Page 81

THE CARAVAN—TATE’S HOLIDAY PARK

AUGUST 23, 2010, 4 A.M.

We pulled on our clothes. Ran into the woods, crashing through the leaves and branches. Jake’s torch bouncing along the ground. The screams getting louder all the time. Then (much worse) they got quieter. Stopped.

Felt like hours before we found them. It was probably only a few minutes. Frankie, crouched on the ground. Cora curled up on her side, knees tucked. The moonlight across her. Guess I wasn’t thinking straight—all I could think at first was how weirdly beautiful she looked, like she’d been born out of the forest floor. How small and young, even though she’s older. Then Jake shouted, what the fuck happened? He sounded so stern, so grown-up: it shocked me back into the moment. Frankie’s head snapped up and she went: I didn’t do anything, she just...

But Jake was already shining his torch on Cora and the patch of sick next to her. Then he turned the torch on Frankie and went, so loud and cold, like an interrogation: what did she take? Frankie just stared back. I could see the shape of her skull. Her eyes glittering in the sockets.

I looked at the sick, Cora, Frankie’s face. I thought of her smile as she handed out the brownies.

What did you do with those mushrooms? I asked her. This long pause. And then she went: I just wanted us to have some fun. Like a little girl whose party game had gone wrong. Then her face went dark, cos Jake had dropped the torch and was crouched over Cora. He went: I’m going to try mouth-to-mouth. That’s when it hit, how bad this was. That she wasn’t breathing. I picked up the torch then. I needed to see Frankie’s face. What did you do? I asked her. She didn’t answer but she didn’t need to. You put them in the brownies, didn’t you? I said. I told you to get rid of them. Told you they weren’t magic mushrooms.

Quick as a flash she went: no you didn’t. Too quick.

I texted you.

From your piece of shit phone?

She was lying, I knew it. I know it.

But then Jake was shouting, for fuck’s sake can one of you call an ambulance? And I realized I’d left my phone by the pool. But Frankie already had hers out: walking away from us, talking quickly into it. For a moment I thought maybe it would all be OK.

Then Jake was saying: oh fuck. I can’t feel a pulse. I think she’s gone.