Stepping onto the path, Emily entered the woodland. As she walked, she practised her breathing exercise. In for four, hold for seven, out for eight. As she exhaled, she felt the knots of tension in her neck and shoulders unravel a little more. They had been building for months, years even. It made sense that it would take time and patience to unpick them all. But here at Meadow Pines, surrounded by nature, Emily suddenly felt as if she had all the time in the world. To be away from all the noise and chaos of the city, even if for a few days, felt like a blessing. Here, encouraged by the tranquil quiet, she could allow her mind to rest and to think positive thoughts. She wasn’t sure about participating in yoga classes or meditation (perhaps she would see how she felt in the morning) but for now, simply being here, embraced by the forest, was all the mindfulness she needed. Which was why, when a short, sharp scream rang out through the trees, Emily felt a twinge of annoyance, before her natural instinct to panic kicked in.
Hurrying along the twisting path, she hoisted herself over a fallen tree trunk. A young woman with shoulder-length dark hair, who was dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt, stood in the centre of the path, her head swinging wildly from side to side. She was very thin, Emily noticed, her skin as white as paper against the tree bark.
“Are you all right?”
The woman spun on her heels, a startled yelp escaping her throat.
“There was a snake,” she said, her eyes returning to scour the ground. “An adder. They’re poisonous you know. The only poisonous snake in the whole country and they happen to live right here.”
Taking a step back, Emily searched the scrub for signs of the adder’s distinctive zig-zag markings.
“No one’s died from an adder bite in over twenty years,” she said. “In most cases, people are bitten when they’ve come across one in their path and tried to move it out of the way.”
“Why would anyone do that?”
“Ignorance, I suppose. Leave adders alone and they’ll do the same.”
The woman gave the foliage one final, frightened look, then moved towards Emily. “Do you work for the zoo or something?”
“No, I grew up in the countryside. It’s just a thing you pick up.”
“You’re from around here?”
Emily hesitated, then shook her head. “Cornwall. But I live in London now.”
“Why would you want to move there? All that noise and pollution.”
“A change of scene, I guess.” It wasn’t a lie exactly.
“I’ve never been to Cornwall. Or to London for that matter. I never go anywhere. My name’s Melody by the way.” She held out a bony hand. “Melody Jackson.”
“Emily Swanson. I just arrived. I was exploring.”
“Do you mind if I tag along?”
“Be my guest.”
The two women walked along the path, eyes occasionally darting to the sides.
“Is this your first time at Meadow Pines?”
Emily nodded. “How about you?”
Melody brushed her hair out of her eyes. Her movements were quick and nimble, as if her limbs were racing ahead of her body. “Oh, I’ve been here lots of time. I don’t live too far away so it’s easy to get to. Meadow Pines is my little get away from it all. My island. What made you decide to come here?”
The path turned into a small glade where sunlight dappled the forest floor. Foxgloves grew in patches, their bell-shaped purple flowers hanging from long tapering spikes.
“My friend thought it would be good for me. Life has been a little ... hectic lately.”
“That’s why I keep coming back,” Melody sang. She crouched down and plucked a foxglove from the ground.
“I wouldn’t do that,” Emily warned. “They’re poisonous. They’ll give you a rash.”
“Really?” Melody dropped the plucked flower to the ground and rubbed her fingers against her sweatpants.
The women cut through the clearing and picked up the path again. Soon, they heard the babble of running water. A stream lay up ahead. Stepping stones ran from bank to bank. Following Melody, Emily hopped from one to the other, smiling to herself at long ago childhood memories, until she had reached the other side.
“Have you met everyone else?” Melody asked.
“Not yet.”
“I haven’t spoken to everyone yet, but most of them seem nice.” Emily noted the stress in Melody’s words when she said, most of them. “There’s Daniel, who is a social worker. He’s from Italy originally but now he lives in London just like you. He’s very handsome.” She giggled like a schoolgirl, but then, her smile faded. “Then there’s Ben and Sylvia. They’re business types from Manchester.”
