Tears began to spill down Nina’s cheeks, and she whirled around again, searching for something. Scott, probably. Great idea, Emily thought. A little help would be nice.

She backed away, trying to give Nina some space. “It’s alright. I’ll deal with them.” Turning back to the hikers with what she hoped was a reassuring smile, she summoned her rusty, halting French. “Pardonnez-moi,” she said. “Je comprends. Je vais vous montrer la…” She stopped. What was the French word for “exit”? “… la sortie.”

The hikers smiled back with relief. “Ah, merci. Merci bien.” The bearded man held out his hand. “Moi, je m’appelle Guillaume, et voici—”

“GET THE FUCK OUT!” Nina launched herself at them with her fists raised.

The group skittered backward, and someone yelped.

“Alright, come on, hurry up,” Emily herded the frightened hikers away like cattle, up the driveway toward the gate, the man mumbling profuse apologies as they went. As soon as they were out of Nina’s earshot, Emily whispered “Je suis désolée. Elle est … malade.” She is not well.

The hikers nodded and sped up, their faces white.

CHAPTER THIRTY

SCOTT

FROM THE tennis court, Scott watched everything unfold. At first, he’d been confused, unsure if what he was seeing was real. There’d been so much noise—both he and Aurelia were bawling their lungs raw—and her blows weren’t slowing, just getting faster and more frantic, and he thought the onslaught would never end. Then, thank God, he saw Nina sprinting out of the guesthouse, coming to rescue him. He called out, distracting Aurelia sufficiently for him to grab hold of her wrists, then waited, explanation at the ready, for Nina to reach them … but his relief vanished fast. Nina was not running in their direction.

When he saw the people in the trees, his blood ran cold. Who were they? How had they got there? But as he watched Nina sprint toward them, ranting and screeching, as he saw Emily dashing after her, a mixture of confusion and fear on her face, he knew he could do nothing but wait it out. Pulling Aurelia with him, he ducked down behind a hedge and silently willed Nina to come to her senses before she blew everything. He kept his lips shut and managed, somehow, to remain still. And, thankfully, so did Aurelia. She sat beside him in a ball, her knees drawn up, her arms wrapped around her bowed head. He placed a hand on her back and applied a degree of pressure.

Only when the unfortunate group had been safely herded off the property did Scott step out from his hiding place, pushing Aurelia in front of him. He knew he looked a state (he could feel the angry red lines rising on his face), but there was nothing to do but play dumb. What scratches? What ripped T-shirt? What bleeding lip?

Nina ignored him and ran straight to Aurelia, sweeping her up and dashing into the house in what seemed like one swift movement.

Emily looked so rattled that he wanted to pull her into a hug and stroke her hair, but instead he cracked a stupid joke and concocted some story about having crawled into a hedge during a game of hide-and-seek. “Look what a mess I’m in,” he said. “Damn branches. Sharper than I thought.” He could tell she wasn’t convinced but didn’t have the energy to dig for more. He made his excuses and went inside to look for Nina.

Upstairs, the sounds of a Disney movie spilled onto the landing from behind the bathroom door, accompanied by a cacophony of plops and splashes. He pushed the door open and found Aurelia sitting alone in a bubble bath, an iPad balanced on a nearby stool.

He found Nina standing in their bedroom, her willowy frame silhouetted against the open window.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, without turning around.

Scott gently pushed the door closed. “You could’ve—”

“Don’t say it,” Nina said. She bit her nails, her teeth clicking as they met.

Scott waited in silence.

When at last she turned around, her face was ashen. “She likes you.”

“What?”

“Emily.” Her voice was flat, her eyes cold. “You can sleep with her if you like. If it helps.” A breeze slipped in through an open window, blowing a curtain across Nina’s face, and for a moment it was as if she had vanished completely.

Scott did not reply. A shudder tumbled through his body. He was Orpheus walking out of the underworld, looking back at Eurydice only to see her shimmer and disappear like seeds in the wind.

I sit alone in a never-changing half-light. Nothing marks the passage of time in here, nothing except shift changes and the distant roll of trolleys—I think it might be evening, though. My girl is sleeping, but that’s no real indication. She’s been sleeping for days now.

My husband has gone for a walk. He says he needs fresh air; the room smells stale, but I can’t imagine where he would go. I can’t even remember what’s outside the hospital. I can’t remember anything at all. I refuse to think about anything except the movement of her chest. Rise. Fall. Rise. Fall.

What is she thinking in there? Is she scared? Can she hear anything? Does she know I’m here with her, that I haven’t left her side for more than the couple of frantic seconds it takes to race to the toilet and back?

Yes, she knows. Of course she knows.

Earlier, the doctor came in. “I’m sorry to say,” she said with a sad sideways look, “that she’s not responding to the antibiotics as we hoped she would.” She said some other things, too. Slippery things that didn’t quite make sense. One word stuck out, though.

Damage.

Damage, damage, damage, damage.

Weird how that word has followed me around. Damage control. Damaged goods. Irreparable damage.

I lift my elbow off the cot frame and stand up, rolling back my shoulders and stretching my arms. I take small steps across the lino as if I am the sick one. I shuffle back and forth from one nothing-colored wall to another, taking small sips of air through sore, cracked lips. I am weak. I am pathetic. I am not Wonder Woman. I never was.

It dimly occurs to me that this might be a good time to go back on my meds, but there’s no way to get them. I can’t leave and I can’t ask my husband; now’s not the time for a confession. I glance at the door, wondering where the nurses keep all the drugs. Water, water everywhere, but not a drop to drink.

Something catches my eye, something bright on the table against the back wall.

It’s his phone. A stream of texts lights up the screen, messages from people I’ve never heard of. Jolly, jubilant words. Congratulations, mate. Warmest wishes. So happy for you. Well deserved.

I read the little boxes as they appear, unable to understand what there is to be happy about … and then I remember the awards. They must have won.

The phone lights up again. And again. And again. I almost feel sad for him, that he’s missing his big moment, that he’s here in this stale-smelling hospital instead of standing on a stage. But it doesn’t matter now. Outside of this room, nothing matters at all.

Later, when all the alarms are going off, and the nurses and doctors are running around, and I can’t see my little girl through the wall of people and equipment, and I can’t see my husband because he isn’t there, he isn’t in the room, he’s outside sucking in all that fresh fucking air, I focus on the phone. I tether my attention to that little screen in the corner, lighting up and fading away like a Lilliputian lighthouse, bringing happy little words from shiny people laughing and drinking in a red-carpeted room a million miles away.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

EMILY

EMILY WANDERED back to the guesthouse alone.

She pottered in the kitchen, tidying away the bottles from the abandoned wine tasting and wiping down the surfaces, but no amount of cleaning could ease her mind. What had happened back there? Sure, no one liked to have strangers wandering around in their back garden, but they were hikers, not axe-murderers. And the way Nina ran outside and started shouting … she’d seemed so ready, almost as if she was expecting the intrusion.

Afterward, no one mentioned it. Scott and Nina just made their excuses and disappeared inside as if nothing unusual had occurred.

Emily gazed out the window, studying the thick wall of leaves and branches. She’d assumed there was only one access point into Querencia, but there must be hidden trails running all through the woodland. She made a mental note to take her phone with her on her next shopping trip so she could check out a map of the area.