“Maybe even probable, that Elliot was murdered. And that leads backwards to the possibility that Eva was killed too, and Elliot was murdered because of what he knew.”

There is another ripple of reaction around the room, but it is not really surprise. She is only voicing what most people here had already begun to suspect. It is more like a kind of horror: these are no longer paranoid fears, but a potential reality.

“Danny and I debated this announcement long and hard,” Erin continues, “because ultimately it’s only speculation—we have no proof of any of this. It’s still possible that Eva’s death was an accident and Elliot’s was suicide or an accidental overdose. However, the fact remains that two deaths have occurred and that is… well, concerning doesn’t really cover it. So even while we hope this is overk—”

She stops. I realize that the word she was going to use was overkill but that she has thought better of it.

“Even while we hope this is overly cautious,” she rephrases, “we would still urge everyone here to take precautions. If you know something that may endanger you, come and tell me and Danny as quickly as possible. Stay in pairs or groups at all times. That includes sleeping. Prepare your own drinks and don’t leave them lying around. Only accept food from Danny or me. There’s no need to be paranoid but—”

Carl breaks in. His short laugh sounds like the bark of a dog.

“No need to be paranoid? Are you having a giraffe?”

“I realize this is all—” Erin begins, but he cuts her off again.

“You’re telling us there’s a homicidal fucking maniac running around and the answer is to make our own coffee?”

“I’m not telling you anything of the kind,” Erin says. Her voice is very level. “I am simply stating the facts of what’s happened. Whether you concur with my conclusions and follow my advice is up to you.”

“This is a fucking shitshow,” Carl says angrily. “And I should sue the arse off you. Thousands of pounds to stay in a tin-pot little shithole with a psycho on—”

“Oi,” Danny breaks in. He steps forward so he is close to Carl’s face. “That’s enough of that, mate. Erin and me are not responsible if you brought some psychotic fucker with you from the airport.”

“Are you accusing Snoop employees of this?” Carl is practically shouting now. He and Danny are squaring up. “Because that, mate, is slander, and I’ll see you in court.”

“I’m not accusing Snoop employees of anything,” Danny snarls, “I’m saying that we’ve hosted a hundred fucking holidays and it wasn’t until you lot turned up—”

“Hey,” Erin steps forward. She is speaking to both of them, but it is Danny’s arm she takes. She shakes it gently. “Hey. This isn’t helping.”

“Carl,” Tiger puts her hand on Carl’s shoulder. “Come on, Erin’s right. It’s completely understandable that you’re angry, but you need to channel that energy into a more positive place. Erin and Danny aren’t at fault here. They’re trying to help. C’mon. Deep breaths.”

Carl is still muttering as he stalks to the other side of the room. He slumps on the sofa, arms folded, but I can see he knows Tiger is right.

“Inigo,” Erin says now, “have you had any more luck with mobile reception?”

Inigo shakes his head.

“Nothing, sorry. And now I’m down to twelve percent battery, so I’m trying just to turn it on occasionally to check.”

“Anyone else?” Erin says. There is an edge of desperation in her voice. There are headshakes all around the room. Most people must be out of battery now, anyway. I turned my phone off when it got to 4 percent.

“And what did they say when you spoke to them?” Erin asks, turning back to Inigo. He frowns.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, did they give any timescales at all? Any indication of how they proposed to get to us? I know they didn’t know the full extent of it then, but they knew we had someone missing, right? I would have thought we’d have been quite high up the list of priorities.”

“I…” Inigo is frowning, as if he is trying to remember. “Yes, I mean, I told them Eva was missing and that we were trapped in our chalet at the top of the funicular. And I said… I told them about your ankle. And they just asked some questions about supplies and then said they would come out to us as quickly as possible.”

“That was it? No timings at all?”

“N-no…” Inigo sounds uncertain. “I mean, the reception was really bad. I’m trying to remember, but I don’t think it was mentioned.”

“Okay,” Erin says. There is an edge of frustration in her voice that her calm politeness doesn’t quite mask. “That’s understandable. Well, we’ll just sit tight I guess. Okay, well, that’s it, everyone. If you go through to the living room, Danny and I will bring lunch along very shortly.”

Everyone begins to disperse. Carl is still muttering angrily. Tiger is talking to him soothingly. Miranda and Rik are the last to leave the lobby. I am directly in front of them. I can hear their low conversation as we file slowly into the lounge.

“I suppose Inigo did actually phone the police?” Rik speaks. His voice is barely above a mutter.

“What do you mean?” Miranda sounds surprised.

“Well… I mean… Erin seemed pretty concerned that we hadn’t heard anything. And I can see her point. You’d have thought they’d have got someone up here, right? Even if it was just a scout.”

“But we heard him, Rik, we heard him calling them.”

“We heard his end of the conversation, yes. But how do we know he actually made the call? I mean it’s a bit suspicious full stop that he managed to get reception when none of the rest of us did. What was that all about?”

Miranda doesn’t answer that. But I notice that when we are all gathered in the living room, she takes the seat farthest away from Inigo, and she doesn’t meet his eyes.

ERIN

Snoop ID: LITTLEMY

Listening to: Offline

Snoopers: 5

Snoopscribers: 10

“Bollocks.” I’m standing in the kitchen, watching Danny put the finishing touches to big bowls of salad. He’s done an amazing job with tins and jars, but there is no way of masking the fact that the bread is stale and the lettuce has seen better days. Twenty-four hours without electricity is starting to take its toll on the freshness of the chilled food.

“What do you mean, bollocks?” Danny doesn’t look up. He’s crumbling crushed walnuts over a big plate of ripe, sliced pears and slightly overripe Bleu d’Auvergne cheese.

“I just… I feel like that didn’t go so well?”

Danny tastes the dressing and then shrugs.

“I dunno. You were telling them something they didn’t want to hear. What did you expect them to do—applaud?”

I shrug. I am not sure what to say.

At last Danny is ready, and we each pick up a couple of bowls and carry them out. As I limp after Danny, through the empty lobby, I see croissant crumbs from earlier today scattered across the thick sheepskin rug. There’s not much I can do without any electricity for the Hoover, but in my current mood it feels like a sign of the way things are fraying at the edges, falling apart while Danny and I desperately try to keep the wheels on.