Journal of Rose Ingrid Castle

JOURNAL OF ROSE INGRID CASTLE

We drove to the campsite in Daniel’s car, listening to the Traveling Wilburys. Fern and I didn’t know the band, but we picked up the words quickly and it was actually kind of fun, all of us singing along like that. Daniel had sweets in the console that he passed back at intervals to Fern and Billy, who ate them eagerly. He also had cans of Coca-Cola. I still remember him holding out the red can for one of us to grab and Fern and me staring at it. We’d never drunk Coke. It wasn’t just because of my diabetes. Mum said it was full of chemicals that would rot our teeth and give us cancer. But there was Daniel, offering us a can, waggling it impatiently, waiting for one of us to take it.

I could have blamed my blood sugar, but something told me that would be the wrong thing to do. I saw Fern open her mouth to say something—probably that Mum didn’t like us drinking Coke—so I quickly beat her to it.

“Thank you, Daniel,” I jumped in, taking the can.

Mum caught my eye and I knew I did good. Different rules for different situations, that was her mantra.

Still, neither of us drank the Coke.

We arrived at the campsite before dark and unpacked in a flurry “before we lose the light.” Like the drive, I quite enjoyed it—the feeling of being part of something, working together as a team. Us against the light.

Fern and I set up our own tent with impressive speed, mostly because Fern had memorized the instructions. We finished so quickly that we were also able to help Mum and Daniel pitch their tent (which was much more complex) and then collect a huge pile of kindling before dark. (Billy set up his own tent, then sat on a log while the rest of us worked.) Daniel commented that Fern and I were “born for camping” while Billy was “born for laziness,” and Mum smiled a lot—even when Daniel wasn’t looking.

Once the tents were set up, Daniel cooked some sausages and corn on the cob over a little camping stove and we ate them with bread sitting around the campfire. Afterward, Mum and Daniel disappeared into their tent, so Fern and I went to ours. We had just got settled when we heard the rustling of twigs outside the tent. We didn’t even have time to exchange a glance before the zip lowered and Billy’s face appeared in the gap. “Anyone for poker?”

Fern and I broke into a chorus of gasps and shushes. “We’ll get in trouble!” I cried, horrified and, if I’m honest, a bit exhilarated. Mum and Daniel’s tent was just meters away and Mum’s hearing was ridiculous. At home, Fern and I had learned how to have entirely soundless conversations by mouthing words for this exact reason. But if Billy was afraid of being reprimanded, he hid it well. He crawled into our tent, a torch in one hand, a deck of cards in the other.

“They won’t hear us. They’ve already sunk a bottle and a half of wine.” He reached outside the tent and retrieved a can of beer. “But they didn’t drink this.”

“What are you doing?” I whispered. “Put that back!”

He opened the can and took a swig. Fern and I were scandalized.

“They’ll know,” I cried. “You’ll get into trouble.”

He shrugged. “So, are we playing?”

I looked at Fern, whose eyes were cautious.

“How do you play?” I asked.

Fern knew, of course, but I didn’t have the slightest idea.

“I’ll teach you,” Billy said, taking another swig from the can. “We can be on the same team. Scooch up.”

Billy crawled over to sit beside me and gave me a conspiratorial wink. His sense of fun was infectious. As we played, his wrist rested on my knee so we could both see the cards. I’d never been so close to a boy in all my life. Periodically, he leaned closer and whispered something to me—the rules, or whether or not he thought Fern was bluffing—and I smelled his scent, a mix of spearmint chewing gum, beer, and smoke from the campfire. He couldn’t convince either of us to try the beer, so he polished off the can on his own. He didn’t even slur his words.

Billy and I lost the game of poker that night, but I didn’t care one bit. For a couple of hours, it felt like I’d tripped and fallen into someone else’s life—someone with loving parents, family holidays, and poker games. Someone who knew what it was like to feel happy. And, sometimes, when your world has been filled with fear and anguish, that feeling, even if fleeting, is all you need to carry on.