‘You do that and you’ll be buying me a new one.’
I’m laughing as I walk away, but I’m not looking forward to finding a place to wee in the dark. At least when we camped when I was a kid there was a toilet on site. And I had an airbed. Aiden’s camp bed feels hard and it squeaks when I sit on it. I’ve already decided not to get into his sleeping bag. However much I like him, it just feels too intimate. Besides, who knows what he gets up to in it. I’m not going there.
So, I lie on his uncomfortable camp bed and read in the darkness of his tent, breathing in the cool night air and the smell of the canvas above me. It’s kind of pleasant, but I still have no idea how he lives like this long-term. Does he not long for the softness of a mattress? A warm duvet? A carpet beneath his feet? I guess not.
He’s such a different creature to me. It’s bizarre that we get on so well.
I read until my eyelids grow heavy, but I’m really too cold to sleep. It’s almost summer, but today’s cloudless blue sky means tonight’s temperature has fallen sharply. So I lie balled up beneath Aiden’s crinkly sleeping bag, while the dark night presses in and the forest whispers around me. I can’t stop my mind from wandering to every horror film I’ve ever seen. Every time the tent moves in the breeze, every time a twig cracks, every leaf that rustles, I think is a psychopath coming to get me. I tell myself that Aiden’s not far away.
But what if they get him first?
I sit up and fumble for my phone to switch on the torch. The golden halo of light makes me feel better for about a minute and then I realise it’s made the dark places even darker than before. I see shapes in the shadows and move the torchlight around, checking there’s nothing there. That’s when I hear it: a scratching, snuffling noise at the base of the tent. There may be nothing in here with me, but there’s something outside, wanting to get in.
I don’t recall camping being this scary.
But hold on. Let’s be sensible here. The noise is coming from the back of the tent, where I stowed the dirty plates earlier, so it’s likely just a fox having its supper. And as for Aiden, he’ll still be in his hide, watching the water for otters.
There’s no need to be scared.
There’s no need to be scared.
But then the fox screams and I’m out of the tent faster than Usain Bolt. Skidding to a halt next to Aiden’s hide, I find him shaking with silent laughter.
‘Did the fox scare you?’ he asks in a low voice.
I nod, my heart beating so fast I feel a bit faint. ‘Can I come in here with you?’ I whisper.
‘If you like. It’s only a fox though. It won’t hurt you.’
‘I know but I don’t like it. It’s too dark. I feel too alone.’
‘Come on then.’ He shifts over and I crawl into the dark tunnel and lie down next to him. He’s got a blanket over him, and he moves it so that it covers me too.
‘Thanks.’ He’s really warm. I feel the heat coming off him through his clothes and edge closer to him. He jumps as my bare feet touch his legs.
‘Christ, you’re cold!’
‘I know. Why are you so warm?’
‘I’ve got a T-shirt, a jumper and my camo jacket on over the top. Plus the blanket. Didn’t you get into my sleeping bag?’
‘No, it felt too personal.’
He laughs quietly. ‘Yeah, well, you’re wearing my shorts without knickers. That feels personal too.’
‘Shhh, I’ll wash them. And it’s not like I’ve got any nasty diseases or anything.’
‘Glad to hear it.’
We’re silent for a few minutes, and I’m aware of how loud and fast I’m still breathing from my scare. Aiden peers through the lens of his camera towards the river, which is still bathed in red light from his infrared lights.
‘Have you seen anything?’
‘No, not yet.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry.’
‘Not your fault.’ I feel him shrug, his shoulder pressed against mine.
‘I got you all excited though.’
He laughs. ‘And that was even before you mentioned your knickers.’
‘Shut up about my knickers,’ I hiss. ‘They were wet. End of story.’
‘Oh God, wet knickers. Now that’s sparked all kinds of thoughts.’
‘What? Aiden!’ I squeak, outraged. ‘This is me, remember. The girl who puked on your shoes.’
‘Oh yeah, yeah okay.’ He grimaces then chuckles some more. ‘I’m just winding you up, Orla. Don’t worry.’
