The rest of the week passed uneventfully. Saturday came and brought with it clear sky and warming spring sunshine. Emily headed out of London in a steady stream of traffic. It was the first time she’d driven since selling her beloved VW Beetle, which had been a gift to herself after graduating from university. When she’d moved to the city last year, owning a car had felt superfluous.
The hire car, a three-door Peugeot hatchback, was easy enough to manoeuvre. It was the other drivers that were the problem. Negotiating London roads was like competing in an off-road rally where laws had no meaning. Cars pushed in front of her. They tailgated to make her speed up. Horns blasted at her to get a move on even before traffic lights had switched from amber to green. Anxiety levels rocketing, Emily focused on her breathing.
Reclining in the passenger seat next to her, Jerome flipped through the apps of his phone and emitted occasional heavy sighs.
“Weekend drivers,” he tutted as the car slowed to a halt. Up ahead, a gridlock of traffic blocked the road. “What time are we supposed to be at this place?”
“Last night.”
“You didn’t have to wait, you know. You could have gone without me.”
Having to endure Jerome’s current mood was beginning to make Emily wish that she had.
“What’s this place called again?” He tugged the seatbelt away from his neck.
“Meadow Pines.”
“Well, I hope Meadow Pines has an internet connection.”
“I thought the point of a retreat was to get away from all that.”
“For normal people, yes. But now that I face a life of waiting tables yet again, I need to keep my ear to the stage floor.”
“Yes, about that...” Emily began.
“You don’t have to say another word on the subject.”
“I was just going to say I’m sorry.”
Two days ago, the cast of The Devil Wears a Red Dress had learned that Friday’s performance would be their last. Scathing reviews, social media backlash, and pitiful audience numbers had left the theatre with little choice but to close them down. Emily had managed to book Jerome the one remaining room at Meadow Pines, the countryside retreat they were now travelling to. It had meant missing out on the opening evening, but in spite of Jerome’s foul mood, she was glad to have a familiar face coming along.
Eventually breaking free from the exodus of traffic, Emily navigated the car onto the A3 and headed towards southern Hampshire. Jerome switched on the radio, blasting rock music from the speakers.
Ninety minutes later, they were crossing over the River Test and heading into the New Forest National Park—five hundred and sixty-six square kilometres of unenclosed pasture land, heathland, and forests.
Jerome stared out at the sweeping landscape of meadows. He’d abandoned his phone a few miles back, complaining that he couldn’t get a signal.
“I hate the countryside,” he grumbled.
Emily eased her foot down on the brake pedal. Ahead of them, a young pony with dappled hide stood at the roadside, grazing on grass.
“Look at that!” she said, smiling.
Jerome shrugged a shoulder. “Shouldn’t it be in a field or something?”
Further along, a chestnut mare and her young foal stood in the centre of the road, unconcerned by the vehicle and its passengers.
“They’re New Forest ponies,” Emily said, enthralled by the gentle beasts. “They’ve lived here freely for thousands of years. In fact, that’s why there’s so much heathland—because of all the grazing.”
“Great. Try not to hit them on the way around.”
Giving Jerome a sideways glance, Emily rolled the car forwards and drove in a wide arc around the ponies.
“There are all sorts of wild animals roaming around,” she continued. “Deer, donkeys, even cattle. In fact, the New Forest has a very interesting history.”
As heathland disappeared and thick forest grew up on either side of the winding road, Jerome muttered under his breath and sank further into his seat.
Emily cleared her throat, eager to share her findings from her internet research. “The forest was established in 1079 by William the Conqueror as a reserve for the royal hunt. What the tourist board doesn’t tell you is that he destroyed over twenty small villages and farmsteads in the process, making their inhabitants homeless.”
“Nice guy.”
“Yes, well some say King William was punished by the forest for such cruel behaviour. Cursed you might say.” Emily’s voice had taken on an overly dramatic tone, remnants of a teaching career. “Both of William’s sons lost their lives while hunting within those trees. First Prince Richard, who died after inhaling a pestilent air. Then Prince Rufus, who was killed by a misdirected arrow. No sooner had William mourned his sons, tragedy struck again. His grandson, Henry, was pursuing deer through the forest when he was suddenly torn from his steed. The huntsmen found him hanging above the ground, choked to death by tree branches—quite literally slain by the forest.”
