THE GUESTHOUSE
Abbie Frost

Copyright

HarperCollinsPublishers

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published by HarperCollinsPublishers 2019

Copyright © HarperCollinsPublishers 2019

Abbie Frost asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2019

Cover photographs © Lee Avison / Trevillion Images

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

This is entirely a work of fiction. Any references to real people, living or dead, real events, businesses, organizations and localities are intended only to give the fiction a sense of reality and authenticity. All names, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and their resemblance, if any, to real-life counterparts is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books

Source ISBN: 9780008329884

Ebook Edition © NOVEMBER 2019 ISBN: 9780008329891

Version: 2019-10-23

Dedication

To my wonderful family: those few I began with and the many more I acquired along the way

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Seven

Chapter Forty-Eight

Chapter Forty-Nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty-One

Chapter Fifty-Two

Chapter Fifty-Three

Chapter Fifty-Four

Chapter Fifty-Five

Chapter Fifty-Six

Chapter Fifty-Seven

Chapter Fifty-Eight

Chapter Fifty-Nine

Chapter Sixty

Chapter Sixty-One

Chapter Sixty-Two

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

About the Author

About the Publisher

Prologue

Hannah’s trainers skidded on the marble floor of the hall. She grabbed the wooden rail that ran along the wall to steady herself. Had to keep on her feet, had to get out.

Running on again, she strained to see through drifts of smoke. Sweat trickled down her neck in the heat. Smashed paintings and blackened chandelier fragments littered the floor. And the huge front door loomed at the end of the hall, smoke coiling around it in the gloom. She fumbled back the bolts, wrenched it open and sucked in a lungful of fresh air. Paused to listen for any sounds in the hallway behind her; any signs of life inside the house. Flames crackled and the building groaned as it began to crumble and fall apart in the heat.

Stepping outside, she pulled the door shut behind her, leaned against it and took in more clear air. The storm had calmed, but rain was still beating down onto the empty hillside that sloped away before her into the night.

She went to the heavy garden bench beside the door, gripped the cold metal of an armrest and dragged it forward. Her muscles burned, the iron legs of the bench screeched against paving stones. Hands shaking, she turned to the electronic security pad beside the door and tried to key in the code to lock it. Hurry up. Hurry up.

Then she heard something else, a noise that cut through the howling wind. Footsteps inside the house. Hard shoes beating against marble floor, coming towards the door.

She turned and started to run.

Down the long path, through the wide iron gates, groaning in the wind, and out into the green emptiness beyond. The grassy slope rose above, miles and miles of wilderness in all directions. She could still make it to safety if she moved quickly. Every step took her further from the house, its door still shut, and with every step she felt her mind becoming clearer than it had been in months. Thoughts of her mother, Ruby, came back to her then. Those shadows around her worried eyes. That look of disappointment that she couldn’t hide whenever Hannah failed, broke down or threw away a chance to make something of her life. Not even Ruby could save her now.

A gnarled root jutting from the ground caught her foot. She stumbled, regained her balance, just stopped herself from falling. She began to cry and the wind whipped her sobs away into the empty bog. ‘Help! Someone help.’

But there was no one left to help her.

She scrambled onwards, her drenched trousers clinging to her legs, her shoes still soaked through with water. Flashes of memory from the last few hours began to flicker through her mind: dripping cold walls in the pitch-black guesthouse; her helpless body sinking through murky water, struggling for air, drowning. Water filling her nose and mouth. Limbs moving in the dark. Water churning. Screams.

She glanced back over her shoulder, then ran faster, along a rutted track that cut through the bog and led down the hill towards safety. In front of her, a stretch of water blocked the path and she picked up speed. Leapt over the dark puddle but landed awkwardly. One foot slipped out from under her and she flew backwards. Slammed into the ground, her momentum carrying her onwards, slithering down through thick weeds and mud into a ditch full of icy water. She gasped, scrabbled at the earth around her. Let out another cry for help that nobody heard. Even she could barely hear it above the howling wind.

Her leg was trapped. With each jerk she could feel her trainer being sucked from her foot, the foul-smelling mud clutching at her skin.

Chin pressed into the ground, she dug in her hands and tried to yank herself free, but the icy water wouldn’t let go.

She wiped mud from her face and stared back towards The Guesthouse.

It was a sharp silhouette against the grey sky. Flames bloomed from its roof and illuminated patches of marsh across the hillside. For a moment she remembered how the building had first appeared to her. Pale, stately and beautiful, surrounded by green, and framed by trees and the distant blue hills. As her breathing began to slow, she recalled her excitement when she first clicked on the web page and saw pictures of The Guesthouse online. Its sweeping rooms full of dark-wood bookcases and roaring fires. Artistic shots taken on summer days of ivy-covered stone walls, windows glowing a welcome to visitors.

The windows were lit up now too, but with sparks of red and orange. With fire.

Was it her imagination or could she really feel the heat of the flames on her face? Hear them crackling as white smoke and black embers billowed into the sky? She watched, hypnotized: too exhausted to keep struggling.

Then the fire illuminated another, smaller silhouette. A dark figure. Moving away from the open front door and down the slope towards her. A shadow walking calmly through the rain. As if it knew she wouldn’t get far, knew she would be waiting here in the mud.

Waiting to die.

Chapter One
Six days earlier

A shriek of sound cut through the silence. Buzzing and whirring. Hannah forced her eyes open, fumbled for her phone on the bedside table, then on the floor. Finally she had it, dropped it, groped for it again. Shut up. For God’s sake shut up.

A croak. ‘Hello.’

‘Han, at last. I’ve been ringing and ringing.’ It was Lori.

Hannah pressed the phone to her ear and lay back with her eyes closed.

‘Where are you?’ Lori’s voice was harsh.

Where was she? Her eyes blurred as she tried to focus. Sunlight cut through the drawn curtains and fell across the bed. She looked at the clothes strewn around the room. Her own room.

‘I’m at home. Why? What’s wrong?’

There was a pause. ‘So you made it back all right.’ Lori sighed. ‘I feel like shit today – probably those cheap cocktails. How are you coping?’ She didn’t wait for a reply. ‘Look, I was really worried about you last night, and then you just disappeared. Who was that guy you went off with?’

A sudden flash of memory, of nausea and hot shame. Sweaty plastic seats in a taxi somewhere in London, hands groping. The stranger’s lips on her mouth, on her neck, his hands down her top and up her skirt. The taste of cheap booze and cigarettes, the taxi spinning with something like desire. Not thinking for once, not feeling bad for once.

Then the world had tilted further, her hand had gone to her mouth and she’d had to push him away. ‘Stop … I’m going to be sick.’ Swearing from the driver as he braked to a halt. The door opening and her stumbling out onto the street. Vomiting cocktail after cocktail, shot after shot. Down her skirt and her bare legs, onto her shoes.

Then the shameful walk back to the taxi that seemed to last a lifetime. Strangers in the street pointing and laughing. The desperate urge to get warm, to swallow some water, to be back home.

She’d pulled at the door handle of the taxi, but nothing happened. She tugged at it again. The driver wouldn’t even look her in the eye as he started the engine and began to pull away. Her bag flew out the window and onto the street, its contents spilling into the gutter. The guy, whose hands had groped her just moments ago, had sat dead still in the back seat, staring ahead as they drove into the distance.

Hannah swallowed and stared at the ceiling of her bedroom. Her mouth dry as she sat up and looked around for a glass of water. ‘Yeah, just some wanker. I told him to drop me off and get lost.’ She coughed into the phone. ‘Sorry I left you like that.’

Silence on the end of the line. Then Lori began to talk, starting off gently, but quickly getting into her stride. The nagging tone, one thing after another about all that Hannah had done wrong. She tuned it out after a while and pulled the covers over her cold shoulders. When she stretched her leg over the side of the bed she saw the red, angry scrape on her knee, and remembered weaving and stumbling her way home. She’d fallen through the garden gate, her knee smacking onto the path. Terrified her mum would hear. Twenty-five years old and back living with her mother. Back getting shit from her school friends.

Lori was still speaking, the words blending into one. ‘I know you’ve had a hard time, but I’m sick of it. Just sort yourself out. You can’t keep fucking up your life.’

Then, finally, a long silence that Hannah couldn’t face trying to fill. The phone felt sticky with sweat in her palm.

Lori spoke again, her voice softer now. ‘Look … you’re my best friend. We’ve known each other for years.’ Another pause. ‘But … I’m tired, Han, really really tired. I didn’t want to say this, but I’m starting to get why Ben and you broke up … why he was so angry with you.’

Hannah tried to speak but Lori drowned her out, loud again, firm. ‘Listen, until you sort yourself out, I’m done with you. I don’t want to hear from you. Don’t bother calling me. Texting me. Just leave me alone!’

Then the phone went dead. Hannah stared at it for a moment, then let it fall from her hands to the floor and watched it thump into a pile of dirty clothes. Some peace and quiet at last. Her head fell back onto the pillow and she closed her eyes.

When she woke again, all she could think about was water. And something to still the hammering in her head. In the bathroom she put her mouth under the tap and washed down a couple of paracetamol. Her knees shook as she sat on the edge of the bath, the floor swaying beneath her, thinking back over her conversation with Lori. Why Ben and you broke up … why he was so angry with you.

The bathroom door rattled. ‘Hannah. Are you all right?’ Her mum.

‘Yeah, I’m fine. Just an upset stomach.’

Footsteps in the corridor as her mum walked away. In the mirror Hannah saw last night’s make-up smeared around her mouth and eyes. Her stiff and unwashed hair hadn’t been trimmed or coloured for ages. It looked yellow rather than blonde, the roots dark. No wonder the job interview yesterday had been such a disaster. It was a surprise she’d even got as far as an interview this time.

She stepped into the shower and turned the power on full. Stood in the hot water for as long as she could, letting it numb her throbbing head, then dressed and went downstairs. Better go and face it.

