Tom started walking again. He picked up his pace and as he rounded a bend in the path he saw the bushes starting to thin. He could hear the gurgling, louder now, but the grass was so thick and high there was still no sign of the river. He carried on down the path as the bushes continued to thin, rounded another slight bend, and then stopped.

Tim’s pack was on the path up ahead.

It was about 10 feet in front of him, lying on its side just off the muddy track. Tom started to move towards it and then stopped himself. The feeling in the bottom of his stomach – that gnawing guilt and anxiety that had been there in the background ever since Gary left – had suddenly stirred at the sight of the pack. Tom hesitated, listening for any sound of Tim. There was nothing but the wind and the gurgling of the river. Why was his bag just lying abandoned on the path like that?

Tom looked at the pack again and had a clear, nightmarish image of going to pick it up. He’d get right up close and reach out a hand, and the second he touched one of those straps he’d feel something reach out and touch him, something behind him that he wouldn’t even hear coming.

It was ridiculous, of course, but he couldn’t shake the feeling.

So what are you going to do, just stand here staring at it all day long?

Tom took a breath, then took a slow step towards the pack. He paused again, listened, and took another step, then another. It was on the fourth step that he caught movement out of the corner of his eye.

Tom tensed, feeling heat bloom through his cold skin. He bit his lip in an effort to stop himself crying out and turned his head slowly, preparing to turn and run.

To his right there was a gap in the bushes, and beyond the gorse there was an open area of smaller bushes and thick grass. The ground sloped down there, and although Tom couldn’t see the river he could hear it clearly and knew it must be there in that dip.

Tim was standing in the dip, facing away from Tom. He was bending down, and as Tom watched him he straightened up and looked at something in his hands that Tom couldn’t see.

Tom let out a slow breath and felt the heat drain away from the surface of his skin. It was Tim, filling up his water bottle like he’d said he was going to do. That was all. That was why his pack was on the path in front of Tom – because he’d tossed it down when he’d found a suitable spot to access the river.

And what exactly had Tom been so worried about anyway, for Christ’s sake?