He spun around in the darkness, certain he was going to see a woman standing there in a white dress, but there was no one behind him. He peered back the way he’d come, straining his eyes to see the campsite, but it was lost in the gloom.

Gary felt freezing cold, and his whole body was shaking. He could no longer feel his feet.

Swept in a wave of fear and no longer caring if anyone could see him or what his dad would think, he sprinted out of the copse and headed back in the direction he’d come from.

The wind rushed past his bare arms, scraping his skin like fingernails. The frame of his watch dug into his clenched palm. Blood pounded in his ears, a quick thud-thud-thud that sounded like a second set of footsteps chasing him.

For one sweet, brief moment as Gary flew across the grass away from the copse, he thought he was going to make it. He could just see the shapes of the tents beginning to emerge in the gloom, and it was as he put on an extra burst of speed that he lost his footing.

He went down hard in a heap, scraping his side and winding himself. The thudding in his ears grew louder, more insistent.

Gary struggled to pick himself up, numb feet slipping on the grass.

He was up on his knees when he heard something move behind him.

2015

Thursday, Part Six

Sure enough, his mum had been worried about him. Almost as soon as he’d climbed into her purple Clio at Brockenhurst train station and kissed her hello on the cheek, the interrogation had started. Was he feeding himself properly up in London? Getting enough sleep? Was he worried about anything? Why was he so quiet?

Yes, no, yes, and no comment, he’d thought in his head. But of course he’d reassured her that everything was okay, and kept a smile fixed firmly on his face during the drive home.

Now that he’s back in his old room and he’s said goodnight to his mum, he starts unpacking his bag. Not the walking bag – that one’s all ready for the weekend, and he leaves it standing in the corner by his old desk – but the briefcase containing all the folders.

All his work.

The ceiling light is on in his room and he spreads everything out over the bed, so it’s nice and well-lit. His bedroom hasn’t changed much since he left it for good after his third year at uni. It’s like it’s frozen in time. There’s a Pulp Fiction poster on the wall next to his wardrobe. His old PC, which he used to sit in front of for hours playing strategy games like Red Alert, sits dusty and unused on his desk.