𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐦𝐞 - 𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐢 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐡

Ten

‘I hate camping,’ Lauren grunted, tripping over the crumpled canvas.

‘Yeah, well, it’s my birthday and I like it,’ Cara said, reading over the
instructions with her tongue tucked between her teeth.

It was the final Friday of the summer holidays and the four of them (including River, who had only agreed to come for smores) were in a small clearing in a beech forest on the outskirts of Kilton. Cara’s choice for her early eighteenth birthday celebration: to sleep without a roof and squat-piss behind dark trees all night. It wouldn’t have been Pip’s choice either; she certainly didn’t see the logic in retrogressive toilet and sleeping arrangements. But River and Cara loved it, and Pip knew how to pretend well enough.

‘It’s technically illegal to camp outside of a registered campsite,’ Lauren said, kicking the canvas in retaliation.

‘Well, let’s hope the camping police don’t check Instagram, because I’ve announced it to the world. Now shush,’ Cara said, ‘I’m trying to read.’

‘Um, Cara,’ Pip said tentatively, ‘you know this isn’t a tent you brought, right? It’s a marquee.’

‘Same difference,’ River said. ‘And we have to fit us and the three boys in.’

‘But it comes with no floor.’ Pip jabbed her finger at the picture on the instructions.
‘You come with no floor.’ Cara butt-shoved her away. ‘And my dad packed us a separate groundsheet.’

‘When are the boys getting here?’ Lauren asked.

‘They texted they were leaving about two minutes ago. And no,’ Cara snapped, ‘we’re not waiting for them to put it up for us, Lauren.’

‘I wasn’t suggesting that.’

Cara cracked her knuckles. ‘Dismantling the patriarchy, one tent at a time.’

‘Marquee,’ Pip corrected.

‘Do you want me to hurt you?’

‘No-quee.’

Ten minutes later, a full ten-by-twenty-foot white marquee stood on the forest floor, looking as out of place as anything could. It had been easy once they worked out the frame was a pop-up. River checked her phone. It was half seven already and her weather app said that sunset would be in fifteen minutes, though they’d have another couple of twilight-lit hours before
darkness fell.

‘This is going to be so fun.’ Cara stood back to admire their handiwork. ‘I love camping. I’m gonna have gin and strawberry laces until I puke. I don’t want to remember a thing tomorrow.’

‘I wanna pour Cherry Vodka on my smores,’ River said.

‘Brilliant,’ Cara said, giving her finger guns.

‘Admirable goals,’ Pip said. ‘Do you two want to go and grab the rest of the food from the car? I’ll lay out our sleeping bags and put up the sides.’

Cara’s car was parked in the tiny concrete car park about 200 yards from their chosen spot. Lauren and Cara toddled off that way through the trees, the woods lit with that final orange nightly glow before they begin to darken.

‘Don’t forget the torches,’ she called, just as she lost sight of them.

River attached the large canvas sides to the marquee, swearing when the Velcro betrayed her and she had to start one side from scratch. She wrestled with the groundsheet, glad when she heard the twig-snap tread of Cara and Lauren returning. But when she went to look outside for them no one was there. It was just a magpie, mocking her from the darkening treetops, laughing its scratchy, bony laugh. She begrudgingly saluted it and got to
work laying their three sleeping bags in a row, trying not to think about the fact that Andie Bell could very well be buried somewhere in these woods, deep underground.