Sleep wasn’t easy last night. Despite the whiskey, and the hot shower, and the rather comfortable bed at the B&B. I had laid awake, listening to the sounds of the house for quite some time. Every creak, every noise, I heard. Around one, Bernard, Marcel and Johnathan arrived back. They were quiet, but I heard the front door of the old house open and close, followed by the muffled boot steps on the hardwood floor. I hadn’t heard Tom go to his room, but I’m sure he was there.
We took the two cars—Bernard and I in the SUV, and Tom, Marcel and Johnathan wedged in the tiny automatic they arrived in. It’s a 45 minute drive from the town, but it’s a pleasant one. Bernard does his normal thing, remarking on the surrounding area and the nearby buildings. I keep quiet, lost in thoughts and the huge space around me.
Alwinton is mostly ruins. There’s huge, expansive green land, dotted with old, rust and orange dappled autumn trees. The clouds shifting through the sky leave the landscape mottled with shadows and then brilliant bright spots. It’s a moving, scenic place and it nearly buzzes with a calm and somewhat fantasy-like atmosphere. Vines cover the main standing wall of Alwinton, ivy green foliage covering speckled gray rough stone.
“This is perfect.” Johnathan breathes, pulling out a rather impressive camera. He starts wandering through the ruins, taking photographs. Bernard and Tom follow, walking carefully through fallen stone and overgrown half walls.
“You’ve never been here before?” Marcel asks, glancing back at me as we walk. Instead of going through the castle ruins, we start walking around the grounds.
“No. First time. To be honest, my boss Mary Heath is practically an expert on Alwinton. But she was unable to come. I know more about the surrounding area.” I say. I’ve dressed warmly in a dark blue and teal flannel shirt, a thick black knit cardigan, jeans, and knee high riding boots. The men are dressed similarly in boots and jeans, with light jackets or sweaters on top. Bernard wears a sweater vest under a tweed sports coat, and a cap firmly over his light hair. Tom’s wearing a black quilted jacket over a tshirt, and jeans. His russet hair blows in the wind, and I can see his tall, lean frame quite a distance off, picking through some rubble.
“Ah, I spoke with Mary on the phone.” Marcel nods. “Bernard has been gracious enough to take us farther, up toward the coast. I know that wasn’t on the original itinerary, but over drinks last night we discussed some fantastic sounding sights. I think it will be perfect for what we have in mind.”
“Sounds great.” I nod. I have to be back in London in a day, but I’m sure Bernard has a plan.
We spend much of the afternoon wandering a bit aimlessly through the area. Marcel and Johnathan chat about set ideas, with Tom nodding along. It’s interesting to hear their chatter—to see how they are planning to use the area. Tom fills Bernard and I in on the story of the film they’re making, and I listen carefully, despite myself. Tom’s a fantastic story teller, and though I don’t want to, I can easily get lost in his voice. It’s not the first time I’ve been mesmerized by his voice, but this time there’s hundred year old ruins as a backdrop. Still, he doesn’t quite meet my eyes as he talks, and I feel the stony, cool wall between us as real as the old walls nearby.
After a few hours at Alwinton, we hop in the cars and drive a few miles north to another sight. More ruins. More old stone and rubble. It’s beautiful though. The sky has turned from cloudy with breaks of sunlight to just overcast, and it seems to threaten rain any moment.
“Let’s take a look, and then we should be heading out.” Bernard suggests to us, as we begin walking. We grab umbrellas before leaving, knowing that the sky looks ominous. It’s nearing four in the afternoon, and I’m starting to get hungry and tired. I look around, and I don’t seem to be the only one feeling that way. Dark smudges under Tom’s eyes suggest he didn’t get much sleep last night either. And Johnathan rumbles softly about needing a bite to eat soon.
“I hope the rain holds off a bit. The roads are not the best when it starts pouring.” Marcel sighs, looking up. As if on cue, it starts to drizzle, but only just a bit. Johnathan begins snapping a few pictures, and we look around just long enough to get a feel for the place, sticking closer to the cars than we did at Alwinton.
