The Returned by Seth Patrick Page B

Thomas.
    ‘Like last time?’
    Adèle felt her stomach twist, hearing Chloé say that; so much anxiety in the girl’s voice.
Last time
, which had only been a few months back; Adèle had hardly
left her bed for a week, the depression sudden and severe.
    ‘No,’ said Thomas. ‘She’s just tired. Eat your breakfast.’
    Adèle took a breath and went in. Thomas saw her and beamed. ‘You OK?’
    ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. She walked over and hugged him.
    ‘It’s OK, you’re up now. Should I go to the church on my own?’
    ‘No, I’ll come,’ she said. ‘Just give me five minutes.’
    He lowered his voice so Chloé wouldn’t hear. ‘I can call Dr Boisseau.’
    ‘No, I’ll be fine. Please, I’m OK.’
    Thomas watched her closely, appraising her. After a few seconds he nodded, satisfied that she was being honest. Thomas understood. He’d been there that day, one of the police to give her
the terrible news; and after, he’d helped her pick up the pieces that her life had become.
    ‘Sorry I was asleep when you came in,’ she said. ‘How was your night?’
    He grimaced. ‘There was a fire. You remember Michel Costa?’
    ‘The teacher? Of course.’
    ‘His house was destroyed. Arson.’
    Her face fell. ‘Was he . . .?’
    ‘There was nobody inside,’ said Thomas. ‘And he was nowhere to be found. But not long after I got up this morning, there was a call. He’d –’ he paused, just
for a moment – ‘fallen from the dam.’ Thomas looked to the floor. ‘We, uh, don’t think anyone else was involved.’
    Jumped
. She knew that was what he’d meant to say. But there would be no talk of such things, not in this house. He was always looking out for her.
    When they got to the empty church, Father Jean-François was as warm as ever. They talked through their options for the ceremony, Chloé sitting a few pews back
playing video games with the sound turned down.
    Thomas did all the talking; Adèle found it difficult to pay full attention. She kept thinking about that day ten years ago, when she’d been left waiting in this very church. She
kept looking at where she’d stood; she could even remember exactly where the flowers had fallen.
    ‘If you decide by Thursday,’ said Father Jean-François, ‘we can include the texts.’
    ‘Thursday is fine,’ said Thomas. He turned to Adèle. ‘You’ll have time to think it over.’
    ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I don’t really like any of them.’ She could see Thomas and the priest share a concerned look.
    ‘It’s OK,’ said Thomas, giving her hand a squeeze. ‘We can work something out.’ His phone rang. He took it out and glanced at it. ‘Work,’ he said.
‘Sorry.’
    He left the church to take the call.
    ‘Mum,’ said Chloé. ‘I need the toilet.’
    ‘There are loos through there,’ said Father Jean-François, as Thomas rushed back in.
    ‘I have to go,’ said Thomas. ‘Emergency. Will you be OK without me?’
    Adèle saw the look on his face – she could tell this was something serious. She stood and put her hand on his arm. ‘Go on,’ she said. ‘I’ll fill you in on
everything later.’ He nodded, apologizing again as he hurried away.
    She looked at Father Jean-François. ‘It’s been a busy day for him,’ she said. ‘There was a fire last night, and then this morning . . . Did you hear about Monsieur
Costa?’
    ‘Yes,’ said Father Jean-François, grim. ‘I heard. And whatever has called Thomas away, I’m sure I’ll be told promptly if it’s serious enough. Sometimes
it seems that to be a priest is to be a conduit for bad news.’ He caught himself, and gave her an awkward smile that was part-wince. ‘Back to business. Were there any of the texts that
appealed more than others? I’m sure I could find some you’d like.’
    ‘I don’t know. Nothing stood out.’
    ‘Well, in that case maybe we could sing more hymns?’
    She shrugged, finding it difficult to raise any enthusiasm. ‘That might be