Page 62 of One Night With You

And then, as we start to drive through canopies of trees, I realise all over again that I have zero reference point for what to expect from all this LARPing business and can’t pretend otherwise. I’m used to directing the action for screen, not acting everything out. How is it all supposed to work? Is it like being an actor? Being the actual character? When do you know if somebody is being themselves or playing a role?

‘I feel nervous,’ I blurt out, as we round a corner. A few people are already milling about in their costumes. Nic reverse-parks into a spot at the far end of the gravelled dirt box that sits off the edge of the woodland where he says we’re going to play. When he’s put on the handbrake andturned off the engine he says: ‘It’s notserious, serious.’ He takes off his seatbelt so he can turn to face me better. ‘It’s like, seriously fun. You have to stay in character and let your inhibitions go for it to work and feel enjoyable, that’s the only rule. It’s like sex: the more you get carried away with the feeling of it all, the better it is.’

‘That’s all well and good,’ I say, pointing out of the window, ‘but that man is wearing an actual bearskin.’

Nic follows my gaze and notes the man dressed in a kilt and boots, no top (in this weather!) and what look like genuine furs.

‘I should have warned you,’ he says, taking in the magnificent sight. ‘That you have to go big or go home.’

‘Why am I suddenly concerned about whatever outfit you have for me back there in the boot?’

‘Because you’re slowly understanding that this is a thing you cannot control, and it’s killing you already,’ he shoots back. ‘How about trusting that something new can be something excellent, Ms I’m-going-to-taste-everything-life-can-offer-in-my-Year-of-Me?’

‘Ouch.’ I laugh. ‘Is this the police? I’d like to report a character assassination.’

‘Lol.’

‘Urgh. You just said lol unironically. I hope bear man gets you.’

‘Come on.’

We get out and he pops the boot, pulling out a flask of warm tea he’s brought with him. We half-lean, half-sit in the trunk, a blanket over our knees, watching everyone transform from regular Richie in IT and Carla mother-of-four-and-tired-with-it into characters in the game. People greet each other with waves and hugs, and I catch snippets ofconversation between folks dressed as witches and harlots, warriors and clergymen, about everything from cryptocurrency to dog-training tips, and off-hand comments about an impending orgy for somebody’s in-laws celebrating seventy-five years together. There’s all kinds of people, from all walks of life, all united by this strange, foreign hobby.

‘Ready for your costume?’ he says, once we’ve dunked our biscuits and finished our tea and eavesdropped on everyone and everything.

‘Just about,’ I say. ‘Can I emphasise again that I’m trusting you?’

‘Can I emphasise again that that is an honour I do not underestimate?’

He gives me the bag of stuff he’s brought for me and I disappear into the public loo where everyone else got changed. It’s empty, so I don’t even go into a stall, I just stay by the sinks, assessing my costume. Nic has given me a peasant blouse with a corset that laces up under the boobs and a long flowing skirt. I’m wearing trainers, which rather spoils the look, but the skirt is long and flowing enough to hide them, mostly. I have a pashmina, as well, that I put around my shoulders for warmth.

‘That’s for your head, actually,’ he says to me as I walk back to him. He takes it from me. Gently, he loops it across my crown, fastening it behind my neck so that it to flows down my back as a loose headscarf. He smiles as he does it.

‘You look good,’ he comments. ‘Mediaeval and pretty.’

‘I hate that you’re kind of right,’ I say, smoothing everything down. ‘I feel weirdly feminine? I quite like it. Even the corset.’

He winks at me. ‘It is kinda showing off your best assets,’ he says, with a pointed nod to my boobs. ‘This is yourcharacter sheet,’ he adds, giving me an information pack one of the non-playing characters has handed out. ‘The NCPs are the ones who don’t play the game, but who assist us in playing. If you need anything, ask them, okay?’

‘You keep talking about the game,’ I say. ‘But whatisthe game? That’s the bit I don’t understand.’

‘That’s the thing,’ he replies. ‘We make it up as we go along. Your character uses magic, and there are certain things you can and cannot do – it’s all on that paper – but you’ve just got to roll with the punches, baby.’

My eyes widen: there’s no plotline to finish? No story to complete? No big narrative story we flow through with a beginning, middle and end?

‘If you think that’s scary,’ he says, pulling out his shield from the back seat. ‘Wait until I tell you I have to go and get my weapon checked with the safety marshal. I’m engaging in live combat.’

‘You’re not!’ I gasp. ‘You actually fight? Will you fight bear man?’

‘If I do,’ he says, grinning, ‘may the sweet and fair maiden know that it is testament to her spell that I am able to both fight and take victory over those who must be conquered.’ He’s hamming it up, putting on a silly voice for me. ‘And for that, the maiden shall be but rewarded,’ he adds, and it makes me laugh.

‘I honestly thought we’d go for a pizza and then to the pub,’ I say. ‘I wasnotexpecting this.’

‘I know,’ he replies, cheekily.

‘May I act as your guide, dear ones?’ a Benedictine monk offers at the edge of the wood. I look to Nic.

‘Praise be,’ Nic says to him. ‘Let us follow.’

---