‘What if I am like him though? What if I can never be happy?’
‘No! You said he lacked ambition. You don’t, do you? You have your plan, remember. Your qualifications. And you’re happy and bubbly and bright. You bring happiness. And otters. I’d have never found the otters if it wasn’t for you.’
‘Yes, you would! Don’t be silly.’
‘No, I wouldn’t. Not tonight. I was all for having a beer and going to sleep.’
‘And here we are still awake at what time – 3 a.m.? Talking about my parents’ divorce.’ I wipe away a tear that’s somehow escaped to roll down the side of my face, towards my ear. I don’t know what it’s doing there. I’m not crying. ‘I’m sure I must have bored you enough for you to be feeling sleepy by now.’
‘You haven’t bored me at all.’ He presses his lips to my temple and I close my eyes, comforted by his touch. ‘Your parents made their own mistakes, their own decisions. You’re not responsible for your father’s happiness nor your mother’s affair.’
‘I know, but …’
‘There is no but, Orla. It sounds like you made the best of things. What else could you have done? Rebelled against your mum and stepdad, rejected your baby sister, made everyone’s life a misery? What good would that have done? It wouldn’t have saved your mum and dad’s marriage, would it? That was already over.’
‘I know, but by just accepting everything that happened … it’s like … well, like something my dad would have done. He just accepted it. Allowed it to happen. Moved out. Rolled over.’
‘What else could he do? He and your mum couldn’t have been getting on very well, could they? Maybe he was glad to go. You don’t know because you were just a kid. The only thing you can know is that you made the best of a bad situation, and there’s nothing wrong with that. It doesn’t mean you abandoned your dad. It doesn’t mean that you’re destined to be like him either. And for what it’s worth, I really can’t see you becoming a long-distance lorry driver.’ I laugh and try to shove him with my shoulder, but he pulls me against him, his arm wrapped around my stomach. It seems like the most natural thing in the world to roll onto my side so he can curl around me.
‘Christ, does this count as holding you?’ Aiden says. ‘I never hold women after sex.’
‘Just as well we haven’t had sex then.’
‘Hmm. Maybe that makes it alright then.’
‘Hold on, why don’t you hold women after sex?’
‘Because after a while it’s just annoying, and you want to let go and be in your own space, but you know they’re going to be like “hey what’s wrong?” if you turn away, and act all hurt and offended. So you just lie there, all hot and sticky, wishing you could go to the bathroom but you’re too scared to move.’
‘Really?’ I lift my head and look back at him.
‘Yeah, so I don’t hold anyone anymore. I don’t want to get into all that holding business. It’s just sex. Let’s just fall asleep straight after and be done with it.’
‘You’re talking figuratively, I take it?’
‘What?’
‘You said, let’s just fall asleep straight after. You’re not having sex with me.’
‘Oh no, I’m talking figuratively, of course,’ he says hurriedly. ‘Besides, I’m not having sex with anyone right now. Even sex without holding people is too much hassle these days.’
‘Huh.’ I lay my head back down, blinking in the darkness. For someone so kind and generous and understanding, he’s sure got a lot of issues about relationships. ‘Christ, Aiden, you’ve just given me a whole new reason never to date anyone ever again. Seriously, feel free to move whenever you want.’
‘Okay, good.’
‘And don’t feel like you have to hold me at all. I’m not asking to be held.’
‘No, no, this is actually quite comfortable.’
‘Oh okay.’
‘You feel nice. Warm. Soft.’
‘Oh, good.’
‘Are you okay? Would you rather I didn’t have my arm around you?’
‘No, it’s fine. I was cold and now you’re keeping me warm.’
‘Good. And protecting you from foxes of course.’
‘And psychopaths.’
Sleep is tugging at my eyelids, and Aiden’s breathing is becoming slow and even. Slowly, the tension leaves my body and I slide gently into a dreamless sleep.
Chapter 11
The birds are so loud. I can’t believe how loud they are. Have they got their own PA system or something?
