Page 6 of Short Stack 3

Chapter Two

A few hours later finds us outside an old gate in the wall, Bertie gazing around excitedly. His little nose is twitching, so I’m betting that sheep are about. I tighten my grip on his lead.

“This is so exciting,” I offer to Ivo as he fits the key in the gate’s lock.

He looks back at me. “Like camping?”

“Don’t get too far ahead of yourself.”

We’re both flushed with a nice buzz but not drunk. We’d sat over a couple more drinks, chatting easily and eating our way through the family-sized Wotsits bag and some Maltesers that Ivo found. When the sun started to go down and the air was cooler, he proposed a walk.

“You promise there are paths?” I say again.

He rolls his eyes. “Henry, it’s Chatsworth House, not the Congo.”

The gate swings open, and we step through. “Oh, wow,” I say faintly. We’re standing on a broad avenue lined with huge old trees, and in the distance, Chatsworth gleams golden as the last rays of sunshine make its windows sparkle. The sky is a cornflower blue, darkening to navy in the distance, and the air is full of the scent of cut grass. “That’s so pretty.”

“Not as pretty as Chi an Mor .”

I cock my head to one side. “It’s a different beauty. Chi an Mor has a wild magic about it.”

He holds out his hand. “Shall we?”

I grin at him and slide mine into his, feeling the calluses on his fingertips and smelling his cologne. His hair is messy and his eyes warm, and I have one of those flashes of intense love for him. They used to overwhelm me, but now we’re together, I roll with them because I know my love is returned.

We walk along, exchanging nods with the odd jogger and dog walker, but we’re largely alone, and it feels almost magical. A cricket pavilion comes into sight, and I nudge Ivo.

“Maybe we should have a game?”

“Maybe not. I would like you sentient tonight.”

“It wasn’t my fault. Who knew you had to watch out for flying balls at a cricket match?”

“Every cricket spectator, apart from you.”

“I never thought a cricket ball could reach me in the Pimm’s enclosure.” I walk on but stop suddenly when there’s an ominous squelch under my foot. “Oh my god ,” I say faintly. “Ivo, have I stepped into something?”

“What?”

“What have I stepped in?” I groan. “I can’t bear to look.”

He shakes his head, amusement vivid in his face. “You’re more dramatic than Judi Dench.”

He holds my foot up and starts to laugh.

“What is it?” I ask, craning my head around.

“Just a bit of horse poo, Hen.”

“Oh my god ,” I cry, agonised. “These are my Prada trainers.”

That sets him off even more as I twist and turn to see my foot.

“Luckily, the horse shit was mostly dry,” he offers helpfully.

“Please don’t try and make it better. My shoes will never be the same.”

“Come on.”

I take his hand. “Where are we going? Is it to a shoe shop?”

“No, there’s a river down here.”

“So, I can drown myself?” That sends him into floods of hysterics, and I shove him. “Fucker.”

The river runs alongside us now, the water chuckling and gushing over the stones. He pulls me down to a small, sandy ledge. “Stick your foot in.”

“You want me to put Prada leather into water?”

He grins. “Well, it’s either that or horse shit.”

I immediately dip the sole of my shoe in the water and swirl it around until it’s clean. I pull my shoe out and look at it mournfully.

Ivo tuts. “I often wonder how you could have lived your entire childhood in the countryside and have come out so different from Silas, who cheerfully sticks his hand up sheep’s bums.”

“He’s helping them give birth, not copping a feel.”

“And here’s you, who thinks we’re in the Arctic tundra if we go outside Central London.”

“I can’t help being special. And it’s precisely because of my childhood. Everyone was always so appallingly hearty.”

“You were like a beautiful rose on a dung heap, darling.”

“You think you’re helping, but you’re not.”

He laughs, and we turn and wander along, with me occasionally checking my shoes and Bertie sniffing here and there on the end of his long lead. The house looms near, and the big fields in front of it are full of little tents and cabins with flags and bunting swaying cheerfully in the breeze. The scent of barbecue is strong in the air as the people in the caravans make their food. It’s a bright camp with an air of happy industriousness. It’s an incredibly English scene.

