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Elin

Parque Nacional, Portugal, October 2021

‘Are we close?’ Elin Warner comes to a stop at the crest of the trail, her eyes tracing the narrow route winding up the peak ahead.

‘Yeah, you can just about see the Airstreams from here.’ Isaac, her brother, raises a hand, points. ‘Up there, on the right, above those trees.’

Following his gaze, she squints. For a moment, the Airstreams are hard to distinguish from the hillside, bruised with shadow, but as the light shifts, she glimpses one, sunlight bouncing off its metal flank. ‘Let me guess, best view in the house.’

‘Top of the world.’

She absorbs it all: seven hundred thousand square metres of Portuguese national park spread over four granite massifs. Huge forests of pine and oak, steep valleys rising to dramatic, rocky peaks. Beautiful, but daunting.

A vast, unconquerable mass. With every step, every turn, the park throws up more – more land, more trees, mountains playing out echoes of themselves. This kind of scale has always terrified her. Places so big that individual detail fades away and all you see is the mass.

Elin thinks about what Isaac told her earlier, about people disappearing here. You could imagine it – being seamlessly absorbed into the depth and breadth of the park.

They keep walking, following the dusty, scrubby path as it winds up the hill.

Striding ahead, Isaac picks up the pace. A few minutes in, the nagging in her rib tips over to a dull throb. ‘Hold on, I need a minute.’

Isaac stops, rocking back on his heels. He runs a hand through his dark curls.

The gesture’s so familiar, for a moment time slips. They’re kids again, all three of them. Everything’s right with the world.

Shaking the feeling loose, Elin pulls her water bottle from her pack. She flips the cap, takes a long drink.

‘Better?’ Isaac’s watching her.

‘Yeah. Just the rib complaining … we’ve done a lot the past few days.’ Too much, she thinks, remembering the doctor’s warning. Take it easy .

But that’s the last thing she’s done. Since they arrived at the park yesterday morning, she’s thrown herself into it – the first hike to the hut, the longer one today to the Airstreams.

She couldn’t help it. Each step she’s taken, every hill they’ve climbed, feels like she’s putting distance between her and life back in Devon. The past few months … they’d been tough. A challenging case, her first real case as a Detective Sergeant since her career break, the split with her ex, Will.

She needed this, wanted to squeeze the most from every moment.

‘Sure? We can stop for a bit before we do the last section.’ Isaac looks at her, a hesitancy in his eyes. It’s been like this since they arrived in the park – not quite treading on eggshells, but an almost formal politeness to their conversations instead of the banter you’d expect between siblings.

But that’s natural , she reminds herself. It’s still fragile between her and Isaac .

Raw and new. Bar a few phone calls and messages, they’d been pretty much estranged until recently. Four years of minimal contact, awkward conversations. This trip … it’s a baby step, one she’s wary of screwing up.

They had form on that. Trips gone wrong . Last year, visiting him in Switzerland, Elin had ended up investigating the murder of Isaac’s fiancée, Laure. Hardly the dream reunion.

‘Sure.’ She’s about to put the bottle away when there’s a movement in the copse of oak trees a few feet away.

A sudden flash of colour.

Elin slowly exhales as a deer darts across the track, a dark blur against the foliage.

Pulse slowing, she feels relief, yes, but disappointment too; stupid to think she’d outrun it by coming here. These past few months, looking for what’s lurking in the shadows has become the default, as automatic as breathing.

‘This place keeps catching us out, doesn’t it?’ Isaac watches as the deer disappears into the woodland, sending a cluster of low-hanging branches shuddering.

‘At every turn.’ The park was full of tricks like this: abandoned buildings appearing between the trees. Swirling pockets of fog. Roadside shrines with colours that can pull the breath from you.

They start walking again.

‘You been doing much of this since you got out of hospital?’ Isaac asks.

‘A bit … gentle stuff. Running’s off the cards for the foreseeable, so I’ve been walking instead.’ She looks at him sideways. ‘I was about to ask the same question, but looking at you, I reckon I know the answer.’

‘Yeah.’ He smiles. ‘Did a lot over the summer … trail running too.’ He’s playing it down, Elin thinks, examining the lines of muscle in his legs. There’s a solidity about him. A new kind of strength. ‘It’s helped, you know, since Laure.’

‘How’s it been going?’ she asks tentatively. ‘I know we’ve not really talked about it. ’

‘All right, I’m getting there.’ Abruptly, he turns, pointing out a bird swooping low above them. ‘Looks like some kind of swift,’ he murmurs.

Too much too soon , she thinks, watching him.

She’s not going to push it.

Getting to know each other again … it doesn’t have to be something hurried. Pressured. This is what this trip is about – taking their time, feeling their way. The next few weeks are just about the two of them.

The two of them and this , Elin thinks, looking around her.

The track ahead is winding, forking, and then forking again. Branches encroaching over the trail that drew you in while simultaneously pushing you back. An enigma, like every part of this landscape.

A few days in, she had the feeling that, like Isaac, she hasn’t even scratched the surface.