“And how are they?” Emily asked.
“Not particularly friendly. All they’ve done since they’ve been here is complain. The food’s not good enough. The water’s not hot enough. You should have seen the fuss Ben made when he found out they’d have to sleep in separate rooms! But that’s Pamela’s policy. Whether you’re in a relationship or not, being here is as much about reconnecting with yourself as it is about reconnecting with the people around you.”
The path disappeared beneath a brush of gorse and hawthorn. As Emily’s eyes were darting between the trees, searching it out, Melody was already cutting around.
“It’s getting so overgrown,” she said, beckoning Emily with a hand. Once they were on the move again, Melody continued with her description of the other guests.
“So next, there’s Helen. She’s a journalist for Modern Living—the magazine for the new woman. That’s what she calls it anyway.” Melody giggled. “She’s here writing a feature about alternative weekend getaways, but Pamela has given her strict instructions not to interview the other guests. After all, modern living is exactly what we’re here to get away from!”
The mention of a journalist being here at Meadow Pines instantly dampened Emily’s mood. Even if this Helen would not be conducting interviews, a little digging would quickly reveal Emily’s past. Reminding herself that there was no internet access at Meadow Pines, Emily relaxed a little. Even if Helen did recognise her from the newspapers, there was little the journalist could do about it.
Melody was still talking. “...apparently she’s some sort of artist. The bohemian type, I suppose you might say.”
“Sorry, who is?”
“Janelle. The lady with the headscarf. She’s very nice, although I’m already sensing tension between her and Sylvia.”
“Oh really? What makes you think that?”
“Well—and I don’t like to speak ill of people—but Sylvia seems to be a little bit ... racist.”
“I see...”
“She hasn’t said anything of course. But it’s more the way she looks at Janelle. I could be wrong of course. It’s a shame, though. You’d think that in this day and age we could all just get along.”
“It’s a nice idea,” Emily said.
“Anyway, that leaves us with Oscar. And I’m afraid I can’t tell you anything about him. Pamela said he’s stuck in traffic. He’s wasting a lot of money—half of the weekend will be gone by the time he gets here.”
The path came to an end, bringing them to the northeast corner of the meadow.
“There are lots of other paths to walk,” Melody said. “I can show you a longer one if you like. It goes to my favourite spot—the lake. It’s beautiful there. Most people tend to stick around the house, but why would you do that when you have the great outdoors all around you?”
“Quite,” Emily said. She liked Melody. In spite of her somewhat nervous disposition and unstoppable chatter, she was friendly and approachable. And although she had clearly made it her business to get to know the modus operandi of the other guests, for now, she seemed content enough to enjoy Emily’s company without asking prying questions.
“Shall I take you there? To the lake?” she asked.
“Perhaps later on,” Emily replied. “I should really check on my friend.”
“Yes, I saw you arrive to
gether. Is he your partner?”
Emily laughed. “No, Jerome is a good friend. Although I’m sure right now he thinks I’m a terrible friend for convincing him to come along. He hates it here already.”
“What is there to hate?”
“A lack of concrete.”
“It’s nice to have a friend,” Melody said, staring into the distance. “Derek is my best friend. I always look forward to giving him a cuddle when I get home from work.”
“Your husband?”
“My cat, silly. I’m going to keep walking for a bit. It’s very nice to meet you, Emily. See you at dinner.”
Emily said goodbye as she watched Melody disappear back into the forest. Then, trying not to think about the journalist, Helen or whatever her name was, she headed back towards the house.
CHAPTER SIX
Jerome was not in his room. A quick search of the house found him sat on a swing chair on the back porch and deep in conversation with an attractive man with short, black hair, an olive complexion, and a short growth of stubble. Emily watched them for a moment before the thud of the closing door alerted them to her presence.
“I was beginning to think you’d made a break for it,” Emily said to Jerome, the faintest of smiles teasing her lips.
Jerome sat up. His eyes snapped from Emily to the man beside him.