Aiden is obviously so used to it that it doesn’t even wake him. His body is still curled around mine, his arm thrown across me. So much for not holding anyone. I need a wee, so I extract myself from his arm and limp off into the trees to find a suitably private spot. My ankle is protesting and I regret running on it last night, but hopefully it will ease off as the day goes on.
What day is it again? Sunday?
I choose a secluded spot and relieve myself in the bushes. It makes me feel dirty to be squatting against a tree like this. Once again, I wonder how Aiden can live like this. He’s an alien species as far as I’m concerned. I can’t even wash my hands. I go to the stream and rinse them in the cold water. It sparkles in the early morning sunlight, so pretty it hurts my eyes, and I sit on the bank and look around me, taking in the beauty of the new day, the green trees, the blue sky, the sound of the river and the birds and realise that this is exactly the reason why Aiden lives this way. Maybe it’s worth forgoing simple luxuries to feel this free and connected to nature.
I lean back on my arms and just watch, reimagining the otters playing here from last night. I still can’t believe I got to see them. I feel so lucky.
There’s a noise behind me, and I turn to see Aiden emerging from the hide.
‘Hey!’ he says. ‘Did you sleep okay?’
‘Surprisingly, yes. Must have been because you held me all night.’
‘Eh?’ He barks a surprised laugh. ‘Must have been because I was absolutely knackered. And you can keep that to yourself. I don’t want that getting out and spoiling my bad boy reputation.’
‘You have a bad boy reputation?’ I laugh in disbelief. ‘With whom? Baby rabbits?’
‘Oh no, all the baby rabbits love me.’
‘I bet they do, along with everyone else in this world. You’re just about the nicest guy I’ve ever met.’ He comes over and sits down on the bank next to me, his long curly hair glowing chestnut in the sunlight.
‘I’m not sure everyone thinks that, but thank you.’ He smiles at me, squinting against the sun, then reaches up and plucks a leaf from my hair.
‘I bet I’ve got earwigs and all sorts in there.’ I scratch my scalp vigorously.
He laughs softly and leans back on his elbows, looking up through the leaves at the sky. ‘Beautiful day.’
‘Mmm, yeah. Beautiful place too.’ I tip my face up to the sun and close my eyes, and we just sit together, listening to the river and the trees and the birds. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so peaceful and content. Aiden touches my arm softly.
‘I’ll make us some coffee.’
‘Mm, thank you.’ I squint through my eyelids to see him looming over me, and for a second I think he’s going to kiss me and my heart lurches, but he’s just getting clumsily to his feet. I sit back up straight and glance backwards over my shoulder as he walks away through the trees. My heart is still banging and I feel slightly breathless.
What if he had kissed me? Would I have minded? Of course I would! I don’t like him like that. And, more to the point, he doesn’t like me like that either. I don’t even know why I thought he was going to kiss me, when he was just getting up to make a drink. It must have been the angle he was at when he got to his feet, and the way I’d tipped back my head combined with the sun glinting through the trees. I feel guilty, like I’ve just accused him of doing something wrong.
But when I go over and join him next to his tent, Aiden is cheerfully oblivious to my errant though
ts.
‘I thought you were going to stay over there,’ he says, looking up from where he’s knelt beside his gas stove. ‘I’d have brought it over.’
‘I thought I’d save you the trouble.’ I smile and sit down on the camping chair, which is still slightly damp from the soaking it got from me sitting on it yesterday in my wet clothes. I’m surprised by how long ago that feels. ‘I’d better be going home soon. Are you okay to give me a lift or shall I get a taxi?’
He looks up, shaking his hair back from his face. ‘No, I’ll take you. Don’t be silly.’
‘Thank you.’
The kettle starts to hiss and Aiden spoons coffee granules from a metal tin into two metal cups.
‘I hope you like black coffee. I haven’t got any milk.’
‘That’s fine.’ I reach for my trainers and slip them on, ready to go. Even though I’m looking forward to a hot shower and being able to sit on a comfortable sofa, I feel a little sad to be leaving this beautiful, peaceful place. And Aiden, I suppose, too.
