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Jack pauses and glances over at me in the fuzzy dark. ‘Yeah, I love her to bits, but there’snothingromantic between me and Jess, Millie.’
I nod. So hard, it’s a wonder how my head is still attached to my shoulders. ‘Oh. Cool. Cool.’
‘Cool?’ Jack smiles to himself but says nothing else, and I look ahead, feel his eyes on me, and we both laugh. A flurry of loaded, cheek-aching laughter.
‘OK.’ I cover my face with my hands. ‘OK, let’s move on, shall we? Nice and swiftly. Next subject.’
Jack laughs. ‘OK, next subject. Um. Geography? Science and nature? Match these sounds to the animals they belong to?’
We continue to drive, a blur of street lights in raindrops on the window, just us and the music and this .?.?. atmosphere. This electric, thick atmosphere I sort of want to bottle; keep as a memory. It’s like there is so much unsaid in this car, so many words, but on a frequency only we can both privately feel, rather than hear.
Twenty minutes later, we’re deep in winding country roads, the headlights of Jack’s car our only light.
‘Well, this is extremely mysterious, Jack,’ I say quietly, as Jack slows, indicates and turns into a farm track.
‘It’s meant to be,’ he says.
A rectangle of a lit-up sign appears amongst thick overgrowth in the dark.
‘Stambourne Farm,’ I read. The sign is old, blistered wood, but the lettering is freshly painted. We’re in a tiny country lane, nothing but thick fields, crops like bristles in the dark. In any other situation, I would feel nervous, want to turn back, but this is exciting. And I feel safe with Jack. I always, always feel safe with Jack.
The car bumbles down the rocky track road in the dark. In the distance, two squares of orange light wobble into view. A farmhouse, with the lights on downstairs. To think just half an hour ago, I was leaving my flat, having been in bed withBelow Deckand my new Christmas project, and now .?.?. Now we are, quite literally, in the middle of nowhere. An idyllic, slightly spooky country farm. And I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.
‘Here’ll do,’ says Jack, stopping at the side of a large courtyard of outbuildings and sheds. The farmhouse itself, is huge. Rugged and grey-stoned. The sort of place you’d draw, as a kid. A chimney, smoking, windows with lead diamonds in the glass.
‘We’re here, then.’
Jack nods. The ambient rumble of the engine now off, the silence in the car between us almost deafening. I can hear my pulse in my ears. ‘Any ideas yet?’ he asks.
I shake my head. ‘None. I thought for a minute you might be taking me out on the boat.’
‘You can always come out with me on the boat.’ He smiles. ‘But even I wouldn’t recommend a dinghy at night. And that’s from a cocky sailor.’
Jack flashes a grin, and gets out of the car. I open my own door, but he meets me there, opens it the rest of the way, and I step out onto the cold, hard gravelly ground.
Jack smiles down at me. ‘Still no ideas?’ he asks, our bodies just inches apart in the chilly, silent night. No sounds, except rustling leaves, and a faint whir of the distant, distant motorway.
‘Erm .?.?. immersiveBlair Witch Projectexperience?’
‘Puking on beds,Blair Witch Project.?.?.’ Jack says, closing the car door behind me. ‘The bar you’ve set for my romantic ideas is questionable.’
Romantic.
Is that what this is then? An actual romantic gesture? For .?.?. me?
Jack puts his phone to his ear, the light of it illuminating his handsome face, turning his eyelashes to spun sugar. ‘Just a sec.’
It smells amazing out here. Of wet, mulched dirt, of woodsmoke, of .?.?. something fragrant. Mint, I think. Fresh, wild mint.
Something snaps in the darkness. I look at Jack, with wide, unblinking eyes, and make a comic-book grimace of my mouth, and Jack smiles.
‘Where are we?’ I whisper. My words make clouds in the night.
Jack holds a finger to his lips, his eyes on mine in the dark.
‘You sure it’s not theBlair Witchthing?’ I tease. ‘You can tell me. I’ll try to pretend to enjoy myself—’
‘Hey!’ he suddenly says into the phone. ‘Yep. Yeah, we’re outside now. OK. OK, great.’ He hangs up and looks at me.
