Winter Went | #2 Winter Series

Chapter 14

|| Josh ||

He waits until they're all asleep before consulting his list again. He's memorised everything on it but he looks at it anyway because he has nothing better to do. He's cleared most of the tins from the cupboard and stocked up with more than enough food.

Josh reads the next instruction, already knowing the address, and then folds the paper before slipping it into his pocket.

They'll leave at seven in order to get to the barns by ten. Now all he has to do is sleep.

He doesn't want to go up to his room. Even if he did, he wouldn't find any place to sleep since he knows that Daye girl has taken his bed. He saw Maisie snuggle up with her too, and that made him realise just how much of a family friend Angie was, so much so that Amelia's autistic sister was willing to share a bed with her.

He avoids the stairs and settles in the living room instead. The sofa has a snapped spring that jabs him every time he tries to lie on his back, so he resorts to resting on his side, staring at the blank wall, willing for sleep to come, and willing for the nightmares to go away.

* * *

At ten-to-seven, he wakes up. The good thing about working for the Government in the new secret service, he thinks, is that they train your internal clock.

His head is muggy from sleep, but he shrugs it off. He then calls up the stairs, but there's no reply.

A few minutes later Angie and the little girl come down.

"Where's Amelia?" he asks.

Angie shrugs. "Still sleeping, I guess."

He waits for them to do something, but Angie only pours herself another glass of water, and Maisie starts singing her nursery rhymes again, so he ventures up the stairs.

The corridor is dark, and he feels his way along the walls, liking how cold they are to his touch. He passes a light switch but doesn't turn it on.

It feels like a repeat of all those weeks ago. He walked this same hallway, turned left into the same bedroom.

And there she is, curled up, clutching a fistful of the duvet. Her curly hair looks even wilder in the dark, the rise and fall of her chest serene. He remembers the trickle of sweat that collected on her forehead that first time. There is nothing there now, apart from the same aching in his heart. She only looks peaceful.

"Wake up," he whispers, wondering if his words are too loud in the silence.

"I know you're watching me," comes a groan, and he watches as her eyes open, and she blinks a few times. "Go away."

Turning away, he obliges. He hears the rustling of sheets, and he slowly closes the door, ignoring the beating of his heart.

* * *

She comes down a few minutes later, eyes blurry from sleep, wavy hair mussed. She ignores his gaze as she rummages through the tin cupboard. She gathers a few in her arms before stuffing them into her rucksack.

"We've already got food," he says.

"You can never have too much," she answers.

He catches sight of something in her bag. "Have you got the lavender deodorant in there?"

She clutches the sack to her chest, expression haughty. "Maybe. Do you want it back?"

He bites his lip, and that's when he realises that her trust is gone, perhaps for good. "Only if you don't want it."

She practically snarls at him as she rifles through the cans in her bag. "Of course I don't want it." Instinctively, his hands whip out to catch the lavender stems that are launched in his direction. "I don't want anything of yours." She hurls the lavender deodorant at his face. He catches it before it takes his eyes out. "Including you."

"Fine," he manages, before placing the launched things in his own rucksack. "Suit yourself."

Then he turns round, hoisting the bag on his back. Something feels heavy, but he's sure it's not only the sack. His heart is pounding, growing heavier by the second.

I don't want anything of yours. Including you.

Gritting his teeth, he marches down the hallway to join the other girls who are lingering by the door.

"Let's go," he says before he slams the door closed.

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