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‘I hate you,’ Aldo shouted at Trey. ‘You don’t like me. You only pretend to. Nobody likes me.’ Tears mingled with the water on Aldo’s face, his body shuddering with more than the cold. He didn’t look explosive any more. He looked devastated.
‘I do like you, Aldo. You know that’s true,’ Trey said, but he sounded weary and tense. And not all that convincing.
Hug him, Trey, that’s all you have to do to convince him.
She tried to transmit the suggestion telepathically while controlling her own urge to hug her brother. She wasn’t the Aldo Whisperer any more. So she’d have to wait for Trey to figure out the obvious.
But Trey didn’t budge, or say anything, clearly at a loss as he watched Aldo shiver.
So she knelt down herself and whispered, ‘We both like you, Aldo. How about I give you a hug to prove it?’
Her brother looked up, his wobbly chin a dead giveaway. But she could see the suspicion. She braced herself for the rejection she deserved.
She’d made fun of his ‘baby ways’ so many times in the past few years he probably didn’t trust her. The guilt over each one of those throwaway barbs jabbed into her as her brother’s gaze rose to Trey, his chin still quivering alarmingly.
The knowledge it was Trey whom he wanted a hug from hurt. Trey, who in the space of three months had made an effort to become Aldo’s friend, his confidant, the guy Aldo looked up to like a big brother. Instead of his real big sister.
But Trey stood up and then remained standing, stiff and distant by her side.
Eventually, Aldo’s gaze slid back to her. And he dipped his chin. It wasn’t a proper nod. She guessed he didn’t want to risk one, in case she was only joking and used this moment to mock him.
The urge to apologise for all the mean things she’d said to her brother over the past few years was swift and fairly agonising. But she didn’t give in to it. Because for once she realised this wasn’t actually about her.
Standing, too, she took the towel from Trey, swept it round her brother’s shoulders and tugged him into her arms. He stood stiffly. His head was nearly to her chin now. He’d gotten so much bigger than the last time she’d done this. But still his body felt achingly familiar. The smell of kid sweat and the brackish scent of the Serpentine fresh on his skin triggered the phantom hint of the baby smell she had once adored. She remembered the weight of him on her tummy in their old flat in Hackney, the squelching sound as he chewed on his bottle and tugged on her hair, totally absorbed while she read Harry Potter—even though he was way too little to tell the difference between a Horcrux and a Muggle.
‘I like you, Aldo. I like you a lot,’ she whispered into his wet hair.
She wasn’t sure he’d heard her, until his body softened and his shoulders dropped. The guilt slammed into her, like a gigantic wave knocking her off her feet. But then Aldo’s hands settled on the small of her back, chilly despite the warm day. And the wave receded, tugging her back onto dry land. She tightened her arms round her brother’s shoulders, silently thanking him for being brave enough to risk ridicule. And hug her back.
Trey cleared his throat. He was staring at them both, his face clouded by an emotion she couldn’t read. But one thing was definite, he didn’t look anywhere near as confident as usual.
He mouthed the word ‘thanks’.
She nodded, wondering what the no-hugging thing was all about, then jotted it down on her ever-growing list of Trey enigmas to investigate at a later date.
Chapter 12
‘Why not admit it, we’re hopelessly lost.’
‘We are not lost, oh voice of doom.’ Luke pointed vaguely across the stream that ran alongside the dusty former logging track and adjusted the map. ‘I think it’s this way.’
‘I think isn’t specific enough.’ Halle trudged on, ignoring her companion’s latest stupid suggestion. She slapped at her neck, not sure whether the sting was another trickle of sweat or the carnivorous insect that had already feasted on her and was now coming back for dessert.
The jet lag had slammed into her like an eighteen-wheeler yesterday afternoon at approximately three p.m.—for the third day running. So she’d left Luke typing away industriously on his laptop and crashed out. Only to wake up at precisely 4.10 a.m. this morning. It was now eleven. And she was ready to face-plant again. Unfortunately, that was impossible because she appeared to be on a ten-hour scenic hike to nowhere. With a man who didn’t know how to read a map.
So far their ‘extreme bonding experiences’ had been fairly harmless, but just strenuous enough to get her sleeping like the dead—until she woke up before dawn. But she should have asked their perky ‘personal concierge’, Bill, a lot more questions when he had said the word ‘hike’ this morning. Unfortunately, she’d gotten completely fixated on the word ‘bears’ instead in his opening spiel.
He’d led them to a brand-new SUV and then spent the next half hour droning on about the fascinating culture of the Appalachians and the wide variety of flora and fauna in the Smoky Mountains National Park while driving them thirty miles up Old State Highway 73. During the journey, she’d simply assumed ‘hike’ in the US vernacular probably translated as a long drive and a very short walk. Turned out it meant a longish drive and an even longer walk. In baking-hot weather, with only a backpack full of supplies and an idiot for company.
‘Wait for me, dammit,’ she shouted as Luke disappeared into the overgrown trail ahead. ‘What makes you think it’s this way?’ she demanded as he stopped ahead of her.
Time to be proactive. Clearly, slavishly following Luke isn’t working.
‘Because I am the keeper of the map.’ The dappled sunlight cast his face into harsh relief as she drew level, breathing heavily. ‘Why didn’t you tell them you were so unf
it?’ he murmured. ‘They would have organised something less strenuous.’
His T-shirt stuck to his chest in damp patches, emphasising the sculpted contours of muscle and bone.
