Page 62 of Power Moves
There is an awkward moment when I have to clamber into his tent wearing only a towel, and then pass him the towel through the fractionally opened zipper door so that he can have a shower too. Throughout this whole interaction I am highly aware that I am naked, and surely he’s thinking about it too because as I pass him the towel he says, ‘Go through my bag and wear anything you want.’
It feels super weird to go through Archie’s stuff, especially with permission. I’d much prefer to furtively ransack his bag.
His toiletries case is full of manly stuff. Toothpaste, deodorant, condoms. His clothes are just like the ones I remember him wearing at uni: white, grey and navy block colours. I havenever been so grateful he’s so basic. The process of pulling on his briefs is only made bearable because I can convince myself it’s the underwear equivalent of sharing a pair of black Havaianas. These undies are ubiquitous enough to be devoid of personality. If he had silky cartoon-strip boxers I may have vomited.
I select a white T-shirt, a hoodie and a pair of grey trackies, then fold everything else I’ve pulled out from his bag into neat piles. The clothes are way too big for me but covered is better than not covered. The more layers, the better.
Archie comes back from his shower and I decamp to the tent verandah while he changes, trying not to imagine how clothed or unclothed he is. When he announces he’s done, I slowly unzip the tent and climb in. Impressively, we’ve managed to keep it mud-free. Or maybe I just can’t see the mud; Archie’s torch is propped in the corner, casting everything in stark shadows.
‘Better?’ I ask.
He nods. ‘Better. But no regrets.’
‘No regrets,’ I agree, remembering the satisfyingthwackof the mud hitting his cheek. I will cherish that memory for the rest of my life.
‘Do you want to go back?’ he asks.
‘Nah. I can’t be bothered to deal with the mud again. I’ve texted Jessie to tell me when they’re going back to the hotel. I’ll meet them on the bus when they’re ready.’
‘Great,’ says Archie. He rolls out his giant sleeping bag and puffs up his pillow before laying down on them. ‘It’ll be nice to have some company.’
He says it without affectation but I can’t help my eye-roll. His woe-is-me, I’m-so-lonely performance is so transparent. I bet that’s what he says to all his swipe-rights. It’s a pants-removing line.
‘What are we going to do?’ I ask, scanning the roof of the tent as if a drop-down TV might reveal itself. I’d sort my emails but my battery is running low and I need to save it to text Jessie later.
‘Do you need an agenda?’ asks Archie.
‘I’d prefer one.’
‘We could talk?’
‘About what?’
‘Anything.’
My forehead wrinkles. ‘That sounds risky.’
Archie shrugs. ‘Suit yourself.’ He pulls his phone from his pocket and the coloured light bounces over his face, scattering across his jaw, shining over the tiny scar at the end of his eyebrow. From the way he slowly drags his finger down the screen I can tell he’s reading the news instead of checking social media. If I had more battery, I would do the same.
Sitting on the other side of the tent, I fold my legs to my chest and wrap my arms around them. My hair is still wet from the shower. ‘I’m cold,’ I announce.
Archie glances up.
‘Archibald,’ I say in my most saccharine voice. ‘Could I perchance have a bit of the sleeping bag?’
‘Why of course, Millsy,’ Archie replies in his fake-posh voice. ‘It would be my pleasure.’
He unzips his sleeping bag and lays it out flat on the floor of the tent like a rug. I perch my bum on the corner and hugmy knees to my chest again. I feel only marginally warmer. Archie goes back to scrolling.
‘Do you miss your dad?’ I ask abruptly.
Archie looks over, surprised, and lowers his phone.
‘I mean, I know you were a baby when he died,’ I say in a rush, ‘but do you still miss him?’
Archie rolls onto his side to face me, propping himself up on his elbow. His eyes trace mine as if searching for subtext, but there is none. I thought of the question, therefore I asked it.
Part of me flinches internally at my lack of self-control—I’ve always wanted to ask him about his dad but I didn’t necessarily intend to asknow. It just came out. Still, a bigger part of me—the rational part—knows that despite all his fidgeting and leg-jiggling, Archie is careful. He notices tiny details, assesses them and evaluates them. He fills those dark lagoon-eyes with knowledge and information before he speaks. If Archie answers, it will be because he wants to.