Her mum, Ruby, was sitting at the kitchen table with a coffee pot in front of her. As always there were papers and a laptop open next to her. Hannah poured herself some coffee and sat opposite, pulled out her phone and began to scroll.

‘Morning.’ Ruby took off her reading glasses and pushed back her dark hair. It was streaked with grey now, but to Hannah she looked the same as always. Except those tiny new creases around her mouth and eyes, the ones that Hannah had caused. There was no denying it: Hannah’s lifestyle over the past weeks and months had aged her mother.

Ruby reached for her hand and it felt so warm and familiar that Hannah had to look away. ‘How did the interview go?’

Her throat felt raw. ‘It was all right. They’ll let me know in a week or so.’ She remembered the way the panel had looked at her as she stammered through their questions. The silence while she muttered her thanks and stumbled towards the door. She still couldn’t meet Ruby’s eye. ‘I didn’t really fancy it though.’

Ruby sighed. ‘Have you seen anything that you do fancy?’ Hannah gritted her teeth, but her mum continued speaking. ‘And what time did you get in last night?’

‘Mum.’ A deep breath, trying not to let it turn into a sigh. ‘About one, I think.’

Ruby shifted, closed the laptop and began loading papers into her bag. Hannah stood up and walked to the sink, staring out at the immaculate lawn and the freshly painted brown fence. Her mother had probably been lying awake last night, listening for the key in the lock, thinking about all the things that could have happened to her daughter. Even though Ruby had worked right through Hannah’s childhood, she had always been there. Always came to school plays, sports days, parents’ events. Took time off when Hannah was sick and read to her every single night.

The years of hard work had all paid off and her mum was now a successful financial consultant, working long hours, but still finding the time to keep this house spotless – and to worry about her daughter’s life. Hannah knew she could still rely on her; she just didn’t want to. Because Ruby couldn’t help her now. There are some things that even your mum can’t cure.

‘Hannah, are you listening to me?’ Ruby was fiddling with the handle of her bag. ‘I don’t think you’re ready to start a new job yet. It’s too soon. Why not have a couple of weeks off?’ A stiff little smile. ‘Take a holiday. I can help out if you can’t afford it.’

There was a pause and eventually Ruby sighed. ‘After what happened with Ben … you’re probably still in shock. That’s why you’re behaving like this.’

Hannah turned back to the garden and took a few cautious sips of her coffee. She felt her stomach begin to churn and tipped her mug out into the sink. Watched the brown liquid swill down the drain, then moved towards the door. ‘I’d better dry my hair.’

‘I’ll make some food,’ Ruby called after her. Hannah wanted to say she couldn’t eat anything, wanted to look her in the eye and tell her how she really felt: how guilt was eating away at her insides, making her drink more and more. How she wished she could have kept the flat that she and Ben had shared. How she still cried herself to sleep thinking about him.

Instead she went slowly upstairs, feeling a hundred years old. Ruby was right: she couldn’t face the thought of a new job. She’d lost the last one because she’d been arriving later and later, hungover most of the time: making mistakes. And because she didn’t care enough to try. Didn’t care about anything.

The next day, Hannah tried ringing Lori four times and left messages, but there was no response. By evening, she felt abandoned, like she was back in the playground at school and all the popular girls were whispering about her. But Lori wasn’t like everyone else, she was always there. Hannah locked her bedroom door and sat on the bed, her hand shaking as she held the phone, dialled the number she knew by heart, listened to the ringing until it went to voicemail.

‘Lori … it’s me again. Listen, I’m sorry. I’m going to fix this … I just need some time to get my head together.’ She swallowed. ‘You’re my best friend.’

The only one she had left. Everyone else hated her almost as much as she hated herself. She ended the call and wiped her eyes on her sleeve.

Her phone vibrated in her hand and for one second she thought it was Lori, calling her back to say sorry and to tell her it was all going to be all right. Or maybe it was another hate-filled message from one of Ben’s friends. But she had turned off notifications for Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter, so it couldn’t be that. She unlocked her screen and found the tiny red notification next to the image of a house on her screen, an app she hardly ever used: Cloud BNB.

Of course: the holiday to County Mayo in Ireland. Ben had persuaded her to book a room at The Guesthouse, a beautiful country home, and she had forgotten all about it. They were supposed to go together.

Hannah clicked on the message from the host: Henry Laughton. His photo showed a solid-looking man wearing a Barbour jacket, standing at the foot of a green hill with a muddy dog at his side.

Hi Hannah and Ben,

I hope you’re looking forward to your stay at The Guesthouse. As promised the kitchen will be stocked with enough food and drink to last the whole of your stay. Fallon village has a small local store for any other essentials and there is a supermarket fifteen miles away if you need anything unusual or exotic.

As this is self-check-in, I may not be there to meet you. Entry is by key code – a second code will let you into your own room – and you may arrive any time after 2pm. Please make yourselves at home.

Other rooms for use by guests are the large eat-in kitchen, the drawing room and the library. So plenty of space to spread out and be solitary or sociable as you prefer.

She finished reading and closed her eyes. Couldn’t stop herself remembering when the offer email had first arrived. Sitting at her desk with Ben beside her and her life intact.

She had pointed at the email from Cloud BNB on her screen. He looked over her shoulder, his head close to hers. Hannah clicked through to the website and they both read the description. The Guesthouse was owned by Preserve the Past: a charity dedicated to restoring historic Irish buildings.

They moved on to the photographs. The luxurious bedrooms with large windows facing sweeping countryside views. Roaring fires and stone floors. Wide-angled shots that made the rooms seem enormous. The building itself had classical lines and some original architectural features inside.

Ben leaned over her shoulder and clicked back to the offer email. ‘Wow, so cool – and cheap. We should go. Can we go? It’s perfect, and a great area for walking too.’

She laughed. ‘OK, well you’ve managed to put me off completely now.’

‘The offer is for the opening week. We’d be the first visitors, so they’re throwing in all sorts of extras. Food and drink in the fridge, logs for the open fires, free run of the house.’ He kissed the back of her neck and slid his hands down to her breasts, whispering in her ear. ‘We might be the only guests. Imagine cuddling up in front of a roaring fire miles from anywhere.’

Hannah continued to look through the photos. ‘I love the building, but it’s kind of … outdoorsy. And …’ She touched the screen. ‘There are five visitor bedrooms, so it could be packed.’

‘We’ll just take a bottle to our room and lock ourselves in for the week.’ Ben kissed her again and again. Short sharp kisses on her neck on her face, her lips, and then everywhere and they were soon making love on the sofa.

An hour later they booked the best bedroom on offer and organized their flights.

Hannah bit her lip and killed the app. She was due to arrive in Ireland in two days’ time. She couldn’t go – there was no way – she should reply to the host and cancel. Pulling on a jumper and leggings, she forced herself to go downstairs.

Her mum had gone to do some work in the study and a pot of pasta simmered on the stove. At the kitchen window Hannah poured herself a glass of water with a shaking hand. Outside in the garden, autumn had crept up without her noticing, the trees heavy with red, orange, and golden leaves, their colours glinting in the evening sun.

There was a reason she had chosen County Mayo. It was probably why the offer email had been sent to her in the first place, after she had spent long nights trawling through Cloud BNB, zooming in on Fallon village, refreshing the page, waiting for a sign to appear there like a beacon. It was a reason she didn’t want to think about now, something that she had only ever told Ben.

What would Ben say if he could see her now? She could remember the smell of his aftershave, the way he held her at night when she awoke screaming from a nightmare.

The way he looked at her when he found out that she was cheating on him.

She took a sip of water, trying to ignore her shaking hand. When Ben realized what Hannah had done, their argument had spiralled into a fight that ended their relationship. She’d tried to make him understand, promised it would never happen again, but it had been no good. He’d stormed out into the night, and that had been the last time she would ever see him.

Hannah looked around the kitchen at the immaculate surfaces. Her mother’s constant, almost oppressive worry, this house like a pristine cage. Maybe she should go to Ireland, to get away from it all. She watched a magpie hop down onto the lawn and begin to peck at something dead in the grass. Her mum and Lori would certainly be relieved to see the back of her.

Everyone would.

Because Ben was dead, and it was her fault.

Chapter Two

She regretted it as soon as her plane landed. She’d left London in sparkling sunshine and arrived at Ireland West Airport to drizzle that turned to rain. And it got worse as the taxi headed for Fallon. Water flooded down the cab windows, the frantic swish, swish of the wipers failing to drown out the driver’s annoying country music.

At least he didn’t speak to her and he held his thick red neck so stiffly it was obvious he wouldn’t welcome any chatty comments from the back seat. She tried to relax as green mile after green mile sped by, distorted by the streams of grey water. It didn’t matter what the weather was like: she wasn’t here to enjoy herself, just to get some respite, to get away from social media and from London’s clubs and bars. Ben had encouraged her to make this trip and had paid half the cost. At least this was one tiny way in which she wasn’t going to let him down.

She must have dozed off, because the cab door suddenly opened, and the driver was standing staring in at her. The rain had eased to a thin colourless veil, as if a net curtain hung in front of the fields.

The fields that stretched out for miles on both sides.

She sat up in her seat and looked around. They were parked in a layby in the middle of nowhere. ‘Sorry, excuse me, I think there’s been a mistake. I asked for The Guesthouse.’

The man nodded.

‘It’s on an app called Cloud BNB. It’s where I’m staying.’ She pulled out her phone. ‘I can show you a picture.’

He said nothing. His wide, ruddy face expressionless as he gave the screen one fleeting glance.

‘It used to be called Fallon House.’

He pulled the door wider, not looking at her. ‘This is as far as I go.’

It must be a joke, probably some sort of local prank. She swallowed. ‘I want The Guesthouse.’

He turned away so that, with his accent, she struggled to make out the words. ‘Take the path over the fields. Ye can see it there.’ He pointed along a muddy track towards a low range of hills. ‘Keep going straight.’

‘But where’s the village?’

