Evans and Lace woke up to the sounds of the English countryside punctuated with the sounds of retching, vomiting and the out-of-tune voices of die-hard fans who won’t accept that the music is over. They used a packet of the wipes that Evans had packed to wash themselves with, brushed their teeth and rinsed from the two-litre bottle of fizzy water they had stashed in the tent, and then got up and made ready to leave the festival and head home. Lace hardly said a word to Evans, and the silence was reciprocated. Neither was in a bad mood or had a hangover; this was something entirely different.
At some point in the evening, Lace had started to feel paranoid. She believed someone was watching her and she told Evans. Her friend felt the same. Both knew that something was very wrong. Their poli
