Chapter 5
The Warren area at Firecrest is inspired by the English countryside in the summer, suitably bathed in a warm bed of light as the sun sets.
Cosy cafes and stalls with colourful exteriors are emblazoned with weeds and flowers – crawling with animals and insects made with forgotten scraps of patterned fabric.
The centre of the area boasts a large, raised platform decorated with towering fake trees and bushes with orange lanterns hanging between them.
Small pockets of people lay back on moss-covered sofas and red mushroom beanbags cupping steaming mugs.
There’s a faint sound of someone strumming a guitar in the area, the constant background hum of the festival sitting behind it.
We walk past a wooden structure that looks like an old cottage with an open front, housing cosied up groups sitting on round picnic benches.
The ceiling above them is covered in hanging tree branches with warm fairy lights entwined around them, bathing them in a gentle glow. The vibe is painfully wholesome.
I notice Owen taking a picture of Hennie next to us with a view of The Warren behind her. It looks like an expensive camera that a professional might use, with black dials and switches that baffle me just to look at them.
Elliot and I walk side by side, absorbing our surroundings in silence.
He’s remained distant but is far more comfortable with his friends present, and I can understand why.
Josh and Owen’s ability to converse is never-ending, constantly and effortlessly enveloping us into conversation and soothing my anxiety over the current situation.
I suppose Elliot’s character surely can’t be that unpleasant if these men choose to spend their free time with him.
Everywhere I look, there are cute gathering spots tucked into corners welcoming weary festival-goers in. Hammocks swing almost in tandem under a canopy of trees, and a narrow, wooden staircase leads its guests up to a tiny structure built around the top of a tree signposted Treehouse Bar.
Hennie is back by my side, looking as transfixed as I am by it all.
‘Sorry, am I hallucinating? What the fuck is that?’ she asks, pointing at a human-sized squirrel dashing from the treehouse platform to the cottage, hopping from foot to foot clumsily, its tail bouncing comically as it does so.
The bar staff inside immediately object, shouting and hollering at it to scram, which garners several bemused stares.
Owen laughs. ‘That’s Sinbad the squirrel. Apparently he steals peoples’ food.’
We look at him with horror.
‘I think he just picks up litter though. I dunno. It’s his thing,’ he says as if it’s the most normal thing in the world.
We walk past a large tent with no signs or labels, but it must be popular. People are waiting patiently outside in a long, single-file queue, standing in bikinis and towels. I must look bewildered by their attire as Elliot leans closer to me to explain.
‘I think there’s a sauna in there.’
I grimace. ‘At a festival? Sounds safe.’
‘Must be.’ He snorts at my expression. ‘Not interested?’
‘Interested?’ I wrinkle my nose. ‘Why not just toss me into a vat of boiling hot oil?’
His lips twitch. ‘I’m guessing you’re generally against the idea of saunas, then.’
‘Who could possibly enjoy being in a sauna? It’s like sitting in an oven and waiting to die.’
‘I love saunas,’ he says mildly.
I cut him a sly look. ‘Of course you love saunas, you’re a psychopath.’
‘Right,’ he mutters with a smirk.
Behind us, a huff of laughter erupts from Owen, and he delicately pats Elliot’s shoulder. ‘Time to work on your comebacks, Walker.’
‘Why bother? We have Ham who is a never-ending compendium of comebacks. It’s easier to just let it go,’ Elliot argues.
Josh spins round, wide-eyed, at this acknowledgement. ‘Babydoll, I never knew you cared.’
‘See?’ He gestures at Josh. ‘What’s the comeback to that?’
‘Maybe just a simple “that’s quite right, Josh. You’re tremendously quick-witted and I have always admired you”,’ Josh replies, sounding quite serious.
Elliot snorts. ‘Well, my admiration might be in short supply today. You haven’t showered since we got here and we established that you brushed your teeth with anti-fungal cream last night.’
‘I told you that in confidence; it was a mistake! It was dark!’ Josh says, indignant.
‘Still quite an achievement.’
‘Sure, fine. But you know what they say…’ Josh says, taking a slow, careful step towards Elliot.
‘No, what do they say?’ Elliot replies cautiously.
