The Other Harry #Wattys2015

Chapter 13

-Chapter 13-

City girls don't camp. Obviously. No family holidays to the Cotswolds in a caravan, no erecting tents in the New Forest- yawn. Sometimes I picture that it might have been different if my dad had never died- when I was younger I used to ask about him a lot. What did he do for a living? What did he look like? Where did he come from? And obviously there was all the other stuff that I wanted to ask but couldn't....why did he do it? Didn't he want to live for me? He was from the home counties, his name was Dan and he didn't do anything but play guitar. And love me, apparently, or so mum said. But that didn't stop him overdosing when I was four. Some things don't add up.

Harry and Niall have camped, I think- and I suspect that Olivia's whole life has been like a camping trip, only the kind where bad men have been chasing you. They take charge of the situation- we drive into the woods and as the sun begins to set they build a fire, piling wood and ripped pages from magazines using my lighter to get it started.

I smell burnt ink and dead leaves. There's moss underfoot and lichen growing up the trees in the spot where we stop. Above us, the leaves are still thin on the branches- it was a long winter and they haven't grown back yet, but here and there bluebells have sprung up, a track of them crumpled from the marks the car tyres made in the earth.

"Confusion may reign this week as you try to glean some information that seems to be totally elusive, Aquarius. Are you researching a project? Are some of the facts obscure? For now, it might be better to work on something else and go back to your research in a few days. To keep at it now might involve you in a lot of work for negligible results."

I've saved one magazine from the fire, slumped across the seat reading horoscopes. I've never believed in all of that crap, but it's something to do to pass the time between now and dawn. Now and the job that Wolfenden organised but that we are feebly hoping to complete. I've done mine (Aries) and Joey's (Libra) which just leaves Harry the Aquarius. He doesn't believe in them either, distractedly looking out to where Niall stands at the edge of the circle we've made for our camp- looking out into the woods, knife still in hand.

"Grrr," there's a soft growl beside me and my head drifts over to Olivia, tucked into one of the chairs, her thick curly hair bowing low over her hand. She's taken one of those free gifts from a magazine; a cheap looking bottle of nail polish and is messing around with it, trying to paint her nails and making a terrible hash of it.

"You never put on nail polish before?" I ask and Olivia looks up at me and shakes her head.

"Mum never got me anything like that. Can't eat it or use it as a weapon," Olivia shrugs and looks down at her hand, almost sadly. "I thought it would look nice is all....I wanted to try it just once in case tomorrow..."

Her words drift into nothing, but she doesn't have to say it. Joey, Harry and I know what she means almost immediately. In case tomorrow goes wrong. And the odds are certainly stacked so high against us that I'm almost certain that it will. So I shift, despite myself, despite the fact that Olivia is a clone and I take her hand, and start painting her nails.

I think of my little sister, how she used to bug me about painting my nails or brushing my hair. I'd snap at her to buzz off and leave me alone if I was tired after work — I wish I hadn't now. Thinking of all the times that girl got on my nerves is almost darkly amusing. Fretting over how I was going to replicate all that One Direction merchandise that her friends had, telling her to turn down all that bloody music. And now I might get killed helping a couple of their members.

When Olivia's nails are painted a strange metallic purple colour that I doubt would suit any skin tone, she asks if she can practise on me. My heart swells with pity for this strange clone girl who hasn't had what most girls I know would consider basic things like nail polish and of course I immediately put my hand out.