by Eden Darry
It only seemed like minutes later when she felt a soft warm hand on her forehead, brushing away her hair. “Hey,” Loveday said gently. “You fell asleep.”
Ellery opened her eyes and found herself staring directly into Loveday’s. Loveday had bent her face so close that Ellery could feel her breath tickle her nose. They stared at each other for a moment, and Ellery knew all she would have to do was lift her head a little, maybe a foot, and their lips would meet. Loveday seemed to realize the same thing because her eyes widened and dropped to Ellery’s lips, and her mouth opened slightly in surprise. She stroked Ellery’s forehead once, twice, then quickly moved away.
Ellery sat up, brushed grass from her arms and legs, and stood, continuing to brush off bits from her jeans. She stretched her arms and her sore back and shouldered her pack again.
“I’ll push them for a while,” Loveday said, her back to Ellery as she fiddled with the straps on her own pack.
“I don’t mind.”
“You’ve been pushing them all morning. And I know your pack is heavier than mine. Don’t be a martyr,” Loveday snapped, turning to face her, all the warmth gone from her eyes.
Ellery nodded. It seemed easier that way. The last thing she wanted was an argument with Loveday, and Ellery had an idea she was pushing for one. She knew it had something to do with their non-kiss a moment before. She couldn’t work out why Loveday was angry about it. Nothing happened.
Loveday looked like she was about to say something else, then changed her mind, tapping one of the carry cots which Claude obediently jumped into. He didn’t look like he wanted to argue with Loveday either.
They walked on into the afternoon, stopping again for a snack and some water next to a disused services station. They had barely spoken since the lunchtime incident; Loveday slowed her pace so she walked a little behind Ellery. Ellery sensed she didn’t want her to wait and pushed on, giving Loveday her space.
The distance Loveday put between them—both physical and emotional—confused her. It seemed like a big overreaction to such a non-event. If Ellery hadn’t known differently, she might have assumed Loveday was uncomfortable with the idea of a woman being attracted to her. Ellery knew she dated women from her blogs and some of her books, so it couldn’t be that.
Ellery was sure the almost-kiss was mutual, but maybe that had been more wishful thinking. She briefly closed her eyes, face heating in shame. Perhaps she had read the whole situation wrong. Maybe Loveday sensed Ellery wanted to kiss her and felt uncomfortable. Loveday was attracted to women, but not her. Now she was probably worried Ellery would leave her if she rejected her advances. That was why she hung back, that was why she was so cold.
Ellery was angry with herself for putting Loveday in this position. It just proved she was right to stay away from other people. She was hopeless in their company, misreading cues and situations. She’d never felt more like an alien than she did now. From now on, she’d keep it polite but formal—like before everyone disappeared. She’d get over her childish crush on Loveday. What had she been thinking anyway? Why in the world would a woman like Loveday go for someone like her? It was a relief she’d come to her senses before she’d done something really stupid.
Chapter Eighteen
Loveday concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. Her back ached and there were matching bright spots of pain on each heel where her boots rubbed. She squinted up into the sky and saw the sun had begun its descent. Good. That meant they would stop soon.
She watched Ellery trudging along in front of her. Poor Ellery. Loveday felt horrible for the way she was treating her, but she couldn’t seem to help it. The almost kiss had terrified her. When she’d looked down into trusting, sleepy eyes, a bolt of arousal shot through her, stronger than anything she’d felt before. She knew that all she would have to do was bend down and capture those perfect lips with hers and…
Loveday shook her head, like Claude sometimes did, and cast off the memory, not to mention the horny feeling that was back again. She sighed. Ellery was probably confused and wondering what she’d done wrong. Loveday knew they’d need to talk about it. This was the sort of thing that festered and grew into an issue. Something they could ill afford when it seemed they were the last two people left on earth.
