was the alcohol or just my intense embarrassment.
Dougie didn’t seem bothered by the question. “Yes.”
“Who?”
My heart stopped in my chest as I waited for his answer, but he leaned back in his chair, his grin still in place.
“That’s two.”
“What?” Emma blinked, confused.
“That’s two questions. You only get one.”
I breathed again as Emma’s face crumpled. “But that’s not fair!” she squealed.
“Yes, it is,” Dougie disagreed.
“Darren!” Emma turned to him for support, but he was laughing.
“Sorry, angel. You need to work on your questions.”
“That’s crap,” Emma grumbled.
Dougie shrugged his shoulders, hands spread, the picture of innocence. I kept quiet, hoping no one else could hear the way my heart was pounding with the aftereffects of adrenaline. He liked someone, then. I felt the weight of crushing disappointment as I wondered who it was. Please not Emma, I thought. Anyone but her.
“Right. Heather or Martin, Dougie?” Darren asked.
I didn’t let myself look at Dougie as I waited for his answer. I wanted him to pick me, in exactly the same way I wanted him not to. The silence dragged on, until eventually I had to glance at him. He was staring at me thoughtfully. I stared back, but after just a second, he turned his face away.
“Martin,” he said.
An evil grin spread across Darren’s face. “Truth or dare, Martin?”
Martin adjusted himself in his chair, looking uncomfortable. No doubt he was trying to figure out what sort of torture Darren might have lined up for him. “Truth,” he said slowly.
Darren’s grin widened. “Who are you interested in?”
There was a pause. Everyone looked at Martin, but he shook his head and folded his arms across his chest. “I’m not answering that,” he said flatly.
“Oh, come on,” Emma chided. “Everyone else has.”
“I don’t care. I’m not.”
“Then you have to take a dare,” Darren told him. I could hear the malicious delight in his voice, but there was no way out of it for Martin.
“Fine. What is it?”
Darren answered so quickly that I knew he’d been brewing this one up for a while.
“I dare you to kiss Heather. A real one, not a peck on the cheek.” As soon as I heard my name, my insides squeezed. My gaze flew to Darren for a millisecond before I turned to Martin. I knew my eyes were wide with shock and shared embarrassment. Martin’s expression, on the other hand, was completely blank. He stared at me for a heartbeat before drawing his eyes slightly to the left, focusing over my shoulder. To where Dougie sat. I absolutely could not spin to see the expression on his face; I’d have doused myself with the rest of my drink and jumped in the fire first.
After a horrible few seconds that felt like a year, Martin turned to Darren.
“No,” he said firmly. “I’m not doing that, either.”
“Why?” Darren challenged.
“Because it’s stupid. I’m not going to embarrass myself, and I’m not going to embarrass Heather. And”—another flicker in Dougie’s direction—“you know you’re just trying to be an ass. Well, forget it.”
“You have to do one or the other. That’s the game. Choose.” Darren’s voice was hard. Aggressive. The fight I’d predicted earlier seemed to be very close to the surface.
“No, I don’t,” Martin disagreed, shifting forward in his seat as if he was preparing to stand up. Darren moved in tandem as the testosterone rose another level.
“Martin, that’s the point of Truth or Dare,” Emma chimed in, siding with Darren.
“Well, then I’m not playing.”
“Are you chicken?” Darren asked quietly. I could see that Darren had rankled Martin. He stood up, towering over the rest of us.
“No,” Martin said slowly, emphasizing the word. “It’s not that, and you know it.”
“Yes, you are. Chicken!” Darren moved to stand too, but Dougie was quicker than him, jumping to his feet and putting a restraining arm on Darren’s shoulder.
“Okay, enough Truth or Dare. I’m hungry. Who’s up for toasting marshmallows?”
