1 LIZ Liz knotted the laces of her hiking boots, then eyed herself in the hallway mirror. Her friends would tease her for wearing them to the airport, but there was no space in her backpack. She''d been scrupulous with her packing. She enjoyed the efficiency of it, the paring back, whittling down, every gram counting. It was pleasing to be able to step out with everything she needed on her back. There was an autonomy about it that she liked-maybe a little too much. She checked her watch. If she left now, she''d arrive at Helena''s fifteen minutes ahead of schedule.
Her backpack was waiting in the car. The tank was filled with petrol. Her checklist was ticked. There was nothing left for her to do except say good-bye. Hard to believe that, by this evening, she, Helena, and Maggie would be in Norway. It had been her turn to choose the holiday destination. In previous years she''d picked Corfu, Madeira, the South of France. She''d loved those beach holidays-the kiss of the sun, the buzz of being with girlfriends, the languid days poolside-but recently she''d been thirsting for something different.
She was thirty-three, a wife, a mother, a doctor. Her everyday life was organized, buttoned-down, scheduled. What she needed was an adventure. "You''re serious?" Helena had balked when Liz pitched the idea of four days wild hiking and camping in Norway. Liz was. "I''ve always wanted to see the fjords and mountains." "So book a cruise." A few months earlier, thanks to a broken fan belt that the garage took an age to repair, Liz had been forced to walk to the clinic.
As she''d walked, something magical had seemed to happen; with each step, it was as if she were shaking off the chaos of lost homework, packed lunches, and missing uniform items. She noticed birdsong, learned the names of the trees she passed, took the time to wave good morning to neighbors. By the time she arrived at work, her thoughts felt more spacious, her body grateful for the movement. She had been out in the weather and felt the day. The action of moving her feet, step after step, meant she arrived fresh and energized. Liz being Liz, she wanted to understand the physiological benefits of walking, so she''d dived into the research. She discovered that regular walking improved the immune system, lowered cholesterol, and strengthened feelings of well-being. She shared these findings with her patients.
"I''m prescribing you a daily walk." It was simple, free, doable for most. Life-changing in some cases. Right now, Liz needed life-changing . She glanced toward the kitchen. She could hear the morning symphony of breakfast: the clink of bowls set on the table, the gush of the tap, the scrape of a stool, Evie''s voice pitched above Daniel''s, the calming tone of Patrick mellowing them both. She moved toward the noise and warmth of her family. The thick-soled tread of her boots made her gait feel unfamiliar.
She found herself standing in the kitchen doorway unnoticed, and-for a few disconcerting moments-it was as if she were watching someone else''s life. How much would they miss her? she wondered. Patrick knew the routines of family life so well: he was the one who made the packed lunches, did the school run, and helped with homework. Evie, hair mussed from sleep, was the first to spot her. "Mummy! Are you leaving now?" "Yes," she said, feeling tears lodged at the back of her throat. She''d never liked protracted good-byes. Out the door and get on with it. That was best.
Patrick turned, warm brown eyes sliding over her face but not meeting her gaze. "So, you''re picking up Helena first? Then Maggie?" "Then Norway here we come." She tried for upbeat, but her tone fell flat. "Please get a photo of Helena in hiking gear!" He grinned. Liz moved toward her son, who was sitting at the breakfast bar, shoveling cornflakes into his mouth. She pressed a kiss on his cheek, feeling the machinations of his jaw. Evie put down her spoon to wobble a front tooth, asking, "Will this have fallen out by the time you''re back?" Liz nodded. She would probably return to find her daughter with a new gap in her perfect line of baby teeth.
She would miss that sweet moment of slipping into a dark room to swap a tissue-wrapped tooth for a shiny pound coin. She was used to missing things: Evie''s first word (Dan-dan); Daniel''s first steps across the lounge floor-caught in Patrick''s arms; watching the twins in their first swimming lesson. But there were many more things that she had been there for, and Liz knew that tallying up the misses and the been-there-fors only led to a scorecard etched in guilt. "Look after each other while I''m away," she said, breathing them in. She kissed their heads, told them she loved them. She followed Patrick to the front door. He opened it onto a sun-bright September morning, and there was something about the gesture that made Liz feel like a guest. "Excited?" he asked.
