Chapter 13 Camilla

13 CAMILLA

NOW

Camilla’s brain feels like scrambled eggs.

She pours a glass of wine with one hand, not stopping until the glass is full, then turns and studies the scene behind her: Darcy, Antoni, and a shaken-looking Kate sitting in the living room of Kate’s villa.

The twenty-second anniversary of the Spinnaker massacre is two days away, and now this. It feels like someone is taking a cheese grater to her nerves. She would kill for a joint right now.

After Kate took ill on the boat they turned straight around and brought everyone back to the island. They were a good hour away from the resort by then, and that hour felt like an eternity. Kate was still hyperventilating, and Camilla and Darcy looked at each other in terror. What the hell were they going to do? Was she having a heart attack? Camilla’s mind raced ahead to all worst-case scenarios. Who the fuck was Kate’s next of kin? She’s estranged from her parents, and she has no spouse or siblings. So who would they contact? What happens if someone dies overseas? Would they have to arrange flights home immediately? How bad would it look if they simply stayed on for the rest of the holiday?

The boatman called the resort’s first-aid unit, who were waiting for them when they arrived at the jetty. Antoni, the guy Kate had been talking to, helped get her off the boat. Camilla assisted on Kate’s left, Antoni on her right, and they pulled her to her feet. Darcy guided her down the stairs from the roof, placing her feet gently onto the steps. The first-aid unit had a stretcher set up, and they helped Kate lie down on it. And then, after she was wheeled off, the rest of the group sobered up.

Nobody knew what had happened. One minute Kate was standing at the side of the roof, enjoying the dolphins. The next she was on the ground, trembling and gasping for breath. Camilla’s head is thrumming, and she’s agitated. Goddammit.

She thinks back to the email from Jacob. Maybe she should have called him back, asked him what it was about. No, for God’s sake. That has nothing to do with what happened to Kate. The medic said it was a panic attack—a bloody panic attack, which, ironically, Camilla is experiencing right now, because she had thought Kate was dying and didn’t have a clue what she was meant to do to help.

As Kate was wheeled to the first-aid unit, Antoni had walked alongside Darcy and Camilla as they followed, not sure what to expect. “I feel responsible,” he said, in a way that suggested he wasn’t responsible at all, but felt helpless, just like Camilla and Darcy.

Once Kate had been treated, the medic took them on a golf cart to Kate’s villa, and now they’re all in here—Darcy, Camilla, Kate, and the man, Antoni, who felt responsible for her panic attack.

“Sorry for all the fuss,” Kate says, clutching a glass of water in an armchair by the macramé wall hanging. She looks pale, her face drawn.

“Oh God, don’t be sorry!” Darcy says.

“I am,” Kate says quietly, sinking back into the chair. Perhaps it was just the heat, or perimenopause, or the fact that the anniversary is in two days’ time. Yes , Camilla thinks grimly. Probably that.

The second week of September is hell week, as far as Camilla is concerned. When Darcy announced she was going somewhere fabulous to celebrate her divorce and asked Kate and Camilla to come along, Camilla didn’t want to protest too much, but when Darcy said the best time for her was slap bang in the week of the anniversary… well, it was almost a deal-breaker. Camilla usually spends the anniversary under a duvet, the door locked and the curtains drawn, stoned out of her mind.

Darcy had said it was a good idea, that being together in a gorgeous place on the anniversary of the event that tied the three of them together would be healing.

Like fuck it is , Camilla thinks bitterly. And here is the proof—Kate, looking like a battered cabbage.

“We’re just glad you’re alive, sugar tits,” Camilla says dryly, which makes Kate laugh. It’s a lovely sound. But then the room falls silent, and Camilla glances at Antoni again, wishing he would just piss off. She’s not at all convinced that a man would be so worried for the well-being of a complete stranger that he’d be content to sit indoors asking concerned questions instead of enjoying the resort.

“Did I hear you’re a dance instructor, Antoni?” Darcy asks then. She’s sitting on the sofa next to him.

“Yes,” he says. “I teach at the dance school in Girona. Our students perform all over the world.”

“Wow,” Darcy says. “Have you always danced?”

He nods. “I performed flamenco for many years. I worked on some films, actually, teaching the actors how to do this dance.”