Emily smiled to herself. The children had always enjoyed her gruesome tales from the annals of history, particularly if they involved beheadings or burnings at the stake.
“You can take the teacher out of the school but you can’t take the school out of the teacher,” Jerome said. He looked up at the tree canopies whipping past overhead.
A twinge of anxiety broke through Emily’s excitement. She didn’t want to think about school or being a teacher. That part of her life was over and she had no business revisiting it.
As they drove deeper into the forest, she refocused her attention on the surrounding greenery. Living in London had its merits but she still missed the unpolluted air of the countryside. The pace of life was so different as well. While London was in constant motion, a great machine where its millions of inhabitants were the cogs that kept it moving, the countryside was governed by nothing and no one. It was alive; a living, breathing entity that had existed long before people and was likely to continue existing long after they’d faded into the ether.
The trees began to fall back, replaced by grassland and roadside cottages with thatched roofs. Minutes later, they came upon the ancient village of Lyndhurst, which had stood for at least a thousand years and was known as the New Forest’s capital. The high street was busy. Scores of tourists ambled along the pavements, cameras snapping pictures of the Tudor and medieval architecture. Others had their phones out, taking selfies next to the village’s other visitors—a small herd of cattle trotting along the road, snout to tail.
Emily drove on, leaving the sights of Lyndhurst dwindling in the windscreen mirror. In the passenger seat, Jerome shook his head. They passed more cottages. Then, as the road passed by Emery Down, it narrowed into a single lane. Trees grew up again, immersing the car and its passengers in a shadowy expanse of greens and browns.
“Do they at least have a TV at this place?” Jerome asked. They were the first words he’d spoken in fifteen minutes.
Emily shrugged. A car was approaching from the opposite direction. She slowed, pulling over to let it pass. “You didn’t have to come along if you didn’t want to. I just thought it would be nice.”
“I know. But look what happened the last time you were left alone.”
“I don’t need a chaperone, thank you very much. I’m twenty-seven years old.”
The forest grew thicker, the light darker. The coolness of the shade prickled Emily’s skin, distracting her from the irritation burning in her chest like indigestion. By the time she turned off the road minutes later, that irritation had given away to determination. She was going to have a relaxing weekend, even if it killed her. Although his current expression said otherwise, she was sure Jerome would too; just as soon as he’d rid himself of his hangover.
Pulling into a small stretch of gravel that served as a car park, Emily wedged the Peugeot in between two other vehicles and killed the engine. In front of them was a large, flat meadow where families of fallow deer, many of them with unusual white coats, grazed on feed left by local park keepers. Jerome stared up at the large sign that stood at the car park entrance.
“Bolderwood Deer Sanctuary? If I knew we were going hunting, I would have brought my trapper hat.”
To the left of the parked vehicles, clusters of visitors stood watching on a purpose-built viewing platform. One young boy leant over the railings, shouting and jeering at the placid-looking creatures while his family clicked away on their phones and cameras. All around the deer sanctuary, the ancient oak trees of Bolderwood rolled out as far as the eye could see.
“This doesn’t much look like a retreat to me,” Jerome said, wrinkling his face.
Emily nodded. “It’s our meeting point. Meadow Pines is a little tricky to get to by car, so we’re getting picked up.”
“Exactly where are you taking me?”
Smiling, Emily pushed open the driver door. “Come on, grumpy. Let’s grab our bags.”
Stepping onto the gravel, she took in a breath and let it out steadily. The air was heavy with forest smells. The sun was warm against her skin. Any anxiety she’d been feeling was brushed away. She watched Jerome shut the car door, then adjust his sunglasses. He looked around, lips curling in disapproval.
“It’s not even a proper car park,” he complained, kicking at the loose gravel.
“Toto, we’re not in London anymore.”
“You may jest, but at least London feels safe. Anything could happen out here.”
“Safe? Have you seen the latest crime statistics?”