He gestured ahead. ‘Along this road. ’Bout five or six miles.’

‘The website said the house was near the village,’ she said weakly.

He ignored her and walked back, opened the boot and slung her case down onto the roadside. She had no choice. She and Ben hadn’t intended to bring a car, so neither of them had thought to check whether the place was accessible by road.

Cold rain dripped down the neck of her parka as she shrugged on her rucksack and pulled up her hood, staring at her trainers and wishing she had brought water-resistant footwear. It was only afternoon but felt like a gloomy winter evening. Bleak, nothing like the sunlit hills and glittering streams the website had promised.

The driver closed his door, impatient now. He pointed again. ‘That’s the way.’

The track led off through puddles and muddy ridges towards the hills. She looked at her stupid wheeled suitcase. How the hell was she going to drag it through all that?

She fumbled for her purse. ‘Could you carry my case for me?’

He laughed, but there was a flash of sympathy in his pale eyes. ‘Sorry, love, I’ve got another fare in the village.’

And then he was gone. She stared at the taxi as it drove into the distance, its wheels kicking up wet spray from the road.

Shivering in the cold, she walked across to the footpath. As she trudged through the mud, half-pulling, half-carrying her case, she thought about the bottle of vodka she’d bought at the airport. A nice vodka and Coke: that would be her reward when she got to the house. If she ever did.

At the end of the first field, she stopped under the shelter of a tree for a breather. It couldn’t be far from here. She dumped her case on the floor and pulled out her phone to call up a map. One bar of signal. Her finger hovered over the Facebook icon on her screen. This was exactly what she had told herself not to do on her holiday. Why she had turned off all her notifications and promised herself to stay away from social media. But after a moment, she opened the app and sat down on her case with a sigh. Just one final look.

She deleted two friend requests from random guys she vaguely remembered chatting to in a bar. Then felt the familiar stab of pain as she navigated her way to Ben’s wall. Before she could stop herself, she’d clicked on his profile pictures, scrolled through his albums. She knew them all in perfect detail.

Her favourite picture of Ben filled the screen, but when she went to reload the page, it froze. His eyes were replaced by a slowly buffering circle, then he disappeared. She sat there for a moment, watching the whirling circle, thinking back to the exact moment when she had found out that Ben had died.

It was just two days after the argument that had ended their relationship. She had been on her laptop at home, scrolling through Facebook, when a direct message had flashed up at the bottom of her screen:

Check out Ben’s wall. Hope you’re pleased with yourself. Bitch.

She had shrugged and told herself it would be pictures of Ben with another woman. Some sort of sick pay-back to make her jealous.

But it had been something far worse. A memorial wall, hundreds of posts about Ben’s death. Endless messages of grief and anger. Her boyfriend was gone and everyone was blaming her.

She had read message after message, choking on her tears. Ben had been knocked off his bike two days after he found out she’d cheated on him. Two days during which he’d stayed at his mate, Charlie’s, ignored her messages and refused to talk. Then he’d just stood up from the table, went out for a bike ride and never came back.

Hannah swallowed and wiped the rain from her phone’s screen. Couldn’t stop herself from reloading Ben’s Facebook page and trawling down through the messages. There it was, the comment Charlie had left on the day Ben died:

After what happened he was so upset. Said he needed to clear his head and went out on his bike. I never saw him again.

Seven people had liked the comment and someone had added a reply:

If it wasn’t for his so-called girlfriend he would still be alive. He wanted to die because of what she did.

The page buffered again. Hannah clenched her phone until her knuckles went white. After the accident, the car driver said he hadn’t seen Ben until he rode right out in front of him. And the police found that his bike lights were switched off. Charlie gave evidence about Ben’s mood, his drinking, the breakup, and the police believed it.

Believed that Ben had wanted to die.

Lori and Ruby – the only people still talking to Hannah – kept telling her she needed to stop looking at social media altogether. Stop torturing herself. Well, this holiday might be her opportunity.

Because the Facebook page had whirled to a halt and then died again. And at the top of the screen a red cross cut through the signal bar. Perfect – no reception. She turned the phone off and on again, stood up and waved it around above her head. Still nothing. And nothing for it, but to start trudging again.

It seemed like hours later when, soaked and exhausted and cradling her case in her arms because one of its wheels had broken, she spotted a wonky signpost stuck into the mud at the side of the path.

THE GUESTHOUSE.

At least it existed. It wasn’t all some grand joke dreamed up by the taxi driver. She put down her case and looked back the way she had come. Mist had settled on the fields and the slope above her, shrouding the road from view.

A movement, something grey, flitting across the edge of her vision. She turned a hundred and eighty degrees, her phone clutched in her hand. Nothing but mist and silent hills. She listened hard for the sound of footsteps, for any indication that she was no longer alone. There was a tiny noise from the bank of fog on the hill above her, as if someone had kicked loose a scattering of stones.

Shit. She turned on her torch app with shaking fingers and waited, totally still. Blood rushing in her ears. Could you still phone 999, even with no signal? Was it 999 in Ireland?

She shone the pathetic beam of light into the fog and walked carefully towards the noise. It was all going to be fine. This was just her overactive imagination, all the stress of the past few weeks catching up with her. There was nobody for miles, for God’s sake, nothing to worry about.

Another sound stopped her dead.

There was something. A rustle in the grass, some dark shape moving along the ridge, the same flicker of movement in the corner of her eye. This time she spun fast, phone raised, and gasped.

Chapter Three

A blur of grey flew towards her and she choked on a yell, tripped and landed heavily in the mud.

The animal stopped to look at her.

It was a cat. Just a cat. She picked herself up and tried to brush the mud off her jeans, glaring at the cat as it ran in front of her, a strip of muscle and fur heading the way she was going: along the rutted track and up the hill.

‘Great – my own guide.’ Her voice sounded thin in the silence.

She picked up her bag and started walking again, following a rutted track through the hills. A few minutes later, the mist cleared enough for her to make out a distant shape in the gloom, a dark shadow hemmed in by trees. Thank God, this had to be the place.

The first thing she was going to do when she arrived was log into the wifi and give the host a piece of her mind. What sort of website doesn’t mention that the house is miles from anywhere? Inaccessible by road? And surely it was supposed to be near the village.

Perhaps it wasn’t all bad, though. It would be peaceful, which was what she needed, and Henry Laughton’s message had mentioned a kitchen fully stocked with food and drink. So there was likely to be wine. And tomorrow she’d walk to the village, start to build a picture of the area, try to find someone who might be able to help her. Might have answers to the burning questions that had drawn her to this godforsaken area in the first place.

As she drew nearer, the building rose up from the middle of a cluster of trees, just as beautiful as its photographs online, even shrouded in fog and drizzle. She knew about architecture, used to love it, and this was a perfect example of classical Georgian, with massive wrought iron gates and a wide gravel path leading up to the huge door. She guessed this path had once carried on all the way back to the road.

She knew one thing for sure: Henry Laughton would have to improve access if he wanted to get any decent five-star reviews. He certainly wasn’t going to get one from her, no matter how good the house was inside.

Standing at the gate, she stared up at the perfectly symmetrical building, its front door flanked by tall windows set into pale walls. Lights glowed inside and she could just make out a figure looking down from one of the top windows. Someone there to greet her.

But as she walked up the drive, still clutching her broken case, she noticed that the front door was pitted with dents and marred by patches of flaking black paint. The window frames were peeling, too, and a slimy green stain ran down the wall.

The figure still loomed in the window, as if it had been standing there forever.

Hannah shivered, suddenly aware of the silence and space all around her. She squinted back along the muddy track that wound its way down the slope, overlooked by nothing but bare peaks, and felt suddenly tiny and insignificant, lost in a sea of hills. For a moment she thought about turning around, calling a taxi and driving back to the comfort of a city, crawling into her mother’s arms, but she was too cold and it would be dark soon.

She remembered her entry code and spotted the keypad on the wall beside the door. Dragged out her phone and tapped in the number. A buzz and a click. The keypad lit up, a greeting flashing in green across the screen:

Welcome to The Guesthouse. You have checked in. Enjoy your stay.

The great black door opened onto a spacious hall full of warmth and light. A marble floor stretched away towards a sweeping staircase in the middle of the room, with landings branching off to either side. A row of paintings hung along one wall. Strange dark pictures that seemed to be of shadowy figures that might have been animals or people, she couldn’t tell. Underneath sat a small leather sofa that looked fairly new.

The website had mentioned that Preserve the Past was still renovating a number of their properties, but she’d assumed work on the interior of The Guesthouse was finished. The slightly rundown exterior wouldn’t matter if the rest of the place was like this. And if the picture of her guest room wasn’t fake, then she would have no complaints about that. Just about the horrible trek from the road.

The second key code would get her into her room. And she was tempted to head straight there, but she should first meet the host, the caretaker, or whoever it was she’d seen waiting for her at the window.

‘Hello?’ Her voice sounded hollow in the cavernous hallway. She walked to the bottom of the stairs. ‘Hello, anybody there?’

The sound echoed. Silence seemed to settle into every dark corner of the house, and a cold bead of sweat trickled down her spine. The building was empty. That shape at the window must have been a curtain or just a shadow.

With another quick glance around she kicked off her white New Balance trainers. At least they had been white. Now they were covered in slimy mud, bits of grass, and soaked through with water. Ben would probably have suggested she buy hiking boots, but Ben wasn’t here any more.

She hurried upstairs, her trainers in one hand, not wanting to ruin the soft new carpet. Here were the bedroom doors, each with a brass number plate and a neat keypad, all freshly painted in gleaming white. The two rooms at the top of the stairs were numbers five and six. The website had only offered five rooms to rent, but it looked as if there were at least ten.

Her room was number one, right at the far end of what should probably be called the west wing. There was another door next to it, but it was narrow and unnumbered. A storeroom or something similar perhaps. And right at the end of the corridor a tall window. She peered out of it and saw that it faced the gates. This could be the window she imagined she’d seen the figure standing at, but there was no one here now.