“That’s impressive,” Camilla says, her interest piqued at the mention of dance. “What films?”

She sits in the armchair opposite Kate, spilling wine on herself.

“A Mission Impossible film with Tom Cruise,” he says, his voice growing softer. She can tell he doesn’t like talking about himself. Or maybe he’s feigning modesty. “Another one with the man from Bill & Ted …”

“Keanu Reeves?” Darcy says, and he nods.

“Crikey,” Camilla says, eyeing him anew. “Bloody famous, you are. We should be getting your autograph.”

“Anyway, enough about me,” he says, looking at Kate. “If it’s OK to ask, how are you feeling now, Kate?”

“I think the Valium has done the trick,” she says with a weak smile. “A good night’s sleep will also help, I think.”

He nods. “I have had many of these so-called panic attacks, so I was very concerned. They are not minor things, not at all. They usually have triggers.”

“What sort of triggers?” Darcy asks.

Antoni shrugs. “It can be anything. A sound, a smell, the feeling of something you touch…”

Darcy turns to Kate. “Do you think you know what triggered yours?”

Camilla watches Kate intently, wondering if she should head off a potential re-triggering. Surely Darcy knows what caused Kate’s panic attack? She just needs to look at a calendar.

“Maybe the heat,” Camilla says then, and Kate nods.

“Yes, the heat. The heat.”

It’s clear to Camilla that she doesn’t want to talk about it, not yet.

“If I can do anything, please let me know,” Antoni says in a smooth Catalonian drawl. “If you want to talk, I can also listen. I know all about this kind of illness. It took many years for me to stop having these attacks.”

“I’ve never had a panic attack—not that I know of, anyway,” Darcy says.

“Oh, if you’ve had one, you know,” Antoni says with a rueful laugh.

“Do you know why you started having them?” Camilla asks Antoni, interested. It’s unusual for her to encounter a man so open about his own feelings, and she’s intrigued.

“I do,” he says. “And if you would prefer me not to share in case it might trigger you again, Kate, please tell me.”

She shakes her head and murmurs that it’s fine.

“My wife and I were in a car accident,” he says. “It was fifteen years ago. The car rolled down a steep mountainside, both of us inside. We were trapped. When the car stopped, I could not get out, nor could my wife. Eventually the emergency services came and cut us out. She did not survive.”

“Oh my God,” Camilla says, and she feels a sting of remorse for how she snapped at him on the boat.

“Terrible,” Darcy says, pressing a hand to her mouth.

He takes a deep breath. “The physical injuries healed in about a year. But the injuries in my mind and my heart took much, much longer. At first, I thought I was going crazy. I mourned my wife, of course. But then this thing happened, the attacks. Something would happen and it felt like I was in the car again, trapped inside. I could not get out. I would shake and cry, like Kate did.”

“Sounds like PTSD,” Camilla says, and he nods.

“Exactly.”

There’s a moment of silence when everyone takes that in. Kate stifles a yawn, and Antoni sets down his glass and makes to leave.

“This is a good sign,” he tells Kate. “The adrenal gland has stopped shooting neurotransmitters through your bloodstream, and now you are tired, which means your body is ready to recover. I will go. But please, call me if I can be a help in any way.”

He gives Kate a nod, and she looks up at him with a small smile. “Thank you,” she says.

Darcy rises to her feet, murmuring words of thanks to Antoni and closing the door behind him when he leaves. Then she turns, folding her arms. The three of them are alone at last. Camilla’s agitation has shifted down a few gears, and now she feels like she could sleep for a week.

“Shall I stay?” Darcy says.

“I don’t mind,” Camilla offers, glancing at Kate. “Kate, do you have a preference?”

“Neither of you needs to stay over,” she says. “I’m fine, really.”

“You don’t look fine,” Camilla says.

“Cam,” says Darcy, a warning tone in her voice.

Camilla feels like she’s had her wrist slapped. “What? I don’t mean that she looks awful….”

“Thanks,” Kate says with a little laugh.

“If you’d rather we didn’t stay, I understand,” Darcy tells Kate. “You just gave us quite a fright, that’s all.”

“It was out of the blue for me, too,” Kate says.

Darcy passes Kate her mobile phone, setting it on the seat next to her. “You text us if you need anything,” she says. “Anything.”

“I will.”