The Returned (14 page)

As Pierre watched Simon walk into the distance, he thought back to the scriptures. From memory, he recited another verse from Revelation: ‘
Death and Hades gave up
the dead who
were in them, and they were judged, each one of them, according to what they had done.
’

Pierre smiled. There were two things he was absolutely sure of.

He would see Simon again, soon.

And the end was coming.

While Claire and Léna went to Michel Costa’s funeral, Jérôme stayed at home with Camille. She sulked in her room, eager to go somewhere,
anywhere
, having tried and failed to get her dad just to take her for a drive, to give her something to
do
that didn’t involve being trapped in the house or garden.

Jérôme had refused point blank. He wondered if it was because he still felt the same unease around his dead daughter, but he didn’t think that was it. It was fear
for
her, now, not
of
her. The thought of discovery appalled him, because he had no idea what it would mean. At the very least, their lives would no longer be their own. Press hysteria,
public
hysteria, and Camille . . . He didn’t want to think about what would happen to Camille.

The only place for her was out of sight, safe and monitored.

He was having another cigarette in the back garden when Camille came down. She gave him a nervous half-smile, and he gave her an apologetic shrug. When he’d refused her request to get her
out of the house he’d kept his specific fears to himself, hoping to spare her. It had made her all the more difficult to convince.

‘If you give me a cigarette,’ she said, ‘I’ll forgive you.’

Jérôme raised an eyebrow.

‘What?’ said Camille. ‘You’re worried I’ll get cancer?’

Jérôme found himself smiling – Camille had always had a sharper sense of humour than Léna. Besides, she was right, and here was a chance to earn some trust. He offered
her one. ‘Don’t tell your mother.’ She lit it with a practised ease that left Jérôme in no doubt she’d done it many times before.

‘Are you and Mum separated?’ Camille asked, casually blowing out a lungful of smoke.

‘No,’ he said. Claire wanted them to keep it from her, for as long as they could. ‘Why do you say that?’

‘You’re being nice to her. It’s weird.’

He laughed. It was the first time he’d laughed like that since Camille’s return, he thought. Then he corrected himself. It was the first time since Camille had
died
.

‘And you’re sleeping in the spare room,’ Camille said. ‘Don’t tell me it’s because you snore.’

‘I thought I was being careful, going to bed after you were asleep.’

‘I don’t sleep.’

‘Still?’

Camille shrugged. ‘I get tired, and I lie down. After a while I’m not so tired.’ She seemed very matter of fact about it. ‘But don’t change the subject. You and
Mum?’

‘Let’s just say that we’ve been taking some time off. Things were complicated after the accident. I was selfish and your mum had had enough of me. I have a little apartment in
town now.’

She put her arms around him and gave him a hug. ‘It can’t have been easy.’ He hugged her back, suddenly emotional; it was the first time he’d touched his daughter since
she’d come back to them. Flesh and blood, the reality of her impossible to deny.

‘God, no,’ he said. ‘It was especially hard on your sister.’

Camille pulled out of the hug and nodded. ‘I know. I’ve lost a sister, too.’

Jérôme put his hand on her shoulder. ‘Hungry?’

‘Always.’

When Claire and Léna came back from the funeral, Léna went off to change for college, Camille following her upstairs.

‘Things seem a little better between them,’ said Jérôme.

‘And what about with you?’ asked Claire.

He nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said, with confidence. ‘Things are much better. And I was thinking. Camille can’t stay bottled up inside forever. We have to consider
moving.’

‘To go where?’

‘I don’t know yet. A place where no one knows who she is. Camille could live normally, without running any risks. We could breathe.’

‘I’m not sure,’ said Claire, looking anxious. ‘With so much upheaval already, Jérôme, we can’t do anything hasty.’

‘It would change everything, Claire. We could have a normal life again, go back to being a family. Nobody would know us, or what had happened to us.’ He saw the reluctance in her
face. It was as if she didn’t even want to consider it, and he realized what her problem was. Moving away was, it seemed to him, the only way to bring their marriage back from the brink, and
Claire clearly wasn’t sure if she wanted that. Jérôme thought of Pierre, and it took real effort not to let anger show in his face. ‘It would be good for Camille. Think it
over, OK? I have some things to sort out at my apartment, but I’ll be back later. We can talk then.’

