Page 92 of The Unlikely Pair
In the Shakespeare play, Richard III was prepared to give up his kingdom for a horse. I’d happily trade my two-bedroom flat in Westminster and my entire savings account for a pair of gloves right now.
The rocky outcrop looms ahead of us, its promise of protection an irresistible draw.
The sleet batters against me, numbing my face.
I finally make it to the top and give a cursory glance at what’s on the other side of the ridge, where the forest slopes into avalley with a small lake. But my main attention is on these rocks and whether they will provide enough shelter for us to survive a snowstorm.
That overhang there should protect us from some precipitation, at least, but there’s no way to completely protect ourselves from the elements.
But Harry isn’t joining me in evaluating our potential shelter. Instead, he’s standing on the ridge, his eyes transfixed on the lake.
Now doesn’t seem like the right time to enjoy the view.
“Toby,” he calls urgently.
“What?”
He points. “Look.”
I follow his gaze into the valley. And although we’re standing in freezing, driving rain, I can’t help the enormous smile overtaking my face.
Because on the shores of the lake is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
A cabin.
From here, it looks like a simple rustic wooden structure, but to me, it is the best landmark ever constructed by humanity. Better than the Taj Mahal. Better than the Eiffel Tower.
I come to stand next to him. “Do you think we should try to make it down to it?”
Harry licks his lips. He looks behind us at the meager rocky outcrop, then up at the sky.
“I think we have to try,” he says.
“All right,” I agree.
But I’ve only taken two steps down the hill when I stumble and hear the most awful sound in the world.
The tearing of my survival blanket.
Fuck no. Not now.
Without the waterproof layer to keep the driving sleet off me, I’ll be soaked in seconds.
I stare at the jagged tear, my heart sinking as the wind catches the edges. The icy rain seeps through, the chill immediately penetrating my clothes.
Suddenly, Harry is next to me, whipping off his survival blanket and thrusting it at me.
“You need to use my survival blanket. My coat is more waterproof than yours.”
“Harry…” I say.
“Toby,” he replies. “Do you want to stand here arguing, or do you want to reach that cabin?”
I know Harry is stubborn enough to stand there and argue in the sleet just to make a point.
“Fine.”
I take the survival blanket from him, my fingers numb.