“Hello, I’m Daniel,” the man said in a distinctively European accent. He got up and offered Emily his hand.
“Emily Swanson, pleased to meet you.” She smiled politely, watching as Jerome hopped off the swing seat to join them. “You decided to leave your room then?”
Daniel looked from one to the other. “You two know each other?”
“Oh yes, Emily was the one who dragged me along on this godforsaken trip,” Jerome replied. “But now that you’ve kindly given me a little tour, I’ll admit that perhaps I’ve been a little too quick to judge. The view is quite something, isn’t it Emily?”
“Yes, it is,” Emily replied, noting that Jerome’s gaze was fixed on Daniel rather than the surrounding landscape. “I’ve just been for a walk in the forest. It’s beautiful.”
“This is your first time here?” Daniel’s dark eyes reflected Emily’s features.
She nodded.
“Mine too. I’m hoping a few days out of the city will help reset my stress levels. It’s been a very long time since I took a break.”
“Being a social worker must be exhausting.”
Daniel’s mouth hung open in surprise.
“I was just speaking with Melody,” Emily blurted, her face blushing. “She seems to know a lot about the other guests.”
“Ah, that will teach me to break the rules and talk about work. Imagine if Pamela found out. I’m sure I would be forced to do a walk of shame all the way back to my bike.”
“A motorbike?” Jerome asked, his eyes brightening.
“I’m not a fan of cars.” Daniel turned to Emily. “But yes, being a social worker brings a lot of stress. We get a bad reputation, but all these government cuts aren’t making it easy for anyone. Every day, we see more and more cases coming in. People have no money, no job, their debts are spiralling out of control. Everyone has their breaking point. And even though we don’t have the funding or the resources to deal with them all, the papers say that when a parent hurts their child, it’s our fault that we weren’t there to prevent it.” He paused, his eyebrows knitting together. The brightness Emily had first seen momentarily darkened. “But there I go talking about work again. I’m sorry.”
“I think what you do is very brave,” Emily said. Her thoughts flew back to Phillip. A social worker had been involved with his family until his parents had convinced the system that all was well again. It wasn’t long after that Phillip had shown up to school, unwashed and in last week’s uniform, with a lead-like dullness in his eyes.
“I don’t get all this digital detox crap,” Jerome suddenly said. “My phone is my stress relief, so why take it away from me? Besides, what if I get a call for an audition? I could be missing out on a career-making role.”
“I think not being glued to your phone for a couple of days will be good for you,” Emily said.
Daniel rubbed a hand against his stubble. “I have to agree. Don’t get me wrong, I love technology—look at all the things we can do now that thirty years ago were just science fiction. I can pick up my phone and make a video call to my parents who are two thousand kilometres away in Palermo. If I have a question I just jump on the internet and there’s my answer in less than a second. It’s breathtaking. But the downside is that it’s addictive. We’re all so worried about how many ‘likes’ our latest update will get—but real life doesn’t work that way. Where will we be in even five years? Will we have forgotten how to talk to each other? I’m afraid we’ll become as emotionless as the technology we’re plugged into.”
“I know plenty of people who were like that long before social media came along,” Jerome said.
Emily moved forwards and placed her hands on the porch railings. She watched a pair of birds hop from one treetop to the next. Above the house, the sun shimmered in golden waves. Voices floated on the air, drifting in from the front of the house. Emily cocked her head and heard snippets of Pamela’s welcome speech.
“Looks like the final guest has arrived,” Daniel said. “Perhaps we should say hello.”
Jerome nodded in agreement.
“I think I might take a nap,” Emily said. The knot of anxiety in her chest would not loosen.
Jerome cocked his head. He waited for Daniel to step off the porch, then he said, “But you never nap. You can’t.”
He was right, of course. But while Emily was here, it made sense to at least try. Even if right now, her anxiety laughed at the idea.