‘Good. You’re a wicked man.’ I shift closer and put my cold hands up his top. I don’t really intend to touch his bare skin, especially as he’s wearing three layers, but somehow I manage to burrow beneath his jacket, his jumper and his T-shirt and find smooth, hot flesh. He jumps and yelps a little.
‘Jesus Christ, Orla. What the …’ He tries to wriggle away, but there’s nowhere for him to go.
‘Shh, shhh, just give it a moment,’ I giggle, keeping my hands on him.
‘What do you mean, give it a moment? Your hands are like ice.’
‘But you’re so lovely and warm, and I’m so cold. Look, I’m warming up now. That’s not so bad, is it?’
‘That’s because you’ve sucked all the heat out of me,’ he squeaks. I didn’t realise his voice could get that high-pitched. ‘You’re like a vampire.’
‘That’s not fair. I haven’t even bitten you yet.’
‘Yet?’
I laugh, low and evil, but Aiden suddenly stiffens and holds up a hand to silence me, his attention caught by movement on the river. Lowering his head to his camera, he looks through the lens. I hold my breath and try to see what he’s seeing, but there’s nothing obvious going on. Everything looks still and silent to me. The grass and trees and rocks all look exactly the same as they did a few minutes ago. And then I hear it. A whistle, followed by a splash. Otters! Aiden adjusts his focus and then presses a button on his camera.
‘You’re obviously my good luck charm,’ he murmurs, leaning to one side and inviting me to look through the lens. It takes a second for my eyes to adjust, but then I see two dark shapes in the water, and another on the bank, seemingly hesitant to join its brothers and sisters in the water. There’s another whistle that seems to make up its mind, and the cub slides into the river with a faint plop. ‘She’s teaching them to hunt,’ Aiden whispers into my ear, his hot breath and stubble tickling the fine hairs surrounding it. It sets an army of goose bumps marching up my skin, and it occurs to me that this is the closest I’ve been to another human being for a very long time. The sensation is almost as fascinating as watching the otters’ lithe shapes twist and turn in the water. ‘This is probably the first time they’ve ever been in the water. She has to wait until their coats are fully waterproof.’
‘I always assumed they were born in water and lived in water all the time.’ I move away from the lens so Aiden can look. Now I know where to look, and if I strain my eyes, I find that I can see the dark shapes of the otters without the camera lens.
‘No, they spend a lot of their time on land.’
‘Doesn’t your red light disturb them?’
‘They don’t seem to notice it.’
One of the otters climbs out of the water before sliding back in, and then the others follow, like children at a swimming pool. Aiden moves to one side again, inviting me to look once more and I see the otters in more detail. Their sleek heads and bright shiny eyes. Their bushy whiskers. I feel so privileged to be seeing them like this. It’s magical.
They move downstream, out of shot, and I move out of Aiden’s way so he can readjust the camera. Propping myself up on my elbows, I watch the dark shapes play in the water, hearing the occasional whistle and splash. I expect them to be gone within minutes, but they stay for a good thirty minutes, cavorting in the shallow water. Every so often, Aiden lets me look through the camera, and I’m amazed at how clearly I can see them.
‘Have they gone?’ I whisper when I can no longer see any dark shapes playing in the water.
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‘Think so.’
‘Wow. That was amazing.’ I roll onto my back, feeling the bobbles and bumps of the forest floor poking up through the mat we’re lying on. Through the trees, I see stars glinting in the night sky.
‘Yep. Told you. It’s always worth the wait once you see something amazing.’ He adjusts something on his camera and sets it to one side before crawling out of the hide. Standing up, he stretches and yawns, and from this angle he looks as tall as the trees around us. ‘Be back in a minute,’ he says, before disappearing into the trees. The instant he’s gone, I feel lonely and vulnerable. The cool air nips at my skin, stealing away the warmth from my bones put there by Aiden. I could never live the life he does. Even with the highs of seeing such wonderful wildlife, the lonely moments in between would steal my joy.
Aiden comes back moments later, but to me it feels like hours. I hate myself for being so pathetic and needy. He turns off the lights and then crawls back into the hide next me. ‘We can go into the tent if you like?’
