‘Turn around and WALK.’

  She did as he said, moving towards the door. ‘My ankle …’ she began, but was silenced by the cool nose of the gun pressing against the back of her skull.

  She exited the cabin, hobbling. Each step was agony. Her vision wavered from the pain. The fog was beginning to thin, feathering away in places, so rising boulders punctured the scene.

  ‘Move,’ he commanded.

  She heard her own whimpered cry as another bolt of pain burst down her ankle.

  Dragging herself forward, Maggie noticed the same low, black shape emerging from the mist, which she’d seen earlier. It moved steadily towards them and, for a moment, she allowed herself to hope.

  But it was only Vilhelm’s dog, Runa, coat matted, pink tongue lolling. It came to her side, brushing close to her legs. Instinctively she lowered the back of her hand, feeling the dog’s fur against it.

  Vilhelm cussed at the dog, sending it away. It slunk low to its belly, ears flattening.

  Maggie swallowed down her fear, senses fizzing and acute. She knew the course Vilhelm was setting: the mountain edge.

  The gun nosed the back of her head.

  ‘You’re going to kill me?’

  She heard the smile in Vilhelm’s voice as he said, ‘You’re already dead.’

  Her skin prickled icily.

  ‘There will be reports of the landslide soon. Four British women buried alive as they slept. A tragedy.’

  A cold, chilling sensation shivered across her neck, down the backs of her arms. Her stomach tightened; everyone would think they had been crushed beneath hundreds of tonnes of earth and rock.

  No one would be looking for them.

  Vilhelm could make them all disappear.

  She swallowed the saliva pooling in her throat. He would push her over the edge, her body disappearing into the river below.

  No evidence. No witnesses.

  Just like he did to Karin. The thought landed like an echo.

  ‘You killed Karin, didn’t you?’ she said.

  ‘I did what I had to.’

  She swallowed. ‘You could have let her go!’

  ‘Impossible. She would have talked. Austin, my son, he is a good boy – not the brightest, perhaps – but I couldn’t have her ruining his life.’

  ‘So you pushed her,’ she whispered, desolate at the thought of Karin’s body lost down there, undiscovered.

  A quaking began deep within her body.

  Behind them somewhere, she heard the low whine of Runa, a plaintive sound that swirled with the mist.

  Her brain scrambled for what to do. There was a gun at her back, a mountain edge ahead, her ankle too damaged to run.

  For a beat, everything stood still. She was no longer walking or thinking. There was another sense that she had no words for. It was a feeling that rose beyond the clamour of her fear, drew her out of her body, as if she’d stepped apart from herself and were watching.

  She could see herself on the mountain edge – waves of auburn hair tangled over her shoulders, gaze lifted to the mist. Her hands were loose at her sides, freckles dusting the skin of her bare forearms. There was a silver bracelet on her wrist, beaded with letters. She looked down at it.

  K-A-R-I-N.

  Maggie wasn’t seeing herself, but Karin. It was an echo. A palpitating, living memory that was here. Too ethereal to understand, so it could only be felt.

  Thin places, she thought distantly. The narrow divide between this world and another.

  She wasn’t scared. She was comforted.

  Then she felt Karin’s voice deep within her body – as if Karin were speaking within her.

  Fight, Maggie.

  The words breathed steel into her muscles. She thought of Phoebe waiting for her at Aidan’s. Of the long life they’d planned together, filled with puddles and sunflowers and reading dens and sleep-warmed cheeks.

  Then Karin was gone and it was just Maggie on the mountain edge.

  She took another jerky step forward. As her strong leg set down on the ground, she swung around with unexpected ferocity – and roared. The sound was an explosion from deep in her body. Violent. Surging. Not fear, but rage and anger and violence and instinct. Her wolf-self rising, howling, roaring into Vilhelm’s astonished face.

  She harnessed the element of surprise, knocking the gun from his hand. She heard the clank of metal against stone as it landed. And then she was on him, using her fists, the hook of her thumbs, the claw of her fingernails.

  The rush of noise and movement gave her an advantage. She gouged her thumbs into his eye sockets, and still she roared, lips peeled back, teeth bared. She brought her knee up hard and swift to his groin.

