Emily felt strangely exposed, as if the walls of the large white house were as thin as the soft linen curtains. And then Nina turned and looked up at the window, so directly that Emily flinched.

At the same moment, the security light flicked off and the lawn was plunged into darkness. Emily waited for her eyes to adjust, waiting to see if Nina was still there.…

But everything was still. The lawn was empty. Nina had gone.

We made it. The twelfth month. It hasn’t been easy, but we got there, just like all the baby books said we would.

It’s a perfect day for a party. The sky is bright, and a gentle breeze chases the falling leaves around the garden. Lilac bunting flutters among the trees, and balloons bounce against each other making a happy, hollow sound.

I fetch the last tray from the kitchen and just manage to get it to the table before a huge sneeze explodes out of my nose. My husband looks over from the barbecue and chuckles. He always makes fun of my sneezes; he says I sound like James Brown. “I feel good,” he sings, with a shimmy.

I blow my nose. I am so sick of being sick. “Is this head cold ever going to bugger off and leave us alone, hey, bubba?” I tickle my sweetheart under her chin. She’s lying on a picnic rug, her red-rimmed eyes peeping out from under a fleecy blanket.

I’m still not sure about the party. I nearly abandoned the whole idea, but it’s her first birthday. We can’t just do nothing, and the cake took all day yesterday to bake and all this morning to decorate. I spent hours molding those marzipan roses. I unpack the boxes, laying the items out on the table. Cucumber sandwiches, delicate little cupcakes, and a bowl of fat ripe strawberries—my baby’s favorite. Sour-cherry gelato for Mummy and Daddy, a nod to our first date. I called the restaurant myself and begged for the recipe, told them it was the most special of occasions.

“She looks pale,” I say to my husband, wondering again if I’m doing the right thing. “Do you think she looks pale? Maybe we should’ve called it off.”

“It’s a bit late now,” he says, gesturing to all the food. “We can always cut it short. Sing the song, cut the cake, go back to bed.”

I nod and stroke my baby girl’s face. Her forehead and cheeks are burning. “Oh, sweetie, you have a fever again.” I brush a lock of hair away from her eyes. “Hey, can you grab the ibuprofen for me, please? It should be in the nappy bag.”

He is quiet. He shakes his head. “I gave her some just now. Hasn’t it worked?”

“Doesn’t feel like it. It’s okay, darling. Mummy will get you some more.…” I stop. Her hands are icy cold. Her eyes are half-closed. “Hey, sweetheart,” I say, shaking her a little. “Did you see your presents?” I point to a huge pile of shiny bags and colorful packages.

She doesn’t move.

I pick a strawberry from the bowl and wave it in front of her face. “Here, darling. Your favorite.”

She starts to cry, a strange high-pitched wail that reminds me of cats. My blood freezes in my veins, starts flowing backward. I press my fingers to my daughter’s face, feeling around to the back of her neck. I draw back the blanket and reach under her dress. “Are you sure it was ibuprofen you gave her?”

As soon as I say it, I know I’ve made a mistake. I turn to apologize, but then, almost as if in response to my words, she starts vibrating. At first, I think she’s just bucking, trying to jerk my hands off her body, but the shaking doesn’t stop. It gets worse. Her little limbs are stiff and juddering. She arches her back and her eyes roll back in her head.

“Oh my god.” I try to lift her but can’t keep hold.

He’s just standing there. He doesn’t know what to do. “Can she … is she breathing?”

I hear a choking sound. It’s me. “Do something!” I hear myself yell, my own voice unrecognizable. “What did you do? What did you give her?”

Before I know what I’m doing, I’m slapping his hands away and wrapping my arms around my limp baby girl, cradling her like a newborn, and even though I can feel the convulsions subsiding, my gut burns with a horrible instinct, and all I can think of is the car, the hospital, the fastest way out, and then I’m running, I’m running, running, running, running, running.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

EMILY

STRIPS OF garlic peel stuck to Emily’s hands like flakes of skin and became wedged under her fingernails. She grunted with frustration as she picked at the clove, gouging holes in the flesh and reducing it to a pulpy mess.

“Here, like this,” said Nina, coming up behind her. She demonstrated how to top and tail each clove, then crush it with the heel of a knife so its papery skin slipped off like a jacket. She then picked up a different knife and chopped an onion at superhuman speed.

“Wow,” Emily breathed.

Nina laughed. “It’s just an onion, Em.”

Blushing, Emily looked away. A bird hopped onto the end of the countertop to steal a crumb, chirping its thanks before taking off again. The fully equipped poolside kitchen was by far one of Querencia’s best features, at least in Emily’s opinion; the simple fact that they could cook and eat lunch outside then slide straight into the water felt like one of the greatest luxuries possible.

She crossed to the barbecue, holding up her hand to shield her eyes from the reflections bouncing off the surface of the pool. A whole fish lay sizzling on the grill. She prodded it with a spatula. “So am I turning this now?”

“You can try,” Nina said, “but not with that. Use this instead.” She took a carving fork from the utensil rack and showed her how to insert the tines through the grate to gently lever the fish off. “If it’s ready, it’ll lift right up. If it’s not, it’ll stick.”

“How do you know all this stuff?” Emily marveled at anyone who could do so much as bake a potato. She seemed to ruin every dish she attempted.

“Actually, I trained for a little while. At a culinary school. I’ve forgotten a lot of it, but the basics were heavily drilled in.”

“That’s so cool. You should totally start a cookery school. People would fall over themselves to come and learn here. Or maybe you could open up a restaurant? Like, as part of the guesthouse.”

“Maybe,” Nina said with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She looked tired, and for the tenth time that day, Emily wondered if she ought to mention having seen her in the garden during the night, if only to ask if she was okay. But, for reasons she couldn’t quite articulate, Emily felt weird about what she’d seen. She pushed the thought aside. Whatever Nina had been doing down there in the dark last night was nothing to do with her.

Nina turned to her daughter. “Hey, Strawberry, lunch is nearly ready.”

Aurelia was playing shops at the long dining-room table, her black hair snaking out in thick wet straps from under her usual straw hat. Spread out over plant pots and dining-room chairs were various items of clothing with handwritten price tags attached. In an attempt to score some brownie points, Emily had donated her entire wardrobe to the cause, a decision she was now regretting. Laid out like that, her dresses and tops looked sad and baggy, especially next to Nina’s impeccable contributions. Aurelia didn’t seem to mind, though, and had been happily tagging the items for over an hour.

“Is the shop open yet?” Emily called. “Because I have my eye on that hot little red number over there, and I’m prepared to offer a good price.” She gestured to a faded sundress she’d picked up in a charity shop a few years ago. “Don’t think you can rip me off, either. I’m a mean haggler.”

A small snicker escaped from under the hat.

“Here, honey.” Nina appeared with a glass of iced tea and two small pills. She placed them on the table next to Aurelia. “Medicine time. And then we’re due for more sunscreen, I’m afraid. You’ve been in the pool again since the last lot.”

Obediently, Aurelia reached for the yellow bottle at her elbow and squeezed a few thick dollops into her palm. Quietly, she massaged the cream into her face and neck. When she was finished she turned to Nina, presenting her skin for inspection.

“Good job,” said Nina, touching up a few spots. “Almost completely covered. You’re getting really good at that now.”

Emily felt a pang of pity. All that sun protection would really suck. It probably wasn’t so bad in winter, but they looked set to have an especially hot summer. They’d already had a long run of blue skies and high temperatures, and apparently the humidity hadn’t even arrived yet.

Nina nudged the pills with her fingers. “Good girl.”