Page 110 of Bridget & Gabe Are Not Okay

“Yes,” he said. “We’ve had a little trouble on the road, but I think we’re going to be all right.”

The old man nodded, and then suddenly looked stricken with a thought. “The thing you ought to hold on to is each other,” he said urgently. “Trust. Love. Friendship. These bonds you must keep above all others. When they start to fall apart… Well, that’s how it all goes wrong. That’s how it’salways been.” His face smoothed again. “But you know that already, I’m sure.”

Gabriel risked a tiny sip of his tea. It was actually very nice. Made of nettles, perhaps, but also something more floral. He hoped it wasn’t poison, or at least, notverypoisonous.

Over on the other side of their little circle, Gwen had frozen with her cup in her hand, and was staring very intently at the old man. Gabriel tried to catch her attention, and saw Bridget doing the same, leaning over to nudge her with a knee, but she seemed entirely rapt.

“How did you… um… come to be here?” she said. “If you don’t mind my asking.”

“The usual way,” said the man. And then, when Gwen was still waiting for an answer, “By boat. Nobody made me row, thank God.”

“And if you wanted to leave?” It seemed an odd question to Gabriel—the bridge was right there.

The old man smiled, and Gabriel could see him as he would have been in his youth; charming, vital, vigorous. There it was again: that flash of recognition. “Well, who would? I have everything I need right here. The trees, the sky, the stars. God, but I always loved England.”

“And…” Gwen seemed unable to let up her line of questioning. “You’re happy?”

“Gwen,” said Bridget, but the man didn’t seem to mind.

“Oh, yes. What a lot of questions you have! You must give them all a very hard time… and good for you, good for you, so you should.” He finished his tea, stood up, and began fussing with the pot. “Are you finished with those cups?”

They handed them back, and he picked up his cushion, humming happily, and then glanced back up like he’d forgotten they were there.

“Good,” he said. “Do visit again, if you can find the time.”

“Oh,” said Arthur. “We mostdefinitelywill.”

They all walked back to the causeway in a strange silence, until they reached the shore, when Gwen turned back and shouted, “Thank you!”

The man was already walking away, almost entirely swallowed by the fog, but Gabriel saw him wave his hand dismissively. “Fare thee well, Gwendoline.”

Gwen raised her hand toward him, her mouth open, and then it was too late. He was gone, and the mist was worsening—they couldn’t even see the campfire now, the tree stump, the remaining cushions.

“Come on,” Bridget said, sounding disconcerted. “Or we’ll never make it back.”

They picked their way across the rocks, and once they’d reached the other side, kept walking in what Gabriel hoped was the right direction, waiting for somebody to speak.

Gwen roused herself first. “But that was—”

“No,” said Gabriel. “I don’t think so.”

“Gabe! You know it was, he lookedjustlike the statue in the—”

“Couldn’t be,” said Arthur, shaking his head, sounding unsure. “Could it?”

Just then, the fog began to truly lift. It happened more suddenly than Gabriel had thought possible. One moment it was as if they were floating in a featureless sea, and the next they were surrounded by perfectly ordinary landscape, a muddy field and a slope and…

“There’s no lake,” Bridget said. “There’s no bloody lake. Are you all seeing this?”

“Yes,” said Gwen, in no more than a whisper. “Maybe wegot turned around? Have we gone over a hill yet? The horizon is… You know, maybe it’s not…” She trailed off.

“Or maybe,” Arthur said, unsettled, “itwas. How did he say he got there? Rowed? That’s how it always goes, in the stories.”

There was a long silence, broken by the sound of the rest of the company on the other side of the hill, passing the time in conversation and laughter.

“I don’t think we should worry about it,” Gabriel said, hearing how hysterical his voice sounded, unable to bring it down a notch.

“Um,” said Arthur. “What?”