Page 29 of Parker
Chapter twelve
Lybster, The Scottish Highlands
Nicky
Joel called his mother exactly one hundred and fifty-two minutes ago. I set my stopwatch. She’s still screaming at him. I signal for him to put the phone down, but he shakes his head in response. He told me he would have to take whatever venom she spat at him. Her bark was worse than her bite, and he needed her on his side for dealing with his father. Eventually, he cuts the call.
“Well?” I prompt.
“It could have been worse,” he says.
I laugh. “Really?”
“One hundred percent. My father wants to talk to me. I have to be in his office on Monday morning. No excuses.”
“Have they accepted you’re not marrying her?” I ask, failing miserably to keep the hope from my voice.
He nods, but it’s not definitive. “That’s my impression.” He circles his head to release the tension in his neck.
His muscles ripple beneath his skin as I watch.
“I hope so,” he mutters, almost to himself.
***
Our second day at our hideaway passes uneventfully, and both our phones remain silent. People have gotten the message. We want to be left alone. Tomorrow night, we’ll be forced to leave this sanctuary and return to Glasgow to face the consequences of our actions, back to face our family and friends.
The wind and rain have finally abated, so we brave a walk in the countryside. The temperature is certainly not warm, but at least we don’t need our raincoats. We walk hand in hand through the tall grass. Every so often, a purple thistle sticks up amongst the greenery. There is nothing and no one for miles—all we can hear are the lapping waves and bird songs.
We find a path which meanders down to the beach below the cottage; the tide has receded. Walking along the damp sand, the salty air fills my lungs. I feel completely free here. No one can touch me.
“Look,” Joel says. “A cave. Let’s explore.”
I giggle at his enthusiasm. As he stands in front of me, he bounces from foot to foot, awaiting my answer. Rolling my eyes, I nod, and he grabs my hand, leading me toward the rock face.
“Wow,” he enthuses. “Isn’t it incredible? I wonder if smugglers used it in the past.”
“Are you just going to make up what you don’t know?” I ask, and he grins at me.
The cave disappears into the cliffside—we can’t see the back. I stand at the mouth, and nerves dance in my belly. A musty smell emanates from the rock, and dark slime covers the walls. Joel waves around the torch on his phone, lighting up the dank space.
“Look at this,” he shouts. My heart swells slightly. He sounds like a kid in a candy shop. “There are carvings on the walls. Amazing! I wonder what they are and who drew them. Perhaps thousands of years old.” He talks to himself as he looks at the dark markings on the stone. I squint, hardly able to see them.
“Are you sure it’s not just marks on the stone from the water?” I ask.
“Tsk,” he hisses through his teeth. “Look closely, that’s a bull.”
He points at a swirl of scratches. I shrug. Let him believe what he wants.
It feels like hours pass. Joel examines every scrape and marking he can find. He takes pictures and notes on his phone. Watching this side of him is heart-warming. He’s so masculine, sexual, and in control. Seeing him fan-boying over some ancient carvings shows him in a different light, a softer one.
“Urgh,” I spit. “My feet are wet. I never saw that puddle.” Then I look down and see the floor of the cave is filling with water. Fast. “Joel!” I shout, panicked. “The tide’s coming in.”
Like the day my cell door slammed shut, the water closes in on us. The freedom of outside vanished in an instant, and here it is, happening again. Darkness swirls around me, threatening to drown me, once and for all.
Panic, that old familiar sensation, rises inside me with the tide. It curls around my ribs like a chain anchoring me to the spot I stand.
Joel’s eyes come to me and then to the entrance of the cave. The beach is gone, submerged in the dark sea. I stand frozen, watching the water approach and recede as it laps around our ankles. Joel puts his arm around my waist and squeezes to get my attention.