He pours the boiling water into the metal cups and hands one to me. It’s not the nicest thing, it’s too hot and too bitter, but the caffeine hits the spot and I feel better for drinking it. Aiden watches my reaction from the floor, one arm propped on his knee.
‘Go on, say it. It’s not a patch on your brooding sexy coffee man’s coffee.’
‘I suppose not. But then he doesn’t even make the coffee. He just takes my money.’
‘The scoundrel!’
I laugh. ‘Yes, the scoundrel. Yet another reason to look and not touch.’
‘What are you doing for the rest of the day?’
‘Nothing much. You?’
‘Just going through footage of the otters.’
‘Do you think they’ll be back out later?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe I need you to lure them out. They only seem to come when you appear.’
‘Don’t be daft. Are you going to tell your pretty otter girl that you saw them?’
He pulls a face. ‘Yeah, I suppose I should.’
‘Maybe she’ll keep you company in your hide tonight?’ I raise my eyebrows suggestively.
He smiles and shakes his head before draining the rest of his coffee. ‘Right, come on, let’s get you home.’
Sensing I’ve hit a nerve, I get up and gather my wet clothes from yesterday together.
‘Do you think you’ll be able to walk up the hill?’
‘Yes, I think so.’
‘Let me know if you’re struggling.’
‘Okay.’ I follow him up the hill and can’t help noticing how grubby and creased his clothes look. Bits of bark and dried mud fall off him as he walks tiredly up the hill, and his hair is halfway to being matted. But I’m pretty sure I don’t look much better, and I try and dust myself off as I duck past the overgrown hedgerow and low hanging branches. My ankle hurts but I keep going, aware of a weird subtext between us that didn’t exist before. We reach the top and Aiden calls hello to a man walking across the farmyard. He raises a hand in greeting and I wave back before climbing into the truck.
It’s still early. Only just past six. Aiden looks half asleep as he drives out of the yard and takes the road towards home. I yawn, making him yawn too. He laughs. ‘Thanks for that.’
‘You’re welcome.’
‘Do you want me to drop you off at your café, so you can get some real coffee from your guy?’
‘Er, no, it’s a Sunday morning. It won’t even be open, and even if it was, I doubt he’d be working. Besides, I look awful.’
Aiden smiles across at me. ‘I think you look beautiful. Very au naturel.’
‘Ha ha very funny.’ I laugh.
‘What?’ He laughs too, his eyes back on the road. ‘I’m not joking.’
I turn my face to the window, embarrassed now. The grass verges and hedgerows are lush with thick green vegetation that billow and sway as the truck passes by. I wind down my window a little, feeling the fresh air on my face, blowing back my hair. Aiden does the same, and suddenly it feels like we’re on a road trip to somewhere new and exciting. Maybe on some American highway, Route 66, with the sun on our faces and the wind in our hair, endless possibilities ahead of us. It’s disappointing when we get closer to my flat and I can’t pretend anymore. The truck swings into the car park and I unbuckle my seat belt and look across at Aiden.
‘Coffee? Breakfast?’
For one stomach-dipping moment, I think he’s going to refuse, but then he shrugs and unbuckles his belt too. ‘Okay. Thanks.’
I slide from his truck, careful to land on my good foot.
‘Hey, you forgot something,’ Aiden calls, pointing to the seat I’ve just left. ‘Are those Mr Men knickers?’
‘What? Oh!’ To my horror, my knickers have somehow slipped from the trouser pocket I tucked them into yesterday and are lying on the seat. I roll my eyes and snatch them up.
‘Mr Men knickers? With the days of the week on them?’
‘Yes! Christ. How closely did you look at them?’
‘I just saw the word Saturday, which means you were even wearing them on the correct day!’
‘So? When do you expect me to wear Saturday’s pants? On Monday?’
Aiden doubles up with laughter. ‘I expect you not to be wearing pants with the days of the week on them! And if you do, not care what day they have written on them.’
‘Why? My mum bought them for me. They were like fifty pence in the bargain bin or something.’
‘I can’t believe they actually make days of the week knickers for women?’
