Page 2 of Melting His Grumpy Heart
Sagging over the steering wheel, a thin, whimpering sound fell from his lips. Outside, a hard wind buffeted the car and Ru shivered, the heat already leaching out through ill-fitting windows. It was getting very cold, and fast.
Ru picked up his phone from the passenger seat, and stared hard at the screen, willing the signal he’d long ago lost to burst into life. Nothing. The phone was as useless as his crappy car.
Rubbing his sleeve against the steaming up window, he peered through the falling snow. Clouds obscured the moon, but his vision began to adjust to the darkness. He brought his face closer to the window, his nose nudging the glass. A large, solid shape loomed ahead of him. His eyes widened and his heart jumped. A house, it had to be. He could get help… He could get in touch with the breakdown service he wasn’t a member of… He could ask whoever lived there to order him a cab to take him the rest of the way to the cottage… He could… The snow, which had been steady, was growing thicker and heavier by the second as it thudded against the car.
“Bloody hell.”
There wasn’t going to be a breakdown service rescue, no cheery greeting from a hot guy in a yellow hi-vis jacket. Ruclimbed out of the car, his feet sinking into the icy wet of the snow, and swallowed. There wouldn’t be any cab, either. Grabbing his bag, he locked the car up. A bitter laugh burst from him. Why bother? If somebody nicked it, they’d be doing him a favour. But who was mad enough to be out in the freezing weather, in the snow, at night, in the middle of sodding nowhere?
You are.
He trudged towards the dark, hulking shape, pushing against the wind and the sharp pinpricks of snow stinging his face
There were no lights, nothing showing between a chink from tightly drawn curtains. Because the huge wooden structure wasn’t a house, it was a barn. Which meant he was on a farm, where there’d be a farmhouse, and maybe a friendly farmer’s wife who could give him some tea and a plate of fruit scones covered in the county’s famous clotted cream, and a steaming mug of tea. Ru squinted into the darkness but there was nothing but fast falling snow, and an angry, bitter wind. If there was a farmhouse he couldn’t see it and there was no way he was going to stumble around looking for it, chancing an encounter with vicious guard dogs who’d rip his throat out and?—
“For fuck’s sake,” he muttered. He’d sleep in the barn and make his peace with the farmer in the morning. And hope they didn’t set the dogs on him.
In the darkness, Ru’s hands found the heavy link chain looping through the barn doors’ big metal handles and he groaned in despair. The place was locked up tight. He rattled the large padlock?—
“Oh.”
The lock unhasped in his hand. In spite of everything life had conspired to throw at him, Ru smiled. The farmer hadn’t closed the lock properly. It was his way in, saving him from a night inthe car that would soon be as cold as a freezer. Perhaps the gods had at last decided to stop kicking the shit out of him.
Unwinding the chain, he dropped it to the side of the door. Leaning his weight onto one of the double doors, he inched it open, enough for him to squeeze inside before he pushed it closed. The howl of the wind immediately ceased, replaced with a heavy silence broken only by Ru’s breathing.
The blackness, like the silence, was dense and solid. Instinctively, he felt along the wall for a light switch. His hand found a metal plate and a heavy, long switch. Pulling it down, light flooded the barn and Ru scrunched his eyes up against the sudden glare.
Rough stone walls rose to wooden beams high above. Instead of an old tractor and maybe bags of feed, there were ropes, climbing gear, and sturdy-looking cases bearing labels like ‘Emergency Supplies’ and ‘Outdoor Training’. A workbench stood at the far end, tools hanging in perfect order above it, while several camp beds leant against the wall. It didn’t look much like any farmer’s barn he’d ever seen, not that Ru was sure he’d ever actually seen one, but tired, hungry, and more than a little stressed out, he didn’t and couldn’t care. He’d found sanctuary, of sorts, and that was enough.
The barn was cool, but not freezing, but he’d need more than his short puffer jacket to keep warm. Ru grinned, because heaped up in the corner, and neatly folded, was a pile of blankets. They were old, worn, and rough looking but as Ru gave them a cautious sniff he discovered they smelt of recent laundry rather than farmyard odours.
Rough blankets and uncomfortable looking camp beds. Maybe, at last, his luck really was changing. He’d camped before. Or kind of. Okay, he’d glamped, at summer festivals, in a teepee or yurt, with beds more comfortable than his own one, yet noneof those had been as welcome as the sight of the canvas, poles, and the scratchy looking blankets.
It didn’t take long to set everything up. Ru yawned hard as the long, long day crashed down on him and he rubbed at his gritty, itchy eyes.
Turning off the light by the door, he groped his way back. Kicking off his soaked Converse, he pulled the rough blankets up over him, filling his lungs with their fresh laundry smell. Wriggling around, he tried to get comfortable but the stiff canvas was so hard he might as well have been sleeping on the barn’s stone floor. Lying flat on his back, Ru tried to ignore the ache creeping through his lower back, along his spine, into his shoulders, rising into his neck, as he did his best to focus on the deep relaxation exercises he’d learnt from a Californian spirituality and yoga guru on the internet called Starburst. He shifted and his neck cricked.
“Load of old bollocks,” he muttered, closing his eyes for a moment, and just a moment, because no way was he going to sleep… no way was he going to…
“Rise and shine, Goldilocks.”
Ru’s eyes snapped open. He squealed, as he stared into the barrel of a gun.
CHAPTER THREE
Jake glared at the young guy huddled under the blankets, and shifted the barrel, which was resting in the crook of his elbow. It was only an air gun, but from the wide-eyed look of fear on the trespasser’s face, he wasn’t to know it.
“Who are you and what are you doing here?” Jake’s voice was calm and steady, almost conversational, but his tone carried an edge of steel making it clear nothing other than the straight, unadorned truth would be tolerated. It was a tone that had served him well in the past. Yet he already knew the answer because he’d seen the snow covered abandoned heap of shit, masquerading as a car, askew and blocking the narrow lane at the entrance to the farmhouse soon after he’d started his morning recce.
“Ergghh… Do you think you could not point your gun at me? Please?” The guy’s voice was comically high pitched. For a second Jake wondered if he’d pissed himself in fear. Fuck, he hoped not. Really, really hoped not, because scrubbing away somebody’s, sometrespasser’s, wee, wasn’t his idea of a fun activity.
Jake lowered the gun so it was pointing at the guy’s crotch. The guy was deathly white, yet somehow his skin seemed toblanch even more. Jake smothered his smile. The threat, even implied, that he could shoot his goolies off, was enough to get the stranger talking.
“My car broke down. Last night. I was trying to get to Bobblecombe. Then it started snowing. Didn’t know what to do. Sorry. I’ll leave. Sorry.”
The guy pushed the blankets down as he gabbled. Jake said nothing, only noting with relief that there wasn’t, after all, a wet patch. Trying to get up, the stranger’s feet got caught in the blankets and he tumbled to the ground in a heap. Wriggling around in his efforts to free himself, he only managed to get more knotted up.
Jake rolled his eyes. With his free hand, he grabbed hold of the guy’s sweatshirt, hauled him to his feet, and the blankets fell away.