She wasn’t looking forward to it though. What would she even say? So, Ellery, sorry for being a bitch earlier, but I’m really attracted to you. And I can’t be. There was no way. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t again. She didn’t deserve it, for one thing. For another, Loveday needed Ellery—in survival terms, they were all each other had. As she knew from past experiences, sex always complicated things. And things were already complicated enough.
She looked up to see Ellery had stopped and turned to face her. “Sorry, Ellery, what did you say? I was miles away.”
“I said we should stop here for the night. There’s a copse of trees over there that should give us decent enough shelter. Is that okay? Are you ready to call it a day?”
Loveday wanted to cry with relief. She wanted to get down on her knees and kiss Ellery’s boots in thanks. “Sure. If you’ve had enough of walking,” she said instead.
She followed Ellery down to the cluster of trees, thick enough to hide them from the view of the motorway—not that they’d seen anyone all day. The pram bumped over the uneven ground, and she nearly tipped the pets out at one point. Ellery left her to it, while she searched through her pack, taking out the camping stove and kettle.
“What can I do?” she asked when she finally reached Ellery.
“Do you know how to put up the tent?” Ellery didn’t look up from her task of sorting out Rocky’s and Claude’s dinners.
“It’s a pop-up, right? Can’t be that hard.”
“Don’t put it directly under the trees. And kick away any stones and twigs.”
Loveday got the tent from where they’d stored it under the pram. She went a little way from the trees where they would still be out of sight of the motorway. The tent didn’t take long to pitch, and Ellery walked over as she was adjusting the guide lines on the final pegs.
“Are you ready for a cup of coffee?”
“Definitely. I’ve been thinking about it for the last two hours.” That was a lie. She’d been thinking about it since lunchtime.
Ellery grinned. “Only two hours? I’ve been thinking about it since this morning.”
They walked back in silence. The tension from earlier had eased a bit, and Loveday wondered if bringing up the almost kiss was a good idea. It might make things awkward again.
Loveday sat down while Ellery made coffee. Bless her, she’d even bought the coffee press. She eased off her boots, sighed with relief, then steeled herself to peel off her socks. She could feel where they stuck to her heels. Where they’d blistered, burst, and bled.
She pulled at them gently, gingerly. With a quick flick, she ripped away one sock and bit her lip against the sudden, sharp pain. The stinging intensified when air hit the raw skin of her heel. She squeezed her eyes shut and did the same with the other foot.
“Loveday!”
She opened her eyes. Ellery was on her knees. She looked torn between wanting to come over and wanting to stay where she was. That was Loveday’s fault, her uncertainty.
“It’s okay. Just blisters.”
“Why didn’t you say anything? We could have stopped,” Ellery said, more softly this time. She shuffled over on her knees and took one of Loveday’s feet gently in her hands. She hissed through her teeth. “This is nasty. You should have said something.”
“I’ve had worse. I spent most of my twenties in cripplingly high heels.” Loveday attempted a smile that came out more like a grimace.
“All the same, if you damage your feet, you won’t be able to carry on. Not to mention infections.” Ellery’s brow creased with worry, and Loveday wanted to smooth it with her fingers. She had such soft skin. Loveday was also aware of her foot still being held in Ellery’s hand. Not wanti
ng to be a bitch again, she gently moved it out of Ellery’s reach.
“I’ll be fine. If you pass me the first aid kit, I’ll clean it up.”
“No. I’ll do it.”
“Excuse me?” Loveday bristled at Ellery’s commanding tone. She wasn’t fond of being ordered around.
“I may be more used to treating animals, but I’m still a doctor. It’ll be better if I do it. I’ll bandage it properly to prevent it becoming infected. You’ve rubbed off all the skin.”
“Fine.” Loveday couldn’t argue with her. Now, more than ever, it was important to take care of themselves. It wasn’t as if she could just pop down to the doctor’s for some antibiotics.