Looking through the glass she could see that muddy track snaking away through the rough green grass, a pale sun low in the sky, peeking through the clouds. She had got here just in time. Wouldn’t like to navigate that in the dark.

Outside her own room she tapped in the second code, the floorboards creaking under her feet. With a final glance back along the corridor, she told herself to ignore the feeling that she was being watched. Even if there were no other guests, a week alone would do her good. Make her less jumpy. She could exercise, stay off the booze. She’d soon get used to the isolation, to the high ceilings and the long, silent corridors.

But as soon as she was inside, she locked the door behind her, trying to calm the heavy beat of her heart.

The room was spacious and light. A bed stood against one wall with the bathroom next to it. Opposite, a wardrobe and an enlarged photograph of a bay with a stormy sea. Close to the door stood a chest of drawers with a kettle and drinks on top.

Through the huge window she could look down on what once must have been a pretty rose garden at the side of the house. Now it was just a mass of bare stems and tangled undergrowth. The ground rose then dipped away into the distance towards grey-blue hills on the horizon and, beyond them, a strip of the Atlantic Ocean.

It would all have been so different if Ben was with her. She swallowed and dumped her case by the window. Threw her rucksack onto the floor, then remembered the vodka and pulled out the bottle, staring at the label. She deserved all of this: the mud, the loneliness, the miserable walk through the fog and rain. The shittier the better. Keep it coming. The thing to remember was: stop thinking about Ben. He was gone and she had to carry on with her life.

The en-suite bathroom was spacious with a row of expensive-looking toiletries and a pile of soft white towels on a shelf behind the door. She took a glass from beside the sink and poured in a slug of vodka. Topped it up with Coke, swallowed a long gulp and sighed.

Once she had changed out of her muddy clothes and spread out on the comfortable double bed, she began to relax. This wasn’t too bad. A few more gulps. She checked her phone, watched the buffering circle slowly rotate on her screen. Still no signal. Then she spotted a white card on the bedside table with the wifi code.

When WhatsApp loaded up, she sent a message to her mum and Lori.

I made it! The place is perfect. No phone reception, but that suits me. Looking forward to lots of long walks and feeling better already.

Obviously neither of them wanted to speak to her anyway, but at least they couldn’t complain that she’d left them worrying.

Her phone dinged with a message. Henry Laughton.

I hope you have arrived safely at The Guesthouse and had a good journey. A hearty welcome from all of us at Preserve the Past.

Do contact me with any problems or queries and I’ll arrange for someone to deal with them.

You should find toiletries and tea/coffee etc in your room, but there are further supplies in the kitchen. Take whatever you need.

Enjoy your stay.

She swallowed the rest of her vodka and tapped out a reply. Aimed for the right passive-aggressive tone. She had been very surprised about the lack of road access to the property and felt this should have been made clearer on the website. Her clothes and shoes were ruined. There was nothing to be done about it, of course, but she thought it might help to have some feedback for future guests. She hit send.

For the first time in ages she was hungry, so she pulled on thick socks and looked out into the corridor. Hesitated for a minute or two, listening. Not a sound, except her own breathing and the gentle ticking of a clock somewhere. Then she forced herself along to the top of the stairs and leaned over the balustrade to peer into the hall below. Next to the main door someone had left some wellies and a pair of walking boots. Other guests must have arrived, because she could hear the comforting hum of voices downstairs.

She padded down. Put a smile on her face, pulled out a stick of gum from her pocket to mask the smell of booze. She had chewed a lot of the stuff recently, whenever she was at home. The voices were coming from a big door at the back and to the right of the stairs. A dark tapestry, showing some kind of hunting scene, hung on the wall beside it. Pushing it open she found herself in a huge country kitchen.

Seated at the massive oak table, fiddling with a phone, was a guy who looked about her own age. Behind his black-rimmed glasses, his eyes gleamed as he flashed a white smile.

‘Hello. Good to see you. Come in, come in.’ He stood and held out his hand. ‘I’m Mohammad – Mo – and that’s my dad, Sandeep.’

He nodded to an elderly man standing in the corner. Hannah took Mo’s hand and tried not to think about the awkward handshake at the end of her most recent disaster of an interview.

When Sandeep also stretched out his hand she could see the likeness. But while Mo was smiling, his father looked unhappy, angry even. He was holding a cloth and seemed to be cleaning the warm Aga.

‘So, you’re not the hosts?’ Hannah asked.

Mo laughed. ‘I wish. No, my dad’s just a cleaning fanatic.’ He turned to Sandeep. ‘Come on, Dad, give it a rest. This is meant to be a holiday.’ But his father ignored him.

‘How long have you been here?’ Hannah thought of the shadow at the window when she first arrived.

‘About half an hour. And you?’

‘An hour or so I think.’ So it couldn’t have been them. ‘Had a proper nightmare walking all the way from the road.’

Hannah went to the fridge. Milk, cheese, butter. Some cold meats, lots of vegetables, orange and apple juice. But no wine. She sighed. ‘I’m surprised the host didn’t warn us about the trek across that bog. My new trainers are ruined.’

Mo looked down at her socks. ‘Me and Dad like to walk, but yeah, it was a long way.’

An old-fashioned coffee maker started to steam on the Aga. Sandeep filled two mugs with coffee and pushed them towards her without a word. His eyes were clouded. With annoyance, anger, or something else, she couldn’t guess. She sat beside Mo and passed him a coffee, all the time aware of Sandeep stooped in the corner, wiping the worktops, fussing with the Aga again.

Mo blew on the mug and took a sip. ‘For a while we thought we might be the only guests, stuck out here on our own. It’s nice to have company.’

He smiled at her across the table. It was a shy smile, but very warm. ‘So what brings you all the way out here?’

It was too direct, although he couldn’t possibly know that. She paused, not wanting to mention Ben, but struggling to think of a plausible lie. In the end the truth just seemed to come out.

‘My father …’ She swallowed. ‘He used to live in this part of Ireland. He died five years ago.’ Hannah could feel her jaw tightening. She never talked about him. What was she doing telling a complete stranger?

‘So you’ve been here before?’ Sandeep had turned to face her, his voice loud in the silence.

‘Dad?’ Mo glanced at Sandeep then leaned across the table. ‘Don’t mind him, he doesn’t want to be here.’ Mo had a strange accent that Hannah couldn’t place. London certainly, but something else too.

She glanced at Sandeep and sipped her coffee. ‘No, my parents separated when I was young and then my dad died. I never had a chance to get to know him properly.’ She turned the mug around in her hands. ‘When I saw this place on Cloud BNB, I thought it would be nice to see where he lived. I guess I wanted to find out a bit more about him.’ It was the truth as far as it went.

Sandeep turned towards her. ‘You came on your own?’ Once more that disapproving tone. And Hannah saw a flash of Ben laughing, shaking back his fair hair and leaning in to kiss her. Come on, you know you want to go. Can’t keep putting it off. We’ll have a great time.

She heard Mo mutter something under his breath. It could have been, ‘Sorry,’ but she was damned if she was going to let a moody old man get to her.

She looked at Sandeep. ‘I’m interested in the house. I studied architecture and used to work at an architectural practice.’ That was all he was going to get. ‘What about you guys? Why did you decide to come here?’

‘I didn’t. It was his idea.’ Sandeep turned away and continued to scrub the kitchen surfaces. ‘This place is filthy. It’s going to take me all evening to get it clean. And my clothes are still soaking wet from the walk.’

Hannah looked away and wondered why someone would be so unhappy about their holiday. Mo moved around the table to sit beside her and put his phone between them, pushing his glasses further up his nose with one finger. ‘I’m interested in the house too, but the history. I’ve just finished my master’s in history. Have you read about this place? There’s some cool stuff on Preserve the Past website.’

Without waiting for an answer, he tapped his phone and held it up for her to read.

This property was originally called Fallon House after the local village of Fallon. Built in 1763 for the Anglo-Irish Lord Fallon, it remained in the family until the death of the most recent Lady Fallon. Preserve the Past then acquired it and changed the name from Fallon House to The Guesthouse. Preserve the Past is a registered charity and all the proceeds from guest rentals go towards continued renovations.

Mo frowned. He flicked back and forth between pages. ‘Weird. I swear there was more here when I looked before, some fascinating background about the area.’ After a few seconds, he gave up and put down his phone. ‘Apparently some bits of the house are closed off to visitors, because they’re still being renovated. When there’s enough money, I guess. These things cost a fortune.’

Sandeep scrubbed harder at the Aga.

‘Well the outside’s a bit rundown, but it looks pretty good in here. The entrance hall is beautiful.’ Hannah smiled at Mo.

‘It’s incredible. Have you seen—’

One of the cupboard doors slammed shut with a bang. They both jumped and turned to look at Sandeep.

He flung down his cloth and stared at them, his eyes bright. ‘Stop it. Stop it.’ He coughed and put a hand to his mouth. ‘This place … it’s not right. There’s something about it … It isn’t safe.’ There was a stunned silence. ‘I know you think I’m an idiot, Mo, but you need to listen to me.’ He stabbed a finger at his son. ‘I’m leaving tomorrow, and you should too.’

Hannah blinked. She tried to think of something to say, as Sandeep paced back and forth across the kitchen. After a moment he pulled up a chair and sat down heavily. There was a pause before he began to speak, softly but with an intensity that kept Hannah rooted to her seat.

‘I’m not joking.’ He glanced between them. ‘There’s just … It’s a horrible building. It just feels all wrong somehow, dark and cold … I don’t know, like something bad happened here.’ His knuckles were white on the edge of the table.

‘Come on, Dad,’ Mo tried to smile. ‘It’s fine. No one has lived here for years. It’s been completely done up and—’

‘I don’t care! I don’t care what renovations have been done. I don’t care about its architecture. We should never have come.’