She forced a smile, nodding. "I''ll see you when-" She faltered. She wouldn''t see him when she got back. The arrangement was a month apart. A trial separation, taking it in turns to be out of the house so it wouldn''t affect the children: a week in Norway for her, then a week for him visiting his brother, and then more switching and organizing on her return. A month apart to give them time to decide what they wanted. What do you want? she wondered, looking briefly at Patrick. "Bye, Liz," he said, leaning down to press a kiss against her cheek.
He smelled of toast and coffee and the fabric of their home. She had a strange vertiginous feeling-as if she needed to reach out, grip on to his solidity, as the rest of the world spun away from her. She blinked quickly, looking down at her neatly laced hiking boots. She took a deep breath, then turned and stepped out of her life. 2 HELENA Helena eyed her backpack. It leaned with jaunty arrogance against her front door, blocking her exit. Buckles and straps strained against the bulk of its contents. She''d cut the price tag from it this morning, nicking her thumb with the nail scissors.
A single bead of blood had dripped onto the front of the pack, leaving a tiny dark stain. If Maggie noticed it, she''d believe it was a bad omen. But Helena didn''t believe in omens. She believed she needed to be more careful with scissors. She sipped her coffee, luxuriating in the deep, velvety flavor, knowing it would be her last AeroPressed coffee for a while. Four sachets of instant coffee were sealed in a pocket of her backpack-one for each morning of the hike. She''d Googled travel-size coffee makers, picturing the romance of one perched on a hissing camp stove, framed by a beautiful Norwegian backdrop. She''d liked the image enough to press Buy , but once the coffee maker had arrived and she''d laid it out on the spare bed alongside the other packages that landed almost daily-dry bags, waterproof over-trousers, merino wool socks, two-man tent, down sleeping bag, lightweight roll mat, camping stove, gas canister-she knew she couldn''t justify the extra weight.
She moved cautiously toward the backpack, the way you might approach a wary horse, slowly placing a palm to its flank. Was she really going to lug this through the wilderness for four days? She laughed at the absurdity of it. Her, Helena Hall, going wild camping in Norway! Bloody Liz. It was her year to choose the destination. When it had been Helena''s turn three years earlier, she''d picked Ibiza. Even Joni had shown up, flying in for two nights in the middle of her tour schedule, hooking them up with VIP club passes. The four of them had spent a week lazing in the sunshine, swimming in rocky coves, and partying until sundown. That was a holiday.
Hiking in Norway? It''ll be an adventure , Liz had assured them, her lips working a bit too hard to stretch into a smile. Still. She wasn''t going to stick here alone in her flat while the others went off together. When you''re single in your thirties, you jump at the chance to go anywhere with your girlfriends. Earlier in the week she''d messaged Liz at midnight: Toilets! Where do I go for a crap? And Liz had sent back an emoji of a poo and a forest-and then sent a link to a trowel. Fine. It was going to be absolutely fine. She finished her coffee, rinsed and dried the mug, then returned it to the cupboard, handle pointing outward.
She smoothed her hands against her thighs. Looked around. The granite surfaces were empty. The downlights switched off. She glanced at her watch. Liz would be here in fifteen minutes. Moving into her bedroom, she looked wistfully through the open window onto the city. Outside, the early September light held a golden warmth to it-the last breath of summer.
Her city-Bristol-smelled of diesel and concrete and warm trash. She filled her lungs with it. Oh, the beauty of pavements, and buildings, and traffic, and the clip of heeled footwear. Not a hiking boot or fleece in sight. She pulled the window closed reluctantly. She caught sight of a package resting on her dressing table, still in a carrier bag. She eyed it for a moment, lips pressed together, heart rate picking up speed, deliberating. Then she snatched it up, tore free the bag, and stared at the pregnancy test.
A hot flush of dread swam through her. She didn''t want to take the test. She didn''t want to even look at it. But she needed to get it.