After a few minutes, as the tumbling water grew louder, they walked through a swarm of tiny flying insects. She wrinkled her face, trying to flick them off. Felt them landing on her skin. Biting at her. They were close to the water.
As the trees thinned, the light from the waking sky hung over them. Indigo, with purple shades pushing through. They had to hurry. The water gushed louder.
And then they were there.
‘Lay him down,’ Paul said, softly.
She felt the weight shift behind her, then crouched down as she lowered Tristan’s legs to the ground. She let go, then walked to the edge of the path. There was a steep drop beneath. A muddy bank, with the dark shadows of gnarly tree roots. Straight ahead, the waterfall dropped in front of them, foaming into the depths of the dark-blue pool beneath.
She took a deep breath, inhaling the scent. Damp, wet trees. Fresh water. Something dark and mulchy beneath.
‘Ready?’ Paul said from behind her.
Cat turned. Paul had lifted Tristan’s shoulders again. His head was flopped to one side. She looked down at him. At the man she’d shared plans with. Plans for a new life. Then she looked up, at the man she’d married four years ago. The man she’d somehow, in her mad moment of revenge and lust, wanted to kill. She felt sick. And then she remembered the baby. If there was even a baby. And she thought of her sister. Of that moment, etched into her brain forever, where she pushed her off the side of a mountain.
She stayed where she was, facing Paul. Facing Tristan. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, quietly. She wasn’t sure what she was even sorry for. For wanting him dead? For a moment of regret?
Her words were impossible to hear over the sound of the cascading water. She lowered herself down, keeping her weight back on her heels, and lifted Tristan’s legs.
Cat locked eyes with Paul. His mouth was set into a hard, straight line. He gave her the smallest of nods, then she matched his steps as he shuffled slowly sideways towards the edge. Her arms, her shoulders, her stomach – every part of her burned, as she followed Paul’s lead. They swung Tristan back to the left, just enough, then to the right. Over the edge. Then they let go.
They stood together in silence as Tristan plunged into the pool beneath with a distant splash. Then Paul reached for her hand, and she let him take it. And together, they headed back to the cottage, as the light in the sky took on a deep, rosy glow. Morning was upon them, and there were plans to be made.
Forty-Two
SUNDAY, DAWN
Paul shivered as they reached the doorstep. They’d walked back from the waterfall slowly, gripping on to each other with a new urgency. If they made it out of this . . . if they got away with this . . . Paul knew that everything he’d once thought, believed, done, would be different.
They would be different.
The house was different too, changed by the dawn’s light. The sky above them had turned from black to blue, with tinges of pink from the haze. The house was still bathed in darkness, hidden amongst the thick canopy of trees, but the light from the sunrise cast new, altered shadows.
It was the start of a brand-new day. Somehow they would put the events of the last twenty-four hours behind them, and they would be reborn. They might fall back in love. Start over. Together.
Wishful thinking.
Paul could tell from Cat’s demeanour that nothing was going to be that simple. There had been a plan. A plan in which he was dead, and Ginny was dead, and Tristan was still alive. He was curious about Cat’s new plan. Very curious indeed. But she had always been someone who could adapt quickly. She’d told him countless stories from her job, about venues going bust and whole weddings being moved at the last minute. She had never let anyone down when it came to changes of plans.
She let go of his hand and entered the house in front of him, heading straight to the rucksacks.
‘We need to get everything together. We’ll be able to leave soon.’
He looked at her sadly. If she’d softened for a moment, after what they just did together, then the moment was short-lived.
They’d left the candles burning when they’d taken Tristan away, and three of the four still burned. One of them gave off a strong, cloying scent, like toilet cleaner and cheap perfume. To keep away bugs, he assumed. Cat would’ve brought it. Cat would’ve thought of everything. He wondered again what she was thinking right now.
‘Can we sit for a bit?’ he said. ‘Please? I’m kind of done in.’ He took a breath and his lungs burned. It felt like something was stabbing him in the chest. A broken rib, probably. So far, he’d managed to deal with everything via the wonders of adrenaline, but now it was fast wearing off.