Jack gasps. “Get me out of here,” he mutters. “I’m too young to die. At least at the hands of that oaf. I’d mind less if it was a yachting accident, or a private jet crash.”
“Come on,” I say, pushing my chair back and standing up. The last thing I need right now is Jack causing yet another scene. All I want is some peace and the chance to wallow in misery about Tariq, and maybe start reading some Camus and embrace my existential crisis. I don’t have the energy for all this drama.
He keeps his head bowed, shuffling along, looking at the floor, and we make it to the entrance of the cafeteria and there’s these little kids sprawled all over the floor, playing with toy cars, and Jack steps one way to avoid them, and then another, and then he just says, “Excuse me, please.”
In a flash, a hard-faced woman with scraped-back hair and leggings is in front of us. “Why you speaking to my kids for?” she demands.
Jack takes an unsteady breath. “I just needed to get by.”
“So why you speaking to them, like you’re more important?”
“I didn’t!” Jack protests.
“Got as much right to be here as you ’ave!” the woman continues.
At which point Jack loses it. “They’re playing in the bloody doorway! Does it really hurt your little brain that much to see they’re in the way?”
“OH MY GOD!” the woman screams. “I’m fuming! Darren? DARREN?”
“Jack, come on,” I say, trying to pull him away.
“Maybe,” Jack says, “if you could parent your kids properly and make them understand this cafeteria is not a playground we wouldn’t have a problem.”
Darren arrives on the scene, and of course it’s the same man that was going to “end” Jack. At which point I just grab Jack, who literally looks like he’s on the brink of tears, pull him out of the canteen and bundle him across the campsite as quickly as I possibly can.
“What the hell, Jack?” I say, as we hotfoot it towards our tent. “Why couldn’t you just leave it?”
“She had a go at me!”
“Ugh!” I say. “Always drama!”
Jack stops dead.
“Now what?” I ask.
“What do you mean by that? Always drama? What’s that about?”
I sigh. “Nothing. Come on.”
“Oh, no, no, no. No. What did you mean?”
I meet his eyes. “I dunno, just that not everything has to be a big deal all the time.”
“All the time?”
I break his stare and glance down at the ground. “Can we just chill out and go back to the tent?”
“Better just to take other people’s shit, huh?” Jack says. “Better just to shrink away, say nothing, not stand up for yourself?”
I flick my eyes back to him. Maybe it’s my paranoia or guilt, but does he mean what I think he means? Is this about year nine? “I don’t want to talk about this.”
“No change there, then.”
We stare at each other for a few moments. I can see the hurt in his eyes and he’s challenging me, seeing if I’m going to go there and admit it. Then, over his shoulder, way back at the entrance to the cafeteria, I see The Man Who is Going to End Jack struggle out, held back by three other blokes, shouting, “I’m gonna find that fucker!”
“We need to go. Now,” I tell Jack.
“Shit,” he says, glancing back. “This chat continues later.”
And we zip off in the general direction of our tent, but taking a detour in case we’re being followed (Jack’s idea), and all the while I’m thinking about what Jack’s just said. How, for all this time, he’s believed our friendship broke down because I’m a coward who didn’t want to stick up for him against the bullies; who probably agreed with some of the teachers that Jack brought a lot of the trouble on himself by being so loud and proud. And, look, in some ways, that’s true. I am a coward, I know I am – although in year nine, it wasn’t for the reasons Jack clearly thinks. Not everyone has his confidence, so it’s not that simple. It’s not that simple, Jack! And just because something might be easy for you, doesn’t mean it’s easy for someone else. I know I owe him an explanation, but I barely understand it myself, so what do I even say?
*
I’m dreaming about Tariq. I’ll spare you the exact details, but let’s just say it’s a nice sort of dream. He’s lying next to me, so close I can feel his breath on my face, gently stroking my arm as he gazes longingly into my eyes … stroking my arm … pressing my arm … jabbing at my arm…
“OW!”
I’m awake. Eyes open. Jack blinking at me through the darkness, eyes wide. “He’s outside,” Jack whispers, voice wobbling.
“Who?”
“The bad man.”
I sigh. “What time is it?”
“Three.”
I wince. “Three a.m.? Just go to sleep, Jack.”
“Can’t,” he says. “I’ve been awake all night. In case he comes.” He leans closer in to me. “He’s going to slash the tent with his knives.”
“No, he isn’t. Go to sleep.”
“Someone’s outside. I heard footsteps.”
I take a deep breath and sit up in my sleeping bag. “Jack, we’re on a campsite, with a lot of other people. Maybe someone went to the toilet.”
“Slow footsteps,” Jack continues. “Footsteps like you might hear in a horror film. Like, step … step … step…”
“OK, I get the picture.”
“And then… AH! AH! AH! AH! AH!” Jack screams, making a knifing action with his hand.
“Shut up!” I hiss.
Jack sighs and flops back down on his back. “So, I did some research—”
“Tell me in the morning.”
“OK, but I looked it up, because I overheard some other couple talking about these luxury cabins? Near here, apparently? So, I googled it, and it’s true, and you can get an actual luxury
