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He looks back. “Those are the tents on the trailer?”
“Some of them, yeah. The rest are pitched in?—”
“A fairy circle?”
I nod. I also face Rae to see what kept him busy while I made that SOS call.
My weekend housemate has been busy sketching. Not on paper with a pencil. He’s done it on his phone with a stylus, and for a surprising moment, I’m reminded of my usual housemate; Rae is suddenly as shy as Rowan was when I first met him, which is a stark contrast from the man who curled his fists in the woods at me.
He doesn’t need to be shy. Not about what he’s drawn in the space of a single phone call. “Wow.” I almost touch his phone screen, then pull back a still-shaking finger. “That’s me.”
I’m semi-naked like I was in the shower room, only I don’t have a damp towel around me in this drawing. Ivy leaves cling low on my hips, the top of my bush visible, which makes me think I can’t have cinched that towel fast enough back at the stables.
I don’t know why him noticing enough to draw that dark tangle hits this hard. Maybe it’s because he’s paid attention, and I’ve avoided that for so long that I don’t know what to do with this evidence of it. More than that, he lends a new perspective.
I’ve never seen those scars left by the surgery on my shoulders as anything other than signs of weakness. Now they are the site of gossamer wings, and I don’t know how those add to a picture of strength, of power, which is weird since I also sparkle like I’ve been sprinkled with fairy dust and magic.
I snort at the version of my beard he’s added. “You left them in. The burrs.” I’m not sure how he made them glitter. “Wait. You think I’m a fairy?”
There are several ways to take that.
As a slur?
It’s one I heard plenty of times from teammates. Not aimed at me, but that potential felt like a constant hammer about to fall the same way seeing coaches confer with club doctors about my fitness always left my chest tight. Rae gives me a different reason after touching his screen with that stylus again.
A crown materialises.
“King of the tent-pitching fairies.” He tilts his head. “Or maybe king of whatever tree spirits are called in Cornwall. But you’re the one with a fairy circle, so how about you show me your kingdom?”
It’s hardly that, just a circle of pretty bell tents on the far side of the headland, linked by chains of solar lamps that will glow when the sun sets. That won’t be many hours away now. There’s a lot to do before tonight’s arrivals, and true to his word, he helps me.
“How come you’re good at this, Rae?”
“Because I had to do it a lot in France.” He cinches a knot for me. “Where I run an art project.”
“An outdoor one?”
He matches my heave on a rope, and another tent rises higher, yet this comes out sounding low. “Something like that.”
Three tents later, I know more about migrant children than I ever wanted. More than that, I get to see why this weekend stay is important to him—cash to keep his project running depends on him scoring some kind of publishing deal on Monday.
“That’s the simple version. There’s a ton of steps between getting agented and getting a deal.” He shares more while we’re busy. Not about the publication process. He tells story after story about kids who disappeared between tides. “It wasn’t real to me until I saw what the tide washed back in.” He chokes then, turns silent. Maybe that’s because Finn joins us after mowing to work alongside us as the sun starts to lower.
Those two kids work hard too.
I don’t hear much snarling from Teo. If anything, he lets Noah direct him, and that’s surprising, but good to witness—a sign he knows his limits and can see Noah has better ball skills. Tent skills, I mean, but the analogy holds true. I land a hand on his shoulder after the rumble of an approaching engine registers. “Teo? That’ll be Mr. Lawson come to get you, but know this, yeah? We couldn’t have done this without you.” I include Rae. “Without you, either, but you can both get off now.”
“Now?” Rae looks back at the trailer, which is only half unloaded. There are plenty more tents to keep me busy.
Busy?
I’ll still be pitching them at midnight. Rae must guess that. His hold tightens on a guy line. “But we aren’t finished, and you can’t?—”
I hold up a hand. It’s good and steady. “See? Told you the tremors would wear off.”
“Until the next time you use a chainsaw?”
I shrug. “Everyone’s gotta make a living.” He looks ready to argue about leaving me to it, so I take the rope from his hand and haul a tent up without him. The canvas is heavy, and my muscles bunch. I manage it single-handed. “I’ve been doing this all on my own for years,” I say quietly. “That project of yours gonna keep going all on its own, or does it need you to smash your meeting on Monday?”
