James is nodding his head. ‘Sometimes,’ he says. ‘Sometimes I feel like I should come down when we can’t all make it. Just come down on my own. I don’t like the thought of forgetting, I guess.’

‘How about you, Tim?’ says Matt.

‘I don’t think I could ever forget about it.’ Tim has picked up another stick which he’s breaking into pieces. His eyes are fixed on the fire like a man in a trance.

‘But do you ever think about coming back?’ says Matt. ‘You know, on your own?’

Tim throws another piece of stick into the fire. After a long pause he clears his throat and looks up.

‘No,’ he says. ‘No, I wouldn’t want to come back here without you guys.’ He pauses and lets out a dry, half-chuckle. ‘I think I’d be too spooked.’

Matt shoots a glance at James, who meets his eyes for a second before looking down at the ground.

Matt takes a sip of his tea. It tastes too strong, but it’s better than nothing. He puts the mug down on the ground beside him, and listens to the crackling of the fire.

After a moment he closes his eyes.

Saturday, Part One

They pass Hayworth Tor around midday, and reach the spot Matt has in mind around the middle of the afternoon.

It’s just a clearing – one of what must be hundreds, if not thousands of clearings in Rutmoor – but Matt recognises it straight away. The sun is beating down overhead, and although there are some clouds off in the distance to the east, the majority of the sky is a clear blue. It shines down on the plush grass of the clearing, and Matt finds it hard to believe that this is the same place where he last saw Tom alive.

Tom, with his long legs and his good looks, who was always the leader of their little group. Matt supposes he’s probably the leader now – he’s the one that plans the get-togethers, and he’s the one that organised this very special reunion on the 13th anniversary of that long-ago weekend in the summer of 2002.

I’m the leader, alright, Matt thinks. I’m the leader and I need to think hard about what that means. What kind of responsibility it gives me.

He feels a wave of uncertainty wash over him for a second, but then he closes his eyes and pictures the pages from his folder laid out on the bed he grew up in, the bed in his mum’s house where he used to lie struggling to get to sleep as a teenager, and eventually the doubt passes. It always does.