‘Goodnight, my darling Gert,’ Henry says, opening the hotel room door for me. ‘Let’s have a proper talk about things soon, okay?’
‘Of course. Okay. Goodnight then, Hen.’
As I shuffle out of his room my heart deflates with disappointment that I’m already going back to my own room. I wasn’t even with Henry for an hour. And while Henry clearly doesn’t like River, and is definitely a little jealous, he doesn’t seem entirely out of his mind about the fact I’m here with him.
I softly open the door to my room to find River fully clothed and asleep – not outdoors beneath the stars, but on the bed we agreed I would be sleeping in alone. I sigh.Midsomer Murders, despite all the murdering, is a real relaxer of a TV show. And, judging from the three full-size empty plates on the tray by the door, he’s eaten enough room service to put him into a food coma.
Our room doesn’t have a sofa like Henry’s next door, only the chaise longue, still where River left it out on the balcony, and there’s no way I’m sleeping beneath the stars. So, grabbing a few fluffy pillows to separate us and another blanket to cover myself, I climb as quietly as I can into the opposite end of the bed so that River and I are topped and tailed.
After the intense emotion of the day, I fall into an immediate sleep filled with uneasy dreams in which I’m standing in the middle of an everlasting hospital corridor, completely alone. In the dream I shout for Henry to come and help me out of the hospital.
He doesn’t answer.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
I wake up, a large hand resting lightly on my shoulder, shaking me softly.
‘Ugh,’ I mumble, mouth dry, breath not ideal. ‘What time is it?’
‘Six thirty a.m.’
My stomach lurches in panic and I scramble up, completely disorientated. ‘Is Josie okay?’
‘What?’
It takes me a moment to realise where I am, who I am, who is here and who is not here. I clear my throat.
‘Oh, sorry. Nothing. I mean, is something wrong?’
River’s eyes narrow. ‘Why would anything be wrong?’
I grab my phone and hold it up to my nose. ‘Um, because it’s six thirty a.m.?’
‘I thought I’d let you lay in a while,’ River says, benevolently.
‘So, there’s not an emergency?’
‘What are you talking about? Of course there ain’t an emergency. You think I’d be standing here chitter-chattering if there were an emergency?’
I slide on my glasses to see River in high-definition and wearing clean clothes – a checked red and grey flannel shirtand one of the pairs of jeans in need of fixing, the one missing a back pocket. His hair is tousled and slightly damp, stubble now verging on beard territory. Without his Stetson and dressed in this specific shirt he looks like one of those TikTok lumberjacks who have a million followers (with not one of those followers actually interested in the wood that’s being cut). He’s holding out a glass of water for me. As I take it from him, I notice the light scent of coffee on his breath.
‘Wait …’ I croak. ‘How long have you been awake?’
River shrugs. ‘About an hour or so.’
I screw up my face. ‘Why?’
‘I slept in awfully late the last couple of days – I must have been exhausted, what with the wholewhere the fuck am I and how the fuck do I get back?thing. But usually I wake with the dawn. Why? Do younotusually wake with the dawn?’
I shake my head and thirstily gulp down the water he gave me. ‘No, I most definitely do not wake with the dawn. Especially on a Saturday.’ I place the empty glass onto the side table and sink my head back into the soft cottony pillows, covering a huge yawn with my hand. ‘I thank you for thinking of me, River, but I believe I will be going back to sleep now.’
‘Nope,’ River chides, plonking down onto the end of the bed, the weight of him meaning that I sort of bounce about a bit. I sit up with a huff.
‘Nope?’
‘Nope. We need to get to work.’ River folds his arms across his chest and lifts his chin. ‘Clearly, last night did notbring the success we’d hoped for with Henry.’ He indicates my presence in the bed with an annoying flourish.
I pinch the bridge of my nose and groan. ‘I already told you, River. Henry and I are more than sex.’