  Vilhelm doubled over. She landed a punch on the side of his neck – and he fell to the ground with a grunt.

  But he wasn’t done. Vilhelm was crawling forward to where the gun lay.

  She couldn’t let him reach it! She tried to kick it further away – but as her foot connected, her bad ankle gave out and she stumbled, landing hard on her knees.

  Vilhelm seized the advantage, scrambling to his feet. He snatched up the gun and, a moment later, there was a sudden burning pain at her scalp as he grabbed a fistful of hair, snapping her head up.

  She scrabbled frantically, kicking, screaming.

  Somewhere, the dog was barking.

  Vilhelm booted her in the ribs, steel caps shocking the air from her lungs. He released her hair and she fell onto the earth, gasping.

  The dog was frantic now, making high-pitched yelps.

  Vilhelm yelled at it.

  There was blood in her mouth. Dust in her nostrils. She curled into a ball to protect herself from the next blows, but they came anyway, another violent kick to her side that flipped her, rolling her closer to the mountain edge.

  Above her, his rasped breathing.

  She lay still, curled at his feet.

  A gurgled whimper left her lungs. The fight gone.

  78

  JONI

  Joni stared at the cabin. She couldn’t do it. Couldn’t go in there and face her friends.

  She dropped her head, turned, began walking away.

  Then, behind her, she heard the cabin door open. She halted, glancing over her shoulder.

  Maggie stepped out, Vilhelm behind her.

  It took Joni several long moments to understand what she was seeing: the gun at Maggie’s head, Vilhelm directing her towards the mountain edge.

  Then it all began to make an awful, sudden sense: it had been Vilhelm who’d been out here to collect the cocaine; Vilhelm who’d found some missing from the cave; Vilhelm who’d been tracking them, hunting them.

  Pulse racing, Joni ducked behind a boulder, keeping out of sight. If she yelled for him to let Maggie go, Vilhelm would turn the gun on her. She needed to think. Be smart.

  Her mouth was dry. She could hear the thunder of blood in her ears.

  Think!

  She glanced about frantically, thoughts ricocheting in desperation. Then she looked towards the cabin … an idea emerging.

  She’d need to be fast.

  Staying low, she began to move, keeping obscured behind boulders where possible. She crept silently towards the cabin, Vilhelm moving in the opposite direction.

  Damn! His dog had seen her! Runa came loping towards her, tail wagging.

  Vilhelm hadn’t noticed – kept leading Maggie towards the mountain edge. Joni rubbed the dog briefly behind the ears to keep him quiet, then made for the cabin.

  She pushed open the door and it took her eyes a moment to adjust to the dimness.

  Where is it?

  She scanned the space, heartbeat racing.

  Then her gaze landed on it: Vilhelm’s pack.

  She rushed forward, unclipping the buckles.

  There! Just as she’d hoped, she saw bag upon bag of cocaine.

  From outside, there came a sudden burst of noise. A wild roar, feral and rageful.

  Maggie?

  Without hesitating, Joni swung the heavy pack onto her shoulder – and then she was running, pushing out of the cabin, following the sound, feet pounding earth.

  She could see Maggie and Vilhelm on the mountain edge. Maggie was reaching for something – the gun? – and then just as suddenly she was no longer upright but crashing to the ground. The dog had run towards them and was barking, frantic now.

  She heard the blow of a boot connecting with a body.

  A cry of pain.

  Then she saw Vilhelm’s tall, rangy frame, towering over Maggie.

  Maggie was curled into herself. She was so close to the edge. One more kick could send her over.

  Joni thundered towards them, sliding to a halt a few paces away. ‘Don’t touch her!’ she screamed.

  The barking stopped.

  Vilhelm turned, startled. The gun swung to her.

  With both hands she raised his pack high into the air, holding it above the drop.

  ‘Bitch!’

  Maggie lifted her head an inch, looking at Joni through a curtain of tangled hair. There was blood dripping from her lip. When her gaze managed to focus on Joni, her eyes crinkled with hope.

  Maggie trusted her. Believed in her.

  Vilhelm, head jerking towards Joni, snarled, ‘Put the bag down, or I kill her!’

