‘Enjoying yourself?’ asked Matt, a cheeky glint of amusement dancing in his bright blue eyes as he stuck out his hand to help her back up.
‘I was.’
Rosie grimaced as she tried to untangle a sprig of dried-out grass from her bushy hair – glamorous, it wasn’t! Now that they were out in the open, the calm night air of the forest had morphed into an insistent breeze sending a helix of leaves and twigs into their path. Her fall had knocked the stuffing out of her and sent her spirits southwards; her shoulders ached where the straps of her rucksack dug into her skin, her nose and eyes watered from the constant slap of cold air, and there was a blister forming on her big toe – and they still had another mile to go until they reached the clearing where they would set up camp for the night.
She met Matt’s eyes, recognizing the gleam of an outdoors fanatic. Clearly, he was in his element, enjoying whatever nature decided to throw at him, the more challenging the better. If she could have turned around and trudged back to the cosy warmth of the Ultimate Adventures office she would have done so without any hesitation. The only thing stopping her was the fact that everyone else in the party was having the time of their lives, not to mention the enthusiastic chatter about what kind of ghosts they were likely to come across before they arrived at their destination, Garside Priory, the most haunted place of all.
‘What in God’s name possessed me to listen to you and Freddie and agree to this torture?’ Rosie rolled her eyes and tried to laugh, but her voice sounded more like a hysterical hyena.
‘What’s the matter with you? It’s character-building!’
‘That’s complete marketing drivel spouted by masochistic morons from the comfort of their air-conditioned desks. It’s soul-destroying, that’s what it is! How can spending the night in a cold, damp, miserable environment with a bunch of outward-bound fanatics and dedicated ghost hunters possibly change my personality for the better? Now, on the other hand, if we had found ourselves lounging in a Jacuzzi, sipping iced cocktails and listening to the faint drift of jazz music then I could see how that might persuade me to build better relationships with my fellow sufferers.’
‘They’re a strange bunch, aren’t they?’ said Matt, lowering his voice as he fell into stride next to Rosie to allow Freddie and Mia to take the lead.
‘I’m so glad you said that. Did you hear the way Rick spoke to Phil earlier?’
‘Seems like our chairman of the Myth Seekers Society has let some of the power go to his head. Before you arrived, he had a real go at Brad and Emma for not studying, and committing to memory, the detailed file of notes he’d prepared for everyone on the local folklore of Norfolk, and more specifically, the many myths surrounding Garside Priory. In fact, he was so annoyed at them he even threatened to introduce an exam before allowing members to put their names down for future Myth Seekers trips. Brad apologized, but I thought Emma was going to launch an attack for his jugular. He’s not an easy man to like, I have to say.’
‘I agree. Would you believe he asked me what the annual turnover was of the café? When I told him that Graham was the owner, not me, he accused me of lacking ambition, saying I should make it my business to know everything about the organization I work for, no matter how small and “insignificant”. It was the first time I’ve seen Mia lost for words and she’s avoided him ever since for fear of being unable to resist the urge to spike his coffee with a generous dose of rat poison.’
‘What’s his wife like?’
‘Oh, Helen’s lovely! She visibly cringed when Rick was interrogating me about the café’s finances and five-year plan. You should have seen the relief on her face when she waved everyone off tonight. If you ask me, I think she was really looking forward to some alone time. Rick doesn’t speak to her in that arrogant tone he reserves for everyone else, but he does tend to talk over the top of her, mainly to contradict what she has to say. It’s embarrassing, but I guess she’s just become used to it.’
‘And Phil’s wife?’
‘Steph. I like her, she’s like a mother hen protecting her mate. She’s the only one I’ve seen challenge Rick when his comments become overtly obnoxious. In fact, she took him to task only this morning when he called Phil a wimp for wearing thermals and telling him that real men brace the elements! I thought they were going to come to blows! I’m not sure why Phil is so often in the firing line because he seems like a decent guy, if a little obsessed with his camera. I swear he sleeps with that thing around his neck!’
‘Rick wants to be careful,’ joked Matt as he helped Rosie over a style into a field filled with golden corn swaying languidly in the breeze. ‘Hasn’t he ever heard the story about the worm who turned? Or, perhaps in his case, the worm’s wife! All this boorish behaviour might one day come back to bite him. I’m glad at least someone is prepared to stand up to him.’
‘Helen and Rick don’t have children, but Steph and Phil have three, ranging from five to eleven, so she seems to treat Rick like a naughty schoolboy, or more precisely, the playground bully. Sadly, the bully is not yet ready to learn about the consequences of his taunting. Steph was telling me earlier that she intended to make the most of the trip down here because it was the first time she and Phil had been away without the children. She and Helen have got an evening of prosecco and pampering planned,’ she added wistfully.
