She stops.

She pushed him in on purpose, I know she did.

“And you pushed him.”

She doesn’t reply.

I’m prepared to take her silence as a yes until she says, so softly it’s hard to hear, “We both did.”

Oh. My. God.

“We fought some more. I tried to stop him, but then he got really nasty. We were both really scared of him, Marie. You’ve heard what you wanted to hear.”

I’m filled with renewed rage, that she killed not only Charlie, but my future—our future—along with him. I remain silent, focusing on the road ahead. I’m not certain how long we’ve been driving. I see a sign for a village six miles away.

“Okay,” she continues. “I hit him on the head first, with some kind of metal pole thing. He picked it up first. I panicked. We managed to wrestle it off him. Nina threw it into the sea afterward. But it was an accident. I didn’t mean to hit him and I didn’t mean for him to fall. If we hadn’t got him under control, we all could’ve died. We were out at sea, for God’s sake! Now are you happy?”

Oh my God. It’s worse than I feared. Charlie’s head injury wasn’t from the boat or the deck.

“What did you do afterward? You and Nina didn’t get back until it was nearly morning.”

“We were in shock. Terrified. We returned some things to the villa, including the boat key. We talked and figured out our story. We even briefly went back to the beach, pointlessly, to see if a miracle was going to occur and that Charlie would magically reappear from the darkness, safe and well.”

I don’t want to hear any more. It sounds more like murder than manslaughter. I need proper distance between us.

We drive in silence. I thought we’d have reached the village by now. I check—we’ve been driving for over eight miles. I must’ve missed a turn somewhere. There are no lights, no signs of life close by. I don’t want to be anywhere near her. I’ve never hated her more. I want to push her out and leave her to find her own way home. Let her be frightened. Let her feel helpless.

Poor Charlie. I feel winded. I pull over to the side of the road, open the window and take some deep breaths.

Camilla watches me but doesn’t say anything. Even she seems to realize that she’s said enough. Surrounded by darkness, I can hear her breathing. Is she frightened? I reach down with my fingers and check my phone. No signal.

Camilla, swift and predatory in her realization, lean overs me and tries to grab it. I am faster. I drop it back down to my side, release the hand brake and pull away from our secluded spot, relieved when the white signpost (only one more mile) to the next village is illuminated by our headlights.

As we pull into the village, I see a pub. The lights are on and there is a board outside offering bed and breakfast. Perfect. For Camilla. I pull into the parking lot.