It’s real. She found one.
I pause, outside the door. The crab shell looks polished; I suspect she’s had it a long time. But even with the crab – my crab – there’s nothing good about the feeling of this place. I used to sense Janice and her nervous energy, the times I followed her and Charlie round Islington, but I don’t sense any energy at all now.
Gingerly, I knock on the door.
No answer.
I knock again. ‘Janice?’
Nothing. I look out to sea, for a moment. If she is in here, and she’s not alive, I’m not sure I’ll cope.
I try the door, which is open.
She’s propped up in bed, as if watching television, but her eyes are closed.
‘Janice,’ I say.
She opens her eyes, briefly, but then closes them. Then she opens them properly, and turns to me. ‘Emily?’ she says, slowly. ‘Emma?’
‘Janice,’ I say, crossing to the bed. ‘Are you OK?’
She closes her eyes again. ‘Go away,’ she says. ‘Please.’
There are five packets of paracetamol on the trendy plywood bedside table. In my trance I find myself wondering if the owners could have imagined the table being used for this, when they kitted the cabin out. Five packets of paracetamol, and a packet of something else, something pharmaceutical, with Janice’s details printed on a label on the side.
I pick one of the packets up. It’s empty. I check the others. All empty.
‘Janice,’ I say. ‘Janice, have you taken all of these pills?’
If she can hear me, she ignores me – this woman whose beautiful face, now puffy and pale, is known and loved by hundreds of thousands of people.
This woman who stole my son with her make-believe and her ability to convince. She ignores me.
‘Janice,’ I say, more loudly. ‘Janice, have you taken all of these pills?’
‘Not you too,’ she says. ‘Just go away. Please.’
Not me too?
I leave the hut, jabbing at my phone. I press 999, but the call won’t connect. I have no signal.
Tears of panic are forming. ‘Janice,’ I call. ‘I need to get you an ambulance.’
‘No.’
‘I have to go and find a signal. Please stay with me until then. Please.’
She mutters something else, which I’m sure is ‘Not you too,’ again, but I have no idea what she means. I leave the cabin, ready to run up the hill, but as I do I see someone running towards me.
Leo. It’s Leo.
‘What?’ I stare at him, as he jogs down the final part of the hill. ‘How are you . . . Why – I mean, what? How did you get here so soon?’
‘I left at 7.15. Is she OK?’
‘Yes, but—’
‘Good. Right. You stay out here. There’s an ambulance coming, but they’ll need guiding. I think they’ll have to drive across the golf course.’
‘I – Leo, where’s Ruby?’
He points to his car, parked haphazardly by a golf green. I must have walked past it. ‘Fast asleep on the back seat,’ he says. ‘She doesn’t know what’s going on. I’ve been here less than ten minutes.’
I stand in the doorway, watching in confusion, amazement, as my husband goes back in and crouches down next to Janice.
‘Janice,’ he says, quietly. He touches her arm, and she opens an eye.