Chapter Four

Hannah stared at Mo as Sandeep stormed from the room and the door slammed behind him. Mo looked down at his phone, unable to meet her eye.

After a pause, she said, ‘Is he all right?’

Mo didn’t answer, and Hannah found herself glancing out of the kitchen window towards a small brick-built outhouse that crouched in the darkness under the trees. She swallowed.

When Mo finally spoke, his voice was croaky. ‘I’m sorry about him.’ He took off his glasses and rubbed them on his shirt. ‘He’s just tired after that long walk, and he hasn’t been sleeping. He’s got this cough and his doctor said he needs a rest, so I booked the holiday. Thought he’d love it.’ A little laugh. ‘He used to live in the area, you know. Came here from Pakistan, married Mum and they stayed for years. I was born near here too, lived in Ireland until I was fifteen.’

Hannah tried to smile. ‘That explains the accent.’

‘Yeah, I had a full-on Irish brogue when I arrived in London. Got bullied at school and managed to get rid of most of it. But I’ve never been as happy as I was when we lived here. Still feel Irish, I guess.’

He glanced at the closed door. ‘Since Mum’s death my dad has been really low. Hasn’t bothered about anything. I’ve been popping in to check his post and emails and I spotted this offer from Cloud BNB. Guessed he must have been thinking about visiting. So I decided to book it as a surprise.’

Then his smile faded. ‘It was a mistake to come. At first he refused, didn’t want to go to Ireland at all, but I kept on until he finally agreed. It was all going fine until we arrived and started walking down that bloody track. He was confused, kept saying we were going the wrong way. We carried on, him silent the whole time, and when he saw the house, he just lost it. Flipped out. Said this wasn’t The Guesthouse; it was all some kind of joke. They’d changed the name just to fool people.’

‘Does he know this place then?’

‘Apparently, but he wouldn’t talk about it. Wouldn’t say why he hates it so much. Just kept going on and on about its bad reputation, how it feels all wrong.’ Mo tried to smile.

Hannah thought about the figure at the window when she first arrived. They lapsed into silence and listened to the wind tapping against the kitchen window.

Something tickled at her ankle and she jerked away, her leg hitting the table with a bang. The grey cat stepped out from underneath and Hannah laughed nervously. ‘Stupid thing.’ But when she picked it up and tried to put it on her lap, the cat leapt down and went to lie by the Aga.

‘Knows its own mind,’ Mo said. ‘It was crying at the window when we came in here. I tried to open the back door.’ He gestured behind them. ‘But it’s locked and I couldn’t find a key. Had to let it in through the front.’

They lapsed into silence and watched the cat lick each of its back legs in turn.

Then there was a loud buzz and a click from the hall, and the front door swung open letting in a gust of wind.

‘I hope this is our host.’ Hannah pulled back her chair and they both stood. ‘He’s got some explaining to do.’

They walked into the hall and stood awkwardly by the stairs. But the figure who stepped through the door was nothing like the burly man from the website.

A stunning young woman walked in – tall, dressed all in black, her short hair almost white. A long strand hanging over one eye. Like Hannah, this girl had dark roots and streaks, but they were blue and purple: a fashion statement rather than laziness.

The new guest stood at the door looking at them. For a brief moment an expression of something like distress passed over her face, before it was replaced by an irritated frown.

She slung a rucksack onto the floor by the door and pulled off her black Doc Martens. Left them by the walking boots and wiped a muddy hand on her trousers.

‘Hi, I’m Lucy.’

Her fingers were covered in rings, her ears crowded with studs. A sapphire-coloured stone glittered on the side of her nose, highlighting her high cheekbones and huge blue eyes.

Mo seemed to recover himself and stepped forward. ‘I’m Mo and this is Hannah.’ His Irish twang came on stronger. ‘I’m here with my dad and Hannah’s on her own like you.’ Making sure Lucy knew they weren’t a couple, Hannah guessed. ‘We were having some coffee in the kitchen.’ They all headed through, sitting at the table again.

Lucy stretched out her long legs. ‘Bit of a walk, eh. I thought it was supposed to be near the village.’ She stood up and went to the fridge. Then looked in the freezer and opened a couple of cupboards. ‘No booze either. That’s a bummer.’

Hannah felt her spirits rise: someone she could get along with. She considered mentioning her vodka upstairs but thought better of it. ‘I’m going to walk to the village in the morning and find a shop.’

‘Good idea, I’ll come with you.’ Lucy smiled, but when the buzzer sounded again, she flashed an anxious glance at the door.

Raised voices drifted out from the hallway and, after a moment, three people entered the kitchen. A little family, bringing with them gusts of ice-cold air. The woman, arms crossed over her fancy white top, gave them a stony look. ‘I hope one of you is the host.’

Hannah sighed. ‘’Fraid not. There’s no sign of him. Looks like he’s avoiding us. The website did say it was self-check-in, though, so the host doesn’t have to be here. That’s why we have the electronic keypad—’

‘It’s ridiculous,’ the woman interrupted. ‘We’ve had to park miles away on the main road and stumble down a dirt track – in the dark – and with a child too.’

The teenage girl went red and turned away from them. The poor kid was probably around fourteen.

Her father gave them a warm smile. ‘Yes, well. I’m Liam and this is my wife, Rosa, and daughter, Chloe.’ His smile got bigger. ‘Excuse Rosa, it’s been a long walk.’

Rosa’s voice was still sharp. ‘And I don’t like the thought of our car out there in the middle of nowhere.’

‘Ours is too,’ Mo said. ‘They should be all right in a place like this. Not much crime around.’ He gestured to the Aga. ‘There’s coffee on the stove.’

‘None for us.’ Rosa looked at Chloe and Liam. ‘We should find our room and have a shower. Come on.’

But Liam stepped towards the Aga. ‘You go on. I could do with a hot drink.’

Rosa stared at him for a moment, then strode out, Chloe trailing after her. The girl glanced back at Lucy as she reached the door.

Liam poured himself some coffee and held up the pot. ‘Anyone else?’ Hannah and Mo shook their heads.

‘I’ll just have some juice, thanks.’ Lucy went to the fridge.

Hannah concentrated on her own mug but noticed Liam and Mo sneaking glances at Lucy.

Liam was tall and strong-looking with sandy hair thinning at the front. He had a warm Scottish lilt to match his warm smile. He sat at the end of the table, leaned back and took a gulp of coffee.

‘So, what brings you all here?’ His eyes flicked along Lucy’s legs.

Lucy raised her glass of orange juice and laughed. ‘You first, Liam.’

‘We don’t live far away, actually, but we’re in the middle of a house move and having some problems. Sold our place and bought a new-build. But the work has been delayed – it’s been a complete nightmare to be honest – so we’re marking time here. Rosa found this place and I negotiated us a deal. A pretty good one, too.’ He flashed a white-toothed smile at Lucy. ‘I don’t know how much you lot are paying, but apparently we can stay as long as we like.’

There was an awkward pause, then Lucy put her glass down on the worktop. ‘Moving house is always a bloody nightmare.’ She looked out the window. ‘I’m dying for a cigarette. Might head out for one in the garden.’

Hannah had given up a few years ago, but over the past few months the old craving had crept back into her life and now she felt its familiar stirring. ‘Can I steal one? I’ll get some more tomorrow.’

Lucy nodded, and they walked out the front door.

The rain had stopped and the dark starless sky stretched away towards the horizon. Still and black, darker than any night Hannah had known in England. Lucy flicked a switch by the front door and a dim lamp buzzed on, illuminating the grey cat as it snaked past them and ran along the patio into the night.

They sat on a big iron bench, and Lucy lit her cigarette. ‘How long you staying?’

She raised her lighter to the cigarette in Hannah’s lips and clicked, the flame flickering in Lucy’s eyes as Hannah sucked in a lungful of smoke. She tried not to cough. ‘Just a week. You?’

‘Maybe two,’ she laughed. ‘But I’m not so sure now.’

Hannah took another drag and laughed. ‘I’m sure Liam would like you to stay.’

Lucy grimaced. ‘Great, he’s just what I need.’

‘You did seem kind of surprised to find us all here, though. Were you expecting to be alone?’

Lucy turned to face her. She really was gorgeous. ‘Was it that obvious? I make music. Just broke up with my band and got an offer for a solo contract. I wanted somewhere quiet, you know, somewhere to write and think. Thought this place would be empty, that no one else would arrive until at least next week.’

‘You make music, cool.’ She might have known. ‘What kind of stuff?’

‘A mix of things to be honest. Punk, death metal, you know.’ Hannah nodded vaguely as Lucy continued, ‘I need to make my mark before I get past it. Twenty-five isn’t young in the music industry.’

So they were the same age. Hannah settled into sullen silence and continued smoking. Thought about everything Lucy had already accomplished, about what it must be like to stand on stage as a sea of people cheered your name. Then she pictured her own messy bedroom back in her mum’s house, her own messy life. She took a final drag and stabbed the fag out on the bench.

Mo and Liam had managed to make a meal, with Sandeep’s assistance. They’d used a huge frying pan to knock up what Mo called ‘a kind of ratatouille’. Everyone sat together at the kitchen table, but only Rosa was talking.

‘I just don’t understand why they didn’t mention the lack of road access.’ A wave of her fork for emphasis. ‘Needless to say, I’ve left a complaint on the website and sent our host several messages.’ She looked down at her dish and gave it a poke, as if noticing it for the first time. ‘This looks lovely, but isn’t there any meat in the fridge?’

Liam touched her other hand. ‘Mo and Sandeep are vegetarian, love.’

Rosa went to say something, but Lucy got there first. ‘Me too. There’s a big chorizo sausage in one of the cupboards, though. You could fry that up and add it in.’

Rosa smiled tightly and took a drink of water. ‘No, it’s fine. I’ll do something with meat tomorrow.’ Hannah had been trying to place her Scottish accent and realized it was just like Maggie Smith’s in that movie her mum was always watching, The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie. Posh Edinburgh.

