A horrible sense of impotence grips her as she feels the situation slipping from her control. She wants to do something, anything, to make it right for him, but she can’t. “Look, we don’t know what’s happened, not yet. There’s still a chance—”
Will looks at her, an odd, stiff expression on his face. “You don’t have to do that, you know. I’m not a kid.”
“Do what?”
“Plaster over it. I know by your face that this isn’t good.” He forces a smile. “I think I’ve finally heard your bad news voice. All this time together, but only now I hear it.”
As Will speaks, Elin senses something that she hadn’t picked up on before, something passive-aggressive in his body language, his tone—almost resentful. And while she might be reading into it, she can’t help but wonder if he’s blaming her for what’s happening, by fault of simply being involved.
“I’m just trying to be positive.”
He gives a tight nod. “And you’re happy staying?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, now that the situation’s escalated . . .”
“Yes . . .” Elin scrutinizes his face, expression, not sure where he’s going with this.
“But this morning in bed you said you were worried about whether you could cope, if you might trip up if things got tough.”
“A doubt, yes,” she says carefully, “but it doesn’t mean I don’t want to carry on.”
“But what if you do feel like that at some point? Would you be honest with Anna?”
“Yes.”
He meets her gaze. “Did you tell her about the thing on Twitter?”
Elin hesitates, knowing what this question is: a test. “I did. She said they’d look into it if it happens again.” She reaches for his hand. “Really, you don’t have to worry.”
A heavy sigh. “But you here, alone, I don’t like it.”
“I’m not alone. I’ve got Steed.” As soon as she says the words, she knows they’re not right, but she doesn’t know what to do. From the get-go this conversation has felt like a minefield, as if anything she says will be the wrong thing.
“Steed,” Will echoes, shrugging her hand loose. “Well, that’s okay then. You’re close enough to be able to tell him, if it gets too much?”
Another mine.
Elin fumbles for her words. “Well, yes, I think I can. We’ve got to know each other a bit more since we’ve been here.”
Wrong answer. Will’s face closes. She’s not sure how they’ve gotten to this point—this strange sense that they’re dancing to difference tunes.
Spotting a white smudge of sunscreen by his ear, she reaches up to rub it away, but he flinches, an obvious recoil. Elin flushes, stung, and it’s only then that she has a moment of self-reflection, horribly aware of why he’s behaving like this.
It’s her, isn’t it? She’s made him react like this because of her mercurial behavior.
At home, these past few weeks, she’s been spiky and distant, but out here, she’s someone different. Energized. Dynamic.
He gets the worst of her and how must he interpret that?
Elin feels a wave of sadness at the sudden chasm that’s opened up in their relationship.
“Well, I have to go,” she says, doing what she always does. Delay tactics. Pushing things under the carpet. “I’ll leave you to it.”
“Call me later.”
“Will do.” Leaning in, Elin lightly kisses him. There’s no recoil this time, but maybe something worse: a reticence on his part, a sense he’s simply going through the motions.
49
Maya, you awake?” Hana’s body casts a shadow over Maya’s prostrate form on the daybed. She’s in jean shorts paired with a tan bikini top almost the same shade as her skin, the wide brim of her panama hat pulled low over her eyes.
No response.
“Maya?” she repeats, louder this time, a little note of fear creeping in. After everything that’s happened . . . Reaching over, she shakes Maya’s arm. “Maya, wake up!”
Finally, she stirs, roused from her slumber. Sitting up, she grips the side of the daybed, the veins in her hand standing out.
“Sorry.” Her words are slightly slurred. “Didn’t even know I’d fallen asleep.”
Hana perches sideways on the other daybed, but it’s uncomfortable, the frame digging into her thighs, so she swings her legs up to lie against it properly. “Why didn’t you tell me the truth?” she says softly. “About the job?”