A few months later, the subject came up again. They were saying their goodbyes in the street outside the pub after meeting Diane and Bruce after work.

“Ah, Faye, I nearly forgot,” said Diane. “Bev asked me to mention she’s getting a women’s book club together. Are you interested?”

“Yes. Absolutely. I’ll give her a call.”

“Good. She was thinking every second Tuesday night of the month.”

Derek stepped forward and put a hand on Faye’s elbow. “Hmm. Nights. That’s going to be a problem.”

The women turned to him.

“Faye’s afraid of driving alone at night,” he said. “But perhaps one of you other girls could give her a lift?”

“What? I’m not—”

“No, no, you’re right, love,” said Derek, steering Faye in the other direction and calling over his shoulder to Diane. “We’ll work something out, Di! Bye!”

“I’m afraid of driving alone at night? Since when?” asked Faye, as she pulled the seatbelt across her chest.

“Didn’t we agree that it was safer that you didn’t do it? I mean, you can’t drive properly—I mean, confidently—if you’re afraid.”

“We discussed I should lock the car doors when I drive alone at night.”

“I said it would be safer. You seemed uncertain. Nervous. I’m just thinking about you. It worries me to think of you driving around at night on the verge of a panic attack.”

Faye had no sense of ever having panicked, but said nothing. When Bev called her the following week to discuss the details of the book club, she told her friend that she’d had second thoughts and wouldn’t participate after all.

As the trail looped back into the trees, passing through a lush fern gully where water droplets hung onto the tips of the luminous green fronds like tears, Faye quickened her pace. She was anxious to get back to Clare, whether she’d found help near the Bloukrans or not. It was a slim one, but the chance that the others had had to spend two nights at the Grootkloof Cabin wasn’t one she could let pass.

The ravine announced itself abruptly as the path wound downwards. Cleared of leafy padding by the rain, the earth was saturated and slippery. Faye broke a branch from a fallen tree and fashioned it into a walking stick. Even so, she was obliged to slow her pace and ignore the fairytale impression created by the gnarled roots, frilly ferns and light shining through the trees, and keep her eyes trained on the path instead. In some places, rocks and roots, freshly exposed by the eroding waters, and deep dongas created obstacles, forcing Faye to either slow down even more or beat her way through the undergrowth to get around them.