‘I can’t get a signal. Let’s just drive to get help,’ Mark said as he climbed into the driver’s seat. ‘Where’s the nearest hospital? Châtellerault? Poitiers?’

But Valentina just kept wailing. He reached out and grabbed her arm. ‘Valentina? The hospital? Come on! Would you just get in the back so we can—’

‘Leave her,’ Abi said quietly.

He shot her a look. ‘We don’t have time for this, Abi! We’ve got to get him to a hospital.’

‘It’s too late for that.’

He looked at her again and saw that she was no longer holding Guy’s head. Instead, she had slumped back against the upholstery, her face pale and shocked in the dimly lit cabin. She was staring off into the middle distance, but now her eyes focused and she met his gaze. The look she gave him was grave and full of sadness and he found himself inwardly turning away, not wanting to hear her pronouncement, not wanting her gaze on his face as she uttered the words. Sound like water rushing through his ears.

‘He’s dead,’ she said.

22

They left France before the funeral. Even if they had wanted to attend, Abi couldn’t swing the extra time with work. They had stayed for as long as they could, the last days of their holiday spent dealing with the police, the coroner, piecing together the minutiae of the night’s events leading up to the accident.

Because that’s what it was: an accident. It was nobody’s fault. Just an awful tragedy on a country road, nature crashing through, a shattering reminder of her power and man’s insignificance. If anyone was to blame for what happened, it was Guy himself for unclipping his seatbelt. The police officer leading the investigation had said as much. There would be an inquest, and both Mark and Abi would be required to return and give evidence, but it would be a formality. The outcome was already clear.

Guiltily, Abi acknowledged to herself that she was relieved to get away. Valentina’s voluble grief, Corinne’s shocked silence, were both difficult to navigate, particularly for Mark, who blamed himself for Guy’s death, despite the reassurance of the police, and the clear-cut facts. Abi still remembered how she had put her arms around her husband at the side of the road while the paramedics dealt with the body. He had broken down, noiseless sobs sending tremors through his body, communicated into hers. It had occurred to her at the time that she couldn’t remember him crying in her arms like that before. Not even when Melissa died. He had kept his grief inside him then. Perhaps the shock of the night’s events had jolted something within him – shaken the grief loose from the tight grip he held it in.