Page 50 of Refrain
That earned him a bitchy comeback, but it got them as far as the lane, so he let it go. This, of all the things he’d encountered since his arrival here, was the hardest to compute. Spook Mortensen was not the sort of guy who stayed home all day with the curtains closed. It was time to remind him of all the wonders that existed in the big wide world. Although, fucking hell, it was proving an effort to get him moving. Gradually though, one metre became two, then five, until they were out of the gate and down the lane. One positive, if you could consider it that, was the further he got Spook from the sanctuary of the bothy, the more likely it was that the daft bugger would stay at his side rather than bolting for the front door. “Reckon you can pick the pace up a bit?”
His friend shook his head. The wind was already blowing his fine hair into knots. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
“You’re not going to be sick.”
He did not want to deal with vomit. Although, if it was going to happen, then outdoor vomit won over the indoor variety.
“My head’s spinning.” Spook clapped both hands to it for emphasis, only to change his mind and press them to his chest instead. Xane reached for him. He clasped one of Spook’s hands tightly in his, even intertwined their fingers. Spook’s flesh was like ice.
Damn, he knew things were bad, he just hadn’t realised they were this bad.
“You know what, slow is fine. We won’t go far. Just into the trees. Enough to stretch our legs and clear a few of the cobwebs away. That way when we go back in, we’ll feel fresh. Right?” That had been the initial plan. He was no longer sure it’d work out like that, still, the prompt got them another couple of steps. It was equidistant now to the cottage door and the forest’s edge. Nervous sweat was already beading across Spook’s brow. His gaze was wilder than ever. Too blue and incapable of steady focus. Xane kept him moving. Slowly. But forward, nonetheless.
“Jesus, have you been outside at all in the last six months?”
“Logs.” Spook mumbled, like his mouth was full of them. “I’ve chopped logs. I’ve been in the garden. I told you that. I wasn’t joking.”
It was difficult to legitimately call the area surrounding the bothy a garden, really. It was a patch of land, half moss, half weeds, and a good deal of peaty earth. The fact it was enclosed by a flint-grey boundary wall was really the only thing differentiating it from the rest of the wilderness. They were well beyond that boundary now, the wind slapping against them like a shoal of wet fish. They walked side by side down the centre of the track that eventually turned into what passed for a main road in these parts. Frankly, there was more chance of stumbling over grouse than of having to dive out the way of any oncoming traffic. Xane hadn’t seen any vehicles, with the exception of the delivery van, and it was always the same one, since the taxi he’d arrived in departed. The cabby had asked him at least twelve times if he was sure he was in the right place, like he was about to cross into the twilight zone or get eaten by wolves if he stayed. He was pretty sure there weren’t any wolves in Scotland, but maybe that’s just what they told outsiders.
They’d almost reached the forest edge. Xane forced a path through a patch of brambles at the side of the road, and onto the carpet of pine needles. Here, the earth smelled rich and musty. They found a path within a dozen paces. Narrow. The earth indented, but not particularly well travelled. Animal routes, he guessed. There was a stillness beneath the canopy, a serenity hardly disturbed by the caw of a distant crow. Spook still had one hand clasped to his chest. His breathing remained unsteady, a shallow wheeze that whistled between his teeth.
“Can we go back? I want to go back.”
“Not yet. Soon,” Xane promised, unable to face the prospect of that single living room when there was all this wilderness to enjoy. “We’ll go a little further.”
It was like dragging along a reluctant toddler. Not that he’d had much experience of those. He tended to avoid young kids. Spook’s palm had turned from cold to clammy. He held Xane’s hand in a knuckle-crushing death grip.
“I really think I need to go back.”
They were not going back. They were staying out here a minimum of ten fucking minutes. “What the fuck is so frightening about a few trees?” he snapped, allowing his frustration to get the better of him. “Sorry.” He knew it wasn’t about actual danger, rather a function of Spook’s current mental state. He’d been in that cramped cottage too long, allowing his demons to eat away at his resilience, so now he was quaking over threats that didn’t exist.
“Xane, I can’t do this. I can’t. Please, I want to go back.” Spook’s fisted the front of Xane’s shirt. His knuckles were popped out like ragged rocks.
Was he being cruel insisting on this? Maybe, but with good reason.
“Spook.” He clasped his own hand over the top of that fist. “Take a breath, eh? We’re safe. No one is going to hurt you, and you’re not going to hurt me. There’s nothing to fear here. Listen. Can you hear the birds? Not the crow, thepink, pink. It’s a chaffinch, I think. Hear him?”
“How’d you know it’s a him?”
“Ah, well, the guys are always the noisy ones. I’m not sure I actually know what a female chaffinch sounds like.” He offered up a sheepish grin. Spook seemed to be listening to the bird call, so that was good. “Any chance I could have my T-shirt back?” he asked after a minute or so had passed.
Spook’s gaze fell to where their hands were clasped, but he didn’t release his grip. He shook his head. “I don’t think so. Not yet.”
“Fair enough.” Xane backed up against a tree, so he had something to lean against, dragging Spook along with him. That chaffinch was a noisy bugger. Still, he couldn’t fault him. Boy just wanted a lady chaffinch to get cosy with and make wee baby birds.
“You should never have come here.”
Lord, not this again! The hell he shouldn’t. The proof of that was right before him, clinging on as if the world might spin right off its axis. Magnanimously, he humoured Spook with a question, in lieu of outright contradiction. “Why’s that?”
Spook had bowed his head towards where their fists were still clenched one over the top of the other. He tilted his head a fraction in order to look up. “Because I’m a fucking mess. I’m no use to you or anyone. What the fuck’s the point of me? You’re wasting your time and your talent, Xane. You’ve things to do, people who care about you.”
“Spook, I’m here because I care about you. As for the rest, you don’t get to decide that for me, and for the record, I don’t think I’m wasting my time. There’s an album about to be born in that hovel you’ve been calling home. The sort of career-defining album that’s going to knock people senseless and leave them wondering where the fuck it came from. That’s sizzling in my veins and if you’re suggesting you can’t feel that, then you’re a bigger fucking liar than I ever imagined. We’ve caught a thread. All we have to do is keep pulling on it.”
“Keep on pulling and you’ll watch it all unravel. Xane, you know I’m not going to play whatever we produce. I can’t do it.”
The very notion tickled his throat with all sorts of comebacks. He settled for unfiltered honesty. “You can keep telling yourself that, but we both know it’s not true.”
“Did you miss the part where I couldn’t breathe forty seconds ago?”
