Lauren hears a fluttering behind her and stops. She switches off the radio and turns, but there are only more trees. If she listens hard she can hear them creak. She is thinking about her father’s lined face and whether he lies or if he does things and doesn’t remember. She moves closer to one broad trunk. Of course he does. Both. She’s seen him almost forget her altogether, sometimes, although those days are rare. She’s seen him lie to the neighbours when they ask too many questions. He keeps her out of the wood shed and the posh living room she can’t remember using. He keeps parts of himself locked and secret. It annoys her that she isn’t allowed to lie. He still doesn’t realize she puts on her mum’s lipstick in the bathroom sometimes.

At that moment, her footsteps squeeze water from the moss like a sponge and it runs over her wellies. She imagines how strong his hands must be when they haul logs into the back of the pickup. He can still lift her up over his shoulder and she will hang like a dead weight. A cool damp lingers from the rain. She once overheard him telling Kirsty how you strangle a chicken. She walks down a ridge of ferns to a fallen oak and hears the sound again. She spreads her hand against the trunk and notices the tarry puddles of black witch’s butter mushrooming near the roots. There is a tawny blur in the trees ahead. A deer, now still, with its neck bent downwards, has its eyes on her. They stand facing each other until the deer leaps and vanishes into the bracken.

When Lauren makes her way back to their den, Billy has gone. She starts to weave more sticks into the walls. There on the ground is something she didn’t notice earlier. Someone has placed large pebbles and stones in a neat ring around the hut. She counts them. Twelve in total. Each stone is of a similar size and placed the same distance apart.

Lauren steps out of the circle and holds the radio to her mouth. It fuzzes with static. ‘Billy?’ she says.

Piercing feedback screams out of the machine.

Lauren drops it on the ground, screwing up her eyes.

When she is sure it’s quiet, she picks the radio up by the antenna like a dead fish.

‘Jameson? Jameson, home time.’

Billy walks out of the trees instead. He’s smiling.

‘Where’d you go?’ she says.

‘I was just up that way.’ He is out of breath and she wonders if he has been looking for her.

‘Did you hear my radio? It’s broken.’

‘No?’

‘It was so loud! Here you go. I was on my way home.’

‘Hey, it’s not finished yet, come on and do a bit more.’