Chapter 14 Elin

14

Elin

Parque Nacional, Portugal, October 2021

When Elin wakes her head is heavy, muzzy, her heart thumping.

Her sleep was disturbed. Lurid, jumbled dreams: A shadowy figure in the underbrush. The camp. Kier's face in the photograph.

It's only as she gets out of bed, pulls her clothes on, that the dream disperses.

Yet one thing lingers: Kier. Elin can't shake it; the sense that she's seen her somewhere before.

It's not the only thing about the image that's worrying her. Kier's smile to the camera … too bright. People say the camera doesn't lie, but she'd bet good money that smile was hiding a multitude of worries.

Cradling the coffee in her hand, Elin goes outside, quietly closing the door of the van behind her. After dragging a chair over to the edge of the decking, she stares out over the valley.

Dawn is opening up the sky – ray by ray peeling back the darkness to a frenzy of pastel. Her breath catches in her chest. Beautiful, too beautiful not to share .

Grabbing her phone, her finger hovers over the FaceTime app. Will's number.

He'll be up, like her, probably making a coffee, checking his phone, eyes sleepy behind his glasses. They were both early birds, but he always took longer to get going, needed the jolt from that extra cup of coffee.

No. She tells herself. You can't. One call would become another, and —

Her finger wobbles slightly before she takes a breath, scrolls to Steed's number instead.

‘Warner,' he says, a few moments later. His face is swathed in shadow, the room behind him dark. ‘You're up with the lark.'

‘Don't tell me you were still asleep.' She laughs. ‘Standards slipping, because I'm away?'

Steed suppresses a yawn. ‘Yeah, yeah, I was just getting up.'

‘I wanted to show you this,' she interrupts, flipping the screen so he can see the view. Slowly panning, she lingers on the view of the valley. ‘Don't get many of these at home.'

‘Beautiful.' He whistles between his teeth. ‘Take it you're enjoying, then? Operation R and R all on track?'

Switching the screen back, Elin smiles. ‘Not exactly. We've been pretty much full on hiking since we got here and Isaac's trying to rope me into something.' She hesitates. ‘His mate's sister's gone missing.'

‘Out there?' His brow furrows.

‘Yeah.'

‘Thought this was meant to be a break.'

‘It is. Haven't committed to anything yet.'

A pause. She can tell he wants to say something but thinks better of it, changing the subject. ‘How're things going with Isaac?' The question's loaded. He's well aware of what's riding on this trip, her nerves over whether Isaac would still be harboring some lingering resentment over how their estrangement played out.

Elin couldn't blame him if there was. The distance between them was on her. For years, she'd blamed him for the death of their younger brother, Sam, and it had driven them apart. It was only in Switzerland that she'd discovered it wasn't Isaac who'd been there when Sam died, as she'd always believed – it was her. She'd frozen when he'd fallen into the sea and hit his head, and then she'd blocked it out. Projected her guilt onto him.

‘Good,' she replies. ‘But strange. Sometimes, it's like we've never been apart and then it feels like I'm getting to know him all over again.'

He nods. ‘I'm glad, though, you decided to do this. From what you've said, it's important, for you both.'

‘It is. He's the only real family I've got left.' She stops, her throat thick, taken aback at how quickly they'd gotten here. Steed … he always surprised her like this. Among the banter was someone not just emotionally intuitive, but a real friend, someone who saw beneath the barriers she had in place.

Sensing her discomfort, he changes the subject. ‘And how's the rib?'

‘A few twinges, but it's bearing up.'

‘Don't go pushing it. I've signed us up for a ten K in January.'

She laughs. ‘Nice try, but not sure I'm going to be up to it.'

The conversation goes back and forth for a few more minutes. The usual bad jokes, office chat.

As they say goodbye, Elin's overwhelmed by a sense of relief – that it had been him she'd called, and not Will. She'd been close to cracking, but she knew once she breached that barrier, it would be hard to go back.

Her chain of thought is broken by something catching her eye – a soft toy, wedged between the decking. An ear is flopped over the slats, the bright blue a stark contrast to the silvered wood.

Elin gets up, walks over to it and gently tugs it out.

A rabbit.

It's damp between her fingers, tiny twigs and debris clinging to the fabric. The glassy eyes are misty with dew, and she wipes them away to find them staring balefully at her, the black pupils oversize, engorged.

She thinks about Etta last night, her distraction. Look … look.

‘You're up early.' Isaac appears behind her, barefoot, hair still sleep tousled. ‘Don't think I'm going to survive the next few days if you keep going at this rate.'

Elin smiles. ‘Couldn't sleep. '

‘What's that?' He nods at the toy.

‘Found it on the decking. I reckon it's Bridie's kid's. Etta's. She kept looking at the floor.' She turns it between her fingers. ‘I'm going to take it down there. Gives them no excuse to come back.'

Elin doesn't voice the other motive: another look at the camp.

Last night, it kept playing on her mind: not just the movement she'd glimpsed through the window of the van, but the niggling feeling that she'd missed something, something lurking at the periphery of her mind, just out of reach.

At first glance, the camp looks deserted. Each van closed, dark. Beer bottles are lying upended beside the bench, the amber glass sticky and shimmering in the light. Elin can picture the scene – the group sat around the bench, talking and drinking late into the night.

Walking forwards a little, she looks around, eyes flitting between the vans. Studying the space, she tries to recapture the feeling she had yesterday, but nothing comes.

Shaking the thought free, she walks over to the bench. The wooden surface is dirty – grease marks and crumbs, a sticky imprint from the bottom of a glass. Tugging the toy from her bag, she places it on the seat instead. They'll find it easily enough.

‘Hey.'

Elin startles.

Ned.

He's stood under one of the trees, the dog at his feet, gnawing on an antler. There's an orange in his hand. Holding a segment up in the air with his thumb, he drops it down into his mouth, slowly chewing.

‘I didn't think anyone was up.' Elin gestures to the bench, a flush creeping up her cheeks. Had he seen her looking at the vans? ‘Bridie's child dropped her toy on the decking. I was returning it.'

‘Huh …' His smile is amused as he looks at her, eyes lingering on her face. ‘Nice of you to drop by this early. '

‘Early riser.' Her voice sounds out, unnaturally loud into the still.

Pushing another piece of orange into his mouth with the tip of the knife, Ned nods. ‘Best part of the day. It's when I get all my thinking done.'

‘The same. My head is clearer first thing, before all the stuff the day brings starts to get in the way.'

This time his smile is warm, genuine. ‘Yeah, I—'

He doesn't have a chance to finish his sentence.

Tiny glitter-sparks. The afterburn of a firework, then a dark, mushrooming cloud, erupting from the centre of the van on the right.

Lightning flash then burst and boom. Orange and rust and brown.

Elin feels a strange vacuum in her ears. A soft suck, then silence.

Soaring peaks of light.

Flames.