Emily had been awake since dawn. She had slept badly; tossing and turning in the throes of recurring nightmares. Climbing out of bed, she dropped to the floor and spent the next thirty minutes stretching her limbs. Although her body had recovered from the trauma it had endured at the hands of Doctor Chelmsford, she continued the daily exercise regime set by her physiotherapist with military-like rigour. When she was satisfied that her muscles were sufficiently loose, she sprang to her feet, took her antidepressant with a drink of water, grabbed her toiletry bag, and headed towards the bathroom.
After a hot shower, Emily dressed into loose-fitting clothes, combed the knots out of her wet hair, then stood in front of the window for another fifteen minutes. Not knowing the time was disorienting, but also strangely freeing. Usually, she would be calculating exactly how many hours and minutes of sleep she hadn’t had, then approximating how early she would have to retire to bed in order to catch up. Not that she’d ever caught up. Now, although she knew her sleep had been patchy at best, there was nothing she could do about it except to acknowledge the fact and move on.
After another five minutes of pondering, she became restless. There had been no electronic bells yet, which meant it was still early. Perhaps she would go for a walk to clear her mind before breakfast. Then, she might think about joining the yoga class. After all, she couldn’t avoid Helen and Oscar forever. And by avoiding them, wasn’t she setting a precedent for the rest of the weekend? People were inquisitive. People made judgements. That was human nature. But did it really matter what strangers thought of her anyway? What really mattered were the opinions of the people closest to her. The people that cared about her.
Feeling a twinge of renewed determination, Emily took in a breath to centre herself. Letting it out, she left the room.
Silence greeted her. She thought about knocking on Jerome’s door, but picturing his bleary-eyed, irritated face changed her mind. Moving along the corridor, she thought about the altercation she’d heard coming through the wall last night. She stared at the door next to hers, realising she had no idea who occupied the room. It made sense that it was either Ben or Sylvia. They were, after all, the only couple currently in residence at Meadow Pines. Plus, at dinner last night, they’d both seemed deeply unhappy. Perhaps what Emily had heard then, was a lover’s quarrel.
As she drifted along the corridor, Emily’s mind wandered back to a time when she’d shared her home with Lewis. Again, she found herself wondering how he was getting on in his life. Again, she batted the thought away, confused at why she was thinking about him so much lately. Was it that she was missing companionship? Jerome certainly kept her in good company, but friendship, as wonderful as it was, lacked the intimacy that a relationship brought. Was it intimacy that she was missing then? That interminable closeness of togetherness?
Annoyed that she was suddenly feeling so needy, Emily hurried along the landing and made her way downstairs. She’d never bought into the idea of needing to be with someone in order to feel complete. If anything, she was a stoic believer that happiness must be achieved within the self, and that any intimate relationship should enhance, not validate her existence. But with Lewis she had fallen too much, too soon. When he had proposed she had said yes without a moment’s deliberation. And when he’d walked out on her, leaving her with the press swarming at the bottom of the garden, she’d been the first to blame herself. Now, a year on, a different story was unfolding. If Lewis had truly loved her, he wouldn’t have left her that day, slipping through the back door, the end of their relationship contained in the hastily scrawled note left on the kitchen table.
A sudden rush of anger heated Emily’s insides. She reached the foot of the stairs and marched across the foyer, wondering if she would be able to let someone get as close again. Perhaps she wouldn’t. Perhaps that would be fine.
Deciding to walk off the dark mood that had settled on her shoulders, Emily passed the closed door of Pamela’s office and headed out to the garden.
The sky was a clear blue, peppered with wisps of clouds. A light breeze soothed her hot skin. Shaking any last thoughts of Lewis from her head, Emily pushed open the garden gate.
In the northwest corner of the meadow, she saw two figures moving towards her—the chef, Sam, and Marcia Hardy. They walked side by side, deep in conversation, seemingly oblivious to Emily’s presence. As they moved closer, she watched as their arms swung by their sides and their hands touched. Fingers grazed each other, twining and untwining. They were almost at the gate before they looked up and noticed Emily. Immediately, the space between their bodies opened up.
“Good morning,” Marcia said, a polite smile on her lips. Her eyes darted sideways to where Sam stood before flicking back to Emily. “You’re up early.”
“It’s a bad habit,” Emily said.
An awkward silence filled the gap between them.
“Breakfast won’t be ready for another hour yet,” Sam muttered. He stared at the ground, his face fraught with concentration.
“That’s fine. I thought I might take a long walk. Clear out the sleep.” Emily looked past Marcia and Sam, retracing their route. “You don’t live here in the house?”
Soft pink blossoms spread across Marcia’s cheeks. “I do. Sam lives over in Lyndhurst.”
