Page 46 of The Reno
I frowned when I heard what sounded like a branch breaking.
A wet panel of tent hit my face.
It wasn’t a branch that snapped.
It was one of the tent poles.
“For fuck’s sake!” I shouted as more water began to trickle in. I shoved my boots back on and climbed out, tried to wrestle the tent pole back into shape. I cursed my dad for not teaching me how to camp properly on all those trips to Cornwall or the Cotswolds. He’d always sort everything for me and my mum. We didn’t have to lift a finger.
Rain pelted against my face, and my hair and clothes were soaked. Deep down, I knew that even if I managed to get the tent back up, I would never be able to get dry and warm again.
It was hopeless.
I gave a useless, frustrated cry.
I couldn’t even camp without it turning into a disaster.
The garden lit up, light cutting through the heavy sheets of rain, and then it was extinguished.
Through the rain and darkness, I could see a figure approaching the garden through the side gate, and my heart started to pound quickly. Great, now I was going to be murdered in my own garden.
“Who is that?” I shouted.
“It’s me,” a deep voice shouted back, and my heart sank. Ilowered my face into my palm.Fuck. The jig was up.
Liam’s face came into view as he approached the tent, his jaw set. His eyes scanned over me, grazing over my T-shirt that was wet and stuck to my body, and flickered away quickly. His face morphed into a grimace when he took in the pitiful sight of my tent.
“So, this was your big plan, huh?” Liam crossed his arms.
“Do you want to stand there, or do you want to help me?” I shouted back, trying to hold up the broken tent pole. “Have you got any duct tape in your van?”
“You can’t camp out here, Red.”
“It’s fine,” I said while rain ran down the sides of my face. “It will settle down.”
“This is Manchester, remember? It’s kind of known for the rain.”
“That’s a myth. There is more rainfall in Cardiff.”
“Semantics.”
“It’s true. It will be fine. It’s supposed to be heavy for another twenty minutes, then it will be fine.”
“Red—”
“There isn’t even that many centimetres of rainfall due—”
“Get in the van, Red,” Liam growled. “We can debate rainfall statistics when I’m not getting soaked.”
The rain got heavier and joined forces with a gale-force wind. Liam turned on the heel of his boots, heading back for the van.
Was he going to leave me out here?
I made a frustrated noise. I was out of options. I was beginning to shake from the cold. So I gave in and ran after Liam,climbing into the safe harbour of his warm van. The smell of cedar and wood in the air filled my senses. It was tidy. I had a feeling Liam would be tidy. He had the air of someone who had an anal process for everything and would level anyone with a look if they went against his system. He was the opposite of me. I never did the same task the same way. It was partly why I didn’t trust myself to go freelance, even if I could make more money alone. I wouldn’t file my taxes on time, and the HMRC would arrest me. I’d be pulled out of my home, handcuffed. And I’d deserve it.
I glanced at Liam through the wet hair stuck to my forehead. We were both panting and pushing the water off our faces.
Frustration rolled off us in waves.