“I bet they don’t include being eaten alive by a herd of ravenous ponies.”
As they pulled out their backpacks from the boot of the car, Emily’s gaze wandered over to the deer. They were beautiful; their white coats giving them a mystical, ethereal appeal. She couldn’t understand why Jerome found the natural world so unnerving.
A loud grumble of an engine unsettled the animals. A few of the young looked up, ears twitching, snouts sniffing the air. An olive-green Land Rover, encrusted with mud, pulled up onto the gravel. The words Meadow Pines were stencilled across its doors.
Emily and Jerome waited for the driver to turn off the engine and climb out. She was a pale-skinned young woman, perhaps in her early twenties, with wavy red hair that she wore tied behind her back. She opened up the folder in her hands, pulled out an A4-sized card, and held it up. Handwritten in black ink were the words: EMILY SWANSON & JEROME MILLER.
“Be nice,” Emily whispered to Jerome as they strolled towards the Land Rover. He nudged her in the ribs.
“Hi, I’m Marcia Hardy. I’m the assistant manager at Meadow Pines,” the young woman said as she returned the name card to her folder. She shook Emily’s hand, then hesitated slightly before shaking Jerome’s. “You came from London?”
Emily nodded. “That’s right.”
“One of our other guests is from there as well. I’ve never visited, although I’d like to.” Marcia shifted from one foot to the other. Her gaze flitted from Jerome to the ground, then back again.
“You’re better off here in the peace and quiet,” Emily said. “And peace and quiet are exactly what I’m looking forward to. Have we missed much?”
“In terms of activities, not really. Pamela will explain more about that. You missed our welcome dinner last night but you still have plenty of time to get to know the other guests—if you choose to, that is.”
She stared at Jerome again.
“Who’s Pamela?” he asked.
“Pamela owns Meadow Pines. She’s also my mother. Well, if you’d like to put your bags in the back, I’ll drive you to the house. It’s a few miles into the woods and it’s a bit of a bumpy ride down an old dirt track, so please watch your heads.”
“What about the car? We just leave it here?” Jerome said, casting a suspicious eye over the tourists on the viewing platform.
“Our guests leave their vehicles here all the time. We’ve never had any trouble. No one ever comes out this way at night and during the day it’s just tourists.”
Peeling her gaze from Jerome’s face, Marcia turned and opened up the back of the Land Rover.
“I think you have a fan.” Emily nudged him in the arm.
Jerome narrowed his eyes. “Oh my God, he’s not white! Run for the hills!”
Both smiling, they threw in their bags, then climbed into the back seat of the Land Rover. Marcia started the engine, pulled out of the parking area, and headed north.
***
A hundred metres along the road, the forest disappeared. Heathland speckled with grazing ponies filled the view.
Spinning the wheel, Marcia took a sharp left. The Land Rover skidded, almost turning a hundred and eighty degrees. In the backseat, Jerome slammed into Emily’s side. The smooth asphalt road came to an end and merged into a narrow gravel track that was barely wide enough to contain the Land Rover.
“Sorry about that,” Marcia called from the front. “It’s going to be a bit of a rough ride from here.”
The vehicle’s passengers bounced up and down as its wheels ran in and out of large potholes. Emily couldn’t hide her amusement as Jerome held onto the passenger door, the barrel of red wine he’d sunk the night before now threatening to resurface. The road, if it could be called that, plunged back into the forest. Marcia shifted gears and threaded the steering wheel between her hands. The Land Rover slid off the gravel and dove head on into the trees. Soon, they were weaving between towering trunks, following a muddy track.
“Have either of you visited a retreat before?” Marcia asked as she expertly steered the vehicle around a large fallen branch.
Emily shook her head. “It’s our first time.”
She was suddenly thrown forwards as the vehicle headed down a stony incline. All around, the forest stirred.
“Well, Meadow Pines isn’t your typical retreat,” Marcia said when they were on flat ground again.
“What do you mean?”
“Pamela will explain when we get there.”
“How many other guests are staying?”
“We have a full house, so including the both of you and one other latecomer, that makes nine.”
