The world did not freeze whilst the two women stared at each other because that is not what worlds do.
Harriet didn’t gasp, or point; she didn’t even raise her eyebrows. Thea held herself very still, fixed by Harriet’s gaze, a pinned butterfly too exhausted to even wriggle.
Perhaps Harriet’s eyes widened a little, perhaps she stared for a little too long – whatever the reason, the man with his back to them shifted and half-turned his head.
‘Ms Stowe? Are you all right?’
There was only Harriet and Thea and the look stretching between them like putty, binding them. The rest of the beach, Rory, the boat – all of that was just scenery.
‘I …’
Thea was aware of the cold snow she was kneeling in, how her kneecaps had numbed. She was aware of Rory breathing next to her and the wrinkled bark of the tree that had not hid her well enough.
Harriet snapped her gaze back to the black-clad man. ‘I’m fine.’
Thea pressed her forehead against the crumbling bark of the tree and felt her heartbeat thud in her throat.
The man turned and peered into the trees. ‘You looked as if you’d seen something,’ he said suspiciously.
Thea darted out of sight.
‘What? No. I didn’t see anything …’
There was a pause big enough to contain a whole life. Rory was pale, sweat beading on his forehead despite the cold.
She heard snow crunch and squeak as footsteps moved closer to them.
‘Wait!’ Thea could hear the panic in Harriet’s voice. ‘I think it was a … a fox or … something …’
‘This is an island, Ms Stowe. There aren’t any foxes on here. Unless they swam across.’
More crunching. Closer again.
‘No! No, of course not! My imagination, been here too long, probably. I should get on the boat, yes? Like you said?’
But the crunching continued, far too loud, far too close and then, suddenly, there he was, near enough for Thea to see the light blinking on his walkie-talkie and the grey in his hair, near enough to stretch out and grab his leg. He had his back to them. Harriet came floundering behind, snow puffing up around her steps.
‘Over there!’ She pointed in the opposite direction to Thea. ‘That’s where I was looking. Not that there’s anything there. I’m just spooked by this place. Shouldn’t we go back?’
The words tumbled from her too quickly, too loudly. Thea couldn’t see the man’s face, but she imagined he was eyeing her with a frown.
A few electrical signals from brain to neck muscle, a small movement of the head as it turned; that would be all it would take from this man. He would find her and Rory and that would be it. Whatever “it” turned out to be. Thea suspected it did not involve a trip back to the mainland and a warm drink.
But, miraculously, the man headed over to where Harriet pointed. Whilst he was walking the few steps away, Harriet turned to Thea, two hectic spots of red on her cheeks, her eyes huge, the panic thrumming off her as if she was a badly played theremin.
That’s when Thea saw their tracks, fresh trails in the snow, leading right to them.
Harriet saw them too and, checking that the man wasn’t looking, stumbled over to them, dragging her feet and taking great gouges out of the snow as the man bent to inspect something further away.
They could hit him, Thea thought wildly. She cast about for a weapon, a handy tree bough or one of Harriet’s stilettos, except she was wearing snow boots with useless flat rubber soles. Thea could tell Harriet was thinking the same thing but there was just snow and the rocks on the beach were too far away.
‘I should get on the boat, now, hmm?’ Harriet tried again, moving to block his view of Thea and Rory’s tree as they shifted around it, trying to keep out of sight.
He stood up and turned, wiping the snow from his gloved hands, leaving white patches on his trousers. Harriet moved and then Thea could only see her boots, the way that clumps of snow clung to the waterproof material, before melting. There one minute, then gone.
There was just the quiet of the trees, a gentle shushing of branches rubbing together, most of the leaves long fallen and rotted away. There was no birdsong and daylight crisscrossed the snowy forest floor in a delicate latticework design. If the man saw her, all that would be left of her would be a dent in the snow.
Above her, Harriet crossed her fingers behind her back.
The walkie-talkie at the man’s waist crackled.
There was a tinny voice that Thea couldn’t catch, but then the man spoke. ‘What? Say that again? Over.’
Harriet shifted her feet. Crackle, crackle, a smudge of a voice.
‘Copy that.’
More crunching of snow.
‘I’ve got to go back to the Centre, Ms Stowe. But I’m getting you on this boat first.’
‘Of course! Of course. Lead the way.’
Harriet’s boots disappeared and the footsteps retreated. Thea wished she could have seen Harriet’s face one last time, to somehow show her in a silent look that she was grateful, indescribably grateful for what she had just done and that she would remember it – and her – for as long as she lived.
However long that was to be.
‘Let’s go,’ Rory whispered.