I’m telling myself not to panic, but my body isn’t listening. My breathing is too fast, too loud, so I’m struggling to make out any sounds. Archie could be calling my name and I wouldn’t hear over my gasping. I can’t even hear the stream any more.
I don’t know how long I’ve been wandering aimlessly around the woods, but it feels like an awfully long time and I’ve given up calling Archie’s name. I should have stayed put and waited for him to retrace his steps once he realised we’d somehow become separated. He obviously knows his way around the woods, but I’ve made his job harder by ambling around. Should I stop now? Stay where I am and hope he locates me?
I stop, crying out as I hear a loud snap over my roaring breaths. My breathing becomes even more erratic, my pulse a booming beat in my ears even as I realise it was just a large twig snapping underfoot. I place a hand on my chest as I force myself to take deep, calming breaths. I’m really not an outdoorsy type and I’m not particularly keen on the dark right now.
‘Archie?’ I try again, calling his name loud and clear, my ears straining for a response.
Nothing.
What if Archie isn’t even in the woods any more? He could have made his way back to the castle, assuming I’d done the same. He’ll come back for me, though. He’ll get help. Right? I’m sure he will. Alice says he’s a gentleman and I haven’t seen anything to suggest otherwise (apart from ditching Francelia and the bloke wanting business advice, but that was understandable under the circumstances).
My breathing starts to calm. Archie will come back for me. He will find me. He’ll bring help if necessary. But now my breathing is at a more normal rate, I can hear something else. A rapid, rhythmic clicking sound. My arms wrap themselves around my body and I realise what the sound is; it’s me. I’m producing the clicking sounds as my teeth chatter together. I am, I realise, bloody freezing. My hair is still wet and I’m wearing nothing but a damp swimsuit under a thin cover-up. If Archie doesn’t hurry, he’ll find me frozen to the spot, though at least I’ll have an actual purpose at Carolyn’s wedding in the form of an ice sculpture.
‘Archie?’ My throat stings as I cry out as loudly as I possibly can. I listen intently. Nothing.
I can’t wait here, wet and shivering and welcoming hypothermia. I need to find my own way out of the woods. Pick a direction and keep moving until I emerge from the trees. Once I’m in the clearing, I’ll be able to find the castle easily – it’s enormous and difficult to miss, even in the dark.
I step gingerly, my hands held out in front of me, eyes bulging in an attempt to see better. It’s hard to tell if I’m going in a straight line, but I take it slowly, concentrating. One foot in front of the other, only stepping off course when I encounter tree trunks or large roots. My jaw is aching from the chattering, but I try to put it to the back of my mind. The sooner I’m out of the woods, the sooner I can warm up.
My pace quickens when I spot a light ahead. Is it Archie, returned with a torch? I call out his name, over and over again as I race towards it, stumbling and slipping in my flip-flops in my haste. I feel twigs and foliage scratching against my ankles and calves, but I press on, my breath rasping from the exertion and my cries as I call out to Archie.
The light grows larger and larger as I tear through the woods and although it dawns on me that it can’t be the beam of a torch, I continue to careen towards it. Light means civilisation. I am rescued! I am not going to freeze out here. I am not going to be eaten by wolves (which, though ridiculous, has been playing on my mind).
I make it to the edge of the woods, still calling out to Archie as best as I can through my ragged breathing. I can see a cottage ahead, the glow from its windows creating the light I’d seen. I don’t care if that cottage is made of gingerbread and there’s a wicked witch inside. I’m so cold, I’d happily hop into the boiling pot on the fire.
‘Hey!’ A pair of arms envelops me, bringing me to an abrupt stop. Archie! Oh, thank God! I wrap my arms around him, leaning my head against his chest as I try to control my breathing.
‘I knew you’d come back for me,’ I gasp. ‘Thank you.’ I slump against Archie, letting him take my weight. My legs have turned to jelly from the run and I’m feeling a bit weak and emotional, which isn’t like me at all.