A flurry of birds whipped past the front of the Land Rover and arched up towards the branches. The deeper the vehicle moved into the forest, the less light there was. It was like being underwater, Emily thought.
Of all the retreats she’d researched, Meadow Pines had been one of the remotest. It wasn’t easy getting away from people in a country as small as Great Britain. Sometimes, she wished she lived somewhere like America, where it would be easy to travel to places so remote that you could go weeks without seeing another face. Short of scouring the country for a cave to dwell in, hiding out in the heart of the New Forest seemed liked the most viable alternative. But now, as they drove closer to their destination, Emily wondered about the other guests. Seven wasn’t a huge number to contend with, but they would all be staying under one roof. It would just take one of them to recognise her from the newspapers and then, any chance of a peaceful weekend would be blown.
As if reading her mind, Marcia said, “It’s a big house with plenty of room, so people manage to stay out of each other’s hair. Plus, we have forty acres of private land for you to explore. It’s mostly forest but we also have our own lake. Either of you like to garden?”
Tightening his grip on the passenger door, Jerome glared at Emily.
“I used to, before moving to London,” she said.
“Well, we grow all of our own vegetables at Meadow Pines, so we always appreciate any help out in the field. In fact, we’re getting pretty self-sufficient. If Pamela had her way we’d be living fully off the grid, but we can’t afford the initial expense of providing our own power sources. At least, not yet.”
Emily watched the trees whistle past as the Land Rover continued its journey. “It sounds beautiful.”
A few minutes later, just as Jerome’s nausea was reaching uncontainable levels, Marcia brought the Land Rover to a halt but kept the engine running. A wide field gate blocked the way. Marcia fished out a bunch of keys from her jacket pocket, selected one, and handed it to Emily.
“Would you mind?”
Taking the key, Emily hopped out of the Land Rover. All around her, birds sang in choruses. She moved up to the gate, unlocked the padlock that kept it secure, then waved the Land Rover through. Once she’d locked the gate again, she jogged up to the vehicle and jumped in. A few minutes later, the track opened up onto a wide, grassy clearing.
Marcia hit the brakes and killed the engine.
“We have to walk from here,” she said. “It’s not far.”
Heaving their bags onto their shoulders, Emily and Jerome followed their guide across the clearing.
“How are you enjoying yourself so far?” Emily whispered, a wry smile on her lips.
Jerome gave her a sideways glance. “I hate you.”
Through the undergrowth, they saw another path trailing into the distance.
“This way.” Marcia indicated with a nod of her head.
Emily and Jerome followed her, hiking along a dusty path that had been worn into the ground by hundreds of pairs of feet all making the same journey.
Emily looked up at the jade-coloured canopy. Sunlight pierced through the leaves and shone in dusty spotlights on the forest floor. Insects buzzed. For the first time in months, she felt the muscles in her shoulders begin to unravel. Beside her, Jerome looked around with wide, anxious eyes.
The path became narrower. Trees leaned in on both sides. Then, as the path turned, the three of them emerged from the forest.
“Welcome to Meadow Pines,” Marcia said.
Before them was a meadow of tall grass and wildflowers. A grand, red-brick manor house surrounded by a low stone wall stood on the far side. Emily came to a halt, admiring its sloping roof, pipe-like chimney stacks, and elegant latticed windows. Purple and white blooms of Clematis grew on trellises, covering the lower half of the house and drooping over the arched doorway.
To the right of the building was a large vegetable patch filled with rows of young potato plants, baby carrots and lettuces, and staked vines of beans. An old greenhouse sat just behind, its metal framework speckled with lichen. Tomato vines grew inside, their leaves pressing against the glass.
“It’s incredible!” Emily said. She followed Marcia across the meadow, carefully placing her feet to avoid crushing the flowers. It was as if their journey through the woods had led them a hundred years back through the passages of time.
Marcia looked over her shoulder and offered a slight smile. “It’s quite something isn’t it? The house is Edwardian, built in 1905 as a hunting lodge by some lord or other. It stood empty for the longest time. Pamela acquired it ten years ago. She’s worked hard to transform what was essentially a place built for violence into a place of great peace.”
