One by One - Ruth Ware Page 0,125

bookings for the year have been either cancelled, or hastily reallocated to the other properties owned by the skiing company, and now Danny and I are simply waiting to find out what will happen, pacing the empty rooms, looking at the place where Ani last sat, seeing Elliot’s ghost, spooning stew into his mouth, hearing the click-click-click of Eva’s heels on the parquet, and the slam of Liz’s bedroom door.

I can’t stay in this place. I know that now. But I can’t keep running.

The smells from the kitchen are making my stomach rumble, and I’m just thinking about heaving myself out of my chair and clumping through to ask Danny what time he will be serving up, when my Snoop stream goes dead. For a minute I’m not sure what’s happened. I wasn’t snooping on anyone else, so the feed shouldn’t cut out like that. It was my music.

I open up my phone to check on the app, but that’s when I notice. There’s an email notification. And it’s from Kate. The subject line is Some difficult news. My stomach gives a lurching jolt.

“Danny,” I shout, over the sound of pots and pans from the kitchen. There’s no reply, and I am about to get up and walk through to show him the notification when he appears in the doorway, holding his own phone.

“Did you get it too?” he asks, and I nod my head.

“Yeah. I think we’re both cc’d in. What does it say?”

“Open it and find out.”

My gut is churning as I open the email and scan down the contents. Difficult decision… not practical to reopen… eventual sale… sick pay… generous redundancy packages… four weeks’ notice.

“They’re closing the chalet.” I look up at Danny.

He nods solemnly.

“Yup. That’s about the size of it. Have to say, I’m not exactly surprised, what plonker’s gonna want to stay in a place where four guests got killed? I mean, it’s not exactly home sweet home, is it, even if you take the banjaxed swimming pool out of the equation. What are you gonna do?”

“What am I going to do?” I stare back at him. It’s stupid, because I’ve had three weeks to figure this out, but I’m no closer to deciding. Would I come back to work? Did I want to? Now it’s not even a question.

“I don’t know,” I say at last. “What about you?”

“We could sue, you know,” Danny says conversationally. “I mean, quote unquote generous redundancy package is all very well, but you were bloody near killed in the line of duty. I reckon that deserves something a bit more than a few weeks’ pay and a box of fucking chocs.”

“I don’t want to sue,” I say reflexively, without even thinking about it, but as the words leave my mouth I am sure of the rightness of them. I don’t want to. It was hard enough going through all this once. I am not putting myself through it all again in a court of law, let alone dragging in Topher, Tiger, Rik, and everyone else to give evidence.

“Nah, neither do I really,” Danny says, looking down at the screen, with a little sigh. “Coulda done with the squids though. Well, as me old ma would say, if wishes were horses and all that.” He sighs again, and then says, “Shall I serve up? Butternut squash soup with hazelnut gremolata and charred fougasse.”

“Sounds delicious,” I say, trying for a smile. “I can’t wait.”

ERIN

Snoop ID: LITTLEMY

Listening to:

Snoopscribers:

After lunch Danny and I sit down in front of the TV and I get out my phone. I’ve become slightly addicted to watching my Snoopscribers tick upwards. There’s nothing like news getting around that you’ve been almost killed to send your numbers rocketing. And I like checking up on Topher, Rik, and the others too. Rik’s username is Rikshaw and he doesn’t have nearly as many Snoopers as Topher, but I like his music taste a lot more. He was listening to some amazing Cuban rap the other day.

But when I open up the app, there’s nothing there, just a blank home page.

For a second I think I’ve accidentally logged out, but no—I’m still signed in, and there is my profile picture in the top right, Little My from the Moomins scowling out of the screen. But there is nothing in my recently played list, no suggestions of people to follow, no Snoopscriber list—in fact even my numbers have disappeared. Is the internet down again? But I remember when that happened before, and it