Page 36 of The Unlikely Pair

“Just because we’re far from civilization doesn’t mean we should become uncivilized,” I say.

“I hate to break it to you, but whatever super-strength hair product you use has finally given up.”

My hand flies to my hair. And he’s right. My hair has always been naturally unruly, and I have never felt completely dressed and prepared to take on the world until it has been subdued.

I comb my fingers through it in a valiant attempt to tame it, but from Toby’s amused expression, I’ve potentially only made it worse.

“So this is Harry Matheson, the untamed version,” he says.

“This is Harry Matheson, the version that has just spent the night sleeping on the ground,” I reply.

“It suits you, Harry.” He gives me a wink. “It makes you look less like a plastic mannequin and more…you know…human.”

I refuse to let Toby’s roguish charm fluster me like he’s intending it to.

“Wonderful. Now we’ve established your opinion on my coiffure, shall we get moving?”

Toby’s rummaging in the survival kit. “Do you want an energy bar first?”

“I don’t suppose you’ve got a full English breakfast stashed in that survival kit?” I ask.

Toby stares at me like I’m some undiscovered species. “Was that an attempt at a joke, Harry?”

“I can joke,” I say.

“I haven’t seen much evidence of that concept.”

“Anytime I need inspiration for a joke, I just need to read the Labour Party manifesto.”

He snorts. “And I just need to look at the Tories’ line-up of candidates.”

He hands me the energy bar, and I slowly unwrap it.

“How many bars have we got left?” I ask.

“Enough for a few days if we conserve them.” All humor fades from his expression. “Hopefully, we’ll get rescued before we run out.”

“We can only hope,” I say.

Toby finishes his energy bar, carefully stashing the wrapper in the survival kit. Then he scatters the firewood he collected last night and messes up the two piles of pine needles that were our beds.

“Leave it looking like you were never here,” he muses as he scatters pine needles. “Isn’t that the mantra of environmentalists when you’re out in the woods? It’s the opposite of what we do in politics, where we’re always trying to make our mark.”

My energy bar feels dry and flaky in my mouth. I have to work hard to swallow it.

I don’t know if I can handle a philosophizing Toby Webley on top of everything else right now, so I refrain from responding.

Instead, I finish the energy bar in a few more bites, take a swig of water, and then help Toby erase any trace of our presence.

I refuse to let my eyes linger on Toby as he bends over. I refuse to let the memory of how it felt to have my arms around him back into my head. Those memories need to be vanished forever, permanently expunged from my brain.

After we’ve deconstructed our campsite, Toby carefully packs all the survival items into the kit.

“Shall we set off?” I ask. I’m eager to leave here and get moving, not only to stay one step ahead of our pursuers but for another, more nebulous reason I’m reluctant to examine closely.

Toby slings the survival kit onto his back. “Sure. Let’s find out what today has in store for us.”

Chapter Eleven