The Returned Read Online Free PDF Page A

in.
    ‘Julie, I, uh, I called again to tell you I was fine, but you must have already left. No need to come out, I’m afraid, I’m much better now. Much better.’
    She gave him a small smile, but inside she was thinking about his state of mind. The man had nobody left to look after him. His wife had died decades ago, and the couple had no children. Chest
pains and disorientation – it could be much more serious than the usual little twinges she treated him for. ‘Well, I’m here,’ she said. ‘Let me take a look at you and
make sure, yes?’
    He just stood in the doorway. Julie raised her eyebrows and smiled again. ‘Can I come in?’
    He blinked. ‘Yes, of course, Julie, of course.’
    She sat him down in his living room, keeping a close eye on his behaviour; his eyes were darting to the corridor, agitated, almost frightened.
    She checked him over. Everything was reasonably normal, despite his heart rate being slightly elevated – certainly no sign of a stroke or anything more serious. She put his heart rate down
to anxiety and gave him what she could to calm it, but after the injection there was little else for her to do here.
    ‘You seem very distressed, Monsieur Costa. Will you be OK?’
    He looked at her. She thought for a moment that he was going to tell her something, confide in her, but then he looked away. ‘I’ll be fine,’ he said.
    She stood and packed up. As she was about to leave, she heard a sound from elsewhere in the house, like the clatter of plates. ‘You’re not alone?’ she said, moving for the
door.
    He stood and intercepted her with a burst of speed that left him breathless. ‘Yes, I am. It’s just . . .’ Again, that look of almost confiding came and went. ‘It’s
no one.’
    Was
there someone here? She leaned close to him and whispered: ‘If you need me to call the police, just nod.’
    He shook his head. Slow, steady. Sad, almost.
    She looked at him, wondering if she should push further, but his privacy had to be respected. ‘I don’t want to pry, but I’m here if you need to talk, OK? Call me, any
time.’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘You’re sure you’re all right?’
    ‘I’m sure,’ he said. ‘And thanks, Julie. See you next week.’
    When she left, it was raining. It mirrored her mood. Whatever had happened with Michel Costa, she hoped it was temporary. The man had always shone, an example to her that old age held more than
indignity and decrepitude.
    That was the problem with dealing with so many of the older patients in town, those without support from relatives, those near the end of their days and susceptible to the ravages of dementia.
She saw it too often, the accelerating decline to the inevitable. One by one, the key parts of their lives – those moments between – would fail them, and vanish, mourned like lost
children.
    Perhaps that was the advantage to being the way she was. There was little to warrant mourning.

7
    After Camille had gone to bed, Jérôme and Claire stood in restless silence in the kitchen. A few minutes later, Jérôme caught movement outside the
window. Someone was approaching the house: Pierre.
    ‘What’s he doing here?’ he asked, knowing he sounded bitter even as the words left his mouth. Claire threw him a look that left him in no doubt that she’d called him.
Jérôme followed her to the corridor, but stood back almost out of sight as Claire opened the door. Pierre smiled at her and put his hand on her arm, saying nothing.
    ‘Camille has come back,’ said Claire eagerly, grasping his hand and pulling him through the door. Jérôme was almost amused at the way Pierre’s expression changed
at once, extreme wariness and a failed attempt to mask it.
She hadn’t told him why he was invited
, Jérôme thought.
    ‘Just like you said,’ Claire continued. ‘You said He would listen to my prayers.’ Pierre looked dazed. ‘Do you want to see her? She’s in her room.’
    ‘Yes,’ Pierre managed.
    ‘She’s so beautiful,’