‘Come on, let’s get you inside,’ Archie says, except it isn’t Archie at all. I’m suddenly aware of the bulk of the man I’m clinging to. Where Archie is lean (some may say slightly skinny), this guy is broader, more solid. I leap away, crossing my arms over my body in an attempt to cover up as much of it as possible. I peer at the man in the dark and my heart sinks when I recognise the miserable face of gardener Tom. I’d rather my rescuer was the wicked witch in the gingerbread house.
‘You’re freezing,’ he says and I’m about to shake my head and argue his point when I realise my whole body is trembling and my teeth are chattering so hard I’m in danger of grinding them down to stumps. My arms, I now see, are covered in goose pimples.
‘My cottage is just there.’ He points ahead at the little cottage which provided my beacon. It looks so cosy and warm…
‘I need to get back to the castle.’ My voice is wobbly due to the teeth-chattering situation. ‘I need to let Archie know I’m okay.’ I turn back towards the woods, which seem even more menacing from the outside. ‘Oh God, he might still be in there.’
‘Archie will be fine.’ Tom starts to stride towards the cottage, flicking a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure I’m following, which I am, but at a more cautious pace. ‘He knows the woods like the back of his hand. We spent enough time in there as kids.’
‘He’ll think I’m still in there, though.’
Tom pushes open the door of the cottage and I’m sure I can feel the heat from several paces away. ‘I’ll phone over to the castle, see if he’s there. If not, I’ll go out with a torch and look for him.’
‘Thank you.’ I step into the cottage, almost weeping with relief at the instant warmth. The door leads straight into a tiny living room furnished sparsely with a cracked brown leather sofa set out in front of a log burner. The only other pieces of furniture are a chaise longue sitting beneath a small window and a claw-footed coffee table in the centre of the room. The ceiling is low and crossed with original beams, but the space, painted a bright white, feels cosy rather than claustrophobic.
‘This is nice,’ I say, teeth still rattling, but Tom doesn’t thank me for my pleasantry. Instead, he kicks the front door shut, making me jump out of my skin.
‘What the hell were you doing out in the woods dressed like that?’ He’s striding over to the kitchenette squeezed into the far side of the room. It only takes a couple of steps. ‘Or should I take a wild guess?’
My jaw drops as heat – somehow – fills my face. He thinks Archie and I were having a fumble out there! The cheeky, presumptuous…
There’s a large mirror hung on the chimney breast and I catch sight of my appearance. I’m wearing next to nothing and my hair has started to dry and is sticking up in all directions, resembling a bird’s nest. I look very much like somebody who has been enjoying a bit of alfresco sex in the woods.
‘Have you heard of a little thing called hypothermia?’ Tom grabs the kettle and fills it with water before practically slamming it down on the counter. I’ve never seen somebody flick a switch with such venom.
‘I didn’t mean to get lost out there.’ My chin juts out. ‘Have you ever heard of a little thing called an accident?’
Tom snorts as he grabs a mug from one of the cupboards. ‘You accidentally went out into the woods without your trousers? Or did you accidentally leave them behind?’
My hands are curled into fists by my side. I want to tell him to go fuck himself so badly, but I also need him to help me find Archie.
‘We’d been swimming and decided to go for a walk.’ I don’t mention the ditching Francelia part; I’ve already been painted in a bad light and there’s no need to make it worse. ‘We somehow got separated in the dark.’ I cross the tiny room to peer out of the window into the darkness. ‘I’m really worried about Archie.’
‘He’ll be fine, honestly. Archie can take care of himself.’ I can hear a spoon rattling against a cup, but I’m still watching for any sign of movement outside. Tom’s voice has lost a lot of its edge, but I still feel like a chastened child. ‘Sit down. I’ll phone across to the castle now.’
I turn to look at the sofa and then down at my damp clothes. Tom rolls his eyes as he strides towards me with the mug.
‘Don’t worry, I’m not precious about my sofa.’ He hands me the mug, which is filled with frothy hot chocolate. ‘Sit. Drink. I’ll be back in a minute.’ He strides – can he not walk like a normal person? – across the room and disappears up a flight of open-tread stairs. I perch on the sofa and take a tentative sip of the hot chocolate, which is both warm and comforting. I’m still shivering, but not quite so fiercely.