Chloe gave Mo a shy smile. ‘I like it, thank you.’

During the meal Hannah stayed quiet. It seemed that they all, except Lucy, had some kind of connection to the area. Liam obviously loved the sound of his own voice, even more so than his wife. He told them all that he was a very successful GP who’d recently retired from a local practice and was moving back to Scotland with his family as soon as their house was ready.

Lucy wasn’t Irish, but she’d been living in Dublin. She’d been attracted by Preserve the Past website and its promise of comfortable historic houses in quiet locations.

‘But this was the only one I could afford. I also think self-check-in is a cool idea – it just makes sense. I mean, who actually wants to meet the host?’ When nobody responded, Lucy went on. ‘I’ve stayed in B&Bs before where they never leave you alone.’

Hannah couldn’t sit still. She picked at her food and her eyes kept returning to the drinks cupboard in the corner of the room that by rights should have contained wine, at least a few bottles of Henry Laughton’s expensive vintage stuff. Hannah’s hands felt clammy and her top kept sticking to her back. She wanted to open a window, but it was freezing outside. When Mo stood up and suggested cheese and biscuits or ice cream, Hannah made her excuses and went to leave the room without meeting anyone’s eye.

‘Chocolate ice cream for me. What about you, Chloe?’ Mo said.

‘She’ll have some fruit or a plain yogurt,’ Rosa replied.

Hannah slipped out the door. Wouldn’t fancy being Chloe and putting up with Rosa The Dictator for a mother. But by the time Hannah was halfway up the stairs, she was thinking of nothing but the vodka waiting in her room.

But something made her stop, a prickling along her spine like a feather touching skin. She turned and stared around the hallway, expecting to see someone watching her. But it was empty, just the strange paintings across one wall and the tapestry hanging beside the kitchen door.

Then a huge bang echoed around the space, and Hannah let out a gasp. She dropped to her knees.

Another crash, this time even louder, from somewhere in the house above her. Then silence.

Heart thumping, one hand on the bannister, Hannah stared up the stairs and waited for the ceiling to fall down on top of her.

Chapter Five

The kitchen door burst open and the others piled out into the hallway and peered up at her. She stood and turned to them.

‘What the fuck was that?’ Liam pressed his fingers to his mouth. ‘Sorry, no excuse for bad language. Sorry, Chloe.’

Rosa held her daughter closer, and Mo put a hand on his father’s arm. Only Lucy looked calm.

Mo ran up the stairs to Hannah and put his hand on her back, eyes concerned. ‘Are you all right?’

For a moment she was aware of how good his touch felt. Then she thought of Ben, thought of the random guy from the other night, the random guys on so many recent nights, and stepped away.

‘I’m OK. I think it came from upstairs.’

Mo looked down at the others. ‘I’ll check it out.’

Liam started up the stairs. ‘I’ll come with you. It’s probably a window crashing down. If the cords rot on these old sashes, they break in the wind. I opened a couple of dodgy ones in our room.’ He ran up past them, his eyes lingering on Hannah for a second too long.

Mo followed. ‘We should all be careful.’

Hannah waited on the stairs as her heart rate returned to normal. Liam entered the family room at the top and emerged moments later holding up a piece of white cord.

‘Yes, that’s it. I knew it. The damn thing’s broken: worn out.’ He grinned and headed back down the stairs. ‘I’m surprised they didn’t replace them all when they did the renovations. Maybe just missed that one. Anyway, be careful with them and we’ll let the host know.’

Sandeep’s voice cut through the hall. He had been silent for so long Hannah had almost forgotten he was there. ‘That didn’t sound like a window banging in the wind. It was too loud, and the wind isn’t even that strong. It could have been a problem with the roof. Something could come crashing through on us.’

Rosa looked up at the high ceiling with a frown, but Liam just laughed. He bounded down and put his arm around her. ‘Don’t worry about it. The roof’s completely sound – I had a good look around earlier.’

Hannah couldn’t remember him exploring the house, but she was too tired to care. Let him blow his own trumpet for a bit. She said nothing and carried on upstairs. The vodka was calling her.

When she got to her room she poured herself a large glass, topped it up with Coke, and swallowed it down with a sigh. She’d left her phone charging but the lead had come loose and was lying on the floor. When she plugged it in again she saw a reply from Henry Laughton.

Apologies about the road access. We had hoped to have a metalled approach lane installed before your arrival, but planning permission was delayed. I did message you about this a few weeks ago and a notice was added to the website. I hope it doesn’t interfere with your holiday too much.

I’m sorry I wasn’t there to greet you, but I’m held up at one of our other properties.

Regards Henry.

Hannah knew it was possible she had missed his message. She hadn’t been taking much notice of anything recently, except all the trolls on social media.

But surely one of the other guests would have seen the message. No doubt old Henry, in his fancy Barbour jacket, was chuckling to himself, assuming he’d get away with it. She couldn’t be bothered to reply; Rosa would probably give him an earful anyway.

Sitting on the bed she realized that for a short while today, surrounded by people who knew nothing about her, listening to the chatter over dinner, she hadn’t once thought about Ben. And as she took another sip of vodka, she tried to keep those dark memories at bay, tried to ignore the familiar pain beginning to settle around her heart.

A small chest of drawers with a kettle and an array of white china containers filled with posh teabags, instant coffee and chocolate stood by the corridor wall. She made herself a mug of chocolate, undressed and climbed into bed. Took a soothing sip of the drink, then added a slug of vodka and left the bottle on the bedside table, close to hand.

The bright lamp made her dry eyes throb. But when she switched it off, the images she dreaded began to swirl around her in the blackness.

She tossed and turned in the bed, clutching at her duvet, unable to stop herself from reliving the same dark memories. Thinking back to Ben’s funeral.

She remembered getting out of the cab on the side of the road and walking all alone towards the church through crowds of people. His friends and family turned to face her – whispering – then moved away.

She sat alone at the very back of the church as Ben’s family filed towards the coffin, his younger brother following behind with bloodshot eyes. He had always been friendly to her, and when he came to sit next to her after the service, she thought for one tiny moment that he was going to tell her it would be all right. That everyone knew she wasn’t to blame.

Instead he hissed, his voice low and bitter, ‘Mum and Dad asked me to say: don’t come to the grave or the house afterwards.’ He swallowed. ‘Just stay away from us.’

She sat there, alone in her seat, as the crowds filed out. Her head bowed, staring at the floor.

She must have drifted off to sleep then, because suddenly she knew she was dreaming. Thoughts of Ben and his family gradually vanished, but Hannah felt no relief – just a sense of absolute terror.

She was still in bed, the sound of her breathing low and steady in her ears. A curtain moved softly in the breeze from the window, fluttering gently across the floor. A floorboard creaked somewhere nearby and she knew with terrible certainty that she was no longer alone. There was someone else in here, in the room with her, watching her sleep.

A musky smell that she couldn’t place, a feeling of helplessness when she tried to sit up. She couldn’t move.

There was a rustling sound and a shadow stepped out from the darkness at the corner of the room. Silhouetted in the grey light that fell through the curtains, it shuffled and then stopped. Moved slowly closer to the bed. Hannah’s heart thudded louder, her palms clammy. Her neck throbbed, but still she couldn’t move.

The sickly-sweet smell was overpowering now. Somehow familiar, it crawled its way down her throat, choking her.

Another creak from a floorboard, closer now. The shadow loomed above her, but she couldn’t turn her head to face it, couldn’t even breathe. It was human, it must be, yet it seemed to slide like water over ice as it reached the edge of her bed. A cold chill settled in the room. She was shivering, yet her legs were blocks of stone anchored to the bed. Get up. Get out. She tried to scream, but there was only silence.

And then the dip and creak of the bed. The mattress sinking under a groaning weight as something pressed it down. Huge and dark, so close to her that she could almost feel it through the duvet. Almost imagine it reaching out to touch her.

She was suddenly wide awake, completely alert. Sitting upright in bed, drenched in sweat.

She gasped and threw off the damp duvet. Flicked on the light and scanned the empty room. Her heartbeat gradually slowed as she listened to the quiet house. Her throat was so dry, it ached. In the bathroom she gulped down a glass of water and filled it again. Stared at the pale face in the mirror. Her hand shook as she downed the second glass.

She checked that her door was still locked and the window secure, then poured a shot of vodka and drank it down. Drew the curtains, got back into bed and huddled under the duvet, shivering, just like in her dream. And it was just a dream, some stupid dream.

Nightmares were nothing new. She remembered waking up terrified beside Ben in the middle of the night, so scared she refused to go back to sleep again. Ben would gently hold her and whisper that it was all right and she was safe and everything was going to be OK. He would stroke her hair and kiss her neck and tell her she was safe, until she finally dozed off.

But this had been different: it had felt real.

She couldn’t sleep for hours. Her mind wouldn’t stop raking back over the dream, reliving it in vivid detail. The drip and the creak of the mattress, the feel of that heavy weight pressing down. And just when she had finally exhausted herself, when sleep reached out to claim her, she heard something else. A murmuring noise, somewhere nearby. Low and persistent.

She lay there listening in the pitch-black, until all she could hear were the small creaks of the old house, the gurgling of pipes, the call of an owl outside. She pulled the duvet up over her head. Had she been dreaming again? Tomorrow, she was going to lay off the alcohol; Lori was right, it was starting to mess with her head. How many days since she had last been sober? She rolled over and tried to sleep once more.

It was then that she first heard it. The sound of a child crying.

Chapter Six

A sobbing child somewhere inside the house.

Chloe must have had a fight with her mum. Hannah rolled over in her warm and comfortable bed and closed her eyes. Tried to shut out the sound, but it went on and on, quiet but insistent, until she could think of nothing else. Chloe was in a family room with her parents, so wouldn’t they have woken up to look after her?