‘I don’t mind. I’m fine here.’ Now he’s back, I don’t really want to move. The warmth of his body is already seeping into mine, and my limbs are growing heavy with the promise of sleep.
‘You sure? You can have the camp bed.’
‘No. I’m okay.’
‘I’ll drive you home if you want?’
‘No, I’m too sleepy.’
‘Okay.’ He settles down, pulling the blanket over him and making sure it’s covering me too. ‘Are you alright with me sleeping here? Or do you want me to go somewhere else?’
‘Stay there. I won’t sleep without you next to me.’ My eyelids are growing heavier, and I roll onto my side so I’m closer to him, my nose against his shoulder.
There’s a pause, and then he asks, ‘Do you want me to hold you or something?’ in a voice loaded with fear.
‘No!’ I snigger and poke his side. ‘Just be there to fight off foxes and psychopaths.’
‘That’s alright then.’ He heaves a huge sigh of relief and I smile into the darkness. An owl hoots above us and Aiden lifts his head. ‘I should get some photos of that.’
‘It’s already gone.’
‘It’ll be hunting. I should set up more camera traps.’
‘Yes, you should. But not now. Tomorrow.’
‘Hmmm.’
I have my eyes closed, but I sense his eyes darting, his mind whirring. His breathing is fast and shallow.
‘What’s the matter?’ I ask, my mouth moving against the material of his jacket. It smells slightly dusty, but not unpleasantly so. I hear him swallow.
‘I’m too excited to sleep.’
‘Aw, like a little kid, excited about the otters?’
‘Something like that.’ He laughs, low and breathy.
‘Practise some mindfulness techniques. Concentrate on your breathing. Count sheep.’
‘Thanks for the advice.’
‘You’re welcome.’ My nose itches and I rub it against his shoulder without thinking about what I’m doing.
‘Are you wiping snot on me now?’
‘No, sorry. Just an itch.’
‘Likely story.’
I giggle. ‘Go to sleep.’
‘I can’t. You’ll have to tell me a bedtime story.’
‘A bedtime stor … about what?’
‘I don’t know. Just something about yourself. Is this your first time camping?’
‘No, I was thinking about this before. We went camping when I was about 8. I don’t remember much other than my mum hated it. It was my dad’s idea.’
‘Was that the only time you went?’
‘I have a feeling we went twice, but I don’t remember much. Can’t even remember where it was, only that it was near the sea and there was a pony in the next field. I’ll have to ask my mum about it.’
‘Are your parents still married?’
‘No. They divorced when I was 14.’
‘Amicably?’
‘Not really.’
‘You still see your dad?’
‘Yes. Though I haven’t for ages. He’s living down south at the moment. I should arrange to go and see him.’ Guilt tugs at my stomach and I open my eyes, blinking in the darkness. I phoned him last week, I remind myself. He’s okay. He sounded happy.
‘What’s he like?’
The question takes me by surprise and I start a little then laugh. ‘Why do you want to know what my dad’s like?’
‘I don’t know. Just asking.’
‘He’s … he’s a long-distance lorry driver.’
‘That defines him, does it?’
‘Oh! Er well, that’s just what he does. He’s okay.’
‘He’s okay? What’s that mean?’
I frown into the darkness. ‘It means he’s okay. He’s got somewhere to live. He’s still got a job. He’s found a new girlfriend.’
‘Have you met her?’
‘I didn’t meet the last one. Or the one before that.’
‘Does he have lots of girlfriends?’
I sigh. ‘A steady stream of them. I used to hate it when I was younger and went to visit him and there was a woman there, but these days I feel relieved when he’s with someone. It’s when he’s between partners I worry, because that’s when he drinks too much and has nowhere to live.’ I take a deep breath, trying to quell the rising anxiety. The guilt.
‘It must be difficult to visit him if he’s staying at random women’s houses. How do you know where to send his birthday and Christmas cards?’
‘I find him. Plus, I know the company he works for so I can send them there if I need to. He’s okay.’
‘Good.’
‘Yeah. Good.’
‘Why did your parents split up? Do you know or was it kept hidden from you?’