‘Well, no, actually, but they’re aged 15–16 years and on the big side so they still fit. Anyway, how about you keep your eyes and your thoughts off my underwear else you won’t get any breakfast.’
‘Okay, sorry, sorry,’ he says, still laughing and shaking his head. I walk ahead of him slightly, trying to appear dignified and not like someone who wears children’s knickers. It’s a hard thing to pull off when I’m wearing his baggy shorts and huge hooded sweatshirt. ‘I’m sorry,’ he says, as I let us into my flat and go into the kitchen to make us breakfast. It’s just occurred to me that I might not have any food to feed him so I’m distracted as I fill the kettle and check the contents of the fridge. ‘But I have to check, do you always wear the correct pants on the correct day?’ He leans on the counter, his eyes sparkling with mirth as his shaggy hair hangs around his face.
I consider the question for a moment, still holding the fridge door open. ‘Yes.’
‘Oh God!’ Aiden puts his head on the counter, his shoulders shaking with laughter.
‘Of course that would be funny to you! You, who doesn’t even know what day it is half the time. If you had days of the week underpants, no doubt you’d be wearing Tuesday on Friday and Wednesday on Monday.’
‘Who cares? They’re hardly a point of reference, are they? Er, what day is it? Let me just check my underpants …’ He dissolves into laughter once more, his dark unruly hair falling forwards onto the counter.
‘I was thinking that might be quite useful for you, so you don’t miss your next appointment with the next reporter that comes to interview you,’ I say sarcastically.
‘Oh, don’t worry about that,’ Aiden says, straightening up and wiping a tear from his eye. ‘I won’t be doing any more interviews in future.’
‘Why?’ I take out some eggs and cheese from the fridge, thinking an omelette might be the best way forward. My stomach growls hungrily. ‘Because I’ve taken up so much of your time?’
‘I don’t really do interviews anyway. I only agreed to this one because I thought the locals needed the heads-up about the otter population and being respectful around the rivers.’
‘Do you often get asked to do interviews?’ I get out a bowl and start cracking eggs into it.
‘Well’ – he turns towards the lounge, pushing his hair back, then turns back to me – ‘you probably don’t know this, but a few years ago I went missing.’
‘What? Where?’ I glance up, startled.
‘Ah, it was nothing. In Canada, in the Rockies. I just got lost. It was very undramatic and really quite embarrassing. My mum and my family made this whole big fuss, and when I finally found my way back to civilisation, this whole media circus was waiting for me. It was … awful, honestly. I hated it. I just wanted to get home and see my mum, but there were all these reporters sticking microphones in my face and asking me what happened. I kept telling them nothing happened, I’m still alive, for God’s sake, but still they kept mithering me, and in the end I just refused all interviews. Since then I’ve gained a bit of a cult following. Just in the photography community, of course.’
‘You mean you’ve got fans?’ I laugh as I whip up the eggs. ‘Is there a fan club I can join?’
‘No! And don’t you dare get posting things about me online or telling people where I am. People can know after I leave, but not when I’m there.’
‘I’ve already written the article in the paper.’
‘Yeah, that’s alright. And you didn’t put exactly where I am anyway, did you?’
‘No. Have you had people coming down to see you work?’
He shakes his head, and I think he’s saying no, but then he says, ‘People are weird. Like, really weird. I appreciate their support, but …’ He shakes his head again, staring at the countertop.
I laugh. ‘What kind of thing do they do? Do you have a stalker? Someone who sends you knickers in the post?’
‘No, just someone who leaves her knickers in my truck.’
‘Hey! That’s not fair. It was an accident.’
‘Yeah, you’re very accident-prone, aren’t you?’
‘Around you, I am. You’re obviously a bad influence.’
He laughs. ‘I’d like to be a bad influence. I’d like to be such a bad influence that you forget which day of the week it is, and you wear your Friday pants on a Monday.’
‘Ho! That will never happen! I’ll have you know that I’m highly organised and efficient and not even you and your crazy ways will change that.’
‘My crazy ways? Maybe it’s your ways that are crazy, not mine.’
The Five-Year Plan: The utterly heart-warming and feel good rom com of 2020 Page 14
