Six

“We have plenty of time,” Ike insisted as Rowan pushed open the door to their bedroom at exactly 11:59 to find him still in bed. “The ferry doesn’t leave until six.”

Rowan groaned in frustration.

“That’s not the point,” he said, stomping over to the bed and flinging the duvet off Ike. “You promised me you’d be ready. We’ve still got housework to do before we go, remember?”

Unlike Ike, who was so laid back he was practically horizontal, Rowan had awoken at quarter to six to the sound of birds and Ike’s gentle snoring. He’d snuggled under Ike’s arm and tried his best to ignore the anxious butterflies in his stomach and the pounding of his heart. Fifteen minutes later, he’d given up, carefully untangling himself to get ready for the day.

Ike stretched, his shoulders popping loudly as he did so.

“Rowan, it will be fine. Stop fretting,” he stood up and wrapped his arms around him.

Despite the situation, Rowan felt himself relax. Ike was a bright light in the fog of anxiety that plagued his everyday life. He was the only person besides his parents who knew how bad his anxiety really was. After a bad panic attack cut one of their dates short not long after they’d started seeing each other, Ike had taken him back to his flat, sat him on the sofa and poured him a glass of water. And once the panic faded away, Rowan stared into his eyes, which were such a dark shade of brown they felt like bottomless pools he could drown in, and told him everything.

He loved him. Even if he was possibly the most unorganised person to ever walk the planet.

Ike pulled away from Rowan, dropping a kiss on his hair.

“Seriously, calm down. Your heart’s going like the clappers,” he said, yawning. “I’m getting in the shower now. When I’m out, we can have something to eat then get going.”

“But-”

“No buts,” he interrupted, grinning at him. “We’re not travelling on an empty stomach. End of.”

“Fine,” Rowan said, rolling his eyes. “I guess I’ll be the one making it then.”

Forty-five minutes later, the two men were sitting at the small table in their kitchen. Rowan had cooked a fry-up, void of fresh vegetables on account of him clearing out the fridge in preparation for their trip the night before. Ike was idly scrolling through his phone as he ate. Rowan could only push his food around his plate, the churning in his stomach suppressing his appetite.

Suddenly Ike swore, pushing his chair back from the table with a loud screech. The noise startled Rowan, and he jumped.

“You alright?” he said cautiously, as Ike’s thumbs flew across his phone screen.

“No, it’s work. There’s been an incident in town. A collision or something. My editor needs me to write a story up.”

“But you’re on holiday,” said Rowan, a hint of whininess slipping into his voice.

Ike merely shrugged.

“There’s probably a clever quote about how journalism never stops, but I can’t think of it at the moment.”

“Journalism will kill you, but it will keep you alive while you’re at it,” Rowan said quietly. “Horace Greeley.”

“Yeah, that,” Ike said. “Where are my keys?”

“On the table in the hall. When will you be back?”

Ike ran a hand through his hair, and sighed.

“Two hours tops, I think. It should be a fairly easy write-up. I’ll definitely be back in time for the trip.”

“Promise?”

“I promise,” Ike pecked Rowan’s lips, then squeezed his hand. “See you soon.”

After he’d gone, Rowan sat back down at the table, staring down at the remnants of his of his meal. The little appetite he had had vanished, and he scraped his plate into the bin and rinsed it under the tap, watching the tomato juice swirl down the plughole. He left the plate on the draining board and got started on his chores.

Two hours later, there was still no sign of Ike. Rowan had completed the housework and bleached the kitchen and bathroom for the second time today. He’d gone to the corner shop at the bottom of the street to buy snacks for their journey, and checked at least ten times that all of their paperwork was in the pink folder he’d bought specifically for the trip. Their bags were already loaded into the car, so all he had to do was wait for Ike to come back.

He turned on an old TV show he’d seen a thousand times before to try to pass the time, but found that he was too distracted to focus. Instead, he found himself worrying about Ike and glancing at his phone repetitively.

Once the familiar black car pulled into the street at quarter past four, he leapt up, sweeping up the folder and stuffing his phone in his pocket. Ike had barely switched the engine off before he climbed into the car.

