Pickled Mike raises his right arm and jogs in small circles, humming the theme tune from Rocky. I’m still maintaining my vice-like grip on the branch with my trousers round my knees, but finally, with great effort, I’m able to let it go.
‘Gonna fly now,’ Pickled Mike sings in falsetto. ‘Flying high now.’
At last I manage to stand and pull my trousers up, but my hands are shaking so much I can’t do up the zip. I feel like something’s pressing on my ribcage, and my skin is burning up. By this point the others have come over to see what’s going on.
‘What the hell?’ Duffy asks.
‘A bear. But I showed him who Mr Miyagi was,’ says Pickled Mike, boxing the air in a confusion of early eighties films.
My body is trembling so much Cornelia has to support me until we get back to the fire.
‘I missed it,’ Dave says, looking dejectedly at the forest.
‘How you doing?’ Lee asks.
I shake my head.
‘I can’t believe I was nearly attacked by a grizzly bear,’ I say.
‘Black bear,’ Pickled Mike corrects.
‘Aha,’ I say, a little disappointed. I decide that in future retellings the bear will be a grizzly anyway.
‘If it had been a grizzly, you wouldn’t be sitting here now,’ Duffy says.
‘Shouldn’t we leave here?’ Lee asks. ‘What if it comes back?’
Adam and Duffy sit down by the fire again.
‘It’s not coming back,’ Adam says. ‘It won’t want to have anything to do with us and we certainly don’t want to have anything to do with it.’
‘But how can you be so sure?’
‘It’s not coming back,’ Duffy repeats.
‘But how can you be so sure?’ Lee repeats.
Duffy gives Lee a long look.
‘If I’d punched you in the kisser, you think you’d be coming back? Bears aren’t unforgiving Ninja Turtles. It hasn’t gone away to plan its revenge. Do you have many animals out for revenge where you live? Kangaroos crafting cunning plans?’
Lee doesn’t respond.
Adam makes his eyes large and puffs his face up. ‘I’m a koala and I’m going to get my own back,’ he says in a reedy voice. ‘But first I’m going to eat some eucalyptus. Slowly.’
Adam, Duffy and Pickled Mike are laughing so much they’re on the floor as they go on doing impressions of Australian animals desperate for vengeance.
‘Is there any more wine?’ Duffy says at last, drying his eyes and stretching his legs out.
The next morning I count seventy-two black-fly bites on my legs from the previous night, even though I was wearing trousers the whole time.
When I get out of the tent I see that Adam’s already up and the fire’s lit. Long shadows fall across the campsite, and the ground is still frozen. Adam smiles at me.
‘Pickle’s caught some trout,’ he says.
On the log by the fire, three fish lie in a neat row.
‘When did he catch them?’ I ask. I pull my jacket even tighter around me.
‘This morning,’ Adam says. ‘And I’m making Eggs Benedict.’
There really are some muffins grilling over the fire, and Adam’s whisking up some hollandaise sauce in a pan. When I look around the campsite I notice that Adam, Duffy and Pickled Mike have also cleaned up all our rubbish. From the door of the zebra-striped van, Duffy waves to me as he sits and smokes. He must have been swimming, because his mullet is damp, hanging in corkscrew curls.
‘I heard some animals during the night,’ I say. ‘Howling.’
‘Could have been prairie dogs,’ Adam says.
‘Or wolves,’ Duffy says from the van, waving away an insect.
We all eat breakfast. Pickled Mike, Adam and Duffy ask us perfectly normal questions and give us advice about places we ought to see on the way back to Vancouver. I know it’s a long shot, but I ask anyway.
‘Do you know Ben? He likes to come up here too.’
‘You mean Short-No-Hair-Limp-Dick-Ben?’ Duffy asks.
‘Nah, he’s tall. Very tall. With dark, slightly curly hair.’
Adam looks at Duffy. ‘Maybe she means Benny?’
‘Benny moved to Manitoba,’ Duffy says. ‘And had himself sterilised.’
‘Big Ben, then? But he’s going bald.’
‘And is dead. Don’t you remember – he crashed his car and died a year ago?’
‘Shit! I’d forgotten about that. And what was his brother called …?’
While they carry on talking I start packing up our things.