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The Retreat(43)

Author:Sarah Pearse

“Hey,” Hana says, stepping outside. The stone floor is warm beneath her bare feet. “What are you guys talking about?”

“Not much.” Maya replaces her coffee cup on the table with a clatter.

She tenses. “But I heard my name . . .”

“We were just wondering how you were,” Jo says quickly. “After seeing Bea like that, the shock, we’re worried, that’s all. You went to bed early last night.”

Hana absorbs her look of concern—furrowed brow, blue eyes crinkling at the corners—and immediately lays it against what Caleb told her about the argument between Bea and Jo.

An unfamiliar anger ignites inside her. “Worried? I think you should be feeling guilty more than anything.”

The words are out before she can stop them. Hana’s surprised at herself, but part of her is glad. Glad she’s not doing what she usually does—tempering herself, biting her tongue. Being nice.

Jo stiffens. “What do you mean?”

“I was thinking about it. What you did, Jo, making Bea feel so bad about not coming that she felt she had to arrive here unannounced, go on to have this bloody accident . . . I’d be feeling guilty if I were you.”

Jo sits forward. “You don’t know for sure that’s why Bea came, none of us do.”

“You said so to the detective.”

“Fine, maybe it was the trigger, but you know what?” Jo’s eyes flash. “I’d do the same again. However you want to spin it now, put a halo on her, Bea had been selfish recently. Canceling was a crappy thing to do.”

Maya places a hand on Hana’s arm. The stack of silver rings on her index finger catches the light. “Come on, everyone’s upset. Jo’s just spoken to your mum . . . she’s in pieces. It’s a shock, no one’s thinking straight. It’s natural to want to lash out.”

“No.” The last of Hana’s composure crumbles. Her voice is brittle. “I’m not lashing out. I’m saying it as it is for once in my life. Jo made Bea feel shit. It’s what she does, because deep down, she’s jealous. It’s a pattern—”

Jo blinks, like she’s been slapped. “Jealous?”

“Yes, and I understand it, because at times I’ve felt it too, but with you, it’s worse, always has been. The attention Bea gets from Mum and Dad, what she’s achieved . . . you don’t think she picked up on it? Caleb implied as much, last night.”

“What do you mean?” Jo says slowly.

“He said Bea knew how you felt about her.”

“Rubbish. I organized this. Why do that if I were jealous?”

Hana cuts her off. “Because you wanted her to finally see you in your element, to take what you do seriously. You two had a fight a few weeks ago, because for the first time, she’d stood up to you, and you didn’t like it.” A guess based on what Caleb had told her, but it sounds plausible.

“A fight?” Jo falters. Her hand, still cradling the coffee cup, starts to tremble.

“Yes. Caleb told me. Some big bust-up, Bea ended up storming out.” Hana meets her gaze. “Am I right? Had she finally seen through you? Was that what it was about?”

Jo opens her mouth as if to reply, but nothing comes out. “No,” she says finally. “Bea hadn’t returned some of my calls, that’s all. It escalated.”

“That was it?”

“Yes. Sorry to disappoint.” Jo’s trembling intensifies, liquid sloshing over the side of the cup and onto the floor.

Hana meets Jo’s gaze, then looks away, chilled.

It’s not what she sees in it that bothers her, it’s what she doesn’t see.

She realizes that over the past few years, she’s lost the ability to read her sister, to know precisely what Jo’s capable of.

36

Only an oval of face is visible, putty colored, grayish in patches, a respirator lolling half in, half out of the mouth.

Elin’s heart is hammering as she zooms in to the blurred lens of the mask, the man’s eyes open in a glassy death stare.

A wetsuit hood, slightly askew, is compressing his features, but any doubts Elin might have about the man’s identity are countered by the glimpse of a dark beard.

Seth.

Her stomach lurches as her mind trawls up the few words they’d exchanged. They hadn’t spoken much—he’d seemed awkward dealing with the emotions swirling around Bea’s death, but her overall impression was of vitality, of strength. Someone in the prime of life. It’s almost impossible to reconcile that image with this one.

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