“What kind of retreat was it before? I mean, ten years ago there were no tablets or smartphones to detox from.”
“We used to run a ten day Vipassanā silent retreat.” Marcia noticed Emily’s blank face. “It’s a type of meditation. Kind of the grandmother of mindfulness. But where mindfulness is about relieving stress and anxiety, Vipassanā is about liberation.”
“From what?”
“From the self. From attachment.”
Behind them, Jerome rolled his eyes.
“How come the changeover to digital detox?” Emily asked.
Marcia shrugged a shoulder. “If you want to stay in business, you have to keep up with the times.”
Up ahead, the front door of the house opened and a woman stepped out. She was tall, perhaps late forties, with cropped silver hair, and she wore loose cotton trousers and a sleeveless, cornflower blouse. As she came to meet them, Emily noted her toned limbs and perfect posture. Her movement was smooth and fluid, as if she were made of water.
“Welcome friends,” she said with a warm, open smile and an extended hand. “I’m Pamela Hardy and this is Meadow Pines. You must be Emily and Jerome.”
Emily nodded. “Pleased to meet you.”
Jerome muttered a half-hearted hello.
“I don’t believe we’ve seen you here before, have we?”
“It’s my first time at any kind of retreat,” Emily said.
“Well, in some ways you might be at an advantage. We run things a little differently here, so you won’t waste valuable time making comparisons. Let’s get you all signed in and sorted, shall we? Then I can give you the grand tour.”
She turned back towards the house, with Marcia trailing behind. Emily and Jerome shared nervous looks, then followed their hosts through the garden. White rose bushes grew in tiny islands throughout a short, well-kept lawn. Emily stopped to admire them, remembering her own garden, which she had lovingly tended back when her life had been so quiet it had bordered on obsolete. Those memories felt foreign to her now, as if they had escaped from someone else’s mind and found their way into her own.
Following mother and daughter inside, she stepped into a large foyer with a high ceiling and wooden panelling on the walls. The temperature was much cooler inside. Emily took a moment to enjoy the tingling sensation on her skin, itching to kick off her shoes and feel the coldness of the stone floor beneath her feet. But Pamela was on the move again, leading them into a small office on the right.
She took a seat at her desk, propped a pair of glasses on the end of her nose, and logged on to her computer.
“This won’t take long,” she said, indicating for her guests to sit down. “Marcia, could you go and speak to Ben and Sylvia? Apparently there was an issue about this morning’s breakfast. Perhaps you could try and smooth things over?”
Marcia shifted her weight from one leg to the other, her expression souring. “Do you know where they are?”
Pamela shrugged. “I’m sure you’ll find them.”
Marcia hovered in the door for a second longer, staring at her mother. Then, she turned and headed back towards the foyer.
“Here we are,” Pamela said, pulling two sets of forms from the printer. “If you could just read through these documents and sign at the bottom. It’s just the usual terms and conditions, disclaimers, that sort of thing—just to make sure we’re all on the same page and everything’s above board.”
Picking up a pen, Jerome cast a lazy eye over the forms, then added his signature in the required boxes. Pamela smiled as she waited for Emily to finish reading every word. That was something she’d picked up from Lewis. Always read the small print, he’d say. You just might be signing your life away. Suddenly, she found herself thinking about the day Lewis had proposed to her. It was Christmas Day. His parents and Emily’s mother were all gathered together for the first time. Lewis had insisted Emily pull the last Christmas cracker with him. He had tucked an engagement ring inside and it had flown across the room, almost knocking over a wine glass. What a lovely surprise that had been. Everyone had been so happy. Even Emily’s mother had been unable to suppress a smile.
“Emily?”
Pamela smiled at her from across the desk. Her eyes drifted down to the papers in Emily’s hand.
“Sorry.” Picking up a pen, Emily signed her name on each page, then handed over the documents.
“Wonderful. Now, if you could please hand over your car keys and, of course, any mobile or electronic devices, then I can show you to your rooms.”
“Excuse me?” Jerome’s mouth fell open an inch.
