Page 26 of One Summer Weekend
Chapter Eight
I woke up with a start. Something was wrong – in fact, everything was wrong. Strange room, strange bed; and – worst of all – the feeling that I wasn’t alone.
Then I remembered: this was the motorhome, and I was in bed with Jack Smith.But of course it’s notthatsort of ‘in bed with’ – is it?I risked a look to my right. Thank God, the barrier of cushionswas still intact; I’d constructed it last night, as soon as I’d been to the bathroom and changed into my pyjamas. I’d struggled to get to sleep, expecting him to walk through the door at any moment. But it hadn’t happened and, in the end, I must have drifted off.
Everything was warm and peaceful and morning-light. I lifted the edge of the curtain and found the sun already climbing the sky.Above me, unseen, a wood pigeon chuntered a good-natured greeting. I groped for my watch on the shelf behind my head. Six fifty-five. If it hadn’t been for the man beyond the cushions, I’d have enjoyed a lie-in. But I’d slept surprisingly well; and, anyway, it was safer to be somewhere else when he awoke.
Slowly, stealthily, I peeled back my half of the duvet and sat up. The bed was enclosedon three sides by walls, two of them external and one a partition to divide the sleeping quarters from the galley kitchen. Last night I’d got in at the only accessible side and settled myself next to the window, so that he wouldn’t have to climb over me when he came to bed. But that was when he wasn’t there; this morning was an entirely different matter.
I knelt on the duvet and startedat the bottom of the wall of cushions, carefully dismantling them one by one. When I reached the middle, I gave him a furtive look. His face wore the mask of sleep, but I didn’t want to push my luck – and there was now enough room for me to get off the bed. I took a deep breath and clambered silently over his legs, watching him closely in case he stirred. Mid-straddle wasnota good look.
It was as if he’d read my mind. His eyes flicked open and taunted mine, briefly, before travelling casually downwards; here and there they lingered, making me painfully aware of my too-skimpy pyjamas. And, throughout it all, I was incapable of moving – a real ‘rabbit in the headlights’ moment.
At last he looked up, his grin wide and wicked. ‘So dreams can come true.’
I almost vaultedoff the bed and scurried to the door, snatching up my sponge bag and a handful of clothes to cover my semi-nakedness. I realised I was trembling – with anger at myself and at him, of course; and with something else, something that I couldn’t bring myself to acknowledge. But all I could say was a feeble, ‘Do youmind?’
He propped himself on his elbows, and I noted his bare shoulders and chest.In fact, I found myself wondering whether he was wearing anything at all … Once again, as if in tune with my thoughts, his grin broadened. ‘I don’t mind in the least, I’m just sorry that we can’t take advantage of the situation. Unless we change the rules, of course.’
An image of limbs entwined, his and mine, mouths chasing kisses; I felt my face burn. ‘I’m going to the bathroom.’
‘With my shirt? I’m touched.’
I dropped the clothes as if they were hot coals, grabbed what I needed from my suitcase and fled.
Up in the bathroom, a period of reflection and a hot shower eased some of my mortification. After all, things could have been a lot worse. Apart from that embarrassing encounter as I climbed over him, my first night with Jack Smith had been uneventful; and,strangely, the prospect of a day on the hills with him and his friends rather appealed.
When I returned to the motorhome, he was nowhere to be seen. I hesitated, then arranged the cushions along the headboard and straightened the duvet, so that Midge wouldn’t suspect anything if she looked in.
Let the role play recommence.
I found everyone busy in the kitchen: Bill frying baconand eggs, Midge making a tower of sandwiches and Jack – well, I couldn’t say what he was doing because, as soon as he saw me, he came straight over and took me in his arms.
‘Mmm, you smell good,’ he said, loud enough for the others to hear.
I forced myself to cling to him, briefly, before wriggling free. ‘So does breakfast.’
‘How do you like your eggs, Alicia?’ Bill said.
‘Turned over, please. Can I do anything?’
Midge looked up and grinned. ‘Help Jack with the tea and toast – he seems to have lost the plot now that you’re here. Or would you prefer coffee?’
‘Tea’s fine, thank you.’ I followed Jack across the kitchen and got to grips with the toaster while he filled the kettle. We worked side by side, in what must have looked like an amicable silence;in reality, I was all too aware of his nearness. The natural scent of him – unwashed male in yesterday’s clothes – wasn’t off-putting; quite the opposite. Yet another problem for me to deal with.
After breakfast, while Jack went off to get ready, Bill brought out some maps and showed me our route. First, we were going up a small hill called Latrigg, as a warm-up exercise for its neighbour,Skiddaw. He warned me that Skiddaw itself would be a tougher walk, except that perseverance would be rewarded: the views from the summit should be spectacular.
The map, of course, was not the territory – but the map looked terrifying enough. I bit my lip; it looked as though my ‘slave to the gym’ fitness levels would be well and truly put to the test.
‘I checked the forecast in Keswickearlier, and we’re in for a warm day,’ Bill went on. ‘Unfortunately, that means carrying extra water.’
‘As well as one of Midge’s special packed lunches?’ This from Jack, strolling into the room in khaki combat shorts and a maroon T-shirt. ‘God help us, we’ll be like a pair of packhorses.’
Bill chuckled. ‘I’ve got a couple of framed rucksacks we can use – then at least we’ll be wellequipped packhorses.’
Packhorses? Although I joined in the laughter, I was privately reflecting that Jack looked more like a prize stallion. As before, seeing him in casual clothes made me feel hot and formal. For a moment, I debated whether to switch my cropped navy trousers for the pair of shorts I’d brought with me; then decided I’d had enough of Jack ogling my legs for one day. Exceptthat now, I realised uncomfortably, it was more a case of me ogling his.
We set off from the cottage around quarter to ten – heading westwards along a narrow lane. The sun was already beating down and I was grateful for the floppy hat Midge had lent me. She and I walked together, maintaining a steady pace and an equally well-judged conversation. She asked me about my family, a subject Ifound I could handle without any subterfuge whatsoever. I talked to her about my parents carving out a new life for themselves in Spain, and my sister relocating to Canada with her husband.
