We both laugh.

“But he did seem interested in Charlie’s death. Which, thinking about it now, considering he’d never met the guy...” She stands up again and paces the living room. “This is screwing with my head way too much.”

I up the pressure; I need her to crack.

“He is a PI. Being inquisitive and curious is his job. He likes to unmask the bad guy.”

“I’m going for a drive.”

She picks up her bag and leaves before I can persuade her otherwise.

This wasn’t in my plan.

I’m trapped, unless I give up completely on the weekend and my plans. Camilla’s belongings are still here; it gives me confidence she’ll return. She’s already moved her stuff into Louise’s much nicer old room, and to while away the time, I have a good look around. What I’m hoping to find, I don’t know. She has two pairs of sneakers, a pair of heels (for the countryside! It reminds me of Nina), no books and three cosmetic bags bursting with makeup. I place a bottle of water on her bedside table, it makes me feel less guilty about coming in here. All it needs is a chocolate on the pillow and it would look really quite professional.

Still restless, I go through the pile of Greg’s paperwork, hoping to find hotel receipts or gifts I’d recognize as belonging to Nina, but there is nothing. Having run out of entertainment options, I open the fridge door, briefly mulling over dinner choices, then close it again. I pace the kitchen and living areas, all the unanswered questions building up further in my mind. I sit at the dining table, nursing a cup of ginger tea, and come up with potential solutions to prevent me from driving myself into unbearable frustration. An idea forms. It’s not ideal, but I have to work within the constraints of a real situation, not my fantasy or preferred one.

Tiredness hits. I lie down on the bed, but I can’t settle. I feel exposed and vulnerable, alone in the middle of nowhere. I go and bolt the front and back doors before going back upstairs. Again.

Heavy banging pierces my dream about being on holiday in a desert. For several seconds I have no clue where I am. I sit up and take a large sip of water. The knocking continues. Groggy, I clutch the rail and walk slowly downstairs.

“Marie! Marie! Answer the bloody door!”

Camilla.

She pushes the door open wider as soon as I open it. “You had me worried.”

“Where did you go? Did you get in touch with Greg?”

She holds up some shopping bags. “No, I did this instead. Retail therapy. I even bought you a gift.”

She hands over a bag. I accept, but hesitate to look inside. Gifts are tricky things—they make me feel beholden.

I give in. “Thanks.”

I peek inside. Layered among flimsy blue tissue are lemon and raspberry bath bombs. The smell is cloying.

I escape to the bathroom to wash my face and to properly waken up. And that’s when it hits me what has been bothering me about the photo of Charlie, Nina and Camilla: a memory.