“I trust you read up on our literature and philosophies before deciding to stay with us? We don’t allow any technology at Meadow Pines.”
“My friend here invited me along at the last minute. It must have slipped her mind to mention that little fact.” Jerome glared at Emily, who was busy avoiding his gaze.
Pamela pulled out two large envelopes and placed them on the desk. “Well, let me explain. Here at Meadow Pines, it’s our belief that living in an age of digital technology does more harm than good. Devices that are supposed to connect us all together, in fact, have the opposite effect. When was the last time you had a conversation that wasn’t interrupted by a text message or a social media update, or a furtive glance to make sure you weren’t missing out on the latest viral video?” She paused, staring at her guests. “Technology is addictive. We spend all of our time staring silently at screens. Our phones all have email applications, which means we now carry our jobs around in our pockets, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Our awareness of the world around us, of the people around us, is becoming less and less.
“For a race of intelligent beings whose instinct has been to socialise for hundreds of thousands of years, we’ve suddenly become a society that’s forgotten how to interact. Just take a moment to look at our younger generation—and you’re both young, so please don’t take what I say as a personal attack. But our children are being born into a world where they expect everything to be given to them right now, at this very second, because if technology can deliver instantly, why shouldn’t everything else? As human beings, as emotional and social creatures, we’ve never been so disconnected—and it’s all because of technology.”
Pamela paused for breath. It was clear this wasn’t the first time she had delivered her speech, and yet Emily could sense her passion had not wavered.
“Here at Meadow Pines,” Pamela went on, “we ask our visitors to surrender their digital devices so that you may give yourselves permission to look up. To reconnect with the natural world, your fellow human beings, and yourself. This computer is the only one on site. This telephone is the only landline. In an ideal world, I wouldn’t have them at all, but without them we can’t make a living. It’s an ironic but sad truth.”
“What about the car keys?” Emily asked.
“A simple trick to help remove the temptation to give up. You’d be surprised how quickly some people fall to pieces without the use of their phone.”
Jerome pulled his phone from his pocket and cradled it in his hand. “So no Wi-Fi?”
“I’m afraid not. Even without Wi-Fi you wouldn’t get a signal, not all the way out here.”
“But what will we do instead?” Concern rattled his voice.
“Write, draw, paint, walk, reflect—all those simple and wonderful acts left on the wayside by the digital age. We want you to make Meadow Pines your own space, to do with it what you will. Which is why we don’t believe in a timetable of events. In fact, the only structured activity we deliver is late morning Hatha Yoga. It includes traditional elements such as Pranayama Yoga Breathing for vitality, Yoga Asana for anatomically aligned posture, and non-religious meditation. The sessions aren’t compulsory of course—nothing is at Meadow Pines—but they’re a great way to help channel your focus and to release any pent up stress and anxieties. And don’t worry if you’re a beginner because the sessions work in a way to suit both novices and experts.”
Emily placed her phone and car keys on the desk.
“And your wrist watch, please,” Pamela said. “We want you to be completely free, and that includes from time. You won’t find any clocks at Meadow Pines. Instead, we use a simple electronic bell system to announce meal times and yoga sessions.”
Emily removed her watch and handed it over. Pamela held out the second envelope to Jerome, who regarded it as if he’d been asked to put his hand inside the mouth of a lion.
It was as if his fingers had become fused to the phone casing.
“What about security?” he asked.
“All items are individually sealed and labelled in envelopes and then they’re locked in the cupboard behind me. Your belongings will be protected, Jerome. We are, after all, in the middle of the New Forest, a good handful of miles from the nearest signs of life.”
Shoulders heaving, Jerome let the phone slip from his fingers. He watched it slide to the bottom of the envelope.
***
Now technology-free, Emily and Jerome were led out of the office and up a grand oak staircase, where original paintings of the New Forest and the manor house hung on the walls. Reaching the top floor, they followed Pamela down a long corridor with oak doors on both sides and small chandeliers hanging from the ceiling.
“Our visitors’ sleeping quarters,” Pamela said. “As Marcia may have told you, we have a full house this weekend. Emily, you’re in Room Eight, just there on the end. And Jerome, you’re opposite in Room Nine. There are two bathrooms—this door in the middle here, and the other at the far end, just to the right of the stairs.”
