Fern and I set up our own tent with impressive speed, mostly because Fern had memorised the instructions. We finished so quickly that we were also able to help Mum and Daniel pitch their tent (which was much more complex) and then collect a huge pile of kindling before dark. (Billy set up his own tent, then sat on a log while the rest of us worked.) Daniel commented that Fern and I were ‘born for camping’ while Billy was ‘born for laziness’ and Mum smiled a lot – even when Daniel wasn’t looking.
Once the tents were set up, Daniel cooked some sausages and corn on the cob over a little camping stove and we ate them with bread sitting around the camp fire. Afterward, Mum and Daniel disappeared into their tent, so Fern and I went to ours. We had just got settled when we heard the rustling of twigs outside the tent. We didn’t even have time to exchange a glance before the zip lowered and Billy’s face appeared in the gap. ‘Anyone for poker?’
Fern and I broke into a chorus of gasps and shushes. ‘We’ll get in trouble!’ I cried, horrified and, if I’m honest, a bit exhilarated. Mum and Daniel’s tent was just metres away and Mum’s hearing was ridiculous. At home, Fern and I had learned how to have entirely soundless conversations by mouthing words for this exact reason. But if Billy was afraid of being reprimanded, he hid it well. He crawled into our tent, a torch in one hand, a deck of cards in the other.
‘They won’t hear us. They’ve already sunk a bottle and a half of wine.’ He reached outside the tent and retrieved a can of beer. ‘But they didn’t drink this.’
‘What are you doing?’ I whispered. ‘Put that back!’
He opened the can and took a swig. Fern and I were scandalised.
‘They’ll know,’ I cried. ‘You’ll get into trouble.’
He shrugged. ‘So, are we playing?’
I looked at Fern, whose eyes were cautious.
‘How do you play?’ I asked.
Fern knew, of course, but I didn’t have the slightest idea.
‘I’ll teach you,’ Billy said, taking another swig from the can. ‘We can be on the same team. Scooch up.’
Billy crawled over to sit beside me and gave me a conspiratorial wink. His sense of fun was infectious. As we played, his wrist rested on my knee so we could both see the cards. I’d never been so close to a boy in all my life. Periodically, he leaned closer and whispered something to me – the rules, or whether or not he thought Fern was bluffing – and I smelled his scent, a mix of spearmint chewing gum, beer and smoke from the camp fire. He couldn’t convince either of us to try the beer, so he polished off the can on his own. He didn’t even slur his words.
Billy and I lost the game of poker that night, but I didn’t care one bit. For a couple of hours, it felt like I’d tripped and fallen into someone else’s life – someone with loving parents, family holidays and poker games. Someone who knew what it was like to feel happy. And, sometimes, when your world has been filled with fear and anguish, that feeling, even if fleeting, is all you need to carry on.
FERN
Mercifully, Rose doesn’t say much on the way home. I don’t either. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t have, because that incredible sense of fatigue that always follows a sensory meltdown overcomes me. I feel like my eyelids have weights on them. I let them close and lean my head against the cool window. I’m starting to drift off when the car comes to a stop.
‘We’re home,’ Rose says softly.
I open my eyes. ‘No, we’re not.’
‘Okay,’ she says. ‘We’re at my home.’
‘I’m exhausted, Rose,’ I say, although it must be no later than eight o’clock. ‘I want to go home.’
Rose opens her door. ‘You can sleep here tonight.’
‘No, thanks.’
‘Fern,’ she snaps. ‘After everything that has gone on tonight, please do me a favour and don’t argue.’
I cross my arms. I don’t like sleeping at other people’s houses as a rule, not even Rose’s. I never sleep well. Admittedly, I don’t exactly sleep well anywhere, and it’s worse than usual lately as I have to get up multiple times a night to pee. But tonight, especially after everything that’s happened, I just want my own bed.
‘Fern. I don’t have time for this. I had back-to-back meetings today and was only just on my way home when I get the call that you’ve had a spectacular meltdown and I have to come and rescue you. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to do it, but I’m tired and the least you can do is come inside.’ She gets out of the car.
‘If you’re too tired to drive me,’ I say, also getting out, ‘I’ll walk home–’
‘Fern Elizabeth Castle!’ Her tone is sharp, like a school-teacher’s. ‘You’re staying here, and that’s final.’
‘It’s not final. I’m an adult, Rose. I can choose where I sleep.’
Rose raises her eyebrows. ‘If you’re an adult, why do I need to be your round-the-clock carer?’
Rose and I face off for several moments. That’s when I notice what she is wearing. ‘If you were on your way home from work, why are you wearing leggings?’
‘Really, Fern?’ Rose stares at me. ‘After I’ve driven across town to rescue you in the middle of the night, you want to talk about what I’m wearing?’
I want to tell her that yes, I do want to talk about that, but I can’t because Rose turns and stalks into the house before I have the chance. I remain where I am for several moments, huffing and sighing, before finally following her into the house.
As suspected, I sleep badly. Among other things, the sheets on Rose’s spare bed are some sort of polyester blend that makes