“Darling, are you okay to do the drive home?” Bernard walks over to where I’m standing, huddled under an umbrella.
“Sure.” I nod, shivering briefly against the cooling weather.
“Marcel wants to go to the coast, and I’ve offered to extend the trip. Since you and Tom are both headed back to London, I figured you could take the rental and head back.” Bernard nods toward the little jalopy that Tom, Marcel and Johnathan had been carting around in. I take a deep breath.
“Okay.” I feel my stomach tighten, and I wonder if something greater in the universe hates me.
“Are you sure? I can reschedule with Marcel and Johnathan for later. I just figured since we are half way there, and they have the time.” Bernard offers graciously. I shake my head.
“No, I’m fine. Tom and I can make our way back together. No problem.” I smile at Bernard, knowing he’s only trying to do his job.
“Thank you. That works out splendidly then. Apparently Tom needs to be back for rehearsals for the play he’s in. And I know you’ve got to be back to Cleredon.” Bernard smiles, his thoughts elsewhere for a moment. “Please, do say hello to Mary for me.” His smile widens. I laugh and pat his arm.
“Absolutely, Bernard. I’m sure she’ll be delighted to hear from you.” I fudge the truth a bit. I’ll have to get on Mary about Bernard. He’s sweet and smart and absolutely worships her.
It starts raining harder as the men finish up with photos and wandering about. Tom walks over as Bernard discusses the next route with Marcel and Johnathan. His hair is wet, slicked back from the rain, and the bottoms of his jeans are soaked.
“I hear there’s a bit of a change of plans.” He steps under my umbrella and I tilt it toward him. Up close, his skin is damp and a bit blue with cold. He looks down at me and gives me a tiny smile. I can tell he’s tired, and as if on cue, he yawns rather loudly, covering his mouth with a big, sinewy hand.
“Right. Change of plans.” I say softly. We’ve avoided each other for most of the day, both knowing it’s for the best. Now it looks like we will be secluded in a tiny car together for quite a few hours.
“If we drive straight through, we can be back in London by midnight or a bit later.” Tom says, looking down at the large, rather modern looking digital watch on his wrist. It’s not ideal…making the seven or so hour trip home in one go, but I know neither of us is trying to prolong this. I nod in agreement, and then shiver as the wind picks up.
“We should get going. The weather is turning.” Marcel walks over to the small group, where we are standing between the two cars. We say our goodbyes, shaking hands and giving hugs. It’s been a short trip, but pleasant despite the surprise guest. I grab my bags from Bernard’s car, and throw them into the backseat of the tiny car, next to a small duffel that must be Tom’s. I feel my stomach knot with anxiety as we climb into our separate cars. Tom seems fine with letting me drive, and I’m guessing it’s because he’s looking more and more tired as our day has gone on.
The sanctuary of the tiny car is surprisingly comforting as the rain starts to really pour down. The sky has gone from gray to nearly pitch black, despite it only being a bit before 5. I turn on the wipers and the lights, getting myself acquainted with the little car. Tom turns on the heat, high, and I notice he’s shivering.
“You should take off your jacket if it’s soaked. You’ll get warmer that way.” I say, glancing at him. He nods, and sheds his jacket. He’s only wearing a tshirt underneath, and he turns and starts rifling through his bag in the backseat. His side presses up against me, his shirt riding up high on his side, his bare skin just inches from my face. The interior of the car is rather close quarters, so it’s not something he can really help. I swallow hard and look forward, both hands on the wheel, at 12 and 4.
I turn and blast the heat, the windows steaming for a moment. Tom turns back around, yanking a hoodie out of his bag and tugging it on over his shirt. He glances at me, raising an eyebrow.
“Are you alright to drive? Do you want me to be your navigator?” He asks. I take off my cardigan, getting comfortable as the car starts to warm up. The SUV has already pulled away, taking the other three men off to their next adventure.
“I’ve got it.” I hold up my phone, which has our coordinates plugged in, the screen glowing comfortingly in the near dark of the car.
“Alright.” He puts on his seatbelt, and we’re off.