“I presume that’s where the trials are?”

Ivo looks up from where he’s skimming stones on the river. “Apparently so.”

“Are we meeting Ralph?”

“No, he’s seeing his sponsors tonight. He’s taking us out for dinner in London in a couple of days to say thank you. Not that the cheque from Vanity Fair isn’t thanks enough.”

He names an amount, and I whistle and rub my hands together. “I’m a kept man.”

“I don’t think there’s a billionaire on this planet who’s wealthy enough to keep you, Hen. Your tailor’s bill would cripple a small country. Anyway, Ralph says for you to name a place.”

“I’ll try and think of somewhere expensive to get my revenge for all the camping.” I turn back to the scene of the trials. “Is it a big event?”

He comes up behind me, sliding his arms around my waist and resting his chin on my shoulder. His body is warm and so familiar against mine. “Yes, there are a lot of good riders on this one. The cross-country is apparently very hard.”

I shudder. “I hated that at school. Always in the cold and the rain. Why couldn’t we do it in a gym?”

“Maybe the clue is in the title. Otherwise, it would be the ‘Across the Floor of the Gym Run’.”

“I used to skive off and go into the village for a drink.” I shudder. “So much mud . Cross country is wank.”

“Well, luckily, it’s the horses doing the running here,” he says, a thread of amusement running through his voice.

We stay still, enjoying the peace and each other until I stir. “Do you miss Chi an Mor ?”

His arms tighten. “What a strange question. No, not at all. I like visiting, but that’s because we’re seeing Silas, Oz, and the kids. It wasn’t my home like yours. Do you miss it more now than you did?”

I contemplate that. “No. I’m the same as you. I like London.” I crane my head to see his face. “ Chi an Mor is peaceful and beautiful, but it was never really home. I suppose the truth is that you’re my home.”

He swallows hard. “And you’re mine.”

“Did you like living there at all?”

He kisses my cheek. “There was only one reason living there was fun, and you were it. You always made it bearable and fun.”

I turn back and sneak a kiss. “And now it’s just fun.”

“Always.”

We stroll along by the side of the river as the day falls away. As the last rays of sun kindle fire in his hair, I fall just a tiny bit more in love with him. If that’s even possible.

Ivo’s soft groan doesn’t wake me, as I’ve been awake for a few hours. He’d drifted off quickly, leaving me to either glare at him or stare in disbelief at our current sleeping quarters.

When we got back to the van, Ivo pushed up the roof of the van to show a narrow opening where we were to sleep. Even Bertie found it too small and decamped to the front seat. We’re sleeping on an air mattress on a board, and I’m currently occupying myself by imagining all the creative punishments I’m going to visit on Seb for actually loaning this vehicle to Ivo.

My other half had promised me a duvet and pillows, but that’s where the luxury ends. I reach up and prod the roof gingerly. It’s not far from my face, giving me the disconcerting feeling that I’m actually bedded down in a coffin. How do people do this regularly and still smile?

Ivo groans again, distracting me, and I look over, concern stirring. In the soft moonlight coming through the window, his forehead is pleated in a frown, his full mouth drawn tight. He tosses his head, his fists clenching. He’s having a nightmare.

“Ivo?” I whisper cautiously. He can sometimes come awake violently, and there isn’t enough space here for that. He’d probably end up clocking me and then suffer endless guilt. “Ivo?” I say again and lay my hand carefully on his arm. I’ve learnt how to perfect my grip — too tight and he thinks I’m the enemy, too gentle and he can’t feel it.

“Darling, it’s me. It’s alright.” He squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head violently like a horse shaking off a fly. His face is covered with sweat. “Ivo, wake up,” I say firmly.

He wakes with a gasp, coming up on his elbows, fists still clenched. I try to edge back while still holding his arm. His eyes are half open. “Henry?” he slurs, his voice thick and his accent very pronounced.

“Yes, darling. It’s me. You’re okay,” I say again. “You’re all okay, baby.”

He slides back down on the pillow, raising his hands to scrub at his eyes. “ Fuck .”

