The Tens, Vanessa Jones [i like reading books .TXT] 📗

too? Impossible. He absolutely despised camping. He wouldn't even step foot in a caravan, '...because of the smell...' he claimed.

'Oh, you're so welcome here. You look cold. Come sit by the fire.' The way he spoke was tender and there was much humour in his eyes, backed up by traces of a speech impediment. He fluttered his hand enthusiastically, beckoning her to follow and perch on a well-worn stump by the fire. The silent, but sunny, woman behind him leant over her and wrapped a crocheted blanket around her shoulders. Sophie smiled in thanks and felt her toes and fingers slacken as she warmed up. The man placed his hands on her shoulders as he stood behind her. 'I'm Clive. This here is Everley. Would you like a tea or some water?'

The question was so carefully polite that Sophie felt obliged. 'Tea, please. Herbal if you have it.'

A cup of something spicy smelling swooped in front of her. Lemon and ginger. Her favourite.

'Lemon and ginger is my favourite at the moment.' Sophie glinted her eyes at Clive and then at Everley's back, who had already darted away.

'We know.' She thought Clive said as she fell into a crevice of headachey darkness.

CHAPTER TWENTY

'Morningstar time! Morningstar time!'

Sophie awoke to the chirrup around her but felt weighed down by stones and as if her entire skeleton had been replaced with iron overnight. A smile appeared near her half-open eyes. 'Morningstar is here. No need to move. Everything is okay. You might have a little headache. I have something for that, I'll give you in a bit.' Everley, with her cold-blushed flesh, was kneeling beside her in the faint daylight. Sophie's neck stung as she twisted it slowly and tried to lift her heavy torso from the burlap sack she lay upon. Pressing her shoulders back down, Everley said, 'no need to get up yet, just lay a bit longer.'

Sophie's hands scrambled around her body, touching the crocheted rugs that housed her, feeling her legs to notice she still had all her clothes from last night.

'Oh sweetheart, no need to panic. You're safe. You must have passed out. Exhaustion, I'd say. My sister once had exhaustion so bad that she started to wet herself all the time and then when she went to lay down once, she couldn't get out of bed for six days! I had to bring her cereal all through the day and shove the spoon in, so she'd eat. She wasn't talking much. She was fine after all, though. Truly, she just needed a good long rest. Anyway, just rest. We'll look after you.' More smiles.

'I should go home really. My car... I should see a doctor.' Or at least be home in my own bed if I'm suffering from some sort of exhaustion incident, Sophie thought.

A fatigue collapse was not entirely unfeasible since she had scarcely slept in countless days. Sophie remembered then that yesterday (was it actually only yesterday?) she forgot to eat as she shivered outside Carla's office for the day. Annoyance rose up.

'That's okay, we have a nurse onsite. She'll look after you until you feel well enough to get back to your car. Or we can drive you home. Have some water.'

The water was a metallic slap on her tongue and she could finally open her eyes wide enough to look at the cherubic features before her. Never had there been a more comforting face and she passed back the anodised cup with gratitude, letting her hand linger a little on the warmth of her hand.

'Good girl.' She tapped Sophie's knee, beamed stronger and turned away, pushing open two sheets of canvas which revealed a dim light of morning outside. Sophie looked around the compact tent she had found herself in. There was barely room for the two women but Sophie lay on a makeshift bed which was too narrow to roll over in and was capped with a significant pile of crocheted rugs. If she stretched her feet out, she would knock them over. The floor was concealed under a faded Persian rug that Sophie assumed lay flush against the dirt; the smell of fresh earth came at her. It was unusually cosy, the mass of the blankets and warmth had really settled in her bones and she realised that she was, in fact, utterly exhausted. It was taking effort to stay awake. If she was forced to run right at that second, she doubted her legs would even work.

Despite being groggy, she is aware she had to get up and find Alex. Sensing hushed but present activity outside the tent, Sophie conjured her unwilling legs over the side of the bed, noticing the hardness as she pushed her palm into its side to help her movement. She patted down the side of her half numb thighs to find her phone but came up empty. Her hand swished beneath the blankets but still didn't find her phone. Shit, I must have left it in the car, she panicked.

By the time she woozily forced herself outside the tent flaps, unsteady and precariously slow on her frozen legs, morning had definitely begun according to the clamour of birds that were celebrating in surround sound. Although she had detected some commotion in the camp, she had not prepared for what she saw.

About a dozen women turned to her with wide smiles, each mid-task, with something in their hands. One was hanging out pieces of pallid fabric. One had an armful of firewood and another a small blackened copper saucepan which steam escaped from. And one petite woman was perched on a fire stump and was crocheting fast and hard, her eyes locked on Sophie. Each wore an off-white windcheater. Some paired it with matching tracksuit pants, some with claret coloured fishing pants or stretched out leggings. There were one or two jumpers that were obviously newer and some were stretched