“Where have you been?” he demanded, punching the ferry’s address into the GPS.

“It took longer than I expected. Jeez,” he replied, glancing over at Rowan as they turned out of the street. “We’ve still got almost two hours until the ferry leaves.

“One hour and forty-five minutes,” Ike corrected. “It takes an hour and a half to get there, not counting the rush hour traffic.”

“By the time rush hour hits, we’ll be past most of it. This is going to be a long journey if you’re mad at me, you know.”

Rowan exhaled.

“I’m not mad. Just-”

“Stressed we won’t make it in time? I know,” they slowed at a traffic light. “I’m sorry I’m late. At least I brought cookies to make up for it.”

Rowan twisted around to see a white box sitting on the back seat. He picked it up and brought it into the front, lifting the lid to inhale the scent of the freshly baked cookies.

“Hmm. Can I choose the music? And none of your terrible rap songs?”

Ike gasped.

“How dare you. But I suppose so. Just this once.”

Rowan giggled.

“I guess you’re forgiven then,” he said, biting into a cookie.

***

“We’ll be fine,” Ike said reassuringly, glancing at the clock. “There’s still three minutes until the ferry leaves.

The butterflies in Rowan’s stomach had turned into knots, complemented with a side of nausea from Ike’s erratic driving. Every corner he took too fast, and car he overtook sent a new ripple of sickness through his body, and he pressed the button to lower his window.

As they turned the last corner, Rowan held his breath. He could see the ferry. He grinned; they had made it! He reached into the folder that he’d dropped by his feet and pulled out their tickets.

His relief turned out to be short-lived however, as a burly man dressed in a high-vis jacket approached the car. Ike skidded to a halt and wound down his window.

“You lads for the 6 o’clock ferry to Belfast?” he asked in a thick Scottish accent. The boys nodded, and the man shook his head.

“It’s closed for boarding now. The next ferry’s tomorrow morning.”

Rowan slumped into his seat. Ike thanked the man, then drove away.

They drove for a few minutes in silence before Ike pulled over at the side of the road and undid his seatbelt. He tipped his head back and groaned. Rowan looked at his profile, which was illuminated by a nearby streetlight outside, tracing his eyes from the top of his head down to the base of his throat.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his eyes closed. “It’s all my fault.”

“No, it’s not,” Rowan said instantly, reaching across to put his hand on Ike’s knee. “You couldn’t help it. Work called.”

“But that’s the thing. Work didn’t call,” he sat up and scrubbed his hands over his face. “I was going to give you this on the ferry, but I guess I can do it now.”

He climbed out the car and rummaged around in the boot. He returned with a small box that was carefully wrapped in sky blue tissue paper and passed it to Rowan. He gave him a questioning look and he shot him a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Go on, open it.”

Rowan carefully peeled back the paper and lifted the lid from the box. Inside was a bracelet made up of small black spheres. At one end, there was a slightly larger, pale-yellow stone.

“I needed to pick it up today, but I think I jinxed it because there really was a holdup in town,” Ike explained, his cheeks reddening. “It’s made from lava stones. The yellow stone is lemon chrysoprase. It’s supposed to give you confidence and remind you of your strength. Look, I know it’s cheesy, but I really wanted to get you something special before the trip.”

Rowan slid it onto his wrist, twisting it around to admire it.

“I love it,” he said, leaning over to hug Ike. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome,” Ike mumbled into his hair, then pulled away. “Since we’re out anyway, why don’t we grab something to eat then find a hotel or a B&B for the night?”

Rowan frowned, considering this. They would have to make new reservations and cancel the old ones, which would be expensive, and there was still the matter of making sure that they could book a ferry the next day. But that could wait until tomorrow. Tonight, he deserved to relax with his boyfriend.

He nodded and Ike grinned at him.

“Let’s go then,” he said, putting his seatbelt on and starting the car. “Again, I’m really sorry that we missed the ferry.”

Rowan looked down at the tickets which were still in his lap. He frowned, then burst out laughing.

“We were never going to make it,” he said through fits of giggles. “The tickets were for six am.”