“Michael? What’s the matter? Are you … are you bleeding?”

It was Colleen. She leaned through the window into the cab, her blonde hair falling forward over her face. In the light from the campfires, her hair glittered gold and copper.

“I had an accident.” For some reason, the pure concern on her face had chased away his anxiety. Suddenly it was easier to think. “I was out clearing away rubbish for some people. You know, just a dirty job to make some easy money.” He made himself smile. “But there was broken glass in the dump, didn’t see it until it was too late.” His arm, when he held it up, looked awful, and he saw her recoil. “It’s not as bad as it looks, honestly.”

“Jesus, Michael, I think maybe you should go to the hospital.” But she said it doubtfully. No one at Fiddler’s Mill was very keen on hospitals. The hospital might find out what drugs you’d been taking; the hospital might try to contact your parents, or the police. “Here, come out here where I can see it.” She held up a plastic battery powered torch—a lot of the young people carried them, for the woods at night.

When he was standing by the van, Colleen bent her head over his arm, shining the white light over his tattered sleeve. She made a small noise of sympathy and tugged at a piece of the material. Michael grunted with pain.

“Ok. All right. Do you trust me, Michael?”

“What?”

She looked up at him, smiling shyly. Again, he was struck by the delicacy of her.

“I have a first aid kit back in my camper. I can try and see if I, uh, can make it better? But I’ll have to cut your sleeve off I think, because it’s stuck in the wound. Although I think you’ll have to give up on this shirt anyway.”

Somewhere nearby, someone began plucking notes on a guitar, only to be laughingly shouted down by several others. For a moment, Michael found he couldn’t speak. Colleen still had her hand on his arm, apparently untroubled by the blood, and a few feet away, inside the van, a woman lay on a coarse blanket, her eyes staring sightlessly at nothing. It all seemed impossible. Colleen smiled encouragingly.

What is she?

“Come on, my camper’s not far.”

She was parked up a little way from the others, which Michael was glad of. Inside, it was cramped and untidy, with all the chaos that indicated it was home to at least two young women who kept unsociable hours. Colleen made him sit on the thinly cushioned seat that ran along one wall, and then pulled down a green plastic box from one of the cupboards. As she did so, a packet of plasters shed its contents all over the sink.

“Oh, whoops.”

Then she fetched some water and scraps of dry cloth, and a pair of huge fabric scissors. Seeing the look he gave them, she held them up, smiling.