The Hanahaki Club: Episode 22
Episode 22: My Type
So far…
Remi is testing out Sam’s ‘exposure therapy’ theory, hoping that getting to know Gio better will cure her hanahaki.
Episode 22: My Type
Remi
Gio still had that little tuft of hair sticking up at the side of his head when he got out of the car at the cliff carpark. At least he did until Dan Reddon’s girlfriend, Leila, beelined across the chalky surface towards him and smoothed it down with with several gentle strokes of her hand, like she had a right to touch whoever she wanted whenever she wanted.
“That’s better.”
“Thanks,” Gio said, and then pulled his red hat over his mop, so that Leila’s fix became entirely pointless.
Remi resisted rolling her eyes and instead focused on rummaging through her bag for her hat and gloves. The gloves were located easily enough, but there was no sign of the hat, and Remi realised with a annoyed click of her tongue that she had probably left it in her school bag, under her desk, in her bedroom back home. Damn. The carpark was a little way down a slope from the top of the cliff and sheltered by a scraggly line of trees, but even here the wind still whipped over their heads in icy waves and it was going to be several degrees colder on the other side of the cliffs, where they would be exposed to the full force of the weather as it swept off the sea. Never mind the hanahaki, she was going to die of hypothermia, today, right here on some of the most beautiful coastline in the country.
“Crap.”
“What’s up?” Sam asked, as he packed up a rucksack in the boot of his car with the lunch they had bought earlier.
“I left my hat at home.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I thought I’d packed it, but I—”
Suddenly, a pair of gloved hands landed on her shoulders from behind and the rest of her sentence got lodged in her throat. “Stay still,” Gio said, his voice close and warm, just inches from her right ear. And then there was suddenly something soft and snug smothering her head and ears. “There you go.”
Remi automatically put a hand to her head to touch the thick woolly material on her head and turned to face Gio who grinned down at her as several tufts of hair now stood up from the curls on his hatless head. “Red suits you,” he said, before turning to Sam. “Want me to bring one of those blankets?”
“Yeah,” Sam replied. “Don’t want to risk freezing to death whilst we’re having lunch. Whose bloody idea was this anyway?”
“Pretty sure it was yours,” Gio said, grabbing a blanket and rolling it under his arm before heading off across the carpark to where everyone else was waiting by the stile that would take them onto the path to the caves.
Sam closed the boot, locked the car and swung his rucksack on one shoulder. He eyed Remi up and down with a sly look before saying: “The hat matches your face,” and then walking off after Gio.
Remi’s brain rebooted just quickly enough to reply “Screw you,” before Sam was out of earshot. She patted the hat softly again, taking moment to gather her wits before she followed after Sam. She hoped the burning in her cheeks would be attributed to the scathing cold and not the fact that her heart was frantically hammering out an S.O.S signal against her ribcage. Why on earth had she listened to Sam? This plan was backfiring horribly—they were barely two hours in and she was only sinking deeper into her affection. Gio was going to have to do something despicable to make her believe he wasn’t the perfect guy for her—like pushing one of their party over the edge of the cliff, throwing stones at small children or putting pineapple on a pizza. Something truly, truly despicable.
After a short walk to the cliff’s edge, they embarked on a climb down a steep chalky path to the caves, moving slowly and carefully over rocks that were smooth and shiny from generations of use. They had to battle the wind too and there were a couple of times where Remi felt like she might be blown off her feet and into the quarry below. Gio offered her assistance in the most treacherous places, and she felt a little embarrassed at her obvious inexperience and anxiety at navigating this kind of terrain. She wasn’t really the outdoorsy type and her parents had only ever taken her to visit museums, libraries and art galleries, so this was the first time she had ever braved the elements like this—clinging to a sliver of chalk on the face of a cliff, with numb fingers and numb toes and a chest that trembled with each sharp lungful of unforgiving sea air. Gio, on the other hand, seemed as comfortable as a mountain goat as he hopped down the slope, stopping regularly to check her progress and offer an encouraging smile.
