Autumn and Melody release the back of the long seat so it lies flat and then connect it to the mattress behind. Soon a double bed takes shape, and Autumn tucks in sheets and shakes out three large blankets. I drink a little more of my tea and lie down next to the window. I hear the swish of messages from Autumn’s phone. Melody lies beside me, stroking my hair, and I hear myself sigh.

‘When you’re ready, and only if you’re ready, tell me what happened,’ Melody says.

‘You don’t need to call the police,’ I say quietly. ‘It’s just that …’

‘Yes?’ Melody says, her hand stopping.

‘He’s a hunter.’

‘Who?’

‘My father. I hate him. I want to go home.’

Her stroking continues, even softer now, as my eyelids close.

Feels nice … if only my mum were here … I see her smiling face and, for just a moment, it’s her beside me.

When I open my eyes, sunlight is streaking through the purple curtains. It takes me a second to remember where I am. Melody and Autumn are talking quietly in the front seat. I lift my body up slightly and see they’re holding hands.

I’m still tired and I lie back down. I hear Autumn say, ‘She ran away at night, in the snow, isn’t it …’ Her voice fades out.

They’re talking about me. I quietly take the blanket off my ears and focus on hearing.

Melody says, ‘Dangerous, I know …’ but I lose the rest of the sentence, only picking up the words, ‘… sometimes rash …’

‘How old is she again?’ Autumn asks clearly. Melody answers and Autumn continues, her voice slightly louder, ‘Just a little dramatic, that’s all. Spirited. I like it.’

Spirited. I like that word too.

I fall back asleep and when I wake again, stretching and yawning, soft folk music flows from the speakers, and Melody and Autumn are bustling around the campervan, opening and closing cupboards.

Out the window, the parking lot is filling with cars and the bus station has come to life, the ticket booth now open. I curl onto my side to watch, not ready to get up yet.

Melody leans over to kiss me on the cheek. ‘Happy birthday for yesterday, love.’

‘I hope that’s the worst birthday I’ll ever have. I miss Mum,’ I say, tears welling.

‘I know, love. I know.’ She rubs my back. ‘Let’s eat something and we’ll get back to camp.’

‘But I want to go to the airport,’ I say, sitting up.