Come on.
I’m embarrassed, suddenly. Filled with panic.
Marc loves Nineties indie music. Parties. Mild cheddar. Toy Story.
A threat? Have I got this right?
My husband smiles, slips an arm around my waist. So in sync. A little team. I see a couple with a tiny baby strolling past registering the mirror of a picture: neat, solid, familial.
I am holding my daughter now and I pull her in close. She is back and I follow her now, wherever she goes.
‘Look, at us, a family of three.’ Marc smiles at me and it’s warm and filled with love but his arm grips.
I stiffen.
But Adam believed him, Steffie too.
Perhaps their initial judgement was right.
And perhaps this once, I have to trust it more than my own.
Marc’s arm tightens again on my waist. I wince but keep it from showing on my face.
He keeps moving me towards the car.
‘Shouldn’t we wait for Adam?’ I say, glancing back over my shoulder. ‘So he knows where we are.’
‘All okay, guys?’ asks a woman who works on the campsite.
‘We’re fine,’ Marc says, voice firmer now. Smile. I repeat it. Fine, fine, fine. My baby is here. How can this not be fine? I feel foggy. But that part is clear.
‘Leaving now, back to the UK. Our friend is settling our bill. Thanks so much for the stay.’
She smiles back at me.
Marc’s grip is firm. He doesn’t reply to my question about Adam. Thirty seconds later, we are alone in the car.
A click – and the car door locks all come down.
We head upwards, into the mountains.