Matt laughed. ‘Okay, Little Miss Intrepid, I’m pleased to announce that your torment is almost over. Look, there’s our campsite for the night! Come on, last one there makes the coffee!’
Rosie shook her head and took off in Matt’s wake towards a clearing at the edge of the woodland they had been hiking around. Of course, she was no match for Matt, and by the time she arrived her heart hammered its objection to the sudden exertion and her breath came out in ragged spurts. Maybe if she survived the night out in the cold she should really think about joining a gym.
‘Okay, this is the best area for the sleeping bags, and over here is where we’ll build a fire,’ said Freddie, unpacking the essential items for a night under the stars from his rucksack.
‘Brad, Emma, would you like to collect the water for our coffee from the stream at the other side of those sycamore trees? Rick, Phil, can you scavenge for some firewood? Rosie, Mia are you okay to erect the tent?’
A tickle of guilt meandered into Rosie’s chest, but was swiftly eradicated when she thought of the alternative. The one concession Matt had agreed to was that she and Mia, and Emma if she changed her mind about sleeping outdoors when she knew what it entailed, would be afforded the privilege of sharing the only tent for the night. At least it would provide them with shelter from the unpredictable weather that could descend on the Norfolk countryside without warning.
Feeling like she was the star turn in a comedy sketch, Rosie spent a humiliating thirty minutes helping Mia to put the tent up and by the time they had finished – to a smattering of applause from a smirking Matt and Freddie – she wished she’d opted for the open-air version! With her cheeks burning, she scanned the darkening horizon for any sign of Brad and Emma making their way back with the water so they could prepare their evening’s rations and a welcome tin mug of freeze-dried coffee. It wouldn’t be the Jamaican coffee they served at the Windmill Café, but she had to thank God for small mercies!
As Rosie took a seat next to Mia in front of the fire that Freddie had coaxed from a few twigs without any difficulty, waiting in thirsty anticipation for the scorch of hot coffee to course through her veins, she allowed her thoughts to twist over the last two months. After the poisoning incident had been cleared up, the café had gone from strength to strength and Graham had reduced his references to the unfortunate matter from daily to weekly. October was the end of the tourist season, so the opening times had been reduced to take into account the decrease in custom.
Mia was excited about her new position as trainee zip wire instructor. It meant she could stay at home and still work on her popular travel blog which was increasing its traffic every week. After her gap year, Mia had returned home with a bucket list of dreams she wanted to fulfil and was working her way through them at a rate of knots – baking maestro, zip wire expert, travel writer, camping aficionado, loyal friend. Rosie would miss her cheerful presence at the café, not to mention the daily dose of laughter and the strong bond of friendship they had formed. She knew she had Mia to thank for introducing her to Matt and Freddie and bestowing her with a second chance at happiness after the debacle with Harry.
But, as she smiled a ‘welcome back’ to Brad and Emma who were giggling at some private joke, she wondered if she was being premature in her assessment of her new-found contentment. There was now, she was sure, a higher-than-average risk that the new Windmill Café manager – herself, Rosie Catherine Barnes – was about to die of hypothermia, or be mauled by the spirits protecting the Garside Priory, or be eaten for breakfast by a shaggy dog called Black Shuck.
‘Coffee?’
‘Thanks, Emma,’ said Rosie, accepting the metal mug of hot coffee. She took a tentative sip, allowing the warmth to seep into her veins, watching the tendrils of steam wind skywards in a languid spiral against the ink-black sky.
‘Anyone want to try one of the Windmill Café’s signature apple and caramel muffins?’ asked Mia, producing a large Tupperware box from her rucksack.
The group devoured every morsel as though they’d been hiking through the fields and woodlands for days on end instead of for just over an hour and a half. Abiding by the rules of wild camping, Mia collected the paper cases and stored them back in her rucksack to dispose of later.
‘Hey, Phil, are you going to put your pinny on and do the washing up?’ called Rick, a smirk playing around the corners of his lips as Rosie cleared away the mugs. ‘I have to say, I’m surprised you didn’t elect to stay with the ladies back at the lodges. Weren’t they planning to whip up a few chocolate cupcakes before adjourning to the hot tub for a sweet sherry and an early night between the soft cotton sheets. Tell me, do you prefer cotton or silk?’
‘Rick, give it a rest, will you?’ said Brad, unable to meet their designated leader’s eyes but compelled to intervene after seeing the mortification on Phil’s puce-infused face.
Rosie saw a flash of mischief float across Rick’s expression as he slotted his legs into his sleeping bag and smiled at Phil who visibly shrank from the laser beam of malice concentrated in his direction. Phil’s shoulders were hunched into his khaki jacket and his fingers fiddled nervously with the strap of his camera which he hadn’t removed since they’d left Ultimate Adventures. He reminded Rosie of a shy meerkat – one who preferred not to poke his head too far above the parapet before returning to his hiding place out of the spotlight. With his straggly beard, his thinning hair and his pale beady eyes, his pasty appearance spoke to the excessive amount of time he spent in front of a computer screen practising his photographic hobby.