“Bad one?” I slide close, and he immediately wraps himself around me, his head on my shoulder.

“Not good,” he mutters, ever the master of understatement.

I stroke his hair. It’s sweaty, and so is his body pressed so tightly to mine. It’s very warm up here, and the air feels thick.

I make a decision. “Come on.”

He stirs. “Where? Home?”

I snort. “Not right at the moment, no. Follow me.”

I cajole him off the bed and down onto the van’s floor, which proves to be a rather undignified scramble and filled with snorts of laughter as we contort ourselves into odd positions. Bertie comes to attention, looking startled, but when he sees we’re not going for a walk, he settles back in his basket, curling up under his blanket with just the tip of one ear showing.

“What are you doing?” Ivo asks, standing swaying by the front seat. His head is bent slightly to avoid hitting the roof, and he still looks half asleep.

I look up from where I’m searching for the lever that will pull out the double bench seat to make into a bed. I exclaim in triumph as I find it. “I’m getting the bed out. While you were sleeping, I read the van specs. Why do they call it a rock and roll bed? I can’t imagine Liam Gallagher on it.”

He snorts, his face lightening. “I think it is because when you pull the bed out, it rocks and rolls flat.”

“I think I preferred my Liam Gallagher image. Pass me the duvet and pillows, please.” He obliges, and I take them from him, quickly making the bed. I step back. “Get in.”

“Pardon?”

I gesture at the bed. “Our bunk for the night.”

“What about the pop-top bed?”

“I nearly decapitated myself up there earlier when I turned over, it’s surface-of-the-sun hot, and there’s no air. No wonder you had a bad dream. This will be better. In fact, let’s do this.” I slide the van door back, opening it a few inches. Fresh air immediately pours in sweetly from some night-scented flower that grows nearby. “Lovely.”

“Is that safe?”

“I really think we’re okay on this site. Most of the people seem to be in their seventies. If a violent pensioner attempts to break in, we’ll just set Bertie on them.”

“Is that the dog who’s currently snoring under a blanket?”

“He’s the sensible one in our family. I think we’ll sleep with our heads at the bottom of the mattress.”

“Why?”

“You’ll see.” I slide under the duvet, and he joins me, curling up with a tired sigh that hurts my heart. “Come here,” I whisper, and he folds around me, clutching me close with his head on my chest. I stroke his hair back, letting the repetitive movements soothe him, and within minutes, his body relaxes against mine, the scent of his skin so familiar.

“Look,” I say softly, turning his face to look out of the van door.

He obeys, and then his eyes widen. “Wow. That is beautiful , Henry.”

The sky is a dark blue velvet and full of stars so big and bright that I could reach out and pluck one from its sky nest. I would give it to Ivo like a flower, I think whimsically. “They’re so bright,” I murmur. “We don’t see this in London with all the light pollution.”

He peers at them, his eyes busy, and I’m pleased to see that the panic from his dream has cleared a little. “Can you name any?”

“Eh? Oh, I think that’s Orion’s Belt.” I point to the constellation I’m talking about. “That’s the only one I know, though.”

“I think that one is Perseus, and that one is Andromeda.”

I look at where he’s pointing. “How the hell do you know that?”

“ Clash of the Titans was on TV last week. At the end, they did the stars.”

“God, I remember that film. An actress got her boobs out.” I shake my head. “My father acted like he’d been cattle prodded.”

“I wish he had been.”

I snort and fall silent for a minute before stirring. “Did you know that Perseus turned Andromeda’s uncle to stone with the head of Medusa?”

“Accidentally?”

“No, deliberately.”

“Their family occasions must have been even more epic than ours.” I start to laugh, and he joins me before snuggling close. “This is nice,” he says, and I’m glad to hear sleep tugging at his words. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“And don’t worry, Henry. I will protect you from the ducks if they rampage through the van’s open door.”

My eyes fly open at his sly words. “Oh my god , is that a thing they do?” I gasp, and he starts to laugh helplessly. “Twat,” I say with deep feeling, but it just makes him laugh harder.