There’s no radio in the car. Or, there is one, but we don’t get any sort of service out here in the country. The terrible service, combined with the wind and the rain, have my phone cutting out every couple of miles, but I’ve got a good idea where we are going. It’s not all that difficult. It’s mostly one main road I need to follow. We’re quiet, and Tom offers to sing show tunes when we realize there’s no radio, but I squash that quickly with a pointed look.
“How did you sleep last night?” He asks, grasping at conversation. He’s somewhat unable to sit in silence for long. I turn the wipers on high as the rain seems to be coming down in sheets. The road in front of us is completely dark, save for the feeble car headlights.
“Okay.” I say, shrugging. “You?” I glance at him, but then look back at the road. I’m not all that anxious driving in the weather. It’s not as if there’s any other traffic, so I don’t need to worry about hitting anything.
“Terrible.” He murmurs, but then doesn’t elaborate. “How’s Santos?”
“He’s great. He’s the same. Super serious with Cillian.” I sigh softly.
“Good, I’m glad to hear it.”
“Cillian mellows him out. It’s a good thing.” We both laugh and then fall back into a quiet, less tense silence. We seem to have reached a wordless agreement that we will play nice during our drive home. There’s no point in poking a healing wound, and I know neither of us really want to rehash what happened. Not in these close quarters, at least. There doesn’t seem much else to say anyway. Tom yawns softly, and out of the corner of my eye I can see him rest his head back.
“You can nap if you’d like. I’ll wake you up if I need a break.” I offer. I’m feeling generous. Tom makes a noise and then moves around a bit, sitting back in the seat and moving his long legs out as much as he can in the tiny car.
“Thanks. Wake me up when you need to.” He says softly. It doesn’t take long, and then he’s out.
****
At first, I don’t know that I’m lost. For a good hour or so, I’m totally sure I’ve taken the right road. The mostly stone and now mud road we’d been on had forked rather suddenly, and I’d gone on the more straight one, sure it would take us back through the small town we’d stopped in last night. But I was wrong. And everything in the country looks vaguely the same, especially in the dark when it’s raining. Mud, stones, grass, tree, repeat.
Tom’s been asleep the whole time, and for awhile I’ve been lost in my own thoughts. His shoulder bumps against mine in the confined interior of the car, but it’s oddly comforting to have him there, even if unconscious.
I know I’m lost when it’s been just over an hour and the road has gotten rather weird and jagged, and I come to yet another fork, which I know for a fact wasn’t there when we came in. I feel panic rise in my chest, and I look down at my phone, which has been frozen on the same spot for quite some time. Isn’t technology grand? I curse softly, and turn off the screen, knowing it’s no help now. The rain is more of a mist at this point, and it’s settling in rather creepily around the car.
“How long have we been lost?” Tom asks, his voice rough with disuse. I glare at him and then grunt.
“We’re…not…lost.” I blink.
“Liar.” He says, his voice amused. I look at him, and he’s opening his eyes, waking up. His face is calm, and strangely vulnerable, probably due to sleepiness. I’ve seen that face before, and I feel it like a quick punch to the stomach.
“I took the wrong turn, I guess. All these bloody ‘roads’ look the same.” I abruptly stop the car, which launches Tom forward rather suddenly and he smacks his forehead on the windshield with a muffled thump. He curses and then flops back in his seat.
“Sorry.” I put on my hazards, despite knowing we are utterly alone for miles. Tom groans and rubs his head, and then turns to me.
“You could have woken me up.” He offers, his voice annoyed but also amused.
“I didn’t know we were lost until just now.” I grumble. My stomach seems to agree, and it rumbles as well. As if on cue, I hear Tom’s stomach gurgle unhappily. We haven’t really eaten since breakfast, and we’re both starving.
“Okay, let’s switch.” He says, gesturing toward the driver’s seat. I almost refuse, on grounds that I’m perfectly capable of finding our way, but then I realize I’m tired, and cramped, and feeling a bit fuzzy headed with hunger and fatigue.
