"I didn't think it was any of your business, that's why."

Archer didn't seem in the least bit fazed by my outburst, instead he looked over at me for a moment, assessing me. Drawing his eyes back to the road, he said, "Are you embarrassed of her?"

"What?" I asked, hand falling down from being propped up to lean on to the door, making a resounding bang. "No, I am not embarrassed of my mother, thank you very much. God, what kind of shitty person do you take me for?"

"I don't." He shrugged. "It just wouldn't be the first time, you know? You wouldn't be the first person with a sick parent to feel ashamed."

I thought about this. "Speaking from experience?"

His grip on the steering wheel tightened.

He shifted the attention, swiftly. "How long has your mum been ill?"

I sighed, accepting his diversion tactic. I wasn't going to force it out of him, not when he clearly wasn't ready. I, however, had spent years preparing for a moment such as this.

"Most of my life, I guess," I said, watching the towering trees appear as if they were linking arms around us, a picture of solidarity and strength. "She was diagnosed when I was about eight, but she'd been showing signs before my dad left."

He stole a glance, once again, but I wasn't watching him.

"Your dad left your mum?"

"What's got you so interested all of a sudden?"

"Just curious."

"Curiosity killed the cat," I muttered.

He had the ghost of a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. "But satisfaction brought it back."

I sighed. "My dad left my mum and me, end of story. Took the last bit of my grandma's money, the small amount he hadn't gambled away, with him. He's probably in a ditch somewhere now. He's as good as dead to me anyway."

Why had I opened up to him? I'd never opened up to anyone about any of this. Why now? Why him?

Because someone was there to listen, a small, creeping voice in the back of my mind said. I shook away the thought.

A while passed. Archer and I sat in a silence I couldn't quite decipher as the sky morphed a hazy blue, deepening with every mile.

"Alright," I said, turning in my seat. "You know about my sob story. Now tell me your's."

"And why would I do that?"

"Because then we're even," I said, matter of factly. "An eye for an eye and all that." I waved my hand vaguely.

"There's not much to tell," he relented. "I'm spoilt rotten and can have anything I want whenever I want. What is so pathetic about that?" I went to say something, but he'd already continued on, "I have a sister and bestfriends. My mother has worked everyday of her life so that I could go to school and then I worked until my fingers bled to pick the family business out of the toilet so that I could repay her for everything she's done."

"And your dad?"

Again, his grip tightened, knuckles turning white but then, they released in the next moment as if the thoughts running chaotically through his mind had no emotional strain attached to them.

"He's dead. Drunk driver."

And there I was, practically wishing my own dad was dead. Jesus fuck, Jolie.

"I'm sorry," I said, even though I knew it wasn't what anyone wanted to hear. Hell, I'd grown tired of the neighbours saying much of the same about mum, as if she was already in her grave. "That's terrible." God, can I stop being such a fucking idiot? Like can my idiocy take a fucking two minute break, for once?

He 'mmhm'ed.

"Is that's why you don't drink alcohol?" I said.

His eyes flickered to me, a moment of surprise swirling within them. "Picked up on that, hm?" He didn't need a response. "Yes," he answered after a moment. "I don't drink because I don't want to end up like my old man, tearing apart families for what? An extra beer?" He paused. "It's like cyanide to me. A destructive poison."

I went over what he'd said in my head, over and over until my mind was going in circles. "You mean your dad..?"

"Was the drunk driver, yes."

***

All around us was shrouded in darkness. Headlights and occasional lampposts were the only grasp of light as we sat, a brisk silence entombing us.

The car slows to settle behind another.

I try to count the snowflakes being littered all over the ground, before I give up. Anything to distract myself, to resist asking question after question about Archer. The whole 'know no more than necessary' clause in or agreement seemed to have been shredded along the way.

"How long until we get there?" I asked at last, growing tired and bored of driving, driving, driving, every turn of the road looking just like the last. Even if, now, we were at a standstill, in a line of dozens and dozens and dozens of cars and lorries.

"I doubt we'll be moving for quite a while," he said, eyes on the churning sky. His nimble fingers were working the right side of his head, as if warding away an encroaching migraine.