Pamela opened the door to Emily’s room. It was a simple affair. There was a single bed placed in the centre, headboard pushed up against the wall. A chest of drawers and a small wardrobe were the only other furniture. Sunlight filtered through the latticed window, making patterns on the floorboards.
Emily dumped her bag on the bed and moved over to the window. The view overlooked the front garden and the meadow, and was capped by a vista of treetops and crystalline blue sky.
“It’s perfect,” she said.
“Well, I’ll leave you to get settled in,” Pamela said. “Dinner will be in a few hours. You’ll hear the bell when it’s ready. The menu is strictly vegetarian. Our chef, Sam, is a wonderful cook, and all of the vegetables he uses our grown right here. If you have any more questions, you can find me in the office, or if you happen to see Marcia around, she’ll be happy to help.”
Jerome frowned, confused. “What about the grand tour?”
“That was it. As you’re already learning, we like to keep things as simple as possible. The quicker our guests are left to themselves, the more time they have to reconnect with the world. Besides, it’s always more fun to discover rather than be shown, don’t you think?” Smiling, Pamela turned to leave. “Oh, just one more thing. While we actively encourage our guests to connect with one another, we do ask that you refrain from work talk or using the space as a networking opportunity. This is by no means a silent retreat but some people may be more open to talking than others, so we also ask that you respect the individual’s choice.”
Giving them one last smile, Pamela turned and headed back downstairs. Once they were alone, Emily risked a quick glimpse at Jerome’s scowling face. “What do you think?”
Jerome threw his arms into the air. “What do I think? I think I’m going to kill you! What kind of insane asylum have you brought me to?”
Emily shrugged. “It’s a retreat, not a five star hotel. What were you expecting?”
“To not have my phone confiscated for one thing. Oh, and to not be sleeping in Harry Potter’s dormitory for another.”
“You haven’t even seen your room yet.”
Dragging him by the arm, Emily led Jerome across the corridor and into the opposite room. It was a similar set up as her own, but even smaller. The window looked out on a distant and barren hill that rose up over the forest like the hump of a great whale. A lone tree grew at the top of the hill, its dead branches reaching to the sky like the arms of a dying man.
“Beautiful,” Jerome said.
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but wasn’t it your idea to go on a retreat?”
Letting out a deep sigh, Jerome slipped his hand into his pocket, remembered his phone was gone, then threw himself down onto the bed.
“I feel like I’ve lost an arm! What the hell are we supposed to do for two days?”
“You heard the woman—walk, paint, reflect.” As insightful as Jerome could be, his occasional adolescent tantrums were always a source of mild amusement. “Now that you’re here and there’s no escape, you may as well try and get into the swing of things.”
“You get into the swing of things,” he said, kicking his shoes off. “I’m going to sleep for two days.”
“Well, I’m going to unpack, then I’m going to take a walk and see what Meadow Pines has to offer. Are you sure I can’t tempt you?”
Jerome answered with a wide-eyed glare. As Emily closed the door behind her, he called out, “See if you can’t find some meat products somewhere. And try not to make friends with the other guests—they’re probably all cult members.”
Sighing, Emily returned to her room and spent the next couple of minutes unpacking her clothes. When she was done, she sat on the edge of the bed. A small wave of anxiety rose in her stomach. She had always been awkward at meeting new people, wishing she could bypass all of those same introductory questions. What’s your name? Where are you from? What do you do? All normal questions with normal answers—if you weren’t Emily Swanson. It wasn’t that she disliked people. It was the attention that made her uncomfortable. People wanted to know things about her, and they would take those things and make judgements. Especially if they’d read about her in the newspapers. What if the guests of Meadow Pines recognised her? What if they asked questions? She had the sudden and inescapable feeling that she had inadvertently trapped herself like a caged bird.
Taking in a deep breath, Emily shook her arms and hands, expelling the paranoia. Then, after taking a minute to centre herself, she stood up, left the room, and quietly made her way downstairs.