Josh reacts to this question by violently launching himself at Elliot and digging a fist into the top of his hair. I hide a laugh behind my hand when Elliot yelps with anguish trying to swat him away and I have to say… even though he still has his grip on the stick, it’s the best I’ve felt all day.
But when he successfully shoves Josh off he emerges with a boyish grin, giving him one last punishing swat on the arm with his free hand as he rejoins me.
‘Sorry,’ Josh tells me with pride. ‘I love to ruin his hair.’
I decide that I like Josh Hamilton very much.
Elliot starts the process of fixing his hair one-handed when I feel my phone buzzing in my pocket. Unsurprisingly, my mum is calling to check in.
I speak to her quietly and reassure her that the gig went brilliantly and that I’m fine – no, really, absolutely fine – until she believes me.
‘Is that Suzie?!’ Hennie shouts back at me.
I nod.
‘Tell her I love her!’ she coos.
‘Hennie says she loves you,’ I tell her with a grin.
‘She’s a sweetheart and I love her too but please tell her that I do really need my pink scarf back.’
‘She needs her pink scarf back, Hen,’ I report dutifully.
‘Never!’ Hennie screams loud enough for my mum to hear and I’m immediately met with her loud cackle in response.
We’re lucky that Hennie folded so neatly into the Hartley household after her parents’ divorce and the several disasters that followed when we were twelve.
After moving in with her mum and her new partner, it became clear that he was intimidating and aggressive and not fit to parent.
It was also clear that her mum didn’t seem to notice or care.
After a few turbulent years with them, she eventually moved in with her nan. She still lives there, and doesn’t have much contact with either of her parents now.
My parents understood her situation and went above and beyond to make Hennie feel at home with us: my mum cooked us her favourite dinners and cut her hair, my dad teased us about what films we were watching and helped with her maths homework.
Soon enough, she joined us for our summer holidays and my mum bought her a chest of drawers to throw her spare clothes in.
If we’re being honest, the Hartley spare room is really just Hennie’s room.
The bullies at my school were relentless until Hennie came into the picture at that time. Some days, I felt like if it weren’t for her protection I might not have survived it.
Without realising it, Hennie and I offered each other a kind of protection from the spaces that we knew to be unsafe.
Hen was ready to fly to my defence from the second we walked through the school gates, and ate dinner with my family when she didn’t want to face her own.
When she said goodbye, my mum would kiss her on the cheek and leave behind a red lipstick smear, which Hennie would lovingly rub with the back of her hand as she made her way home again, knowing it would be the same again tomorrow.
My mum takes a deep breath after her Hennie-induced giggles. ‘So, you’re okay? Any other news? Have you met anyone nice?’
‘Er.’ My eyes flick quickly to Elliot. ‘I mean, we’ve only been here one day, Mum.’
‘Well, I imagine there must be lots of lovely looking young men there–’
‘Um, sorry Mum, I should probably go,’ I say hurriedly, hoping that Elliot cannot hear her. ‘I’ll probably lose signal any second.’
‘Alright, well let me know how you are. You know I worry.’
‘I know. Sorry, I’ll call you tomorrow.’
‘And enjoy it. We would, wouldn’t we, Pat? If we were there?’ she shouts, her voice echoing around the kitchen. I wince at the sudden increase in volume.
‘What?’ I hear my dad’s muffled call somewhere in the background.
‘We’d enjoy Firecrest, wouldn’t we? If we were young?’
‘What are you talking about? Who are you talking to?’ Dad replies.
‘Our beloved daughter, Patrick,’ she says. ‘She’s at that music festival.’
‘Oh!’ His voice is clearer now. ‘Tell her to drink lots of water, it’s roasting out there.’
‘Yes, you’re right. Drink plenty of water, sweetheart. This heat won’t do you any good.’
I hope Elliot doesn’t hear my mum fretting about my long history of heat exhaustion, but from the looks of his hidden smile I can only assume that he does.
We hang up after saying our goodbyes and I’m instantly aware that Elliot is looking at me with vague interest.
‘What?’ I ask shortly.
‘Didn’t fill her in?’
‘I didn’t see the need,’ I say lightly, trying to wrestle my phone into my bag one-handed. ‘She’ll only worry that you’re secretly plotting my death.’
