I had been sure, so sure, that she was going to be there.

I had pictured my mother, imagined her, seen her, and yet it was all in vain.

There's no one here.

I'm vaguely aware of Bea's arm on my shoulder and her voice soft with sympathy.

"She left me," I mumble shakily to Bea. "She left me! Why the hell did she leave me?"

Bea is silent for a while, hand rubbing the small of my back in repeating, comforting circles. And then her hand tenses and so does the rest of her body.

"Julian," she says, but her voice has lost its sympathy. It's hard and brittle now as though sensing danger.

"What?" I raise my eyes to the scene in front of us. The gazebo has been taken down, as have all the tents. It's only the holes that are still there with clumps of cold dust sitting beside them, untouched. I can't see a single piece of equipment, not even a shovel or a pickaxe.

"What?" I say again, and then I see it.

Lying in the dust in front of us is an old plastic bottle.

An Evian bottle.

Its red cap lies half-buried in the sand and I see now label, but it's an Evian bottle, all right.

"Look, it's got something inside it."

I realise with a jolt that she's right. A piece of paper lies in the bottle, scrunched into a ball the size of a fist.

"Yes, right. Your policies are that I can't pass liquids through. But look"—she grabs the Evian water bottle off the table and thrusts it in his face—"this is not liquid, is it?"

Slowly, the smile begins to creep to my lips. So Mum hadn't left the bottle at the airport that day. She must have taken it with her and, upon discovering my disappearance, written a quick note before leaving with the rest of the group.

"Why did they all go?" I ask Bea.

"I don't know," she replies. "But something tells me that bottle will have the answers."

I take the old, battered plastic in my hands and unscrew the lid. I tug the paper out carefully, trying not to let it rip. When that's done, I unfurl it on my knee until it lies relatively flat. The entire page is littered with Mum's scrawl, which I begin to read.

Julian,

If you read this, you must come straight to us right away. We are situated further up the river as Guy said we've dug as much of this area as we can. COME IMMEDIATELY.

PS: If someone called Beatrice is with you, tell her she must come along right away too. And that her wages have been cut in half for leaving the digging site with no warning. Guy's words, not mine.

I give the note to Bea once I've finished it and, like expected, she bursts into a nasty reaction at the last line.

"The little fuck," she spits, the note now shaking in her hands. "When I find him, I'm gonna—"

"Not right now."

"No! Did you see what he did? Half my wages gone!" Her face is stricken. Then she shakes her head. "I'm not going back. I'm not going back."

I clutch her arm, fear lurching in my throat. "No, not this again. Remember what happened last time we split?"

"I don't care," she chokes out.

"You do care," I insist. "If we go back to Guy and tell him what happened, then he'll have to give you back your wages."

"You idiot!" she roars at me, yanking out of my grip. "You think he'll believe us? Oh yeah, sorry mate, but I got swallowed by a gigantic trout and I swear I'm telling the truth. Oh, and we want the diamond too. You think the shithead's gonna believe that?"

I see sense in her words, and yet I can't let this go.

"What will we do instead, huh?" I demand. "Where will we go?"

She appears stumped at this.

"You see," I urge. "We have no other option. We both know that if we don't get that diamond to the King in time, he's going to have us killed."

"You're right," she says softly, blowing the air out of her cheeks. "He'll probably filet us and feed us to his trout."

"Exactly," I reply. "Which is why we go. Now. It's already getting dark so we can't waste any time."

* * *

I hear and smell the diggers before I see them. The smell of the smoke, the crackling of the fire, the rumbling of their voices interrupted by the occasional bark of laughter.

We turn the corner and there they are.

They're sitting in a circle like the last time we had dinner together. The fire blazes in the middle, casting a warm glow on all of their faces.

Suddenly, the chattering stops and faces begin to turn our way. But they don't stare long because they all turn to one person.

"Julian?" Mum calls out. She's sitting on the side furthest away from me. Her hair is tied back into an unflattering pony, and her cheeks are flushed red from the heat of the fire. Guy sits beside her, and he surveys Bea and me with an intrigued eye.

"It's me," I call back with a smile.

There's a scuffle and then she's launched herself at me, gathering me into a hug so tight it feels like I'm a tube of toothpaste being squeezed. I have to fight back the tears as I cling to her, smelling that familiar scent that only she carries.

She pulls back, examining my face. "Where have you been?" she snaps sharply. "Don't you dare run off like that again."

"It's a long story."

She leads me to the logs. "Well, we have all night."

I turn round to find Bea still standing in her original spot, not having moved an inch. Her eyes are glued on Guy's and they stare at each other with an air of distaste.