I take a look around the room while I wait for Tom to return. Though it’s minuscule, it’s been decorated to enhance the space. The large mirror above the log burner tricks the mind into thinking it’s much roomier, and the spotlights and floor lamps flood the room with light. Though the walls are blank, there are lots of little touches of colour around the room: the teal curtains at the window and matching scatter cushions, the terracotta pillar candles on the mantelpiece, the burnt-orange rug on the polished floorboards, the prints on the wall. The interior of the cottage doesn’t match its gloomy owner at all.
‘It’s okay.’ Tom bounds down the stairs and strides back into the room. ‘Archie’s back at the castle. He thought you might have made your way back there. Alice has been worried sick about you.’ He gives me a reproachful look and I turn away.
‘It wasn’t my fault. We were walking and then… I was on my own. I don’t know how it happened.’
‘I’m not sure what else you expect when you’re wandering around the woods in the pitch-black.’ Tom sighs and crosses to the kitchen in three strides. ‘Anyway, I’ve put some dry clothes on my bed for you. They should fit.’ I tilt my head as I look at the bulk of the man, my eyebrows knitting. I highly doubt it. ‘The bedroom’s straight ahead, and the bathroom’s the first door on the right. I’ll take you over to the castle once you’ve warmed up.’
I straighten in my seat. ‘I can find my own way there, thank you.’
‘Really?’ Tom snorts and leans against the kitchen counter. God, he’s annoying. I have no idea why Alice was keen to see him again. He’s a turd. A great, big steaming…
‘Like I said, the bedroom’s up there.’ He points towards the stairs. ‘There’s a brush in the top drawer of the bedside table.’ He smirks as his eyes flick up towards my bird’s nest hair. ‘In case you need it.’
I glare across at him, but make my way up to the bedroom. He may be an arsehole, but I would like to change into something dry that doesn’t smell of chlorine. The bedroom, like the rest of the cottage, is tiny, with the double bed taking up most of the space. A wardrobe stands against one wall, and I’m greeted by my dishevelled appearance in the mirrored sliding doors. The full-length view looks much worse and I cringe at the sight.
Turning away from the horror show, I find a small pile of clothes on the bed and decide to take them through to the bathroom, where there will hopefully be a lock on the door. There are two more rooms upstairs, but I follow Tom’s instructions and find the bathroom, my mouth forming a large ‘O’ of surprise. It’s gorgeous. Glossy, pale-grey tiles cover the walls and floor, and there’s a maple wood-panelled corner bath and matching, mirror-fronted cabinets. With yet more spotlights and an array of candles around the bath and along the tops of the cabinets, the room looks like a mini spa rather than the bathroom in a rather small cottage. I suppose you’d want to relax after a hard day of digging and mowing and whatever else it is Tom does around here at the castle.
After locking the door behind me, I peel off my cover-up and swimsuit and pull on the pair of black jogging bottoms Tom has provided. They fit surprisingly well – in fact, they’re a bit snug around my waist. All becomes clear when I unfold the T-shirt. These clothes don’t belong to Tom, unless he really is ‘100% Wifey Material’ as the T-shirt suggests.
Of course there’s a wife. I should have known as soon as I stepped into the cottage. Men don’t choose teal curtains – and they certainly don’t match their scatter cushions. And then there’s the gorgeous bathroom and all those candles. His wife has impeccable taste when it comes to interior design (if not men). I’m not sure how I feel about wearing a stranger’s clothes, but then she probably won’t be too keen when she discovers I’ve borrowed them.
I return to the bedroom once I’ve changed so I can run that brush through my hair, as it really is in a state. There are two bedside tables – one on each side of the bed – so I plump for the nearest one. It’s empty, apart from a shiny slip of grey and white paper. My fingers, almost of their own accord, pick it up and I’m greeted by the grainy image of Tom Jr. So, he has a wife and a baby on the way.
Placing the scan photo back, I find the brush in the drawer of the opposite table and tidy myself up as best I can before gathering up my damp clothes and returning to the living room.
‘Ready to go?’ Tom asks as soon as I step back into the living area. Without waiting for a reply, he strides across the room and yanks open the front door. He clearly cannot wait to get rid of me and, to be frank, the feeling is entirely mutual.