“Fine.” I sigh, and we get out. We both stretch as we do, the cool, misty night air feels good on my slightly overheated skin. I hear Tom’s soft groan as he unfolds himself from the car, his long arms going up over his head. I stomp around to his side as I stretch my shoulders, and then climb back in. He follows a moment later, adjusting the driver’s seat back as far as it will go to accommodate his long legs.
“Who was sitting here before? A child?” He jokes, and I scrunch up my nose at him.
“Shut up, you string bean.” I huff softly under my breath. Tom laughs, and it seems to break some sort of morose spell that had settled over us. It’s light and airy, and crackles through the air.
“Did you really just call me a string bean?” He grins and puts the car into gear. I shrug, but I’m smiling.
“Perhaps.” This situation could go in two directions, but we seem to have decided to keep it light and amused, and not go on some glum, angry path. Maybe it’s because we both know we’ve still got quite a ways to go until we are back safely in London. Back where we can go back to pretending the other person doesn’t exist.
“Well. Glad we’re five years old.” He starts driving, though I know neither of us knows where we are. I grab my phone, and start fiddling with it, hoping for some sort of signal.
“What if we never get back? I’m starving and if I don’t eat soon I can’t be held responsible for my actions.” I sigh heavily, feeling relieved that Tom is driving. I feel tension in my shoulders that I didn’t know was there, and I tilt my head back and forth to the side to try and ease some of it.
“Oh my god.” He mutters under his breath with mock annoyance. He motions to the back seat. “Well, if you had told me you were lost, then we would be back in the town by now having dinner.”
“Oh sure, I’m so sorry, Mr. GPS. I forgot you’ve got google maps in your brain.” I roll my eyes and Tom reaches over and pinches me right above my waist and below my ribs. I shriek and swat at his hand.
“Stop complaining. Go in my bag. There’s a stash of sweets in there.” He motions to the backseat. I gape at him for a second and then turn quickly, digging frantically through his duffel. Tom chuckles, and then I find what is indeed an entire bag of chocolates.
“Are you kidding? You’re like a tubby child.” I say, but I can’t hide the happiness from my voice.
“Says the girl who’s about to tear through that whole bag.” He gives me a side eye and then holds out a hand. I unwrap a Hershey’s kiss and place it neatly on his palm.
“One for you, the rest for me, thank you.” I smirk at him, and then pop one of the chocolates in my mouth. I moan softly, closing my eyes and settling back into the seat. “Oh lord. Thank you.” I whisper, moaning again. I peak at Tom, and he shifts in the driver’s seat, both hands on the wheel. He doesn’t say anything.
We are quiet again as Tom drives. The wind and rain pick back up, and soon we can’t see more than a few feet in front of the car. I’ve gotten the GPS on my phone to work, and though we are headed toward a town, we’ve gone quite far out of the way. Tom groans and squints as he tries to see through the sheets of rain.
“We’re going to die. I’m going to die in a tiny car in the middle of nowhere, high on chocolate.” I say softly, my voice floating through the pattering of the rain.
“We’re not far from…wherever we’re headed.” He points to the tiny dot on the map on my phone.
“Yes, but then once we get there, it’s eight hours til London.” I huff. Tom makes a noise somewhere between a sigh and a grunt.
“What do you think about staying in the town? Eight more hours in this tin can does not sound appealing. I’m exhausted and that one tiny piece of chocolate is not going to hold me over.” He asks, as we drive up and over a hill. As we clear the top, I can clearly make out the faint lights of buildings. It’s definitely a small town, or maybe just a cluster of buildings. The lights are few and far between, but it’s definitely something.
“I gave you more than one chocolate.” I say softly. We begin driving past a few scattered houses, and then toward what looks like small stores and businesses.
“And yes, I think we should stay.” I sigh, knowing it’s for the best. It’s late, the weather is terrible and I feel exactly as he does. The promise of dinner, a hot shower and bed are far more tempting than another cramped, damp 8 hours in the car.
“Okay, that settles it.” He says, sounding relieved, as he makes a sharp turn past one of the more well lit buildings, pulling into a small parking area by the side of an old stone building with a sign ‘Carnwath Inn’ lit warmly in the rain. A beacon in the night.