Page 20 of The Retreat

It was the kind of course Imogen had found hilarious from the outside. Contrived obstacles, muddy camaraderie, some poor sod dislocating their shoulder on a rope swing. Now she was in it, soaked and scraped and irritable.

They were halfway through. She was doing her best, but her best was crap, she knew.

She considered herself relatively graceful, for the most part. But the course took her straight back to the smell of wet tarmac and the memory of Mrs Keane, her sadistic PE teacher, a woman built like the Trunchbull and twice as furious. She’d always gunned for Imogen, screaming things like, ‘LAKE! I’ve seen more athleticism from a soggy biscuit!’ Every time that voice rang out, Imogen could feel her muscles turn to pudding.

It was that same useless panic now, flooding her chest, making her hands fumble even as her brain yelled, You can do this.

She adjusted her grip on the rope net, trying to climb with some semblance of rhythm. She was strong enough, but strength wasn’t helping her now. Her hands were fast but clumsy. Her feet landed slightly off each time. She was all force and no finesse, and the net swung wildly under her as a result.

Talia had already reached the top and was crouching, waiting. She didn’t say anything, which somehow made it worse. Imogen scrambled over beside her, breath uneven but not winded. Just annoyed. At herself. At this ridiculous course. At the awareness that Talia was watching her, finding her wanting.

They dropped down the other side and ran toward the trench tyres. Talia hit each one cleanly. Imogen, in contrast, caught her shoe on the second tyre and nearly toppled. She managed to stay upright, barely.

They kept going. She didn’t speak. Talia didn’t look back.

The wall came into view at the end of the clearing. Eight feet tall, rope dangling, no ladder.

Talia didn’t even slow down. She hit the rope and climbed with the kind of steel that was built out of ambition.

Imogen followed, face hot. Halfway up, her hand slipped. She caught herself, but the jolt rattled her shoulder. Her boot couldn’t find a solid hold. The rope twisted. Her body swung clumsily into the wood with a thud.

She heard the sound of someone landing on the other side. Talia had cleared it.

Imogen gritted her teeth and went for the rope again, trying to steady it. Her hands wouldn’t cooperate. She could hear Keane barking at her to ‘Stop flailing.’

Then she heard it: the scrape of boots on the platform above.

Imogen looked up. Talia’s arm extended down toward her, braced and unwavering.

‘No, go!’ Imogen told her firmly.

‘Don’t be a bloody idiot,’ Talia said.

Imogen reached up and let herself be pulled, awkward and graceless, to the top. It took an age.

They dropped down together on the other side, landing hard. Imogen staggered. Talia steadied her without thinking and then released her just as quickly.

They crossed the finish line together.

Rebecca clicked the stopwatch and made a non-committal noise. Imogen wiped her hands on her trousers, avoiding Talia’s eyes.

The rest of the teams crossed the line, and it looked a little different now that people were paired with their loved ones. Most people struggled with partners who weren’t athletic or didn’t take it seriously. But not Daniel. He was barely able to keep up with Lara, who went across the course like an over-caffeinated Marine.

Once the race was run, Rebecca gave them the skinny. ‘And in first place…’ Rebecca began and told them what they all knew already.

Daniel grabbed his wife in a tight hug. ‘Thank you, baby,’ he said emotionally.

‘If you hadn’t tripped on that tyre, we could have shaved off another second,’ she told him.

The rest of the team positions were announced. Talia and Alex were second to last. Amid the high fives and commiserations, Talia wasn’t looking at Imogen.

Imogen opened her mouth, ready to apologise, but then Celeste approached.

‘You could’ve left her,’ Celeste said to Talia. ‘No one would’ve blamed you.’

Talia barely shrugged. ‘I don’t know why I didn’t.’

Celeste nodded. ‘Because you’re a real couple.’

Imogen blinked. ‘But we lost.’

Celeste gave her a look that could chip stone. ‘Did you really think this was about winning?’

Talia gave a faint huff of breath beside her, not quite a laugh. Celeste touched her on the shoulder and walked off.

‘Thanks for being such a clumsy buffoon,’ Talia said quietly and without malice. It was even warm.

‘I do what I can,’ Imogen replied, relieved.

But her agility had not quite returned to her. And as she turned to get a drink from the water table, her boot caught on a patch of churned-up mud. She tipped forward, instinctively reaching out, and grabbed hold of Talia’s forearm to steady herself. Talia stepped in at the same time, catching her waist.

Imogen’s hand had ended up against the inside of Talia’s arm, palm splayed over bare skin where her sleeve had ridden up. Talia’s fingers were pressing firmly into her lower back, just above her hip.

It was a lot more than a handhold.

Imogen righted herself quickly, and they both let go at once, stepping back and averting their eyes. Talia’s jaw shifted like she was about to say something, but didn’t.

‘Well,’ Imogen said. Her voice came out lower than she meant it to. She cleared her throat. ‘Graceful as ever.’

Talia smiled politely. But Imogen couldn’t help but notice that her ears had gone a bit pink.

‘I need a drink,’ Talia said and walked briskly over to the water table.

Imogen followed her, thinking, What the hell was that?