“Nearly there, Rem!” he said, when they were just twenty feet from the flat, limestone surface of the quarry floor. “Isn’t it a great view?”
Remi hadn’t paid any attention to the view the entire way down the path, too focused on keeping her footing and not inciting a fall that would at best break a leg and a worst her neck. But, at Gio’s excited tone, she paused where she was and glanced up to take stock of her surroundings. Below, there stretched a limestone shelf, sparsely patched with stubby, coarse grass, and patrolled by a straggly crew of seabirds. The surface of the shelf was uneven and scored with grooves and ruts made by ancient hands, ancient stones and ancient machinery. Around the shelf, either flat against the cliff face or jutting onto it like badly planned extensions, were the Spytton Caves: great square-mouthed caverns, gaping hungrily at the sea, toothless and black, their deep throats ready to swallow whatever the water would willingly give them—whether man or beast or its own echoing voice as it roared against the rocks.
Immediately, Remi was struck by how lonely a place it seemed, nothing now but a relic of human endeavour, a weighty history of mining and smuggling, shipwrecks and piracy. What would once have been ringing with human activity was now grey and grim, and silent, the solitary playground of the merciless wind that whipped up the spray of the angry sea as it punched the cliff beneath the ledge and then spat it out on the bullied stonework. For a bittersweet moment, Remi was overcome by nostalgia for a past she had never witnessed but could catch the taste of in the tang of the air and could feel the echoes of in the warp and weft of her bones.
The wind stole her involuntarily exhaled ‘wow!’ and Gio chuckled as he stood next to her with his hands in his pockets.
“I can’t believe you’ve never been here before.”
“Me neither,” Remi admitted.
“We’ll shelter in one of the caves and eat our lunch,” Gio explained, “And then we’ll have to get Sam to give you a proper tour.”
“Sam?”
“He knows all the history. I first came here with his family, the first summer after we started at Bearnston Heath. They come here all the time.”
Remi glance down at where Sam was at the head of the group in a green hat and windbreaker, the rucksack with all their supplies on his back as he lightly bounded from the last outcrop of the cliff and onto the quarry shelf. She watched him turn and scan up the cliff face until his gaze reached where she and Gio were standing. Gio raised both his arms and waved them above his head in greeting. In response, Sam raised a hand to his forehead and made an ‘L’ with his fingers.
Gio snorted in amusement and offered Remi his hand. “Here,” he said, “This bit is a little tricky.”
He let her hold his hand until they were almost at the bottom of the cliff, chatting all the while about how nice it was to picnic on the shelf in the summer, and how they had camped out over night a couple of times to stargaze and watch the nightly flight of the bats that had made a home in a couple of the smaller caves. And then he told her all about the fifteen species of bat that could be found in the area, how they differed, how they hunted for prey and how some of the caves were installed with bat detectors for research.
What a nerd, Remi couldn’t help thinking, what an adorable, endearing, bat-crazy nerd. Please do something horrible soon. Say something offensive. Be a jerk. Stop being so damn sweet and attractive; give me a reason to be disappointed or disgusted. I really don’t want to have to carve you out of my lungs and my life, I don’t want to forget this moment, but if you don’t show me your ugly side soon I’ll have no other choice.
Next time: Episode 23—Her Type
Teaser:
Merryn critically eyed her sister’s reflection in the mirror—the blue dress, her socked feet, the untidy strands of her hair cascading down her back, her face bare of any make-up and an anxious grimace on her face. It was an incomplete picture, missing the final touches that would bring it all together, but already the message was clear: I am desirable, it whispered. I am wanted. I am worthy of adoration and love.
“You look stunning,” Merryn admitted. “Sye is very lucky.”
The Hanahaki Club Index
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Author’s Notes:
Personally, I love pineapple on pizza.
Next time: Episode 23—Her Type
PJ
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