"What do you mean?"

And just like that, the heavens opened. But it wasn't rain like I was used to. No, it was a torrent of snow, pummelling the cars and road, building quickly around each vehicle.

"I've got supplies in the boot," he said, undoing his seatbelt and reaching for the door.

"Wait wait," I sighed. "I'll get it." I undid my own seatbelt and instead of climbing out of the door, climbed into the back seat and peered over into the boot. "Jesus how long did you think we were staying for?" Besides his luggage, which was unsubstantial, was everything you could possibly ever need if you were stuck in snow... for weeks on end.

I grabbed the blankets and the flasks and other odds and sods.

I slumped back into my seat, tugging at the blanket.

"What are you doing?" I almost screeched as he turned off the engine, withholding the heat from the vents and seat.

"If I keep it on, it'll kill the battery. And then we'll be stuck here for even longer."

I groaned but accepted it, able to bear it for now with my bum still warm, having only just been switched off.

***

"Archer?" I said, tentative at disturbing him as he sat in his seat, eyes shut. It was clear he wasn't sleeping— shoulders tensed and jaw ticking every time I tried to settle myself a little too loudly. His kept his eyes closed, but I knew he was listening. "I really need the loo."

He opened one eye and looked at me. "I don't know if you've noticed, Jolie, but we are on a dual carriageway."

"Yes," I bit out. "I'm aware of it. But I need to go, like need to go," I emphasised.

He closed his eye and once again returned to his dozing state. "You'll have to go in the bushes," he told me at last.

"The bushes?"

He opened his eyes, looking less than pleased about it, and motioned with his head outside. Reaching behind him he picked up something from his bag of supplies.

I reached for the door handle, feeling grim at having to pee in the freezing cold. Peecicles, I thought to myself. I might have laughed if I didn't have to go so bad. In the middle of snow.

"Oh and Jolie?"

I turned, praying maybe there was a secret built in toilet in this car, one with underfloor heating and protection from the now lazily drifting down snow.

"Might be needing this." I yelped as a toilet roll was tossed in my face. I caught it with a glare.

Archer's smile was twitching in amusement. "Have fun!"

I slammed the door.

***

I sagged back in my seat, eyelashes frozen and lips a blue-purple colour.

"You're a trend-setter," Archer commented.

I looked out of my window, noting that I was in a sense, because no sooner had I got back, doors were springing open left, right and centre and figures were appearing, wading through the snow, and then disappearing over the small hill, likely to relieve themselves.

I don't know how long passed, only that however long it was, it was excruciating. I kept trying to settle, eyelids heavy and screaming for sleep, but I just couldn't get comfy. And it was clearly no fault of the £100,000 car I was sat in, literally just me.

"Will you stop that?" Archer said, patience wearing, as he heard me move about for the fifteenth time. He was in the back now, spread across the three large seats there.

"I can't sleep."

He sighed loudly. "Just come here."

My face must have been as red as my fingers, so I was glad he still had his eyes closed and it was dark enough that he couldn't see me.

He lifted the blankets on top of him, and pushed himself backwards to give me space.

I debated with myself for a few moments, before (with feet feeling as if they were about to fall off, despite the blankets piled across me) I relented and, though begrudgingly, squeezed into the back. I settled myself next to him and lay down.

We were face to face, so I flipped over.

"Better?" He mumbled.

"Yeah," I whispered back.

"Jesus fuck," he let out, and I could feel his abdomen contracting from behind me. "You're cold." He reached to where I had been placed, hovering over me, and yanked the blanket. He set it across me.

We lay like that for a while, me now no longer shaking, but instead, immersed in a pleasant, settling warmth, largely because of the human hot water bottle behind me.

He was respectful, which surprised me, keeping his hands to himself. If anything, it was me pushing the most against him. One, so I didn't fall off the seat. And two, because he was really, really warm. And three... no, two was more than enough.

"Archer?" I said into darkness, kind of hoping he was asleep.

"What?" His breath was warm against me.

"Thank you," I said before I lost my nerve. "For listening."

He didn't say anything, but I knew he'd heard me. I almost preferred his silence.

And just like that, I slipped into an unwavering sleep.