Poppy Blake - The Windmill Café - Autumn Leaves

Four members of the group, two men, Rick and Phil, and a couple, Brad and Emma, were self-confessed obsessives when it came to local legends and folklore; they were members of a club back in Manchester called the Myth Seekers Society, dedicated to the pursuit of all things mysterious and spooky. The mere mention of ghost-spotting was another one of the reasons Rosie had baulked at joining them. No wonder only one of the women in the party had decided to accompany them on their trek, and judging by the way Emma was hanging onto Brad’s every word, that was probably because she couldn’t bear to be apart from him for even one night.

Rosie envied Helen and Steph, their remaining lodge guests, whom she suspected would at that very moment be wallowing in their heated outdoor spas with a glass of something fizzy. In fact, she had seen the glee on Helen’s immaculately made-up face as she waved off her husband, Rick, and his friends, before rushing over to Steph’s lodge for a session with the local beautician who had just arrived with her case full of treasures. Oh, how she wished she was with them. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a manicure.

‘Ready for one of the most exhilarating nights of your life?’ asked Matt, his familiar mischievous grin going some way to improve her flagging spirits.

Dressed in his Ultimate Adventures uniform of black jeans and bicep-hugging black T-shirt with purple logo, he looked every inch the ruggedly handsome Action Man. His dark blond hair had been teased into surfer-dude tufts, and his determined jawline sported an attractive smattering of stubble. Maybe a night in the great outdoors chasing mythological creatures wasn’t going to be such a terrible experience after all, thought Rosie, as a ripple of attraction sped through her veins.

‘Absolutely!’

‘Now why don’t I believe you?’ Matt laughed. ‘We’re lucky – it’s forecast to be a mild night with no rain expected, but the three most important rules of any wild camping expedition are preparation, preparation, preparation. So, here, put this on, it’ll keep the chill off.’

‘Thanks, Matt.’

Rosie accepted the black waterproof jacket, emblazoned with the Ultimate Adventures logo and lined with a thick purple fleece, and she instantly felt protected from whatever the meteorological gods might decide to throw at her.

‘Hi, Rosie. I have to confess, I wasn’t sure whether you’d turn up!’ giggled Mia as she huddled deeper into her Siberian goose down jacket and pulled a thick Inca-inspired woolly hat over her ears.

Rosie mock-glared at her friend who had been so keen on joining one of Matt’s expeditions. Why, oh why had she listened to Mia and agreed to hunker down for a night under the stars in a bivouac in the East Anglian wilderness?

She thought of all the things she could be doing at that very moment, like delving into the any of her numerous glossy cookery books, reading about each recipe’s origins, its ingredients and its method of preparation. In troubled times, these tomes of culinary marvel had been her best friends and she’d often wondered why someone hadn’t thought of bottling the inky smell of freshly printed cookery books and offered it for sale to all fanatical bookaholics.

Alternatively, she could be soaking in a hot bath filled with the luxury bubbles her sister Georgina had given her for her birthday, anticipating the delicious delights she and Mia were planning for the Autumn Leaves party on Saturday night, only six days away.

But no, here she was, freezing her butt off on the edge of a pine-fragranced forest, preparing for a night under canvas – all for the dubious pleasure of watching dawn break over the horizon through an ancient stone archway at the centre of a crumbling old priory! So what if the medieval building was supposed to possess certain healing qualities? She didn’t have rheumatism or rickets! And was she really expected to believe that if a chunk of the stone was ground up and heated in milk it would cure a migraine in an instant? How did that golden nugget marry with the equally extolled myth that ‘disaster shall strike any man who removes a stone from its resting place’?

Was she crazy? Had she completely lost control of her senses?

Rosie glanced round at her fellow extreme campers – eight of them all together – in various stages of excitement for what lay ahead. Unlike her and Mia, every one of them had opted in advance for the full ‘Bear Grylls’ experience and would have no canvas screen between them and the great beyond. Obviously, Matt and Freddie were veterans of wild camping, having led several expeditions for Ultimate Adventures, but even they hadn’t enjoyed the experience with a side-order of mythical exploits.

‘Hey, Rosie! Hey, Mia!’ Emma smiled as she came over to join them, her jade-green eyes bright with anticipation for the approaching adventure. ‘I’m so glad you decided to swell the numbers in the girls’ team! Which part are you looking forward to the most? The hike to where we’re camping tonight, or the actual sleeping under the stars part? Or, could it be the bit where we get to experience the mystical aura of the medieval stones?’

‘None of the above,’ muttered Rosie, wondering if Emma was winding her up.

It was all well and good for her to wax lyrical about the approaching experience – she was the only one who got to snuggle up in the muscular arms of her hunky boyfriend so, in Rosie’s book, that didn’t count as enduring physical hardship. Emma had already declared that the gruelling three-mile trek across the countryside, through woodland and brook, field and beck, was going to be one of her and Brad’s most romantic experiences. In fact, now that Rosie was able to scrutinize the couple’s attire more closely, the love birds even looked like they were about to embark on a marathon, dressed from top to toe in matching figure-hugging Lycra and hi-tech breathable Gore-Tex.

‘What could be more exhilarating than curling up with another human being, sharing bodily warmth, with nothing between you and the stars?’ asked Brad, hitching his rucksack further up his broad, muscular shoulders so he could snake his arm around his girlfriend and drop a kiss on the top of her elfin-style haircut. At six foot three, he towered above everyone, but he wore his impressive bulk lightly. ‘Maybe you should try it sometime, Rosie? Matt’s just told me that you and Mia have decided to sleep in a tent. You don’t know what you’re missing. Emma and I have camped in the open air all over Europe. Oh, and remember that night we spent on a rooftop in Marrakesh, babe?’

‘That was amazing! The best night ever! The stars were so bright it felt like you could actually reach out and touch them. Just perfect! You’ve got to go to Morocco, Rosie.’

‘At least it’s warm there,’ she mumbled before she could stop herself.

Rosie pulled the hood of her jacket tightener round her chin and resisted the urge to rub her palms together and stamp her feet for fear of looking like a petulant toddler being forced to partake in a dreaded activity. This trek was the reason the guests were staying at the Windmill Café lodges and Graham would be expecting her to promote the experience so she plastered a smile on her face.

‘Tell Rosie and Mia about our trip to Athens in May, Brad,’ said Phil, stepping into their conversation, his ever-present Pentax bouncing against his multi-pocketed camouflage jacket in his enthusiasm to enthral the group with the details. A first glance, Rosie thought he carried a few extra pounds, but on closer inspection she realized that every pocket had been stuffed with a myriad of orienteering and camera paraphernalia. She managed to quash a smile as Phil continued. ‘You’d love the Acropolis, Mia. It’s got this unique mystical power I’ve never felt anywhere else. I’m hoping to go back there with Steph so I can show her what I mean.’