‘Hey, why don’t you read one of your bedtime stories for us, Phil? Lull us all to sleep with an onslaught of ennui? You really should think about pursuing a new ambition. How long have you been writing that new book of yours now? You do know that no one’s going to publish it, don’t you? I started to read your last one a few months ago and Helen said I was asleep within five minutes – comatose more like.’
Matt cleared his throat before interrupting the one-way conversation. ‘Okay, everyone, if we want to be up before dawn for the trek to the Garside Priory, we need to bed down and get some rest.’
He took some time to scrutinize the area where they had made camp, making sure every utensil they had used was wrapped up and stored securely in his rucksack, then he checked to ensure everyone else had followed his example.
‘Nothing is to be left behind. This is private land and the landowner has only granted us permission to camp here on the strict proviso that we take everything away with us and camp as unobtrusively as possible.’
Rick stretched out in his sleeping bag, his fingers laced behind his head.
‘I’ve been wanting to see the Garside Priory for years. I must admit, there’s something very mystical about being able to watch the sunrise through the eastern arch. Maybe we’ll all be endowed with special, magical powers. What do you think, Brad?’
‘Wouldn’t say no to a few magical powers,’ sniggered Brad, snuggling against Emma’s spine to share her bodily warmth as the temperature began to drop steeply.
‘What’s so intriguing about a crumbled old ruin?’ asked Rosie. ‘I’m not sure I can be bothered to hike over the fields just to watch dawn break through a stone archway. I might just stay here and wait for you to return.’
‘Well, I’m definitely going,’ laughed Mia. ‘I love all this folklore stuff.’
‘Sorry, Rosie, I’m afraid that’s not an option. We have to stick together, mainly for safety reasons, and I had to promise Giles, the landowner, that none of us would go off-piste and explore on our own.’ Matt cast a suspicious glance in Rick’s direction as he wriggled into his sleeping bag. ‘It was one of his stipulations before granting his consent for us to camp here. The hike will only take about twenty minutes, maybe thirty, depending on the weather in the morning.’
‘You don’t want to miss it, Rosie!’ interjected Phil, dragging out a guidebook from one of the many zipper pockets in his canvas jacket. ‘To watch a new day break over the horizon through a medieval church arch is a spiritual experience you’ll never forget.’
‘Oh no, here we go. A recital of the various myths surrounding the priory according to our resident humdrum author, Philip G. Brown,’ groaned Rick, rolling his eyes theatrically.
‘I was just going to…’
‘What myths?’ asked Mia, sitting up a little straighter, her kohl-ringed eyes swinging between Phil and Rick.
‘One of the most fascinating aspects of Garside Priory, in my view, is the reference to the possibility that there’s a concealed stone circle in its grounds, hewn from local material and buried over the centuries,’ enthused Phil, flicking through the pages of his guidebook until he reached the photograph he wanted to show to Mia.
‘And why do you think it’s there?’ asked Rosie, still unconvinced that the possible presence of a circle of stones was worth getting up before dawn for.
‘Well…’
‘It’s only a theory,’ interrupted Rick, who, despite his eagerness to prevent a lengthy academic lecture from Phil, was quite happy to give one of his own. ‘If there was one there, it could have been a religious or ceremonial meeting place, an astronomical observatory, or maybe a pagan ritual site. But, Mia, the legend you do need to be aware of is this – there’s a possibility that the priory was built from stones that are cursed.’
‘Cursed?’ whispered Mia, her eyes widening as she twisted a lock of her dark glossy hair around her index finger, the silver from her numerous rings glinting in the moonlight.
Rosie saw that despite his earlier criticism of Phil, Rick was clearly enjoying himself in the role of raconteur and was accustomed to holding the floor.
‘One legend recounts that disaster shall strike if any person removes even a chipping from one of the stones.’ Rick flashed a stern warning glare around the gathering. ‘And one of my favourite stories is that anyone who falls asleep inside the priory walls “will die a heinous death or go mad or become a poet” – let’s face it, none of us want to morph into Phil, do we?’
A smatter of giggling erupted from the direction of Emma and Brad.
‘What time do we have to be up in the morning for the final push, Matt?’ asked Phil, when his facial colouring had returned to its usual pale and wan. ‘We can’t risk being late.’
‘We’ll need to leave here at about six o’clock. It’s an easy thirty-minute hike which should get us there in good time for sunrise. I’ve set my alarm so no one needs to worry. Get some sleep and I’ll wake you with a brew,’ said Matt, Norfolk’s answer to Action Man himself.