Page 36 of The Hideaway

But then I’d never see Naya again.

He’d known Naya less than two days, and already the thought of disappearing on her – leaving her to make all kinds of assumptions about what he might have done – was unbearable; it made his chest ache. No, it wasn’t an option.

What should I do then?

He needed to stop, think for a minute. As if the rainforest had heard him, at that moment he stumbled into a small clearing dominated by an enormous tree – vast, with huge, sprawling roots a metre thick. This was one of the kapok trees he’d read about, one of Costa Rica’s wonders – he recognized it by its shape and breadth.

It was as good a place to take a pause as any. He checked the tree for spiders and ants; finding it clear, he set his bag down. Only then, when he’d scanned in every direction to make sure, and seen no trace of the others – he couldn’t hear them calling for him any more; couldn’t even be sure which direction they were in – only then did he allow himself to take a breath.

He sat down, leaned back, pushed his body into the huge, hefty bulk of the tree’s trunk, then began to turn the options over in his mind.

He could go back to the others, try to explain himself. Would they even believe him, though? Would they understand why he’d done it?

They’d think he was lying – or crazy.

Bloody hell.

Scott rested his head in his palms, covered his eyes. It was too late for any of this ruminating now anyway. He’d fled, and they were all bound to be thinking the worst about him – who could blame them, under the circumstances? He thought of Naya – lovely, kind Naya – assuming he was a liar, a fake; perhaps amurderer, even.

I’ve been so stupid.

It was all of them seeing the snack bar, and Naya in particular, that had done it. The realization he was about to be found out – all right, he hadn’t done the worst thing in the world, keeping some food to himself, and he’d had good intentions for doing it. But it was the way he’d handled it – the running off, looking so guilty, and now his fear of the sorts of suspicions it might have aroused in them: that he was dishonest, that he was capable of being that selfish, of keeping secrets.

Which, of course, he was. He just hadn’t meant it to come out like that; he hadn’t meant tobehavelike that, in such a bizarre way. It was just that everything had come together in one horrible, perfect storm: the trauma of the previous day; the shock of finding poor Hannah dead, murdered. Of realizing they weren’t making it back to the house that night. By bolting like that, though, he’d only made himself look guilty –moreguilty. More suspicious. And what on earth was he thinking, blurting out that he wassorryas he backed away?

Yes, he’d lied about the food, he’d hidden that from them. But everything else that had happened – everything that had gone wrong, the storm, the mudslide, Hannah – none of those things were his fault.

Lulled by the heat, the rhythmic, pulsating hum of thecicadas, and his dry-mouthed exhaustion, Scott’s eyelids began to droop. He forced them open again.Come on, now, focus.This wasn’t the time for a nap; there were pressing issues at stake. He attempted to swallow; his throat was parched, his lips arid. Perhaps he could just have a sip of water. Enough to sustain him, so he could keep going long enough to get out of this large but non-insurmountable patch of jungle.

How much stuff did he have with him exactly? Scott turned to his backpack, opened the zip to the main compartment, started pulling things out – grabbing at whatever he could lay his hands on. His fingers emerged with two packet of nuts, another cereal bar and some dried fruit. He laid them all on top of the bag, covered them with his hands to avoid attracting the insects that would no doubt begin swarming once they caught the sweet scent.

At the sight of the rest of his secret stash, a flash of guilt slapped Scott across the face. How stupid he’d been to let a snack bar fall out of his bag like that, where he was sleeping – when he thought he’d been so careful.

Oh God, what have I done?He should have stayed with the group. Even if they’d given him a hard time over the food, even if they’d suspected he was hiding something else – running off like that was the worst possible thing he could have done.

He should try to find them again – he could trace his path back to the clearing where they’d slept easily enough. He hadn’t made it far. Yes, he’d do that. Find them and explain. Hope that they’d understand, that they’d forgive him.

He’d just got to his feet when he heard it.

Their voices coming through the thicket straight ahead of him. Rooted to the spot, he listened as the sound became louder,the bushes started to bend and shift with the shape of bodies and arms and then, finally, faces.

‘Scott – here you are! Guys, I can see him – he’s through here, look.’

They had found him.

NAYA

Naya couldn’t tell if Scott looked pleased or horrified to see the four of them as they shouldered their way through the dense undergrowth towards him. Perhaps it was a mixture of both; a mix of everything. Maybe none of them knew what to feel out here any more, or how to feel it.

‘Are you OK?’ she whispered, glancing behind her. She wasn’t sure why she didn’t want the others to hear; she just knew she wanted this to stay between them. She wanted Scott to know she understood who he was; that she wasn’t suspicious of him. And that if he’d been hiding food for himself – or if whatever he had to say sorry for was something worse than that, even – well, none of that meant he deserved to dehydrate or stumble to his death alone in the wilderness.

Naya watched as Scott’s expression turned from panic to something that looked like embarrassment – and then to pure relief. He closed his eyelids briefly, moved his head in the slightest bob, then sniffed, and looked at her.

‘I don’t know. Not really,’ he croaked. ‘Are you?’

Naya was about as far away from being OK as it was possible to be. She shook her head. ‘No, not OK at all.’

Scott nodded, looked at the ground. ‘I’m sorry for running off like that,’ he said. ‘It’s not what you think – with the food, I mean.’

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