"Come on," says Mum. "Tell us what you have to say."

I glance round at everyone. Their eyes are expectant.

The meat to the side of the fire grabs my attention.

"Can I eat first?" I ask Mum. "Because, well, I haven't eaten in... hours."

She nods, and a drumstick of chicken is passed my way. I wolf it down in seconds, not caring about everyone's eyes scoping out my bad manners. Bea places herself next to me and, when offered food, shakes her head in refusal.

She begins the story. By the time I'm finished eating, she's almost done. The only thing I can do is snip in murmurs of agreement and extra details that she missed.

"The King needs the diamond," she says to the group. "It was his and then we took it, and now he wants it back."

There's silence save for the fire crackling in front of us.

And then a wheezy laugh.

Next to us, Guy is laughing. It starts off small; a tiny snort, and then it becomes bigger until he's barking out a laugh that causes others to join in too.

"You were eaten... by a ...trout!"

He laughs harder and so does everyone else. My cheeks flare red. I turn to Mum, whose eyes are sympathetic, and then I turn to Bea, whose eyes are murderous.

"You might not believe us," snarls Bea, "but it's true!"

"It's true," Guy mimics in a high voice, smile feral. "I'm Beatrice the trout-stabber."

"Fuck you."

His smile falters for a second. "Mind that tongue of yours. I could have you kicked out of this site if I wanted to."

"Go on then," Bea taunts. "See if I give a damn."

"Oh, I'll have a good word with your dad, sweetie."

"You do that. About time I left this—"

A light tap on my shoulder interrupts me from listening in on their argument that increases with anger and volume with every word. I turn to find Mum looking at me with an expectant face. She pulls me up from the log.

"We need to talk," she says.

As we separate a little way from the others, her words begin to worry me. Then she stops and I think, Here it comes. Here comes the verbal beating.

"Give me the rattle," she says.

I stop in my tracks. "What?"

"You heard me; give me the rattle. The one you said that King gave you."

"You believe me?" I splutter. "But why?"

"Why wouldn't I believe you?" she replies, eyes hurt. "I get the story is a bit far-fetched but if believing it is what it takes to keep you home safe, then I'll believe every single darned word that comes out of your mouth." She pulls me into her again. "I'm so glad you're safe. So, so glad."

"Me too, Mum," I mumble into her hair. Then, I reach into my pocket and take out the small rattle of seaweed and pass it to her.

"So what do I do? Just rattle it?"

I nod. "And call for the King afterwards so he and the trout will come."

She grips it in her hand and gives it a hard shake. It doesn't make a sound. My breath deflates in disappointment; I was half-expecting it to.

"King, if you're out there," Mum mutters to the river, "you better come quickly."

Silence.

"And you're saying this King wants his diamond back?" she asks as she hands the rattle back to me, which I pocket again.

Again, I nod. "But Guy won't budge."

"He will if I ask."

My jaw drops open. "You'd do that?"

Her smile widens, and she ruffles a hand through my hair. "Anything for my boy."

We head back to the diggers, her hand on my shoulder. Only this time it doesn't feel restrictive; it feels comforting.

Bea and Guy are still arguing when we get back. Bea has hunched forward, upper lip curled, body rigid, hands clenched into fists. She's still hurling abuse at him and he does the same back until they're shouting over each other at an unbearable volume, the fire between them. I notice most of the other diggers have gone to bed, not wanting to get involved.

"Oi!" shouts Mum. "Oi! Shut up, both of you!"

Both of them turn their heads in surprise at her screech. The silence is deafening to my ears.

"Look at this mess!" she cries, turning to both of them. Then her voice softens. "We have to work together to sort this out."

If Bea were a cat, she'd be bristling. "I can't work with that—" She pipes down at my mother's glare.

"In order to solve this problem," Mum says again, "we have to work together." She turns to Guy. "I need the diamond."

Guy looks at her in scorn. "You believe the children?"

"Yes," my mother says hotly. "I do. Now give me the diamond."

"No."

"Our lives are at risk," she says it with no emotion, hand out-stretched. "Now, for the good of yourself and the rest of the digging team, give the diamond to me."

Guy's smile looks feral in this light. "No."

"Please," I beg. "Just give it to us. We know you have it."

He turns to me. "You. This whole story that's come out of your mouth is a load of stinking lies, isn't it? You two just probably made that up as a poor excuse for eloping."

"Fuck off," Bea snaps. "He ain't that pretty."

"We know you have the diamond," says Mum. "You can't sell it without my permission."

"Yes, but I'm the one in charge." The way he says it makes the hairs on my neck stand on end.

No one gets another word in because we're interrupted by a low rumble.