‘Oh,’ he says, sounding a little bit guilty. ‘I’m guessing I don’t want to get on the wrong side of Suzie if she’s anything like you.’
‘Actually, we’re not alike at all. She’s very pleasant. You’d probably like her,’ I jest.
He frowns.
‘You sisters?’ he asks, nodding at Hennie.
‘Nope, just close.’
He nods as if this makes sense. Probably because we do not look anything alike: Hennie Cross is a beautiful, tiny, elf-like being with gorgeous and captivating features. I, on the other hand, am a towering, frizzy-haired, heavily freckled, large-toothed, deeply awkward creature.
We all walk together until The Magpie stage comes into view, taking up a spacious corner otherwise occupied by forest. The stage has been haphazardly pieced together with planks of wood, logs and thick branches to look almost nest-like, especially with its placement slotted amongst the trees.
A beige and orange tarp has been suspended across the top, tied to tree branches on either side of the stage.
Huge fuzzy ladybirds and caterpillars made of old quilts and patchwork blankets surround us on all sides, balancing high on tree branches.
A small crowd gathers in front of the stage readying themselves for Linnea, a quiet buzz starting to build.
The boys come to a stop at the back of the crowd and I’m thrilled with how much space there is around us to move.
It’s a welcome change after the hectic crowd at Queen Ego.
While my body feels light and my heart impossibly full after seeing them live, my heart sinks when I remember that my first experience seeing my favourite band in the world is actually over.
I imagined it countless times throughout my teens, and the feeling of it happening so quickly feels surreal and bittersweet.
I try not to look directly at Elliot. There’s a new kind of tension sitting between us that I can’t quite name since my panicked moment earlier. Maybe the hatred is cooling.
Or just marinating. (More likely).
There’s a hesitation from him now that I’m not sure how to react to – it was almost easier when he was being combative and annoying. We’re both clearly pained to be standing here… but in a new way. Good progress.
I’d never admit it but there’s a part of me that’s starting to feel accustomed to his presence, and an even weirder part that is enjoying it.
There’s something comforting about his constant composure and controlled manner.
He has a frosty set to his eyes and a confident stance that my eyes want to glue themselves to.
Must be nice to be so self-assured. I hope I might absorb some of it via osmosis, if I stand close enough.
I’ve been so used to trying to make myself physically smaller and take up as little space as possible.
For some reason, I realise I don’t feel the need to do that so much at Firecrest. It’s a bizarre and unfamiliar sensation.
Not a single person has looked twice at my tiara or done a double-take at my hair or height like they do at home.
It’s like everybody here does exactly what they want to unabashedly.
How they dress, sing, dance, laugh – there’s an overwhelming sense of acceptance and safety in it all.
The air is almost heavy with it. I suddenly understand why people fight to be here: to get to a place of safety and escape.
I take a deep breath and let my chest expand to its fullest.
There’s no need to shrink myself here. No need to adapt or make myself invisible.
As I look around at Hennie laughing with Josh and Elliot patiently watching the stage, I hear some faint cheers from the crowd in front of us as a pale, willowy woman with dark hair floats onto the stage with a guitar.
Light and tinkly synths filter through the crowd in front of us, reaching us in comforting waves.
Her ethereal vocals combined with the wind moving through the leaves around us has me utterly absorbed.
The sun sets behind the trees as she sings, turning the blue sky to gold and chilling the air around us.
Hennie rests her head on my shoulder, which Josh observes and hilariously tries to mimic on Elliot’s side, resulting in him bending at an awkward sideways angle to lower his head onto Elliot’s shoulder. Owen captures the moment on his camera with a smirk.
‘I think I love The Warren,’ I whisper down to Hennie. She basks in the music, her eyes fluttering closed.
‘I’m sure The Warren loves you too,’ she whispers back.
The last song finishes with a light stroke of her guitar. The crowd cheers and claps their hands above their heads as she stands to beam brilliantly at us all.
Elliot and I clap our free hands against our thighs to join in until Josh animatedly holds up his hand as if for a high-five in front of my face.
I clap my hand against it repeatedly to create a louder applause and despite myself, his goofy grin makes me laugh even harder.
My laugh is drowned out by the sounds of Owen and Hennie whooping and cheering together, and to my right I swear I can see a glimmer of a smile on Elliot’s face.