His relationship with Claire wasn’t the only one that needed rebuilding. Léna had certainly never forgiven him for letting her mother down so badly after Camille’s death
– and for letting Léna down, too, not least by allowing the family to disintegrate the way it had, giving up on it almost without a fight. He had failed them all.

When Léna came down, Jérôme insisted he give her a lift to college. She was, as always, frosty with him, but she accepted. He’d hoped they could talk, but instead they
spent the journey in silence. Just as she was about to get out of the car he stopped her.

‘Léna,’ he said. ‘Have you mentioned Camille to anyone?’

She scowled. ‘Yeah, loads of people. I thought I’d put it on Facebook.’

He waited for her sarcasm to settle. ‘Please, this is serious.’

‘Don’t worry. I’m not going to say anything. Besides, who would believe me?’

‘Your mother and I think it’s best for Camille if we move. Things are too complicated for her here.’

Léna’s eyes widened. ‘What about me? It’s not complicated for me? I have friends here. My
life
is here. I’ve already had to rebuild it once before. I
don’t plan on doing it again.’

‘Come on!’ he shouted. ‘You know it’s harder for Camille.’ Léna was looking at him coldly. He took a long breath, then shook his head. ‘It would be for
the best, for all of us.’

‘So we move, and it’ll all be perfect?’

‘It would be a damn sight better than it is now. This can’t work, not long term. I’m sorry, but that’s how it is.’

Léna said nothing more. She just got out of the car and walked away.

Camille’s death had torn the family apart; by rights her return should bring them closer together, and let Jérôme be the husband and father he’d once been. So far,
though, he felt as if he was failing all over again.

When Jérôme and Léna had left, Claire spent half an hour tidying the kitchen. The moment she’d come back from the funeral, she had quietly noted the
mess it had been left in. Jérôme and Camille making sandwiches, jars open, crumbs everywhere. Léna’s bedroom might always be chaotic, but at least in the kitchen she took
some care to clear up after herself.

The mess didn’t annoy Claire, though; quite the opposite. She smiled as she tidied, imagining her husband and daughter interacting in such a simple, innocent way. He was getting his head
around the situation, getting better at seeing Camille for who she was, and here was the physical evidence.

Finished, she took the full rubbish bag from the cupboard under the sink and took it out to the bins at the back of the house. She opened the lid, ready to toss the bag in, and gasped when a
cloud of blowflies buzzed out and circled her before settling back inside.

It took her a moment to work out what it was, sitting on the few bags already in the bin. All she saw at first was the blood, and the innards. A rabbit, she realized. Torn open; ripped into
pieces and discarded here, and whoever had . . .

She stopped the thought that came into her head, stopped it dead in its tracks. She guessed that the rabbit would have been put in there overnight, but how it got there wasn’t something
she wanted to think too much about.
A fox
, she told herself.
A fox must have got it and someone put it in there afterwards rather than just leaving it lying around.
Jérôme, maybe.

Yet she knew she wouldn’t raise it with Jérôme. All she could picture was the torn photo albums, and the blank expression Camille had had on her face.

Wanting the rabbit gone, she fetched a large refuse sack and tipped the contents of the bin out into it, tying it again and again, the flies still buzzing inside the black plastic.

She washed her hands and went upstairs.

Camille was in the bathroom. Claire felt suddenly uneasy. Camille saw her and smiled.

‘Did you sleep last night?’ said Claire.

Camille shook her head.

‘And did you go outside at all?’

‘Of course not,’ said Camille. ‘I tried to read for a while, then I ended up listening to music.’

Claire nodded, trying to tell herself not to think so much, not to worry so much. She washed the thoughts from her mind, just as she’d washed her hands.

‘So how do I look?’ said Camille.

‘Is that Léna’s shirt?’

‘Yeah. Does it suit me?’

Claire saw how desperately Camille wanted her to say yes. She nodded. ‘It’s a little big, though. Why don’t I go out and buy you one in your size?’

‘Can I come, too? Please? We won’t stay long, and we won’t see anyone. I promise.’

Claire paused. She knew what Jérôme would say, but it was distressing to see her daughter shut in like this. Who knew what effect it was having on her?

She nodded, telling herself it was for the best, to give Camille some relief from her imprisonment. She also made a mental note to be sure to lock the doors at night.