Suddenly feeling like an ageing chaperone, Emily uncrossed her arms and stuck her hands in her pockets. “We passed through there yesterday. It seems very nice.”
Sam nodded. Marcia looked towards the house.
“Will you be joining the yoga class later?” she asked. Her face was now a deep shade of scarlet.
“Perhaps. I’ve never done it before.”
“Well, there’s a first time for everything. Personally, I like to run. I usually do a lap or two while Pamela takes care of the yoga.”
Emily stared at the young couple, the space between them thickening like cement.
“Well, we’re running a little late so we best get in,” Marcia said. “Sam needs to get breakfast under way and I should see if Pamela needs any help. Enjoy your walk.”
Emily watched with mild amusement as Marcia hurried through the garden, then stopped to scowl at Sam, who seemed happy to take his time. Young love, she thought.
Above her, the sun was already heating up. Shutting the garden gate, she set out across the meadow. By the time she reached the treeline, beads of perspiration were dampening the back of her neck. It was going to be another hot June day, no doubt about it.
The forest was thankfully much cooler. At first, Emily walked aimlessly, following paths that either brought her back to the meadow or became so buried in the undergrowth that she was forced to turn back. Some of the paths were signposted while others were left anonymous, as if the forest had secrets to hide. Eventually, she came upon the signposted trail that would bring her to the lake.
It didn’t take long to get there. Soon, she sat on the edge of the jetty, admiring dark green waters and breathing in the minty odour of nearby pines. Slowly, her mind began to clear of thoughts, settling down until it was as smooth and tranquil as the lake’s surface. She sat perfectly still, watching a family of swans glide away from the bank. Remembering the noises that she and Melody had heard last night, she glanced over her shoulder at the trees behind. In the daylight, it seemed silly to think someone had been watching them. After all, the forest was filled with all kinds of wildlife, large and small.
As Emily returned to watching the many birds occupying the water, she found herself thinking about Melody’s lake house daydream. Last night, it had filled her with sadness—it was the loneliness of it all, she supposed—but now, as she pictured herself in Melody’s place, she felt a deep yearning to return to the countryside.
London life certainly had its merits—you could eat food from any country in the world, enjoy a wealth of vibrant and diverse cultures, visit hundreds of theatres, museums and galleries, and admire centuries-old architecture—but the pandemonium of millions of people living in one place was sometimes unbearable. Emily was getting used to it, slowly. But there were days when she wanted nothing more than to head out into a field or a wood, where she was completely alone and free to sit in silence for hours.
After Phillip’s death, she had wanted to disappear. London had allowed her to do just that. It was like a vast ocean; she needed only to dive beneath its surface to never be seen again. Now that time had passed, however, and Emily had undergone yet more life-changing events, she had started to feel the need to resurface.
A large splash pulled her from her thoughts. The heron from last night had returned. She watched it glide along the lake, then dive beneath the water in search of breakfast. Suddenly aware of aches and pains in her lower spine, Emily got to her feet. How long had she been sat there, wrapped in blankets of thought? An hour? Perhaps more? Without clocks or watches, time had become as slippery as the fish the heron now battled with.
Emily took a few seconds to stretch out her limbs while she decided what to do next. She could return to the house and grab some breakfast, or she could think about joining Pamela’s yoga class. There was the possibility it had already started (she doubted she would hear the electronic bell this far from the house), but she could still show up, even if it was just to observe.
Not quite ready to make a decision, Emily left the jetty and strolled along the edge of the lake. Spying a new trail, she followed it through the forest. As she walked, her eyes wandered over wild woodland flowers and moss-covered trees. The trail coiled and bucked, writhing between the tree trunks. Some minutes later, she looked ahead and saw the trail merge with a small clearing.
Emily came to a halt just outside. A towering oak tree with a wide trunk stood at the edge of the clearing. It was clearly very old; perhaps as old as the forest. But it wasn’t the tree itself that had caught Emily’s attention. A strange symbol had been carved into the bark. Four long arrows pointed north, east, south, and west, while four shorter arrows had been carved at symmetrical angles in between. At first, she thought it was a compass. Then, as she cocked her head, she decided it looked more like a star.
Something else had caught her eye. Below the carving, a length of rope was tied around the tree trunk like a belt. Curious, Emily moved around the tree and stepped into the clearing.
Sunlight shone through the leaves and dappled the ground. Dust and plant seeds floated in the rays. Emily’s eyes followed the rope, moving away from the trunk and up towards the branches. The sound of running footsteps filled her ears.
Dressed in a tracksuit and panting lightly, Marcia Hardy jogged into the clearing. Noticing Emily, she slowed to a halt. Her eyes followed Emily’s gaze upwards. Then, as she saw what was in the branches, her face contorted with terror and she let out a piercing scream.