Clare said nothing, just shook her head. Her face was quite white, her lips bloodless beneath the gloss. I found I was breathing hard and fast, almost hyperventilating.
‘Hey,’ Nina said suddenly. Her voice had an odd, far-away quality. ‘Hey, Nora, are you OK?’
‘I’m fine,’ I said, or tried to say. I wasn’t sure if the words came out. The room seemed to be closing in even as the great glass window opened out, like a mouthful of pointed piney teeth, waiting to swallow us all. I felt hands grabbing at my arms, pushing me down on the sofa, my head between my knees.
‘You’re all right,’ I heard Nina’s firm voice, and suddenly it was easy to remember that she was a doctor, a professional medic and not just a friend that I went drinking with every few months. ‘You’re all right. Someone get a bag, a paper bag.’
‘Drama queen,’ I heard Flo say in an angry hiss, and she stomped out of the room.
‘I’m fine,’ I said. I tried to sit up, pushing away Nina’s hands. ‘I don’t need a paper bag. I’m OK.’
‘You sure?’ Nina looked into my face, searchingly. I nodded, trying to look convincing.
‘I’m absolutely fine. Sorry, I don’t know why I came over so funny. Too much wine. But I’m all right, I promise.’
‘Too much drama,’ Tom said under his breath, but he said it soberly, and I knew he didn’t mean me.
‘I just— I think I’ll go and get some fresh air. It’s too hot in here.’
It was hot, the stove was pumping out heat like a furnace. Nina nodded.
‘I’ll come with you.’
‘No!’ I said, more violently than I meant. And then, more calmly, ‘Honestly, I’d rather be by myself. I just want a breather. OK?’
Outside, I stood with my back against the sliding glass doors of the kitchen. The sky above was deep blue velvet and the moon was astonishingly white, ringed with a pale halo of frost. I felt the cold night air envelop me, the chill cooling my hot face and sweaty palms. I stood, listening to the pounding of my own heart, trying to slow its beats, trying to calm down.
It was absurd to be so ridiculously panicked. There was nothing to say the message was about me. Though, what was it Flo had said at the end?
I know some things about you …
What had she meant? Which one of us was she talking to?
If it was me, there was only one thing she could have been referring to. And Clare was the only person who knew what had happened. Had she told Flo?
I wasn’t sure. I wanted to think not. I tried to remember all the secrets I’d confided to Clare over the year, secrets she’d kept faithfully.
But I remembered going back to school to sit my French comprehension exam, and one of the other girls in the queue putting a hand on my arm. I’m so sorry, she’d said, you’re so brave, and there was genuine pity in her face, but also a kind of glee, the sort you see sometimes when teens are interviewed about the tragic death of a friend. The sadness is there, and it’s real, but there’s an underlying thrill at the drama of it all, the realness of it all.
I didn’t know for sure what she meant – she might have been talking about me and James breaking up. But her reaction seemed extreme for that, and I began to wonder if Clare had told someone what had happened. All through the exam I worried, and worried at the question. And by the time the two hours was up, I knew what I had to do. Because I knew that the doubt would send me insane.
I never went back.
Now, I shut my eyes, feeling the cold on my face, and the snow penetrating my thin socks, and listening to the soft sounds of the night, the crackle and rush of snow-laden branches breaking beneath their weight, the hoot of an owl, the strange haunting shriek of a fox.
I had never lived in the country. I’d grown up on the outskirts of Reading, and then moved to London as soon as I turned eighteen. I’d lived there ever since.
But I could imagine living here, in the silence and the solitude, only seeing people when you wanted to. I wouldn’t live in a vast glass bell jar, though. I’d live somewhere small, inconspicuous, part of the landscape.
I thought of the crofter’s cottage that had once stood here, before it had been burned to the ground. I imagined a long, low building, its silhouette like an animal trying to go to ground, like a hare flattening its form into the grasses. I could have lived there, I thought.
When I opened my eyes the light blazing from the house onto the snow hurt my retinas. It was so brash, so wasteful – like a golden lighthouse, beaming its presence into the darkness. Only … a lighthouse was to tell ships to keep away. This place felt more like a beacon, like a lantern drawing in the moths.
I shivered. I must stop being so superstitious. This was a beautiful house. We were lucky to be staying here, even for just a few days. But I did not like it, I didn’t trust Flo, and I couldn’t wait to be away tomorrow morning. I wondered how early I could decently leave. Nina and I had seats on the 5 p.m. train, but my ticket was flexible.
‘Are you OK?’ The voice came from behind me, followed by a long exhalation of cigarette smoke, and I turned and saw Nina standing there, fag in one hand, the other arm wrapped around her ribs against the cold. ‘Sorry. I know you said you wanted to be alone. I just … I needed a fag. Needed to get away. Ugh, that Flo! She gives me the heebie-jeebies. What was all that weird stuff about knowing secrets about us?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said uncomfortably.
‘It was probably just bullshit.’ Nina dragged on her fag. ‘But I must admit, I was sitting there ticking off all the stuff I’ve told Clare over the years and it wasn’t a very comfortable feeling, thinking about what she might have passed on to Flo. And Tom looked pretty shaken up, didn’t he? Wonder what the skeleton in his closet is?’
‘I don’t know,’ I repeated. The cold was starting to strike through to my bones, and I shivered.
‘I think Melanie had it right,’ Nina said at last. ‘Flo’s not normal. And her weirdness about Clare – “not healthy” is an understatement. All that copying Clare’s clothes – it’s a bit Single White Female, isn’t it? If you ask me, she’s a couple of Xanax away from re-enacting the shower scene in Psycho.’
‘Oh for God’s sake,’ I snapped. Flo was odd, but that was really not fair. ‘She’s not psycho, she’s just not very confident. I know what it’s like, always feeling second best. Clare’s not always the easiest person to be friends with.’
‘No. No, don’t try to make excuses for her, Nora. The clothes and stuff – I mean, whatever, it’s weird, but if Clare wants to put up with it, it’s her call. But that little exhibition tonight was directed squarely at us, and I’m not having it. Look, I was thinking, tomorrow— I know we’re booked on the five p.m., but—’
‘But can we go early? I was thinking the exact same thing.’
‘I’ve had it up to here, to be honest. If I was sober I’d go tonight but I’m in no state to drive. What do you reckon – straight after breakfast?’
‘Flo will flip,’ I said soberly. There were more activities planned for tomorrow; I wasn’t sure what, but the instructions had been clear – leave at 2 p.m., not before.
‘I know. I was actually thinking …’ Nina took a long drag. ‘I was thinking we could just slip away. Is that cowardly?’
‘Yes,’ I said definitely. ‘Very.’
‘Oh all right.’ She sighed, exhaling a cloud of smoke, white in the moonlight. ‘Maybe I can invent some sort of hospital crisis. I’ll think of an excuse tonight.’
‘How would you know?’ I said. ‘Given there’s no mobile reception and no phone?’
‘Well that’s another fucking thing, isn’t it. Supposing the crazed locals do come up the hill, banjos playing, pikes alight, what the hell are we supposed to do? Throw snowballs at them?’
‘Don’t be so melodramatic. There aren’t any crazed locals. Flo’s aunt probably torched the place herself as an insurance job and blamed it on the farmers.’