Page 30 of Out of the Shadows
DANIEL
The team’s abuzz, there’s lots of chat and laughter, even if the lunch back at the centre is frugal and tasteless. Nobody seems bothered about that, because all the smart city girls and boys have come out into the wilds of Dartmoor and triumphed over nature.
In truth, it was an easy exercise, or at least for me, but then I suppose I’ve got the advantage of having done this sort of thing before. I don’t tell them, though, because I’ve no wish to tarnish their achievement. And it is an achievement. They’ve all been thrust out of their comfort zone and, when pushed, they worked as a cohesive team. With guidance from the head shepherd, of course. But there’s always one black sheep in a flock.
I glance across to Cosmo, seated at the end of the table.
Once the sheep were penned in on the boat, the rest of the exercise had been straightforward. Myself and a couple of the other guys, including Cosmo, had rowed over to the small muddy island, where we released the sheep before we rowed back. Cosmo had rowed with smooth, easy strokes, rhythmic and even, which was no mean feat in itself because the boat was heavy. But then I remembered his solid muscle from when I’d wrapped my arms around him in the underground, and the weight of his body as it landed on me last night, pressing me down, and the initial thrill that had raced through me before I’d reached for easy, angry indignation.
“Daniel? Can you pass the salt, please?”
I whip my head around, grateful to Fiona for interrupting my disquieting and unwelcome thoughts. I smile as I pass it over, but it must be warmer than I intend, as a couple of small pink patches colour her cheeks. She goes to say something, but I’m saved by Linda, on the other side of me.
“I think that exercise went very well, and when we’re back in the office…”
A sudden burst of laughter causes both Linda and me to look along the table, but I don’t need to see to know who it is who’s laughing.
Cosmo’s head is thrown back and his dark, heavy fringe falls back from his face. His laughter’s rich and good-humoured and the grin stretched across his face is open and sunny. My heart seems to miss a beat as I’m transported back five years, to the younger Cosmo, the man who was eager and full of life, the man who burned bright as a candle. I was a moth to all that brightness. I’d look for him, as soon as I walked into the office, unable and not wanting to resist all that hypnotic incandescence.
His enthusiasm was infectious. His ideas were fresh and original. Sometimes they needed to be reined in, too crazy and unworkable but only experience would teach him that, but so many more were razor-sharp and incisive. He’d brought a brightness to the office, he brought a brightness to me, and I’d enjoyed and revelled in it, without letting myself examine why.
Lunch is over, people are getting up and moving off to the common room where there’s coffee. Soon there will be instructions for the next mindless activity.
A short queue forms and I join it. Those who have theirs are already lounging in the comfy chairs, which actually aren’t very comfy, checking their phones or sitting in twos and threes and chatting. Cosmo’s found himself space on one of the sofas, where he’s cradling the liquid mud that’s passing itself off as coffee. It’s the only seat left, if I don’t include the one next to Linda and the facilitator. I hesitate, unsure what to do. As though he senses my indecision, he looks up and catches my eye. There’s no invite there for me to sit next to him but it seems both churlish and childish to pretend to have not noticed. He shuffles up, putting a good few inches between us.
The silence, despite the hubbub in the room, seems to enclose us up in our own little bubble. I feel awkward and self-conscious, both more than I want to be and more than I’m used to. The silence is oppressive, and I open my mouth to make some bland comment, but Cosmo beats me to it.
“I hope they’re not going to send us out in the rain again to round up more dangerous wild animals. I was soaked through and I had to have a long shower to get all the mud off me. It’s why I was a bit late for lunch.”
“Wild animals? Sheep are easy enough to handle when you know what you’re doing.”
“Which I clearly didn’t.” He takes a sip of coffee and looks ahead of him and out into the room. “When you grow up on the mean streets of west London, sheep tussling is not one of the skills you learn.”
He’s so straight faced I can’t help laughing and it tugs the merest beginnings of a smile to his own lips.
“I suppose I have an advantage. I spent at lot of time on my maternal grandparents’ farm. They were sheep farmers,” I add when Cosmo’s brow quirks in question. It’s more information than I’m used to giving and I’m surprised the confession’s come so easily.
“Well, that explains it, I suppose. Your mastery of Lamb Chop.”
“Lamb Chop? Did you just name that sheep Lamb Chop?”
“Hmm. The way I saw it, if I had to get up close and personal with him, I thought it only reasonable to know what his name was. I mean, if a boy’s going to kiss on the first date, he wants to know who he’s getting hot and heavy with, doesn’t he?”
Up close and personal, hot and heavy, kissing… My gaze drops to his lips, plump and pouty, giving him a sulky look.
Stop, now…
I force my eyes away, and take a sip of coffee wincing at both the taste and the burn. It’s the distraction I need.
“So you grew up on a sheep farm?”
He’s looking at me over the rim of his coffee cup, his eyes glittering in disbelief. His fringe flops forward, and he pushes it back by scraping his fingers through it. The movement’s slow and steady and for a brief and blinding moment I wonder how those strands would feel, slipping through my fingers. I force myself to sit up a little straighter in what feels like an attempt to regain some of the control I know is slipping away from me.
“No.” I cough to clear my throat, and give myself some breathing space. “I grew up in North London but as I said, my maternal grandparents were sheep farmers. In Dorset.”
Cosmo shivers, dramatic and theatrical.
“Then that means the countryside. I don’t like the countryside. It brings me out in a rash. It’s positively unhealthy.”
