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Elin

Parque Nacional, Portugal, October 2021

Elin looks to the screen again, to Steed’s half-smiling face, the champagne in his hand, white confetti dotting the shoulders of his suit.

The expression he’s wearing is one she knows well. A fuck, the camera’s on me expression. Trying that little bit too hard to smile.

He did that a lot – a slightly forced jollity. These past few months, she’s discovered that beneath his relaxed demeanour is someone who sometimes struggles with social anxiety. They’d chatted about it a lot: about his shyness as a child, his reluctance, even now, to be with people he doesn’t know well.

Elin looks again, and although it’s clear it’s him, her brain’s still rejecting it.

Steed … he can’t be Penn.

The different first name and surname for one, although, given his family history, his parent’s crimes, it’s very possible he’d have changed them, but more than that, it doesn’t work. Can’t work .

How could he have spent all that time with her knowing he’d already met Isaac, befriended him?

Her mind flip-flops, desperately trying to find an answer. Maybe Steed never made the connection? It could be a coincidence. Perhaps he referenced something before about knowing Isaac, and she didn’t remember.

Elin sifts through memories; moments they’d spent at work, her flat. They’d chatted everything through in detail: what happened to Sam, their subsequent estrangement.

No . She’s clutching at the flimsiest of straws.

Steed never told her that he knew Isaac, plus it’s not just what she told him that makes any kind of coincidence unlikely, it’s what Isaac would have confided in him, too, things that would undoubtedly echo with what she’d shared.

There’s no way Steed wouldn’t have made the connection.

Heat rushes up her neck as she thinks back to the conversation she had with Isaac about this holiday. He’d told her that it was Penn who’d suggested they come to Portugal, the national park.

Steed had listened to her talk about this break. About this exact place. She’d been sending him photos these past few days.

She feels herself growing hot all over. No, there could be no excuses. No case of mistaken identity. Steed knew. He’d encouraged Isaac to come to Portugal and look for Kier, knowing the connection between her and Isaac.

Her heart is thudding, her palms growing clammy. Not just betrayal now, but a strange, slippery sense of fear as the realisation settles in her chest like a solid mass.

The fact that he never told her the connection, the fact that Isaac isn’t aware either, it means something. It’s been kept from her for a reason, but she doesn’t know what that could be.

Her thoughts scramble, trying to get purchase.

Isaac.

She needs to talk to him. Perhaps he knows something that will make this make sense.

The phone rings .

When he picks up, there’s noise in the background: laughter, the dull rumble of traffic.

‘Isaac, I’ve just found something out, about Penn.’

A short silence, then: ‘Sorry, I can’t hear, there’s some sort of event going on in the town, it’s really loud. I … ca …’ Only syllables are audible now, muffled by the loud toot of a horn.

‘Isaac?’

He cuts her off. ‘I’ve gone into a shop so I can hear better, but I’m almost out of battery. I was just about to call … in case it cuts out, Penn just messaged. He got an early flight. He’s already on his way to the park.’

‘But—’

The phone goes dead. ‘Isaac?’ She raises her voice. ‘Isaac?’

Fingers fumbling, Elin dials again.

This time the dull notes of the dial tone buzz out in her ear.

She’s about to try again when three soft knocks sound out on the door.