  Joni knew how to command attention. How to make sure everyone in the room kept their eyes on her. How to be the star of the show. Chin lifted, voice drawn deep from her diaphragm, she told him, ‘Touch her again and the cocaine goes!’

  ‘You know I could shoot you?’ Vilhelm growled.

  Joni nodded. ‘And then the cocaine goes over with me.’

  He pushed his tongue between his top teeth and lip.

  From the west of the mountain, she saw two figures emerging in the mist. They were rushing along the trail, shoulder to shoulder. Liz and Helena.

  Liz looked pale and shaken, blood staining her lower leg, Helena at her side, face flushed. Their eyes widened as they absorbed the sight of Vilhelm on the mountain top, gun in hand, Maggie curled at his feet.

  ‘My god! Maggie!’ Helena said, rushing forward.

  Vilhelm spun around, redirecting the gun at Helena. ‘Don’t move! Any of you!’

  Helena stopped, hands raised.

  Vilhelm was blinking quickly, his mouth hanging open, losing control of the situation. Joni needed him to remain calm – not do anything rash.

  She was still holding the backpack above the drop into nothingness. The weight was causing her muscles to tremble. She couldn’t hold it like this for much longer.

  ‘Step back from Maggie,’ Joni commanded Vilhelm. ‘Then throw the gun over the edge – and you can have your cocaine.’

  He turned, glaring at her, gun swinging in her direction. His finger was on the trigger. He pulled his lips over his teeth, thinking. Then he looked down at Maggie. After several long seconds, he grunted in concession – and took a step away from her.

  ‘Maggie,’ she said calmly. ‘Crawl away from the edge, okay? Go to Liz and Helena.’

  Maggie’s head lifted fractionally, and then she heaved onto all fours, dragging herself towards the other two. Vilhelm’s dog slunk on its belly towards Maggie, nosing her gently. When she reached Liz and Helena, they helped Maggie to her feet, holding her close.

  ‘Now toss the gun,’ Joni instructed.

  Vilhelm looked at her narrowly, gun still pointed at her face. His finger twitched on the trigger.

  The mountain top was silent.

  She felt the burn of lactic acid in her muscles, arms shaking. She was going to drop the cocaine.

  Finally, Vilhelm lowered the gun, muttering something beneath his breath, before tossing it over the edge. She watched the black weapon spin through the air, before dropping into nothingness.

  ‘Now give me the cocaine!’ Vilhelm yelled.

  ‘I will, and when I do, you will leave this mountain. You will not harm any of us. You will pretend we have never met. We will do the same.’ She was staring hard at him. ‘Okay?’

  His eyes were on the pack, not her. ‘Fine,’ he agreed. But she saw it in the slight curl of his lip, the narrowing of his gaze – and knew he was lying. The moment Vilhelm had the cocaine, he would turn, come for them. She would fight hard. Maybe she could land a few punches, get lucky, take him. Maybe not. And if not, then he’d go after the others. Maggie was badly injured, couldn’t run. Helena was pregnant and she couldn’t risk a blow to her middle. Liz looked exhausted, deeply shaken.

  Vilhelm took a step towards her. ‘Hand it to me.’

  Her arms jerked beneath the weight of the pack. Kilos of cocaine – all that powdered glitter that was never gold but rot, pulling people out of themselves, promising something better that was only ever an illusion.

  In her peripheral vision, she could see her friends huddled together, watching.

  Then Joni noticed what she’d missed: there was a knife pressed into Vilhelm’s trouser pocket. She could see the dark handle of it exposed at the top. All it would take was one quick movement.

  Vilhelm took another step closer.

  In a song, the most powerful note is silence. That moment of pause is when the meaning is communicated. She felt it now in the silence as she turned her gaze fully to meet Liz’s. Joni was silently communicating – apologising for all the ways she’d failed her, telling her all the ways she’d loved her.

  Then her gaze was back on Vilhelm as the music in her head began to play.

  Vilhelm reached for the pack and, as he did so, with a surge of force, Joni launched it over the edge. In that moment – as Vilhelm’s fingers were outstretched for the pack – that’s when Joni took her chance.

