I turn my hand in his and give it a squeeze. ‘I’ll live.’
‘Jesus, Lydia. You’re something else.’ He shakes his head and then lifts his hand to touch my face. ‘You’re going to have a hell of a bruise there,’ he says skimming my cheekbone. ‘How does it feel?’
I’m about to do my usual shrug and brush his words away but instead, I give him a grim smile. ‘Like I’ve done a dozen rounds with Anthony Joshua before going head to head with a herd of bulls.’
‘Can you move your arms?’
I bite my lip. It’s almost as if his words have taken the lid off the pain. My right arm is excruciating and when I lift it, I cry out.
‘Probably just a bruise,’ I say, nestling it protectively into my body.
His mouth tightens but he turns his attention back to my leg and takes out another big dressing and puts it over the wound before winding a bandage tightly round it and pulling my trouser leg back down again. The rain is bouncing on the fabric, sending blood spatters onto the surrounding rocks.
‘We need to try and find you some shelter and then I’ll call for help.’
I catch sight of the GoPro. ‘Please tell me you’re not still filming.’
His hand snaps up to the camera. ‘Shit. Sorry.’ In a quick fluid move, he tugs it off his head and switches it off. ‘We can always delete it later.’
He stands up and surveys the area, although you can hardly see through the gloomy flat grey light.
‘First I’m going to see if there’s any shelter nearby. I’ll be right back.’
I nod. What else can I do?
I watch as he strides off down the hill. Despite my difficult childhood, I’m not sure I’ve ever felt quite so cold, wet and miserable. The pain shooting round my body like a random pinball isn’t helping. It would be easy to feel sorry for myself but I grit my teeth. For all his faults I know that Tom is totally reliable. He will do everything he can to resolve this situation.
He is right back, for which I’m very grateful.
‘There’s an overhang of rock just below us. It’s not quite a cave but it’s shelter.’
When he tries to help me to my feet, I wince as I try to straighten one leg. I shake my head. ‘Give me a sec.’
It takes me a whole minute to stand up. Every bit of me hurts. He takes my rucksack and guides me down the hill. It’s slow progress, one foot in front of another, until we reach the overhang. It’s very shallow and neither of us can stand in there, but once I’m sitting it’s okay. It’s dry. When he’s arranged me in a heap, he props up my rucksack and goes into his.
‘I think, on this occasion, you’re quite entitled to tell me, “I told you so.”’ He holds up the thermos flask.
I give him a prim look. ‘Wouldn’t dream of it.’
‘Here.’ He pours me a cup of coffee and produces two paracetamol. ‘I think you’re going to need these.’
‘Good job we have two first-aid kits,’ I say. ‘Who knew they’d come in so useful?’
The coffee is pure indulgence and I’m grateful for every single mouthful. When he retrieves my flask it’s somewhat dented but functional. After drinking a small cup, he puts the first flask within my reach. ‘Where’s the bat phone? I think we need to call in the cavalry.’
‘How much did you appreciate that coffee?’
The reminder immediately makes him suspicious. He just looks steadily at me. I wince and it’s nothing to do with the pain settling on every bit of my body. ‘The phone…’
‘Lydia,’ he prompts when I falter.
‘I-left-it-behind-on-the-coach.’ The words run together because I spit them out so quickly, like I’m ripping a plaster off a wound.
His mouth purses but to give him credit, he simply nods, admittedly several times like one of those plastic dogs you see in the back of cars, as if it’s a distraction technique to stop him yelling.
‘Sorry. It must have dropped out of my rucksack and I didn’t notice ’til much later.’ I’d sort of been hoping we’d never need it. ‘But I’m fine,’ I insist. ‘I just need to rest. We can’t give up now. We’re not that far from the motorway, surely. As soon as we reach the slip road, like you said, we can hitch a lift and we’ll be in London in no time. We stand a good chance of winning that prize money. You want to win it don’t you?’
He scowls. ‘Yes.’
‘Well, so do I.’ There’s no way I’m letting my parents’ desecration stand; I will reclaim and restore Gran’s house.
A series of expressions cross his face, one after another. Irritation, exasperation and finally resignation. I smile because I like getting to Tom. The real Tom. The mask is off and I’m starting to know him again. The person that I connected with so briefly.
‘I don’t like leaving you but I’ll be as quick as I can. Are you going to be okay on your own?’ He catches his lip between his teeth and looks torn.
‘I’m a big girl. I’ll be—’
He frowns and real anger blazes in his eyes. ‘For God’s sake, Lydia, don’t you dare say “fine”.’
‘I’ll be all right,’ I say, a little cowed by his forceful snap.
His voice gentles and it almost finishes me off when he touches my face, lifting my chin to the light and studying what I’m sure is swollen flesh. ‘Sure?’ His eyes crinkle with concern and I hear the hitch in his breath.
‘Yes. Go,’ I say, desperate for him to leave. ‘The sooner you go, the sooner you can come back. And I’m toasty and dry here with coffee.’ I lift the cup in an almost cheeky salute but it’s a challenge.
As soon as he’s gone, I close my eyes and let my head rest against the rock, tears leaking out of my tightly shut eyelids – the traitorous bastards. Fuck, I hurt all over. I’ve bitten the inside of my mouth and my tongue can’t stop playing with the ragged flesh of my cheek. Usually it’s easy to be by myself and cope on my own but now I’m praying that Tom won’t be long. It’s just the cold and wet, I tell myself, but I know it’s a little bit more than that. He’s kind. To me. And I’m worried I could get used to it.
Chapter Fifteen TOM