She lay down and rolled onto her stomach as Ellery instructed. The feel of Ellery’s hands on her calves and feet tingled all the way up to her crotch. She wanted Ellery to stop, and she wanted her to carry on. She wished she didn’t like the feel of her gentle fingers as they cleaned and wiped and softly stroked the top of her foot while she washed out each heel. Loveday didn’t think Ellery was even fully aware she was stroking her. Her touch was meant to soothe rather than excite, but to Loveday it did both. By the time Ellery finished, she was horny as hell.
Chapter Nineteen
Terry was in The Palace, one of those tacky discos with the glitter balls and sticky floors where all the glasses still had lipstick on them. They’d knocked it down in ninety-five and put up flats. It had always been a pit, but it was open until two, and if you hadn’t pulled that night, it was a dead cert to at least get a hand job around the back.
He thought he was dreaming, but was certain of it when he clocked Shirl standing at the bar. She looked the same as she had at sixteen when he’d met her, only nineteen himself. Shirl had never been what you’d call a looker, but she had the best pair of tits he’d ever laid eyes on. If this was the night they’d met, she’d let him buy her a drink and feel her tits up round the back of the club, but when he went to put his hand up her skirt she’d pull away and smile shyly. He’d think about doing her anyway, up against the wall, whether she wanted it or not—What self-respecting girl went round the back of the club with a strange bloke anyway? One that was asking for it, that’s who—but her mates had come clacking round the corner in their too high heels, painted faces that made them look like clowns. He’d take her number even though he had no intention of calling her, but then he’d start thinking about those tits and how they’d felt in his hands. He’d take her out a few times, and somewhere between the third and fourth date he’d knock her up.
His dad would find out when she turned up at the house crying her eyes out because Terry wouldn’t do right by her. Then Terry Senior would knock ten bells of shit out of him—Terry outweighed his dad by about fifty pounds by then but wouldn’t raise a hand to stop him—and drive them down to the registry office. Shirl with her belly starting to round out and Terry with a black eye and split lip. There were no wedding pictures.
Terry looked at Shirl in this weird dream and had an idea he wouldn’t buy her a drink this time. Or feel up her tits, as great as they were. She smiled at him shyly and looked away. His legs moved of their own accord, and he was heading straight for the bar and straight for Shirl.
His mouth moved of its own accord, and he was asking to buy her a drink and asking what she wanted. Shirl always drank vodka and Coke but tonight she wanted a Son of Adam Head North, whatever the fuck that was.
In the next moment he was out the back of the club and his hands were full of Shirl’s tits, and her hand was on his cock, rubbing it through his trousers. Her mouth tasted sweet and was sloppy on his, until she broke away. “Son of Adam, head north,” she said, and he almost smacked her one right there.
“What the fuck are you talking about, you silly bitch?” He moved forward, trapping her body against the wall, and tried to push his hand up her skirt. She wriggled out from under his weight, stronger than he ever remembered her being.
“Son of Adam, head north,” she said again.
“I’m warning you, Shirley,” he said in his warning voice, using her whole name so she would know she’d better pack in whatever she was doing that was pissing him off.
“Son of Adam—”
He hit her across the mouth. Her lip split open and blood trickled onto her chin. “I warned you, Shirl. Didn’t I warn you?”
“Son of Adam, head north.” She said it again and he couldn’t fucking believe it.
Before he could stop himself, he hit her again and again and again. Again with his fist closed and her head was bobbing back and forward like a nodding dog as he struck her blow after blow after blow. He’d never beat her like this in real life, although sometimes he thought about it. When that black mood came knocking and settled around him like a heavy cloak and all he wanted to do was hurt something.
In the dream he couldn’t stop himself, and he beat her to the ground. Certain he’d killed her—what woman could survive that sort of beating?—he stood over Shirl, breathing heavily. His fists were sore from where he’d split his knuckles open and already swelling.
Shirl opened her eyes, looked up at him. “Son of Adam, head north.” It didn’t quite come out like that because she was speaking around a mouthful of broken teeth and most likely a broken jaw, but he knew what she meant.
He laid into her again.
