When the Hostel was busy, the table would be swamped by hungry hikers and cyclists: some laughing and talking; others engrossed in maps and guidebooks as they planned the day ahead. Coffee cup stains, scratches and dents: reminders of those who had come and gone over the years; their mark indelibly etched on the table for as long as it remained in situ. She could have done with some company that morning, specifically that of her friend, Bronwyn. She was still holding her note, studying it for the hundredth time, and although it clearly suggested that there was a chance she wouldn’t be home until morning, Cara couldn’t help worrying that something wasn’t right. It wasn’t like Bronwyn to simply go off for the evening without saying something; she was too considerate. True, she’d left a note saying she was going to Kate’s house, and maybe Cara was reading too much into it. Either way, it was not in her nature to leave matters unresolved, so with her toast left untouched, she pulled on her boots and coat and headed towards the door.
