I found our camp as we had left it the last time we’d been here. All except some leaf and stone art we had done a few months ago that had now been disrupted by wind or a small woodland creature. I bent down and tried to see if I could spot any animal prints, but I couldn’t see anything. I sat down on the biggest of the log seats, which Caitlin and I fought over each time we were here. It had a slight raised back to it, giving it the effect of a throne, and needless to say it was Caitlin, whose frame was slightly broader than mine, who always managed to wrestle her way into it first. Eventually, she would tire of sitting and get up and make some sort of effort at tidying the camp, but it always remained a little messy. In a way, I preferred it like that; it was more authentic and somewhere both Caitlin and I were truly able to be ourselves, away from the regimented structures imposed upon us by the adults.
I settled down into the log throne, knowing I had about ten minutes before it would become so uncomfortable it was unbearable to sit on any longer. I opened my crisps and my drink carton and sat back and opened my magazine. I had just got stuck into an article about the pop star Tiffany, when I heard a loud branch snapping behind me. I dropped my magazine and my crisps on the floor in front of me and stood up. I was too far away from both houses and gardens to be heard if I screamed, unless Hackett was working somewhere in the wildflower meadow, but I hadn’t seen him all day. I bent down and picked up my magazine and rolled it into a tube then I bent it in half in the way Dad had reliably informed me to make a fast weapon, something he referred to as a ‘Millwall brick’. It was the sort of thing I presumed I would have needed when I lived in Hackney, but never once thought I’d need it here in a manor estate in the Dorset countryside. But I rolled and folded that magazine without hesitation until it resembled a hard and pointy weapon; if I was to get out alive today, Dad would be proud of my quick-witted thinking.
I turned to face where I had heard the branch breaking, my weapon held out in front of me.
‘You can put that down for a start – I’m only stalking a baby deer,’ the voice of a boy came through the trees. It wasn’t one I recognised. I looked to my right and saw a young lad roughly my age, possibly younger. I presumed he was part of the traveller lot as he was wearing white cut-off denim shorts, which were so filthy they were almost grey, and no T-shirt. He had on a pair of black plimsoles with no socks. His hair was a mass of dirty-blonde curls, and he was now crouched down near a cluster of trees opposite me. He had yet to look my way, and I wondered at what point he had seen my magazine weapon.
I let the brick drop to my side but kept a firm grip on it, ready to hurl it at his head should he try any funny business.
‘So where’s the deer then?’ I did a whisper-shout.
‘Right behind those bushes over there. It’s a baby – maybe it’s lost. I’m following it to make sure its mother comes back for it. They usually do.’
I was suddenly intrigued. Although I had tried to suppress my desire to connect with the animals and nature after the Ivy incident, I had not been able to squash it completely. I had seen a few deer running through the wildflower meadow in the mornings when I was up early for school, but I had never seen a baby deer. I tentatively made my way over to where the boy was crouched. He still didn’t look around, so I aligned myself with him until I too was hidden behind the same tree as him. From there, I was able to get a good view out towards the patch of ferns he was referring to. Then suddenly, the ferns shook and a small baby deer scurried out rather ungainly and then stood, just a few feet away from us, not moving, just staring with its big brown eyes directly towards us. I let out a small gasp, and I felt the boy next to me move his hand slightly to indicate that I should stay deadly still, which I did. Then, as though it was a perfectly rehearsed script, an adult deer appeared from stage right and walked straight up to the baby deer. It could only have been the mother. She began to lick her head and push her nose towards her neck and body. The fawn reacted with a small leap and then the two turned and walked away, deeper into the woods.
I realised I had been holding my breath and let out a long sigh. I was in an almost trance watching the deer, so when I took a step back, I realised I was standing next to a complete stranger. I tightened my grip on the magazine.
The boy got up from his crouched position and looked me up and down.
‘I told ya, the brick ain’t needed – I ain’t gonna ’urt ya.’
‘Sure, well, I’ll keep hold of it just the same, because,
