“A fire would be a neat trick,” said Mason. He tossed a stone or something through the entranceway, and it made a rustling sound as it landed somewhere amid the trees on the other side of the stream. “What exactly do you suggest we burn?”
“Like . . . wood, or—” But then I realized what he was getting at. I bit down, clamping my lips tight. Mason was directly across from me, and though I couldn’t see his face, I could just imagine him smirking.
“Not to worry, though,” said Mason. “I’ve got something to warm us up.” I saw him shift, and there was a noise like he was rummaging in his rucksack. And then he held what he was clutching in the middle of the torchlight, like it had been beamed down from heaven or something.
“What the actual fuck?” said Cora.
“No way,” said Fash. “You’ve been carrying that with you the whole time?”
“Well, it didn’t carry itself,” said Mason.
“Why didn’t you mention it before?” said Cora. “Jesus, Mason.”
There was a rustle and then a popping sound as Mason uncapped the bottle. “Gang?” he said. “Meet Dr. Daniels. Dr. Jack Daniels. Curer of ills. Banisher of chills. The finest healer in the land.” He took a swig, straight from the bottle, and made a sound like it was the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted. Then he passed it along.
“Where did you get it?” said Luke as he took the bottle. Again, I couldn’t see his face, but it looked like he was staring at the label, as though trying to work out whether it was real. Because we hardly ever got hold of spirits. There’s only one place in the entire town where they let us buy alcohol, the little corner shop on the road behind the quay. But Old Man Miller, who runs it, only ever lets us buy cider. Alcopops. Stuff like that. He won’t sell us anything stronger, no matter how much we beg. Mason even tried wearing a disguise once so he could bag us a bottle of vodka, but Mr. Miller just laughed him from the store. He—
Wait. You won’t arrest him or anything, will you? Mr. Miller, I mean. For selling us alcohol?
No. Right. Of course. Obviously you’ve got other priorities.
“It’s my dad’s,” Mason said. “Was my dad’s. He must have blown his dole money at the office. But I figured we’d need it more than he does. In fact, we’re doing him a favor. The doctor told him he should cut out the booze.”
The bottle had made its way to Cora. She took a swig, and because she was sitting right beside me, I was able to see her grimace. She offered the bottle to me.
“No thanks,” I said, and I made to pass it straight to Fash.
“What’s the matter, Abi?” said Mason. “Worried about sharing our spit?”
He leaned forward a bit, into the torchlight, and his face . . . It scared me. Not just because of the way the light was shining—you know how people’s faces look when they hold a torch up under their chin? But also because of his expression. For the first time since we’d been out there, he looked almost . . . not cheerful, exactly. Excited. And that was the reason I didn’t want to drink. Because I didn’t trust him. Like, why had he even brought it in the first place, that’s what I wanted to know. And saved it until that moment? And yeah, OK, maybe I say dumb stuff sometimes, but I can’t be totally stupid if I figured out he was up to something before it crossed any of the others’ minds.
“Have some,” said Cora, oblivious. “It does actually warm you up.”
I took a sip. A small one. And I passed the bottle on to Fash. From the look on his face, he was clearly wondering the same thing I was—wondering about Mason, I mean—but he only hesitated for a second. He tipped the bottle back and swallowed. “You’re right,” he said, gasping slightly and screwing his eyes up tight. “It’s not as good as a fire, but it’s definitely got a burn.”
“It does the trick, doesn’t it?” Mason said, taking another swig himself. “It’s just a shame we don’t have any Coke to go with it.”
“Stop it,” I found myself saying. Just quietly, and I don’t think anybody heard me. Except Cora maybe, who turned her head.
Mason had passed the bottle on again, and it was on its way back round. “It’s almost like a regular night out,” he said, and this time I could hear his grin. “All we need is for some old biddy to walk by and give us evils, and for one of us to start puking in the gutter.”
“Stop it,” I said again, louder this time.
I saw Mason’s shadow turn its head toward me. “Stop what?” he said, all innocent.
“Stop acting like you’re enjoying this. Like it’s a . . . a regular night out.”
He moved forward enough that I could see his face. “Are you not enjoying yourself, Abi?”
“No, I’m not enjoying myself. We’re not supposed to be enjoying ourselves!”
There was a flash in Mason’s eyes then, where they caught the light of the torch.
The bottle reached me again and this time I didn’t even take it. I just shook my head as Cora held it out.
But then I changed my mind. All of a