“There’s a first time for everything,” she said, more to herself than anyone else. “Who knows, by the end of the weekend you might be looking at a whole new me.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Emily lay back on her bed and as she closed her eyes, she imagined Kirsten Dewar’s soothing voice filling her ears. Imagine you are in a calm place. Somewhere you feel safe. A forest, or a beach. In her mind, she was lying on soft sand, metres away from the ocean. The tide rolled in, then ebbed away. The drag of the water was a soothing whisper. The warm breeze was a gentle hand stroking her face. You feel protected in this place. Nothing can harm you. The tide rolled back in, fizzing and singing. Emily felt the tension in her body seep into the mattress. A fog drifted into her mind, disorienting her thoughts, swallowing them whole
Minutes later, she was sinking into the black depths of sleep. Voices called her name. Faces swam before her like spirits of the dead. Hands pulled at her. The darkness cleared and she found herself at the Ever After Care Foundation, in Doctor Williams’ attic of horrors. Pain-stricken faces stared up from hospital beds, their eyes pleading with her to tear out the needles and the cannulas, to end the suffering and let them go quietly into the night. In the last bed she saw herself; withered and gnawed, and writhing in pain. She picked up a pillow and placed it over the face of her other self. She pressed down with all of her strength. Instead of arms and legs kicking out beneath her, she felt hands running through the back of her hair, stroking the back of her neck. As she lifted the pillow, she was no longer staring at herself, but at the cold, dead features of her mother.
Emily sat up with a jolt, blinking the dream away. Perspiration beaded her brow. Her throat was dry. Her chest heaved up and down. How long had she been asleep? It felt like only moments since she had shut her eyes, but there were long shadows already spilling across the floorboards. Turning her head towards the window, she saw the sun sinking towards the treetops. She stared at her wrist, at the white outline where her watch was usually strapped. Anxiety kicked and bucked in her stomach.
Rising on unsteady feet, she moved towards the dresser and took out her toiletry bag. Her fingers trembled. Her chest had grown tight, her breaths a little harder to draw in and p
ush out. The signs were all too familiar. Soon, she would feel a numbness at the top of her head and in her extremities. Then paralysing terror would come in pulsating waves, dragging her to the floor, where she would curl her body into a foetal position and sob until the terror had subsided and calm had been restored once more. It would last for minutes. Perhaps an hour. She could let it happen, let it consume her, strip her of control. Or she could try and stop it in its tracks. Unzipping the toiletry bag, Emily removed a foil blister pack and pushed out a pill. She moved to swallow it, then hesitated, staring at the tiny compound of chemicals pinched between finger and thumb. How many more pills would she need to take before she felt safe again? Before she woke up without the sound of her own screams in her ears?
Her head floating above her body, Emily sat down on the edge of the bed. She was hyperventilating now. Squeezing her eyes shut, she cupped the pill and attempted the breathing exercise that had saved her over and over again. In for four, hold for seven, out for eight. She chanted the mantra in her head, the words spilling over each other, then untangling like wool. In for four, hold for seven, out for eight. She pictured the wide, sandy beach, a flat, crystalline ocean. The sand beneath her soft and warm. The sun beating down from a cobalt sky. In for four, hold for seven, out for eight. On the ocean, a white yacht, its sails fluttering lazily on the whisper of a breeze. In for four, hold for seven, out for eight. She didn’t know how long she had been sat there for—without clocks and watches, every second, minute and hour had revealed its true arbitrary nature—but gradually, she began to return to her body. Lungs opened up. Breathing slowed. Limbs softened. She looked down at her clenched fist and saw it open up, fingers unfurling like the petals of a blooming flower. Angry, crescent-shaped grooves were carved into the flesh of her palm. But the pill remained.
Slumped against the wall, Emily waited for the dizziness to subside. After everything she had been through, after everything that she had lost, wasn’t she allowed happiness? Hadn’t she earned that right? Six months ago, she would have answered with a resounding no. But she had begun to see the world differently now. She had begun to understand how quickly she had blamed herself for actions that were out of her control.
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