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“Shit! Really? I don’t want to get wet again. I’ve just warmed up.”
Yeah, he could feel her heat. “Can’t say I’m desperate to, either.” The water was freezing, and he rather liked where she had her hand, if not the means by which it had arrived. “I might have something that could help ensure we stay dry, but you’ll have to let me up.”
“Oh! Right.” She really didn’t seem to have a terribly good grasp of what her limbs were doing.
“Lady, you’re like an octopus. The limbs are a-go-go, but the brain is not necessarily engaged in the action.” He tapped the side of her head.
“I’m sorry, I’m… I should…”
Did she give him a cheeky squeeze before releasing her grip? His cock bucked as if in acknowledgement.
Jodi shifted to one side, so that she was no longer pinning him, thus allowing him to roll off the edge of the mattress. He rearranged himself before hunching down to reach into the under-bed storage compartment.
“I’m really sorry I groped your—”
“It’s fine. Don’t be.”
“It wasn’t very respectful—”
“Forget about it.”
“But fuck, you’re huge! Huge and pierced.”
“Yep, that’s me.” He cocked a brow at her, then nodded towards the candle. “Can you reach over the light?”
She grabbed the candle, almost extinguishing it in her haste. “What are you looking for? Waders? A wetsuit?”
“Condoms,” he deadpanned.
“What?”
“That’s a joke. I know wheretheyare. There’s probably a bunch under the pillow.” He nodded at the head end of the bed. “Give me a sec, and I’ll show you. Meaning what I’m looking for, not the condoms.” In fact, it took a fair amount of hunting by touch to find what he was after. He only got to it after he’d found his favourite fleece jacket that’d been missing for an age, which he put on, a pair of fusty socks, and an extremely shrivelled banana peel. After each successive revelation, her expression became more sceptical.
“Got it,” he finally proclaimed, tugging the prize free with a huge grin on his face. He held it up for her to see.
Jodi squinted as she ran the candlelight over the glossy black surface. “What is that? A stage outfit? It looks like an oilskin coat. How the hell is that supposed to help us? It’s not rain we’re up against, it’s a sodding river.” One that seemed determined to rock them downstream. Bertha kept doing little kangaroo hops.
“I’d like to recall to you the fact that you’re the one responsible for us being here. Also, this may look like an ordinary coat, but it is in fact a Gore & Reed Squawkencluck prototype.”
The proclamation didn’t appear to impress her. “Of?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” He whipped the garment around his shoulders, unfortunately puffing the candle out, and thus making it near impossible to see. “It’s a boat coat. Now, give me my phone.” He reclaimed it from among the bedclothes, then set off along the aisle in the dark to the front of the bus again. Jodi stumbled along behind him, not nearly as familiar with the layout.
There was a fraction more light at the front thanks to the windscreen. He didn’t want to risk running down his battery by using the torch. From here, it was clear how far they’d drifted. Bertha was now a good ten metres from her starting position and at a forty-five-degree angle to the shore, with her front end butted up against an overhanging tree and her back-end in the centre of the river. Total insurance write-off. He’d put money on it. No point in rushing to get a tow truck out. Let the recovery dude enjoy a night at home with the kids. Bertha would still be here in daylight.
He’d left the front door open when they’d come back earlier, so the river water now slopped against the uppermost step, threatening to invade the driver’s stall. Paul shook out the coat. “Aren’t you going to ask about it?”
Jodi shrugged. “It seems pretty self-explanatory. It’s a coat that transforms into a dingy, right? It’s not like it’s an original invention.”
“What?” He shot her a particularly outraged glare.
“You didn’t know they already existed?”
“No way.” They couldn’t, possibly.
“Ever heard of Halkett?”
He shook his head.