Claire took them to one of the quieter clothes shops in town, one with a car park at the back. It wasn’t busy, she was glad to see; empty, almost. And while Camille went
through the racks at the rear of the store, deciding what she would try on, Claire tensed, keeping one eye on the few other customers drifting in and out of the front entrance. She didn’t
recognize anyone.

‘How about these?’ said Camille, holding some tops and jeans. ‘This one’s nice, isn’t it?’

‘Very pretty.’

‘How many can I have?’

Claire smiled. Why not be generous? She had four years to catch up on. ‘Today, you can have all you want.’

The look of simple joy on Camille’s face made Claire’s heart swell. Camille went into the changing room with her selection while Claire waited, marvelling at how fate had given her
this chance to spoil her daughter. And she would: she would do everything in her power to spoil the girl, and make up for lost time.

‘Excuse me, can I . . .?’

Claire managed not to jump as the other customer spoke, trying to reach past her. ‘Yes, sorry,’ she said, stepping aside.

‘Claire?’ said the woman. ‘How are you?’

Claire looked. For a long moment she couldn’t place her, and then she felt ice on her neck. Sandrine. Another of the parents from the coach crash that had taken Camille. Claire looked
quickly at the changing-room curtain, then back. She made herself smile.

‘Sandrine, how are you?’

‘I’m fine. Did you hear about me and Yan?’

‘No.’ The curtain twitched. Claire’s pulse was getting faster every moment. It would only take Sandrine to see Camille now, and everything would change.

‘We’re expecting a baby,’ said Sandrine.

‘That’s wonderful,’ she said, trying to sound enthusiastic while willing her daughter to just stay in the changing room just a little longer . . .
‘Congratulations.’

Sandrine looked at her with concern. ‘Are you OK? You don’t seem well.’

‘Yes, I’m fine.’
Just a little distracted
, she thought, so tense that she felt as if she would pass out if this went on much longer.

‘Claire, it’s been so long since I’ve seen you. Why don’t you come to the meetings? Is it because of Jérôme?’

‘No, not at all,’ said Claire. ‘Jérôme always got more out of them than I did.’

Sandrine lowered her voice, and put a sympathetic hand on Claire’s arm. ‘Have you separated?’

Claire said nothing, stealing glances at the curtain, lost for any way out of the inevitable unless Sandrine went, and went now.

‘Everyone knows,’ said Sandrine gently. ‘It’s a small town. And we know how he was with you and Léna.’

She had a sudden urge to defend Jérôme, but it wasn’t the time. ‘Thank you, Sandrine,’ she said, trying to sound as final as she could. ‘It’s very
kind.’

Then the changing-room curtain swept back, and out walked Camille proudly sporting her new outfit. Suddenly nauseous, Claire looked at Sandrine and saw the dawning shock. Sandrine looked at
Claire, mouth open, then back at the girl.

But there was no hesitation from Camille. She walked forward and held her hand out to Sandrine. ‘Hello,’ she said. ‘I’m Alice. Léna’s cousin.’

Sandrine didn’t seem able to raise her own hand in response. Claire sympathized. It took a few seconds for the woman’s expression to settle back, although the shock didn’t
quite leave her eyes. ‘I . . . I thought there was a . . . family resemblance,’ said Sandrine, looking at Camille with deep unease. ‘Right, well . . . I’ll get going. Call
me, Claire?’

Claire looked at her; Sandrine seemed to have accepted the lie, although Jérôme would be furious with them. ‘Yes,’ said Claire. ‘See you soon.’

‘Goodbye, Alice.’

‘Goodbye,’ said Camille, looking pleased with herself.

Sandrine made her way out of the shop, stealing one nervous glance back at them. Claire closed her eyes and let out a breath.

Camille smiled at her. ‘Quick thinking, huh?’

Claire felt exhausted. ‘Let’s go home,’ she said.

They got back shortly before Jérôme returned from his apartment. Claire told Camille to say nothing about the trip. The chances of Jérôme noticing the
new clothes were minimal, but Léna would. In that case, better that everyone thought Claire had gone alone, and left Camille at home by herself.

Camille calling herself Alice, though, had given Claire some hope. If Sandrine had believed it, surely everyone could. Surely it was a viable plan.