* * *
Terry woke up, his head pounding from the booze. He’d been drinking for two days solid now. Dani had puked her guts up the first day and the second morning, but she seemed to be holding it better now. She’d stopped drinking pints the first night, saying she couldn’t stand the smell of it. She wouldn’t touch the whiskey still but seemed to be getting on all right with screwdrivers.
She was like a little mother hen, shuffling about in the kitchen making sandwiches. Left to Terry, they would have starved to death because he really didn’t give a shit any more. Every time he thought about his son Little Terry, his heart felt like it was tearing in two. He ate the food Dani brought him some of the time, and sometimes he threw it at her.
He winced. He remembered last night. He’d given the girl a smack, hadn’t he? It was hazy—being drunk for two days would do that to you—but he did vaguely recall winding up and unloading on her. Maybe that’s what the weird dream with Shirl had been about. He hoped he hadn’t done that sort of damage to Dani. Not that there was anyone about to arrest him for it, but still, it wouldn’t have been right.
Just then, the girl shuffled in, limping a bit, and Terry realized just now he was wedged between the bottom of the table and a chair, the foul smelling carpet—God only knew when it had last been cleaned—beneath him.
He crawled out and sat in the chair, holding his head between his hands. He looked up when Dani put a cup of tea down in front of him. “Cheers. What time is it?”
“I’m not sure. Definitely after four, I reckon. Sky’s getting darker.”
He looked up at the girl’s face, one eye swollen shut and going purple, her lip split in the middle. Not as bad as he was expecting, which was good. Little Terry and Shirl had gotten worse when the black mood came down.
“Sorry about that, love,” he said, nodding at the damaged eye.
“Okay.” Dani kept a wary distance.
“Didn’t knock you about too bad, did I?” he asked, taking a sip of the tea.
“No, Mr. Pratt.”
“Saw you limping.”
“Just my side from when I fell against the table.” She angled her head to the table which had tipped onto its side near the bar.
“All right, good.” The girl wasn’t a whiner. Terry respected her a bit more for it.
“Mr. Pratt?”
Terry looked up. The girl sat down opposite him at the table, ran her fingers over it, and started to pick at something long dried.
“What?”
“I had a funny dream last night. It might be the booze, but…well…”
“Spit it out, Dani.”
“I was at the footba
ll, one team was called Son of Adam and the other was called Head North, and I—”
Terry slammed his fist on the table and the mug of tea tipped over. Dani pulled her hand back quickly and half stood, ready to bolt.
“I don’t want to fucking hear it,” Terry said.
He wasn’t sure why Dani’s dream had made him suddenly angry. It probably had something to do with his own dream. That fluttery feeling of fear was back, and Terry didn’t like it one little bit. It made him feel like he had lost control.
“You bring up anything about Son of Adam or fucking head north and I’ll cave your bloody head in. Got it?”
Dani nodded. She stood warily and backed away from Terry like he was a rabid dog. In a way, he supposed he was. All the booze. Little Terry. Everyone gone. It was too much. He went back to the bar to pour himself another drink.
Chapter Twenty
Ellery leaned back and watched Loveday prepare the soup for their dinner. She was worried about her heels and annoyed she hadn’t said something earlier. Loveday could be so stubborn. Ellery hadn’t known her for long, but she could already tell that Loveday hated to admit any kind of weakness. Not that it was even a weakness, but Loveday would see it as such. She was infuriating. And it was dangerous. They were on their own now. It wasn’t like they could just pop into a doctor. Infections could kill them now.
Loveday was going to drive her mad. They’d take it easier tomorrow, have a few more breaks.
Ellery looked at her map, marking off with a finger where they were. She’d been keeping an eye on the motorway signs and they’d made decent progress today. She thought it would be another couple of days before they joined up with the A36, which would take them north. Now that they were moving, the sense of running out of time had lessened slightly. She still felt the need to keep going, but it was better now they were out of town and on the move.
