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You are seventeen and way too old for this. You can only imagine how Rhi feels. But Dad wanted a bloody huge country picnic for his fiftieth birthday, and he's got the closest thing to it --rotting picnic tables and a rusty playground instead of some picturesque hillside, but the "bloody huge" is there. There's a shitload of cousins you only see at weddings and funerals, and some of Dad's best mates.
About the time Dad starts on his fourth beer, Rhi grabs your arm. "Let's go for a walk, yeah?" she says. "Away from this crowd."
"Aunt Gladys nagging you about being an old maid again?"
"She never stops," Rhi says, glancing furtively over her shoulder. "C'mon, let's go."
Behind the playground is the paltriest copse of trees you've ever seen. You can see straight through to the other side, but the other side never seems to arrive. "Rhi," you say, at the same time as she says, "Hey, Ianto..."
"Lot more trees than there should be."
"Yeah," she says, and turns around, and yells. You look, and the trees have closed over where the playground should be. Rhi grabs your arm. "Ianto, what the hell is going on?"
Not that you know any more than she does, and you shake her off and dig in your pockets. "Fag?" you ask, offering the pack and a lighter.
She wrinkles her nose--she smokes some girly mentholated brand--but nods anyway. "Yeah, fine."
You smoke as you walk. Rhi checks her mobile, but there's no signal. It feels like Narnia or something, except there's no Jesus lion around to give advice. "Think they can see the trees from the picnic?"
"Maybe," Rhi says. "Maybe not, or they would've come exploring." She sighs and takes a seat against a tree, stubbing out her fag on a rock. "Come on, you. Sit down." You stay standing, grinning when she scowls at you. "Be that way." She tilts her head back, looking up at the canopy. "Not that I want to stay here, but--it's sort of perfect, you know? A perfect woods. Like a fairytale, only without witches and evil stepmothers."
It's close enough to what you were thinking that you have to laugh. "Like when we were kids, yeah? And Dad is a master tailor." It's a game you used to play. In a perfect world, Dad would have a life that hadn't fallen apart, Mum would be alive, Rhi would be a best-selling writer, and you would be a world-famous striker (unless you were a world-famous rugby centre instead).
Rhii smacks your leg. "Oi, you! Anything could be possible."
"Like you getting up off your arse so we can explore?"
She shrieks and tackles you, and you topple over. As you fall, something catches your eye, and you scramble to your feet, crushing your fag under your shoe. "What's that?"
Neither of you can tell what it is from here, but it's something stone and grey and hopefully-not-gingerbread, and together you and Rhi yell "RACE!" and start sprinting.
Turns out, it's a wishing well. You kick it, just to make sure it's real. "Got any money?" Rhi asks you.
The two of your dig through your pockets and come up with a pack of gum and three pence. You hand Rhi a penny and keep two for yourself. She chomps on the gum, but you shake your head no when she offers. "Count of three?" you ask, and you throw the coins into the well. They splash and the two of you stare after them.
"So," you say. "What'd you wish for?"
"To go home, silly," she laughs. "You?"
"Adventure."
You slide down to sit together on the grass, watching the sun set and sink, and Rhi nods off against your shoulder. You fight it, but soon enough you sleep, too.
When you wake up, you're propped up against a portable toilet, and you flail away. You and Rhi never talk about this night again.
You still dream about it sometimes, though. Less than a year later, you move to London.