Faye looked around. Derek was outside with Bruce and she’d had a glass of wine. “It was in the garage. Where he,” she jerked her head towards the garden, “dumped it. I’d put it in the car, he took it out to re-organise things and didn’t put it back.”

“What? Really?” said Diane. “What did he say to that?”

Faye wrinkled her nose and shook her head but said nothing.

“He didn’t apologise? After his endless jokes all weekend?”

She regretted having said anything. “Don’t mention it. Please, Diane. I don’t want to remind him about it.”

Her friend frowned at her across the counter. Faye smiled at her.

“It’ll just start him up again. I . . . We’ve heard enough of that one.”

“I won’t say a word,” said Diane. “Not that he’s likely to put on his best performance without Michelle around anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ah. You know how he is. How they all are. Always trying to impress Michelle. It’s how it has always been. Come. Let’s get the food on the table.”

Now, Faye lay on her back and looked at the sky. It was pretty but she couldn’t imagine relaxing enough to sleep outside. She closed her eyes and pictured the night seeping into her head, saturating her brain like a blotting paper soaking up ink, until there was no room for thoughts, just peace. It worked. She felt calm, which was unusual for her, particularly when she was alone. Her life had been at the behest of Derek and Zach for so long, she wasn’t sure what to do when they weren’t around. In the past, the idea of being alone had agitated her. But perhaps she’d changed. Maybe middle-aged Faye would be okay on her own. The thought surprised her. Where had it come from? Was this what a dark night in the wilderness did to a person?

The creaking of floorboards disrupted her thoughts. Faye turned towards the sound. A silhouetted figure briefly filled the doorway of the cabin before disappearing into the dark in the direction of Clare.

Three

Three

With a bank of cumulonimbi shrouding the sun and much of the sky, it was cooler than the day before. Billowing grey at the base and white at the top, the clouds embellished what was already a fine view of the mountains and forests. It was, thought Faye, as if an inebriated artist had taken a brush to a completed artwork, impetuously adding drama to what had been a calm landscape painting.

Diane, Bruce and Geoffrey huddled in the lapa. Heads bent over their mugs and a thin plume of white smoke rising up between them from the firepit, they appeared to be conferring over something serious. Oblivious to Faye’s approach, Geoffrey put his cup down and walked in the other direction.