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EVA: No flooding to the houses, either. Roads are a little dicey but it’s mostly downed trees and branches. We’ll come out when Mother Nature is over her bitch fit to clear it.
ME: Thank you. Do you have signal at the hotel?
EVA: Not a lot, why?
ME: Can you call me so Miles can speak to his grandpa?
ADDY: We can try, but he’s fine. We’ll make sure he’s ok. Also took Bertha Hawthorne and Clive Chambers just in case.
ADDY: Tell miles we’re good, losing signal, ttyl
Her quick switch from perfect grammar to some kind of internet talk threw me for a second before I understood what she was trying to tell me.
Right.
“The flooding hasn’t reached Bramble Lane so he and your house are fine, but there’s no power or hot water,” I said, setting down my phone. “They’ve taken him, the cat, and a couple of neighbours to the hotel. They have a generator there for emergencies so he’ll be able to keep warm at the very least.”
Miles’ shoulders dropped, and I almost saw the stress leave his body as my words sank in.
His grandfather was safe. He was okay. He was dry.
The demon cat could eat.
“Thank you.” Miles cleared his throat. “I appreciate you doing that. Your friends, too. They didn’t have to.”
“No, they didn’t, but they did anyway. Because that’s what we do out here in the country.” I pushed the blanket from my legs and scooted to the edge of the sofa. “I’m not sure how you did things where you used to live, or if you had a community like we do, but we don’t leave anyone out in the cold. If someone needs help, they get help, whether it’s a cup of sugar or evacuation from a storm.” I stood, tentatively putting weight on my sore ankle. “We look after our own out here, Miles. No matter who they are, and whether the people we’re helping like us or not.”
I held his gaze for a moment longer before I broke the contact and limped out of the library to head to the nearest room with a toilet.
And I hoped immensely that maybe, just maybe, he might have learnt a little lesson this evening.
***
Due to the lack of power, we’d spent much of our evening lugging mattresses into the library. While the sofas were comfortable to sit on, they weren’t the best for sleeping, and Miles was far too tall to sleep on them at any rate.
I’d had to reluctantly let him into my bedroom when it became glaringly obvious that I was only good for carrying pillows—not even duvets, lest I fall over them and hurt myself again.
I was, apparently, a little liability.
I wholeheartedly agreed with his observation there, for what it was worth.
We’d spent the evening sharing fire duties, although admittedly Miles had gotten up more times than me. It wasn’t for lack of trying, more a lack of him letting me do it. I liked to think it was because of my little pep talk earlier.
I liked to think a lot of things that weren’t true, okay?
Like that it would stop raining soon.
Unfortunately, the forecast showed that would not happen. The rain was set to stay for at least another twenty-four hours, which meant this forced proximity with Miles wasn’t going to end anytime soon.
As long as the rain fell, the flood waters would rise, and the roads would become more and more impassable with every inch that accumulated.
We could be here for bloody days if it didn’t stop.
I did not want to be here for days with Mr. Grumpy over there.
I suspected he relished the idea of being here with me even less, given we hadn’t spoken a word to one another for two hours.
Instead of talking, we’d laid in relative silence. I’d put my book down an hour ago while he’d still been sitting on his mattress reading by the firelight. It was the only source of light we had since we’d blown out the candles after checking the weather forecast—we’d been lucky to get enough signal to catch a video of the forecast.
Granted, Miles had been hanging over the staircase banister rather precariously to hold the signal, but still.
The point remained.
We were stuck.
I rolled onto my side and stared at the window. The curtains were closed, but there was a slither of space where the drapes didn’t meet. I couldn’t see a thing, but I stared at it long enough that I could hear nothing but the rain pelting against the glass.
It was weirdly soothing.
Although I did rather wonder if that was the fire and not the rain.
I sighed. Why did these storms always throw out the power? I could charge my phone, but I had to be conservative with the power bricks. There really was no telling how long it would take to restore the electric, especially if the reason for this was a downed power cable.
