Tom doesn’t reply.

‘Say sorry,’ she says again.

‘Kate—’

‘Say it.’

‘I didn’t—’

‘Just bloody apologise. I’m sick of this shit. You went off with Jenna when I specifically told you that you weren’t to do anything that wasn’t on the itinerary. I have spent months planning this retreat. I haven’t been eating, I’ve barely slept. I’ve dedicated every single waking hour of my life to making this a success. All I’m asking … all I’m asking … is that you stick to the itinerary. Can you do that?’

There’s a pause and Jenna imagines Kate staring up at Tom, her green eyes narrowed beneath her black, winged eyeliner, one hand pressed to her cheek, the skin hot and tender beneath her palm.

‘Fine,’ Tom snaps. ‘I’m sorry. Okay? I’m sorry. Now give it a rest.’

Chapter 14

Now

KATE

Kate swears under her breath as the front door to the retreat opens and Tom walks in. His leather shoes, the ones she spent an age polishing so they looked half decent, are caked in mud. He’s taken off his jumper, revealing a crumpled blue cotton shirt with sweat patches under the arms. His eyes are red. So is his nose. He’s been crying, she realises. For God’s sake. Had Geraldine seen? She’d returned first, looking grim, and had headed straight for the ground floor bedrooms. Kate tried to follow but Peter, the sour-faced man in a shirt, tie and V-neck jumper, blocked her route. He had a terrible allergy to perfumes and deodorants, he said, and his roommate Phoenix had applied both so liberally he could no longer walk into their shared bedroom without his eyes streaming. As he continued to moan and whine, Kate zoned out. If Geraldine was a journalist she was probably phoning in a story to her editor at that precise moment. When Kate finally got rid of Peter, Tom walked in.

‘What happened?’ She intercepts her husband as he heads towards the kitchen.

He sighs, his eyes not meeting hers. ‘She wanted to know what happened to Jenna. I told her I didn’t know.’

‘And then you burst into tears?’

‘For god’s sake, Kate.’

‘Tom.’ She grips the sleeve of his shirt. ‘You’ve got to get it together. We’ve got five days to get through. If you’re going to have a breakdown, have it after the guests leave.’

He laughs hollowly. ‘You’re all heart, aren’t you?’

‘One of us has to keep their shit together or we’re going to end up on the streets.’

He snatches his arm back and brushes the sleeve of his shirt as though he’s wiping her away. ‘Firstly,’ he hisses, ‘I am not having a breakdown, and secondly, just let me get on with it. I said I’d lead this retreat and I will.’