There was something so disturbing about the sound – so desperate and sad – that Hannah eventually threw off the covers and went to the door. A very low light was coming from the other end of the corridor, oozing out a pale glow. The family room was right at the top of the stairs. Pulling a sweater over her pyjamas, she put her head outside. The sound – a gentle heart-rending sobbing – seemed to be louder out here. Hannah told herself to calm down.

Afraid she wouldn’t remember her door code, she wedged it open with one of her shoes and headed along the corridor to the top of the staircase. The weak light of a lamp filtered down into the dark hall below. She paused outside each of the guest rooms in case the noise was actually coming from one of them, maybe a radio or TV. But they were silent. As she came close to the family room, the noise suddenly stopped. She paused, listening hard, expecting to hear hushed voices inside.

Silence. If they had heard her footsteps perhaps they were keeping quiet. Embarrassed, maybe. Hannah stood for a moment wondering what to do. She didn’t want to disturb them, reminded herself not to get involved. The light at the end of the corridor flickered and buzzed, then went out, enveloping her in darkness. The only sound was her heart thudding loudly in her chest.

And then, with a click, the light came back on. Hannah swallowed. She glanced around, her neck tingling with unease. She was alone, nothing had changed.

She hurried back to her room.

The next day, Hannah woke to early morning light filtering across the room. She groaned and rolled over, opened one eye and looked at her phone on the floor. Nine o’clock. Why was the room still so dim?

Pulling the curtains wide, she looked out into a wall of white. Thick mist smothered everything, even covering the bare little rose garden below. There was no way she could navigate that rutted track in this fog, so her plan to visit the village would have to wait.

When she got downstairs, Liam, Rosa, and Chloe were in the kitchen, the remnants of a full English breakfast on the table in front of them. Chloe’s plate looked untouched, her eyes red and swollen.

‘Chloe, eat up,’ Rosa said. ‘You need a good breakfast.’ And Chloe bowed her head and shovelled a few baked beans into her mouth.

Liam gave Hannah an easy smile. ‘Morning there, sleep well?’ His eyes flickered over her.

Her face burned as she looked away. ‘Not really.’ This was the moment when someone should explain why Chloe had been crying, but the only sound was the scraping of a fork against a plate.

‘Stop playing with your food.’ Rosa’s voice was loud. ‘What on earth is wrong with you this morning?’

Chloe looked like she was on the verge of tears. Liam reached for a piece of toast and began buttering it. ‘Try this with some scrambled egg.’

As Hannah was pouring herself tea, Mo came in. He met her eyes with a warm smile and she felt her heart beat a little faster. A feeling inside that she didn’t deserve to experience again.

‘Guess what … I’ve found something.’ Mo nodded towards the door. ‘Come and have a look.’

Holding her warm mug she followed him to the opposite side of the hall, through a set of double doors, and into a beautiful high-ceilinged room. A large fire roared away in the grand fireplace in a corner.

‘I found a stack of logs out the back. Got the fire going first thing.’

‘Amazing. It’s so warm in here.’ The grey cat was curled up on a fireside armchair and Hannah, not wanting to disturb it, settled into one of the others.

Mo took a poker from a fancy metal stand and moved a log in the grate with a flourish. ‘I’ve never lit a proper fire before, but I’m getting the hang of it now.’ He used his phone to snap a picture. ‘I’m pretty sure this is an Adam fireplace – a nice one, too.’ Hannah couldn’t help smiling. Mo paused to frown at his phone. ‘Still can’t get a signal.’

Hannah dug out her iPhone and glanced at the screen. There wasn’t even wifi any more. No way was she going to walk all the way to the village without Google Maps, even if this fog cleared. They needed to find the router.

Mo wiped his hands on his trousers and flopped into the sofa. ‘Shame about the weather. Could be a good excuse to explore the rest of the house, though. What do you reckon?’

‘Yeah, I’d like that.’

Liam appeared at the door. He rubbed his hands together in what she was beginning to recognize was a habitual gesture. ‘A fire! Terrific, just what we need.’ He crouched by the fireplace and held his palms up to the flames. ‘Makes me almost glad of the fog.’

They all looked towards the wide French windows and to the white wall of mist that pressed against the glass. Hannah turned back to Mo. ‘How’s your dad this morning?’

‘Complaining as usual.’ Mo smiled. ‘He’s having a lie-in. Didn’t sleep well again.’ Someone else who’d been kept awake by the crying, Hannah guessed. Mo went on, ‘He’s pretty annoyed that we’re gonna have to stay another day.’

Liam threw another log on the fire. ‘If it clears up, I thought I’d go into the village and buy some wine for anyone who wants it. Can’t have a dry holiday now, can we? I don’t drink when I’m at work, too busy you know, so I like to indulge a little when I’m away.’ He grinned up at Hannah. ‘Maybe we could find some board games and have a few drinks together later on.’

Mo poked at the fire again, his back turned to them. As much as Hannah couldn’t stand Liam, she needed to get to the shop. ‘If you’re going, I need to get a packet of fags for Lucy. Reckon you could give me a lift?’

‘No, no, don’t worry about it. You stay and enjoy yourself.’ Liam turned back to the fire. ‘I’ll get cigarettes, plenty of wine and whatever spirits they have in the shop.’

Hannah tried to protest, but he was adamant. She thanked him and felt her stomach rumble, reminding her she hadn’t eaten breakfast.

Back in the kitchen Rosa stood at the sink, washing up, and Chloe sat at the table, still scowling at her plate. She’d probably been told to stay here until her food was finished. Hannah took a plate from the cupboard and made herself a couple of pieces of toast. Pulled up a chair next to Chloe and whispered, ‘Can I help you with that?’

Chloe gave a tiny smile, a glance at her mother, and then nodded. Hannah scraped most of Chloe’s food onto her own plate and started to eat. ‘You look pretty tired. Did you have trouble sleeping, like me and Sandeep?’

The girl nodded.

‘We all slept like logs,’ Rosa said, turning from the sink.

They all fell silent and Hannah continued to eat. What had really happened last night? And why didn’t Rosa want to talk about it?

She was clearing away their plates when Mo appeared at the door. ‘Who’s up for a tour?’ He smiled at Chloe. ‘I’m hoping for a secret passage.’

‘Come on, let’s go explore,’ Hannah said as she shepherded Chloe through the door.

Rosa turned from the sink, a tea cloth in her hand. ‘Be careful.’

‘It’s all right. I’ll keep an eye on her.’ Hannah held Rosa’s gaze for a moment, then they all filed out into the hall.

In the drawing room, Lucy sat curled in the leather armchair beside the fireplace, an open book on her lap. Her tiny shorts, fluffy socks and huge sweatshirt only made her look more beautiful. When she noticed them at the door, she put down her book and gave them a tired smile.

‘Nice fire, Mo. I’ll be snuggled up in here until this weather improves.’ A yawn. ‘I’m shattered. Need a duvet day, I think.’ She stretched out a slender leg, revealing an intricate tattoo on the side of her thigh. Mo seemed to be finding it hard to speak.

Chloe was also staring and, when she spoke, it was in a quiet voice that made her sound younger than her years. ‘We’re going to look around the house, if you want to come too?’

Lucy smiled and put down her book. ‘You know, I might just do that. An explore would be fun.’ She stood up and stretched. ‘Give me a minute to get changed.’

‘We’ll meet you outside your room,’ Mo said. ‘Might as well start upstairs.’

When Lucy left the room, Mo, Chloe, and Hannah lapsed into silence, watching the fire crackling in the grate. Then the door banged open and Rosa burst in, making them jump.

‘For God’s sake, there you all are. Couldn’t you hear me calling?’ She didn’t wait for a response, but stood framed in the doorway, pointing out the window at the fog. ‘I tried to stop him, but Liam is insisting on going to the village. It’s madness. Completely stupid. He’ll get himself killed. Can someone please try and talk some sense into him?’

Mo stepped forward. ‘I can try, but I doubt he’ll listen. Maybe we should see if Dad’s awake. He’d be able to do it.’ He noticed Hannah and Rosa exchange looks. ‘He doesn’t talk about it, but my dad was a copper for thirty years.’ A smile. ‘Knows how to talk someone round.’

There was a pause and Hannah tried to imagine Sandeep as a policeman. He certainly knew the difference between right and wrong.

Rosa too looked doubtful, but eventually she sighed. ‘OK, but please be quick.’ Chloe and Mo followed her from the room.

Hannah picked up the book Lucy had left on the chair. Wild Swimming: The Best Hidden Dips in Ireland. She imagined Lucy hiking through the wilderness in her Doc Martens, tackling lakes and rivers, no doubt emerging from the water looking as gorgeous as ever.

Just the thought of swimming was enough to make Hannah squirm. She couldn’t swim and had no desire to learn. Ben had tried several times to bring her along to the pool or tempt her into the water at the beach. She bit the inside of her mouth and forced thoughts of Ben from her mind.

The fire flickered as a gust of cold air blew into the room from the hallway, and Hannah heard Mo running down the stairs. She poked her head out and saw Rosa standing at the open front door, pecking away at her phone with Chloe at her side.

Mo reached the bottom of the stairs and ran a hand through his hair. He looked suddenly older. ‘Sorry, Rosa. I can’t get him up. He’s still not feeling well – it’s his cough.’

‘Too late.’ Rosa didn’t even bother to look up from the screen. ‘The selfish bastard wouldn’t listen.’ There was a surprising bitterness in her voice, as if the trip to the village was a personal attack. Chloe stood very still, her hands clenched. After a moment, Rosa caught Hannah’s eye and sighed. ‘I’m just worried about him. He can be incredibly stubborn.’

‘I’m sure he’ll be all right. It looks like it’s clearing up out there,’ Hannah said, her eyes on Chloe who – despite her obvious anxiety and embarrassment – hadn’t shown even a flicker of surprise at her mother’s outburst. The cracks were starting to show in Rosa’s perfect family, and Hannah couldn’t help but think that she might deserve it.