I laugh. ‘It was hard to hide it when my mum had my stepdad’s baby less than six months after my dad moved out.’ I draw in a sharp breath, shocked by myself. I’ve never said that out loud before. Not to anyone. Not even my mother. Of course, all the family knew. My grandparents, my aunties and uncles. Even my schoolfriends must have known. What was most shocking was that no one seemed to mind. My stepdad moved in and was accepted as part of the family almost immediately. Even by me. I find it hard to forgive myself for that.
‘What’s your stepdad like?’
‘Great.’
There’s no arguing with it really. Ray’s a good man. I just wish … I just wish … What? I have no idea what I wish. All I know is that I feel tense and anxious when I think about my parents’ divorce. I don’t like to think that my mum was having an affair behind my dad’s back, but the facts are right there in front of my nose in the form of my sister. And I love my sister. It’s very confusing.
‘But?’
‘But nothing. He moved in and … everything got better.’ My voice thickens and I have to swallow hard. Naughty Orla. That’s a bad thing to say. Disloyal to my father. But it’s also true. The house felt brighter, happier, just like my mum. My sister was born, plump and gurgling and smiley. My bedroom was decorated, the broken window in the front porch fixed, the windows cleaned. Flowers grew in our garden and the lawn was mown. It felt like a cloud had passed over us, leaving only sunshine.
The fact that the cloud returned when I visited my dad in his miserable flat was something I didn’t like to dwell on.
‘But not your dad?’
‘No. Not for my dad. Well, I suppose he’s happy in his own way. I suppose what makes one person happy doesn’t necessarily work for someone else. He likes his beer and his truck and he doesn’t seem to care about where he lives so I suppose he does okay.’ I sigh again. ‘Looking at his life has made me want to work harder and achieve more, though. I heard my nan say he was a good-for-nothing layabout once, and it made me determined to work hard at school and make a success of my career.’
‘Hence the five-year plan?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is your dad the real reason you don’t date, either?’
I inhale sharply. ‘I don’t want you to think he’s a bad man, you know,’ I say, my voice brittle. ‘He never mistreated my mum or anything. He’s just a bit … too laid back. He lacks ambition. Drive, I suppose. He’s just happy to drift. And that’s okay if it works for him. I just feel bad that my mum couldn’t accept him for what he was and moved on to someone else. She should have worked harder to keep us together. He’d have stayed with us then, not moved around the country, living in horrible flats that I hated visiting. He was a right state sometimes. Stinking of booze, his clothes dirty. I hate that we did that to him. We abandoned him. Traded him in for someone new. Someone better.’
‘You didn’t.’ Aiden rolls on his side so he’s facing me. ‘Your mum did. You were a child, Orla.’
‘I was 14.’
‘A child. Have you ever spoken to your mum about this? Your dad?’
‘No.’
‘Don’t you think you should? You’re not responsible for your parents’ relationship.’
‘Yes, but I just accepted Ray. I just accepted my sister. I love them both.’
‘And that’s a good thing. If your parents’ relationship wasn’t working, then that’s down to both of them, not just your mum. You can’t blame her for everything.’
‘I don’t blame her, I just wish … I don’t know what I wish.’ I’m back to the wishing again. I need to stop that.
‘Maybe you wish that your dad was a bit more together? That he’d found the happiness your mum has?’
‘Maybe. Yes.’ That’s as good a wish as any, I suppose.
‘Maybe he’s not wired that way. Maybe he wasn’t cut out for family life. Maybe your mum kept it going for as long as possible and then couldn’t go on anymore.’
‘Hmmm.’ I roll onto my back and stare upwards, into the darkness. Aiden puts a hand on my stomach, above the blanket so it doesn’t feel weird or intrusive, just warm and comforting. I close my eyes and say the thing that scares me the most. ‘She told me once that I was just like him.’
‘Did you stink of booze? Were your clothes all dirty?’
‘No!’ I laugh, despite the well of sadness inside me. ‘No. I think I hadn’t cleaned my room or something.’
‘Ah, mothers say all kinds of things when they’re cross. You should hear my mother yelling at me, sometimes.’
The Five-Year Plan: The utterly heart-warming and feel good rom com of 2020 Page 13