Six
Though the boys took a while to get organized, the marshmallows worked out just as Dougie had hoped, providing a distraction that allowed the tension to slowly dispel. We used sticks that were too spindly to be any good as firewood, piercing a marshmallow on the end of each one and thrusting the white blobs into the heat until they melted into strange shapes and their edges blackened. I threw the first one straight into my mouth, my senses dulled by Darren’s vodka, forgetting the center would be molten hot. I scalded my tongue and the roof of my mouth, squawking like an agitated parrot until someone handed me a can of icy-cold liquid to quell the stinging. I chugged down half the contents before I realized it was beer. It tasted foul. I tried to spit it out but only succeeded in spilling much of it down my top.
It took a long moment after I’d wiped myself off before I could join in with the laughter.
“You know,” Darren told me, a brazen leer in his eyes, “you’re all wet. You might as well join the topless ranks.”
“Darren!” Emma smacked him hard on the arm. That made me smile, though I was mostly just embarrassed.
“I think I’ll just put on a sweater,” I muttered. “It’s getting cold anyway.”
It was dark in the tent. I unzipped the doorway in one smooth motion and stepped inside. The tent was supposed to sleep four, but there was really only room for the double air mattress, our sleeping bags waiting side by side on top. Where the other two people were meant to go, I had no idea. I edged around the mattress to the top corner where I’d stashed my backpack of clothes and pulled out a thick, black hooded sweater. It caught in my hair, ripping out my ponytail. Impatiently, I yanked the hair tie free of the last few tangles. My hair probably looked like a haystack, but hopefully it would be too dark for anyone to notice. I was too woozy to attempt to put it back up.
Back by the fire, the marshmallows were well on their way to being finished, and a quiet calm was settling on our circle. I wondered what time it was—not late, I didn’t think—but when I tried to read my watch, the dials jumped in and out of focus. “Here.” Dougie handed something to me as I sat down; I took it before I realized what it was. “You didn’t finish your beer.”
“Thanks,” I said, my fingers curling round the can.
“Your hair looks nice down,” he commented. “I didn’t realize it was so long.”
I flushed bright red at the compliment and didn’t know what to say, so I settled for an awkward smile and took a large mouthful of beer. It tasted slightly better, I noticed. Maybe that was just because the marshmallow had burned off all my taste buds.
“What time is it?” Martin asked, giving me an excuse to look away.
“Midnight,” Darren replied, lowering his voice to give it a spooky tone. “The perfec
t time for some scary stories.”
“And I suppose you’ve got one for us, have you?” Martin asked, but his tone lacked the scathing quality it had had before, and he was smiling slightly. This seemed to be one activity he was happy to join in with.
“I have.” Darren beckoned with his finger. “But you’ll have to come closer, children. This tale can only be told in a whisper. Nothing more.”
It was melodramatic and over-the-top, but we obediently slid off our camping chairs and gathered closer around the flames. I was glad. Middle of summer or not, it was still Scotland and the temperature was dropping, icy air whipping in off the sea. I shivered as a gentle breeze sought out the gaps in my clothes. “Cold?” Dougie asked, folding himself down onto the sand right next to me.
“A little,” I admitted as Martin settled down on my other side. Darren had hunkered down across the campfire from us, Emma practically draped across his lap, both of them still shirtless. That just made me shiver all the more.
“Here.” Dougie wrapped an arm around me and started rubbing at my upper arm. “I’ll warm you up.”
It was meant as nothing more than a friendly gesture, I knew, but I still tensed, shy and awkward. I managed to look in his direction long enough to offer him a tentative smile before I fixed my gaze on the flames, letting the blinding dance of white, yellow, and orange dazzle me into a trance. Opposite, Darren unearthed a bottle of something else to pass around—this time a dark-amber color—before he began to speak.
“This is a story told to me by my father, told to him when he was our age by a local who lived in these very hills. It’s the story of the Wicker Man.”
He drew out the final two words, and whether it was the chill of the night, the eeriness of the inky landscape, or the quick gulp from the bottle I took as he spoke—whiskey, I think—I trembled involuntarily, as if someone had walked over my grave.
“You all right?” Dougie whispered to me. His breath in my ear tickled, but his concern made me feel like an idiot. I resisted the urge to move so much as an inch.
“Just cold,” I mumbled back.
The Last Witness Page 4