Rosa closed the front door with a slam and stomped back into the kitchen. ‘I’m going to try Liam again. The signal’s terrible, but it sometimes works in here.’

There was a moment of silence, then Mo pointed up the stairs. ‘Come on, Chloe, race you to the top.’ She was staring after her mother, a deep frown on her face.

‘OK, I’ll be the starter.’ Hannah stood at the bottom of the stairs, one arm raised.

Mo took up a runner’s pose beside her. With a final look towards the kitchen, Chloe joined him with a small smile.

Hannah shouted, ‘On your marks, get set, go.’ She dropped her arm and Mo ran halfway up the stairs, his long legs covering two steps at a time.

Before the top he slammed to a stop and sprawled face first on the steps, clutching his side and panting. ‘Oh no. My side, my side. I’ve got a stitch.’

Chloe thundered past him, laughing and whooping, and almost collided with Lucy on the landing.

When Mo had limped his way up and reached them, Chloe slapped his arm. ‘You cheated. It wasn’t fair. You let me win.’

Lucy laid her palm on Mo’s side and frowned. ‘Nope, that’s genuine. A nasty stitch.’

As their laughter reached Hannah down in the hallway below them, she suddenly felt very alone. Her mind drifted back to the playground, when she had watched from a distance as everyone else had fun together.

She was about to turn back to the drawing room, when Chloe shouted down from above. ‘Come on, Hannah.’ And when she ran up to join them, Chloe grabbed her hand and pulled her along with her.

It didn’t take long to explore the top floor. Their five occupied rooms made up the west wing: Hannah’s number one at the far end of the corridor, Sandeep next to her, then Mo. Lucy’s room, and the family room, were near the top of the stairs.

The east wing had five doors, then a narrow one right at the end: another storage room, the twin of the one next to Hannah’s room, she guessed. A matching window overlooked the front of the house from this side too. When they got to it, Chloe stood for a moment looking down, her fingers pressed to the glass.

All the large rooms had brass door numbers and keypads. Hannah pointed out the beautifully carved wooden rails and cornices, the two ceiling roses in the corridors, each with a sparkling crystal chandelier, and talked about their design.

Mo headed towards the stairs. ‘There must be a cellar down here somewhere.’

‘I’m not sure I can face looking at any more chandeliers,’ said Lucy with a glance at Chloe. ‘Anyone up for trying to find a board game downstairs?’

But Chloe stopped and stared across the hall, through one of the tall windows, her expression dark. ‘It’s Dad.’

Hannah moved to her side and saw Liam trudging up the gravel drive out of the mist, a scowl on his face, no shopping bags in his hands. He couldn’t have been to the village and back already. Hannah bit back her disappointment.

The front door opened and he came in, pushing off the hood of his anorak and shaking rain across the floor. Chloe ran downstairs to him and he bent to give her a hug and a stiff smile.

He shook his head. ‘Sorry, no luck. I made it about halfway. Slow going, I can tell you, bloody treacherous. I met a local idiot on the path, too, and guess what: the village shop is closed for the week because of some stupid annual holiday.’

With Chloe clinging to his arm he went into the kitchen. Hannah felt herself lean against the wall for support.

Mo let out a sigh. ‘Well, that’s that then.’ He turned to Hannah and then his face changed. He frowned and stepped towards her. ‘Are you all right?’

Lucy touched her shoulder and Hannah tried to smile. Her legs felt weak and her brow prickled with sweat, but she was going to be all right. There would be a pub in the village that would sell her a bottle of wine tomorrow.

‘I’m fine, just a bit tired.’ She brushed them away with a weak smile. ‘Didn’t sleep well last night, probably all the excitement. I’ll just go for a lie-down.’ Mo and Lucy watched her as she walked carefully back up the stairs, her trembling hands stuffed into her pockets.

In her room, she sat on the bed and told herself to be calm. It was nothing to worry about, just the stress of everything she’d been going through, the fallout from her disturbed sleep. A nice vodka and Coke would help to steady her nerves.

Her mouth felt dry as she looked around the room. The glass sat on the bedside table, where she’d left it, and so did the Coke. But the vodka had gone.

She looked in the bathroom, on all the surfaces. Checked under the bed, shook out the duvet and threw it on the floor. Dug under the mattress, opened her bag and rifled through her clothes.

Then she slumped on the bed and a horrible thought began to creep its way into her mind. Confused memories of last night came back, that awful dream and her reaching for the bottle in the dark moments between waking and sleep. Could she have drunk the whole thing? If she couldn’t remember finishing a whole bloody bottle in one day and disposing of the evidence, there was something seriously wrong.

She began to pace back and forth across the room. But there had been some left, she was sure of it. And if she was right there was only one possible explanation. Time seemed to slow as she stared at her bed. Looked towards the door.

Someone had been in her room.

Chapter Seven

She glared at the clothes and bedding strewn all around her. Someone, some creep, must have been in here, tampering with her things. Her skin crawled. She checked her bag again, but everything seemed to be there: purse, credit cards, keys. Were Mo and Lucy taking the piss? She wouldn’t even put it past Liam. He looked the sort to enjoy practical jokes, and he obviously liked a drink.

Or maybe someone was so uptight that they couldn’t bear to have alcohol anywhere near them. But how had they known it was here? And how had they known her key code?

Only Preserve the Past knew that. The website had mentioned a cleaner who came just once a week, but they weren’t due for another four days. Henry wasn’t around, so Hannah was the only one with a record of her booking.

She thought back over the past few hours.

There seemed to be only one short period when someone could have got in. She had wedged her door open and gone to see why Chloe was crying. That ruled out the family and Lucy, because she had listened outside their doors. Even Mo was unlikely, so that left Sandeep.

His room was close to hers and he had been acting strangely, hadn’t talked much over dinner. Maybe he didn’t approve of alcohol.

But he was just a harmless old guy who didn’t seem all that steady on his feet. She would have heard him shuffling down the corridor, too. Unless.

In the bathroom she splashed her face with water. Stared at the mirror and thought about what was on the other side of her wall. She wouldn’t have heard Sandeep if he had hidden in the little storage room, waiting in the dark for his chance.

She crept out into the empty corridor and stared at the keypad beside the mysterious door. Think, think. What was the code? But when she slapped the door in frustration, she felt the latch open and the door give way. She pushed harder and fell inside, the door shutting behind her.

The room was gloomy, just the sort of place where someone could hide. If this door had been on the latch last night, it would have been easy to wait in here and slip into her room.

She could make out a desk and on it a small lamp. When she hit the switch, the bulb cast just enough light to illuminate dusty surfaces and spider webs. She was in some kind of office, one that hadn’t been used in a very long time. A few rotten floorboards had fallen through, leaving splintered holes. There was no way Henry Laughton did his paperwork in here.

The desk was clear of everything but dust. Hannah brushed off the chair, sat down cautiously in case it gave way, and opened one of the drawers. A pile of small hardback books in various dark colours: red, blue, black. Picking one up she read the first few pages and then did the same to the next one. She counted ten diaries altogether, ranging from twenty to ten years ago. These must belong to the previous owners: the Fallons. She remembered Mo talking animatedly about them over dinner, about stuff he’d seen on Preserve the Past website. The family had died out some years ago, their house falling into disrepair, then the Trust had taken over.

It seemed wrong to look, but she carried on flicking through the pages. There were no scandalous confessions, just occasional initials and times on various pages, for what were obviously appointments. O.H. 3pm, Doc L. 9am, etc. There wasn’t even a name in the front or any phone numbers and addresses. On one page she spotted a star beside a word in capitals: MADDIE. Checking the other books, she saw it appeared in them all. Someone’s birthday perhaps.

The second drawer contained only a notepad and a couple of pens. As she piled the diaries back in, a piece of torn paper fluttered to the ground, with a sentence scrawled on one side.

She’s been fed so DO NOT give her any more. Just some water. J.

Must be about a pet. She slipped the paper into the notepad and moved towards the window. When she pulled back the threadbare curtains she got a faceful of dust. Coughing and waving her hand around, she looked out through the dirty glass into the mist. It was beginning to clear and she could see partway up the hill at the back of the house. Her heart skipped a beat and she tightened her grip on the windowsill.

There was something else down there now, something moving. It was too big to be an animal. She watched as a figure emerged from the fog – a man walking slowly along the rise at the back of the house. She couldn’t make out his features, but it didn’t look like Liam, Mo, or Sandeep. Shrouded in dark, heavy clothes, it reminded her of the figure from her dream. Her heart thudded in her chest.

The man stopped for a moment. He was totally still, but he would see her if he turned towards the house. Hannah’s hand shook as she stretched out for the lamp and switched it off, shrouding herself in darkness. But she couldn’t step away, couldn’t stop staring at the shape of his shoulders. The horribly familiar way that he moved. He was strolling along the ridge again, so smoothly he seemed to slide, just as the figure in her dream had done.

Her eyes followed him on up the hill until the mist swallowed him and he was gone. As if he’d never been there.

She pulled the curtains shut and collapsed onto the chair. Was she finally losing it? Was it all in her head? It must be. But it was nothing to worry about. She needed a drink, that was all. This was the first day without one in a long time. The man was probably just a hiker. But whoever he was, she had to go out and find him, to talk to him, because she needed to know for sure.

Needed to know that he was real.

Walking back to the door, avoiding the broken floorboards, she realized something else had been bothering her all this time. And now she knew what it was: that smell from her dream last night, it was in here too.

The room spun and suddenly all she could smell was that cloying stink. She needed to get out, needed fresh air.

She waited, listening for anyone outside in the corridor, because she didn’t want them to find her here.

When she turned the handle, it wobbled but the door didn’t move. She tried again, this time putting her weight behind it.

The latch. The fucking latch. Why had she let it close behind her?

She wrenched at the door handle, twisted and turned it, pushed and pulled. Come on, come on. Rattled and shook it. Move.

At last the handle began to shift and she pushed down harder, shifted her weight backwards. And the handle came off in her hand.

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