‘And the milk in the fridge – I don’t know if she’ll take it – she’s not very used to sippy cups – but it’s worth a try if she wakes up.’
‘Don’t worry, Miss.’ Her small eyes are a guileless blue. ‘My ma always says there’s no one to beat me with my little brother. I look after him all the time.’
This doesn’t really reassure me, but I nod.
‘Come on, Isa,’ Thea says impatiently. She is standing at the door, her hand on the latch. ‘We’ve really got to get going.’
‘OK.’ I feel the wrongness of what I’m doing twist at my gut as I walk towards the door, but what choice do I have? The distance between me and Freya stretches, like a cord around my throat tightening as I pull away. ‘I’m going to try to duck out early, but call me, OK?’ I say to Liz, and she nods, and I’m peeling myself away from her, from Freya, every step making a hollow place inside my chest.
And then I’m across the rickety wooden bridge, feeling the evening sunlight on my back, and the emptiness lifts a little.
‘So I guess I’m driving …?’ Fatima says, getting out her keys.
Kate looks at her watch.
‘I don’t know. It’s ten miles round by the road and we’re very likely to hit a tractor at this time. They’re all working late on the fields in this weather, and there’s only one route they can take. If we get stuck behind one we could be there for ages.’
‘So, what?’ Fatima looks almost comically horrified. ‘Are you saying we should walk?’
‘It’d probably be quicker. It’s only a couple of miles if we cut across the marsh.’
‘But I’m wearing evening shoes!’
‘So change into your Birkenstocks.’ Kate nods at Fatima’s shoes, left neatly outside the door. ‘But it’ll be easy walking. It’s dry in this weather.’
‘Come on,’ Thea says, surprising me. ‘It’ll be like old times. And anyway, you know what parking will be like at the school. We’ll get boxed in, and you won’t be able to get the car out until all the other rows have left.’
It’s that suggestion that swings it. I can see in Fatima’s eyes that she is as reluctant as the rest of us to be stuck at school, unable to get away. She rolls her eyes, but kicks off her shoes and pushes her feet into her Birkenstocks. I switch my heels for the sandals I wore to walk to the village, wincing slightly as they rub the same sore places from the long walk. Kate is already wearing low, sensible flats, and so is Thea – she doesn’t need the extra height.
I give one last look at the window where Freya is sleeping, feeling the painful tug. And then I turn my face towards the track, south, towards the coast, and I take a deep breath.
Then we set off.
It is like old times, that’s what I think as we walk down the same track we always used to take back to Salten House. It is a pure, beautiful evening, the sky streaked with pink clouds reflecting the setting sun, the sandy track giving back the day’s warmth to our feet.
But we are only halfway along the shore path when Kate stops abruptly and says, ‘Let’s cut through here.’
For a minute I can’t even see where she means – and then I see it – a gap in the tangled, thorny hedge, a broken-down stile just visible among the nettles and brambles.
‘What?’ Thea gives a short laugh. ‘You joking?’
‘I –’ Kate’s face is uncomfortable. ‘I just thought … it’ll be quicker.’
‘No it won’t.’ Fatima’s face, behind her outsize black shades, is puzzled. ‘You know it won’t – it’s a less direct route, and anyway, there’s no way I can get through there, it’ll rip my outfit to shreds. What’s wrong with the stile further down? The one we always used to take back to school?’
Kate takes a deep breath and for a minute I think she’s going to persist, but then she turns and stalks off ahead of us up the path.
‘Fine.’ It’s muttered under her breath, so low that I’m not sure if I heard.
‘That was weird,’ I whisper to Fatima, who nods.
‘I know. What’s going on? But I wasn’t being unreasonable, was I? I mean –’ She gestures to the flowing, fragile silk, the easily caught jewels. ‘Seriously, right? There’s no way I could have got through those thorn bushes.’
‘Of course not,’ I say as we increase our pace to catch up with Kate’s retreating back. ‘I don’t know what she was thinking.’
But I do know. As soon as we get to the place where we always used to turn, I know instantly, and I can’t believe I had forgotten. And I understand, too, why Kate took Thea north up the Reach for their walk this afternoon, instead of south towards the sea.
For where our route turns right, over a stile onto the marsh, the shore path carries on towards the sea, and in the distance, almost hidden in the lee of a sand dune, I can see a white shape, and the blue-and-white flutter of police tape.
It is a tent. The sort used to shelter a site where forensic samples are being taken.
My heart sinks, a sickness fluttering in my stomach. How could we have been so crass?
Thea and Fatima realise it too, at the same instant. I can see by the way their faces change, and we exchange a single, stricken look behind Kate’s back as she walks ahead of us to the stile, her face averted from the stark beauty of the shore, and the sparkling sea stretching far out, as far as the eye can see, and in the midst of it all, that unassuming little tent that has changed everything.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say, as Kate swings her leg over the fence, the rose-patterned silk fluttering in the wind. ‘Kate, we didn’t think –’
‘It’s fine,’ she says again, but her voice is stiff and hard, and it is not fine. How could we have forgotten? It’s not like we didn’t know. It’s why we’re here, after all.
‘Kate …’ Fatima says pleadingly, but Kate is over the stile, and striding onwards, her face turned away from us so we cannot see her expression, and we can only look at each other, wretched, guilty, and then hurry to catch up.
‘Kate, I’m sorry,’ I say again, catching at her arm, but she pulls out of my grip.
‘Forget about it,’ she says, and it’s a punch in the gut, an accus-ation I can’t refute. Because I already did.
‘Stop,’ Thea says, and there’s a note of command in her voice, a sound that I haven’t heard for years. She used to use it so easily, that whip-crack tone that more or less compelled you to listen, even if you didn’t obey. Stop. Drink this. Give me that. Come here.
Somewhere along the line she stopped – stopped ordering others around, became frightened of her own authority. But it’s back, just for a flicker, and Kate turns, halting on the short, sheep-cropped turf with a look of resignation in her eyes.
‘What?’
‘Kate, look …’ The note is gone now, Thea’s voice is concili-atory, uncertain, reflecting all our feelings as we stand around, unsure what to say, unsure how to make the unbearable OK when we know we can’t. ‘Kate, we didn’t –’
‘We’re sorry,’ Fatima says. ‘We really are, we should have realised. But don’t be like this – we’re here for you, you know that, right?’
‘And I should be more grateful?’ Kate’s face twists, and she tries to smile. ‘I know, I –’