The Windmill Café: Autumn Leaves

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.

Chapter 4 (#u16df9274-79d1-5a20-87e1-fa6b78b18cfa)

‘What time is it?’ croaked Rosie as she peeled back her eyelids and realized the dawn chorus was already well into its second verse. She rubbed her eyes and, despite her head feeling like a bulbous watermelon, she marvelled at the fact that she had slept at all.

‘Mmm?’ groaned Mia, rolling over to face Rosie, her hair more bird’s nest than Sunday best. ‘God, my head aches. I feel like I spent last night indulging in a boatload of the Windmill Café’s autumn punch!’

Rosie groped for her watch, shaking her head to clear the lingering fuzziness, and her stomach gave an unexpected lurch. ‘Hey! It’s seven o’clock! Mia, we’ve missed the trek to the priory. They’ve left us behind!’

‘What? No way!’ cried Mia.

Rosie crawled out of her sleeping bag, grateful that she’d chosen to sleep fully clothed. She unzipped the flap of their tent, irritation at being ditched gnawing at her gut. She had no doubt whose idea it would have been to leave the two silly girls behind. As she peered out, Mia joined her, resting her chin on her shoulder and causing a whiff of her favourite floral perfume to infuse the air.

‘Oh, it’s okay! Everyone’s still here. Look, there’s Freddie and Matt.’

Rosie swung her gaze around the makeshift camp where everyone was still asleep in exactly the same places they’d chosen to bed down for the night. But her smile of relief quickly disappeared as she realized what that meant.

‘Wait a minute - that means we’ve all missed the show! How could Matt have allowed that to happen? Quick!’

With Mia close behind, she scampered out from the tent and shook Matt’s shoulder. ‘Matt! Matt! Wake up!’

‘Ergh?’

‘We’ve missed sunrise!’

‘What?’ Matt dragged his body into a sitting position, rubbing his broad palm over his chin as he struggled to focus his eyes on Rosie. ‘What time is it?’

‘Ten past seven. We’ve missed sunrise but we can still hike up to the priory.’

Everyone in the camp was beginning to stir, woken by the noise.

‘What’s going on?’ called Phil, shaking his head and screwing up his eyes. ‘Oh my God, have we slept in? How on earth did that happen?’

‘I’m not sure,’ replied Matt, his forehead creased into lines of concern. ‘My watch alarm definitely isn’t broken and there is no way I would have slept through it.’

‘Don’t worry, Matt. It can happen to the best of us. So, what’s the plan?’ asked Phil, pointing his camera at the horizon to take a few snaps of the rising sun as it sent fissures of apricot light over the surrounding countryside. ‘I’d still like to visit the priory and get some photographs for the book.’