  She shoved Vilhelm hard in the side. Her palms met rib and flesh. She slammed the full weight of herself against him, and felt him starting to unbalance, to tip towards the edge.

  As he staggered, he twisted, arms flailing desperately. He reached out, fingertips opening – and then sealing around Joni’s wrist.

  She felt the jolt in her shoulder socket as her arm was yanked hard, feet unbalancing, weight shifting, body tipping.

  She heard her own gasp.

  She had known the risk. By taking out Vilhelm, she was keeping her friends safe. They had families. Lives to go home to. They had each other. Joni wouldn’t let all that be destroyed.

  The wheel of time ran slow.

  She felt her feet unpeeling from the edge, the burn of hard, bony fingers against her wrist, the brush of wind filling her jacket as she went over the edge.

  There was mist and the wild drop beneath.

  She closed her eyes. She was on stage, the crowd waiting below, eyes on her, a sea of hands raised to catch her.

  She heard her name being screamed for the final time.

  79

  LIZ

  ‘Joni!’ Liz screamed.

  She ran towards the space where Joni had been standing, an explosion of adrenalin ripping through her.

  Sliding to a halt on the mountain edge, she stared into the emptiness below. Just rock and a silver stretch of water too distant to ripple.

  ‘No! No! No!’ she wailed, head shaking from side to side.

  This can’t be happening.

  She jammed a fist against her mouth, backing away.

  Helena was standing near her shoulder, face white, mouth slack.

  Liz clutched her arm. ‘Where is she?’ Liz begged. ‘Where’s Joni?’

  Helena blinked rapidly.

  ‘WHERE IS JONI?’ Liz yelled again.

  ‘She … went over the edge,’ Helena said, voice grated by disbelief.

  ‘We need to get to her! Help her!’ Liz was shouting, pacing the edge, looking for a route.

  ‘There’s no way down,’ Helena said.

  ‘We need to do something! Call someone!’ She was desperate, her voice unspooling. A deep, cold pressure was expanding inside her. ‘Joni is down there!’

  Helena looked Liz in the eye, head shaking slowly. ‘No one could survive that.’

  She thought of her and Joni’s last conversation, hours earlier, standing on a rocky platform, her hands gripped to Joni’s shoulders. She’d wanted to push her – wanted her out of her life.

  And now she … she was …

  ‘Joni’s dead …’ Liz gasped at last, understanding.

  Her stomach pitched, hot and liquid. She leaned forward, hands braced on her thighs as she vomited across the hard earth.

  She crouched there, heaving breath in and out of her body. Wretched, broken. Tears streaming down her face.

  Helena moved to her side, a hand on her back.

  Maggie dragged herself towards them. Her hair was tangled and wild. Her right eye was already beginning to swell. Her lip had split, the blood drying down her chin. She stood on the other side of Liz, holding her tight.

  Bleeding and battered, faces streaked with salt and blood and earth, they clung together.

  Three where there should be four.

  AFTERWARDS

  80

  HELENA

  Helena strode out in front, hiking boots beating a clean route on the clifftop trail. The sun glimmered off a flat sea, the ground soft and covered with the purple tips of heather.

  A light sheen of sweat cloaked her forehead, and she hooked her thumbs beneath the straps of her pack, adjusting them to release the full weight for a moment.

  She reached a widening in the trail and paused, waiting for the others. She took a moment to drink in the view. The South West Coast Path had none of the mountainous peaks of Norway, but there was a wild beauty to the rolling hills and soaring cliffs, the sea always at her shoulder.

  She’d discovered an uncomplicated pleasure in walking. It took her out of her own head, made her look up from a screen and, in the weeks after losing Joni, it was the only thing that seemed to make any sense.

  Liz had tried explaining the science of why walking healed – something to do with decreasing activity in the part of the brain responsible for negative thoughts and rumination, instead activating a rest and digest mode – but Helena didn’t need to understand the science. She just needed to walk.

  So that’s what they did. The three of them. They met whenever they could and, walk by walk, they were weaving their way along the South West Coast Path. It seemed fitting – a tribute to Joni – that they would do this together, step by step.