Page 36 of The Player
He went quiet, then with a hint of humour in his tone, he said, “Seeing your face when I turned up at your doorstep a few days later with a pair of armbands to apologise was priceless.”
“As gifts go, that was the worst.”
“Again, I thought it was funny.”
“I bet you weren’t laughing later that night.” I pursed my lips, holding in my laugh as I waited for his response.
“What? After you invited me in for a drink and laced my coffee with whatever evilness you put in there?”
“My mum’s laxatives. And you deserved it.”
“Those were your mum’s?” He gave another huff. “I don’t feel so bad about the brownies now, then.”
I couldn’t help but laugh out loud.
“You mean the special brownies you sent me as a second apology because the first was so shit? The hash cakes that my mum took from whoever you sent as your delivery guy and fed to my Aunt Paula and the rest of her book club friends? Yeah, you should feel bad.”
He grew tense beside me.
“In my defence, those brownies weren’t meant for your mum.”
“Will, you have no defence. I got home to find the five of them giggling uncontrollably, eating the contents of the fridge ‘cos they had the munchies, and then I had to stay up all night babysitting them. My mum was convinced the walls were made of cheese. Have you ever tried wrestling a middle-aged woman who’s intent on licking the walls at three a.m.?”
“Can’t say I have, and I’ve seen it all.”
“It wasn’t pretty. She ruined her wallpaper.”
“And yet your mum still loves me.”
“I think her exact opinion of you, when she met you, was he thinks he’s a wit, and to be fair, he is half right. Or was it, he’s only got two brain cells and both of those are fighting for third place?”
“I love it.” He laughed back. “Sounds like she got those lines straight from the Bryony Masters book of comebacks. Like mother like daughter, hey?”
“She can give as good as she gets.”
We lay together, lost in our world of pointless, silly, practical jokes and putdowns. But then, all too soon, the reality of our situation came hurtling back towards us, drowning me in the horrors to come.
“When do you think this is all going to end?” I asked in a quiet voice. “A day? A month? A year?”
“It won’t be that long,” he replied, putting his arm around my waist and pulling me closer to him. I turned to lie on my side, tucking my hands under my head as my back rested against his front. “They’ll be looking for us,” he went on. “It doesn’t matter what he’s sent on our phones, they know us. They know our voices even through a text message. They’ll know something’s up, and they’ll be tearing down the whole bloody town to find us.”
“But what if they don’t… find us, I mean.”
He threaded his fingers through my hair at the nape of my neck and started to rub and massage.
“Then I’ll get us out of here. This isn’t forever, Bee. This isn’t how our story ends. It’s just a chapter. A really fucking shitty one, but that’s all it is.”
I lay still, enjoying the sensation of his soothing touches.
“You’re good at that.” I sighed, angling my head so he’d massage me where I needed him to.
“Told you I had healing hands. Aren’t you glad you didn’t cut them off and use them for bookends now?”
I grinned, letting myself get lost in the moment. A little moment in a sea of hopelessness, a moment that meant more than he’d ever know. His touch reminded me I wasn’t alone.
“Will?” I muttered under my breath.
“Mmmhmm?” he replied.
