Faye sat on the lawn and looked towards the forest. The idea of being in the trees in the dark frightened her. She didn’t know what she might encounter there. It was different by day. It had been a long time since she’d experienced the peace she’d felt as they’d hiked through the forest earlier. The enormity and density of the trees made her feel insignificant and yet, alive. While Derek complained that he felt confined and stifled by their nearness, Faye felt strangely at home. As if answering an ancient craving, her genetic material responded to the tall, woody plants. She slid her hands across their rough bark and lay her ear against their trunks as if listening for a heartbeat.

It was odd because, while she felt soothed by the trees, Faye wasn’t at ease with being in the wilderness in general. She was city-born and -bred, and had largely holidayed at the seaside as a child. While she’d undertaken several camping trips into the mountains and alongside rivers with Derek, Zach and their friends, she’d never felt safe in the outdoors, waking regularly at night, frightened by the silence or the unfamiliar sounds of nature. But in the trees during the day, it was a different story.

“Oh, God, you and your trees,” said Derek when she’d leaned against a giant yellowwood shortly after they followed the path into the forest.

He’d stopped and turned to face the others. Faye recognised the look on his face; her husband had come up with something to amuse his friends. Helen was familiar with the stance, too.

“Guys! Derek demands our attention,” she joked, draping an arm over Bev’s shoulders.

Derek picked up a stick and raised it in a posture that made Faye think of an illustration of Moses addressing the Israelites in a children’s bible her aunt had given her for her eighth birthday. She’d loved the pictures.

With everyone’s eyes on him, Derek said, in a loud (Moses-like?) voice, “If dating apps existed when we were young, Faye could’ve snared a lumberjack instead of me by—wait for it—signing up with Timber!”

There was laughter, more polite than Derek would no doubt have hoped for.

“Anyone for water?” asked Bruce.

Faye smiled. “No, thanks,” she said, unintentionally stroking the tree as if apologising for her husband’s silly pun.

When had Derek’s teasing changed from humorous to hurtful? Or was it the way she perceived it that had changed? He still raked in the laughs from his friends. Perhaps because they were seldom the target of his ribbing. That was Faye’s hardship.

In the early days, it had felt good to be the focus of Derek’s attention. He was top dog in the group and, she had to concede, her ticket in.