The Sanatorium(16)

“I noticed another reaction too,” Will says lightly. “Laure. You never said you knew her.”

“I didn’t think it was important.” Elin watches the candle, the liquid flicker of the flame. “It was ages ago. We were only kids.”

He waits for her to continue.

“My mum and hers were friends from school. She married a Swiss guy she met teaching English in Japan. They moved here when Laure was born.” Elin shrugs. “They didn’t visit much. I only saw her, what, three, four times?”

She’s playing it down. From the moment Laure and her mother, Coralie, arrived every August, laden down with bags, Elin and Laure were inseparable. They’d spend hours swimming, kayaking, eating picnics in the woods behind the beach—baguettes stuffed with soft cheese, fat, sticky slices of ginger cake.

When Laure went home, for Elin, summer was over. She spent hours writing to her friend, phone calls every Saturday.

But Elin knows why she’s diluting it—the memories of Laure dredge up memories of herself before Sam, and she can’t help but confront the difference between the old her and who she’s become.

But there’s something else, too, something she’s tried to ignore since she arrived: guilt. Guilt for how she left it with Laure, how suddenly the friendship had withered and died.

“Did you ever visit her here?”

She shakes her head. “Mum wanted to, but money was tight.”

“You didn’t keep in touch?”

“No,” she says abruptly. “After Sam died, everything stopped.”

Elin remembers the letters Laure sent. Then later on, text messages. But Elin only halfheartedly replied—once, twice, then it petered out. It was easier somehow, not staying in touch. Not only because of the memories, but because part of her had been jealous. Life for Laure hadn’t changed. She was able to move on.

“Do you know how she and Isaac got together?”

“Social media, I think. He came out here to work. The university in Lausanne isn’t far from Sierre; that’s where Laure lives. She helped him settle in.” She shakes her head. “Part of me thinks it was deliberate, that he knew it would piss me off.”

“So ignore it. Have fun. Don’t give him what he wants. Relax.” Will leans back in his chair. “This, the holiday, it’ll only work if you don’t let things get to you.”

She scans the room. “I’m trying, but this place . . . there’s something weird about it, isn’t there? Something creepy.”

“Creepy?” Will smiles. “You just don’t like it because it’s out of your comfort zone.”

He’s only half joking. He’s never said it, but she knows her inflexibility pisses him off. He can’t understand it, come to grips with it, so he turns it into something funny.

Elin forces a smile. “Comfort zone? Come on, I’m Miss Spontaneous . . . take off at a whim . . .”

“You used to be,” Will says seriously, meeting her gaze. “When we first met.”

Her hand clenches around the glass. “You know what happened.” Her voice is shaky. “You know what I’ve been through this past year.”

“I know that, but you can’t let it destroy you. The Hayler case, your mum, Sam, whatever this thing is with Isaac, you’ve let it all build up into something so huge it’s swallowing the rest of your life. Your world, it’s getting smaller and smaller.” He smiles, but he’s forcing it, she can tell. “I’m still waiting on that camping trip you promised. I bought a tent and everything.”

“Stop.” Elin pushes back her chair, horrified to find her chest heaving. She’s going to cry again. Here, in the restaurant with Will. What he’s saying, it feels like a warning. That he, like her job, isn’t going to wait around forever.

She stands up. She can’t face this: losing something else.

“Elin, come on, I was teasing.”

“No.” Heat chases up her back, her neck. “I can’t do this, Will. Not now. Not here.”





12





Her attacker is back: Adele can hear the rhythmic shuffle of footsteps, the heavy, sucking pull of breath.

She doesn’t move from her seated position, back against the wall. She hasn’t moved since she got here.

Listen. Learn. Don’t waste any energy.

There’s a sudden pressure on her arm. A push—sideways. Adele slams against the floor. The movement jars, sends juddering shock waves of pain through her shoulder and neck.

Crying out, she curls up on her side, legs tucked underneath her.

Her eyes are fastened shut.

Keep your eyes closed. Whatever happens, keep your eyes closed.

This is the mantra she keeps repeating in her head. She’s got no idea who this person is or what they want with her, but she knows that the monstrous thing on their face is there to make her scared. She knows that if she’s scared, she’s weak, has no chance of getting back to Gabriel.

Her father had told her once about what fear did to the brain, a primitive reaction you can’t control.

What was it called? That particular part of the brain? Think . . .

All she remembers is that when this tiny part of the brain senses a threat, it overrides conscious thought so the body can divert all its energy to facing the threat.