Sighing, he pulled the tartan blanket from the picnic basket and threw it over the cold stone floor. “If anything” she said, “this snow makes it more authentic”. He was disappointed. He had spent months planning the perfect present — a Narnia themed picnic in the woods — only to stranded by the snow, stuck inside an old stone cottage.

“Can’t believe you remembered they were my favourite books” she said. He had to admit, he’d done good. It had been a rough year for them both, with her father passing so suddenly and them having to move back to her home town. He couldn’t say he loved the countryside, but he was acclimatising.

“Why do you love them so much?” he asked. “As a kid I loved the sense of magic” she replied. “The idea there was a whole other world out there... small town living was too small for my imagination, you know?” and he did.

“Do you think that anybody will mind us being here?” she asked, changing the subject. “Nah, look at it. Nobody has lived here for years. That wallpaper is from the 20’s” and he had a point. Whilst obviously once a home, the cottage was decrepit. It was hard to imagine anybody knew or cared about it’s current state.

“We’re stuck here. Might as well explore”. She turned on her phone torch and pointed it under her chin, “hope we don’t see anything spoooooooky!”

“Holy shit there’s only a bloody wardrobe in here! A big old one, like the books!” She shouted from the next room. He threw aside his Turkish delight — a Narnia picnic essential — and went to find her, but when he arrived next door she was nowhere to be found.

“Real funny babe”, he remarked, edging closer towards the wardrobe “I know you’re in there”. He threw open the wardrobe door to reveal…nothing.

“BOO” she screamed, jumping out from behind the wardrobe. He jumped back, visibly shaken. “Oh haha good one you really had me…” he started to say, but was interrupted by a loud crash from down the hall. They looked at each other, and then at the hallway. “Should we….” “I guess….”.

Carefully, slowly, they edged out of the room, gripping each other as a form of protection. CRASH, it happened again. They moved closer, cautiously, in the direction of the noise. He squeezed her hand tightly as he pushed on the door….

“SHIT” he screamed, his stomach dropping to the floor as a pigeon flew directly into his face. She couldn’t contain the laughter that erupted out of her “you should have seen your face!”. “Did you want to eat the picnic now or…” he deflected. She stifled the giggles and replied “sure”.

“Thanks for organising this” she said, following him back to the picnic. “it’s really kind”. No response. “Babe, are you listening?”, she asked impatiently. But he was not listening to her. He was too busy staring at the now folded tartan blanket, carefully placed on top of the picnic basket. The half eaten Turkish delight nowhere to be seen. The wallpaper, though imperfect before, was now clearly ripped to spell out the word ‘go’.