Two women. One house. Centuries of secrets.

East Sussex Coast, 1855

Violet Hargreaves is the lonely daughter of a widowed industrialist, and an aspiring Pre-Raphaelite painter. One day, the naïve eighteen-year-old meets Edwin; a mysterious and handsome man on the beach, who promises her a world beyond the small costal village she’s trapped in. But after ignoring warning about Edwin, a chain of terrible events begins to unfold for Violet…

East Sussex Coast, 2016

For thriller-writer Ella Daniels, the house on the cliff is the perfect place to overcome writer’s block, where she decides to move with her small family. But there’s a strange atmosphere that settles once they move in – and rumours of historical murders next door begin to emerge. One night, Ella uncovers a portrait of a beautiful young girl named Violet Hargreaves, who went missing at the same time as the horrific crimes, and Ella becomes determined to find out what happened there 160 years ago. And in trying to lay Violet’s ghost to rest, Ella must face ghosts of her own…

This haunting timeslip tale is perfect for fans of Kate Riordan, Tracy Rees, Kate Morton and Lucinda Riley.

The Girl in the Picture

Kerry Barrett

ONE PLACE. MANY STORIES

Copyright

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2017

Copyright © Kerry Barrett 2017

Kerry Barrett asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

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

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities 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, downloaded, 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.

eBook Edition © September 2017 ISBN: 9780008221577

Version: 2018-01-23

Contents

Cover

Blurb

Title Page

Author Bio

Acknowledgements

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Excerpt

Endpages

Copyright

KERRY BARRETT

was a bookworm from a very early age and did a degree in English Literature, then trained as a journalist, writing about everything from pub grub to EastEnders. Her first novel, Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered, took six years to finish and was mostly written in longhand on her commute to work, giving her a very good reason to buy beautiful notebooks. Kerry lives in London with her husband and two sons, and Noel Streatfeild’s Ballet Shoes is still her favourite novel.

I owe one big thank you to my lovely friend Becky Knowles. One day, as we strolled round an exhibition of Pre-Raphaelite paintings, she wondered aloud what it would have been like to have been a female artist at the time, and inadvertently gave birth to Violet Hargreaves.

I’d also like to thank my editor Victoria Oundjian for her help and support, and wish her lots of luck in her new role. And, as always, thanks to the team at HQ Digital, my family, friends and all my readers.

Chapter 1

Present day

Ella

‘It’s perfect,’ Ben said. ‘It’s the perfect house for us.’

I smiled at the excitement in his voice.

‘What’s it like?’ I asked. I was in bed because I was getting over a sickness bug but suddenly I felt much better. I sat up against the headboard and looked out of the window into the grey London street. It was threatening to rain and the sky was dark even though it was still the afternoon.

‘I’ll send you some pictures,’ Ben said. ‘You’ll love it. Sea view, of course, quiet but not isolated …’ He paused. ‘And …’ He made an odd noise that I thought was supposed to be a trumpet fanfare.

‘What?’ I said, giggling. ‘What else does it have?’

Ben was triumphant. ‘Only a room in the attic.’

‘No,’ I said in delight. ‘No way. So it could be a study?’

‘Yes way,’ said Ben. ‘See? It’s made for us.’

I glanced over at my laptop, balanced on the edge of my dressing table that doubled as a desk, which in turn was squeezed into the corner of our bedroom. We’d been happy here in this poky terraced house. Our boys had been born here. It was safe here. But this was a new adventure for us, no matter how terrifying I found the thought. And just imagine the luxury of having space to write. I looked at my notes for my next book, which were scattered over the floor, and smiled to myself.

‘What do the boys think?’ I asked.

‘They’re asleep,’ Ben said. ‘It’s pissing down with rain and we’re all in the car. I rang the estate agent and he’s on his way, so I’ll wake the boys up in a minute.’

‘Ring me back when he arrives,’ I said. ‘FaceTime me, in fact. I want to see the house when you do.’

‘Okay,’ Ben said. ‘Shouldn’t be long.’

I ended the call and leaned back against my pillow. I was definitely beginning to feel much better now and I’d not thrown up for a few hours, but I was glad I’d not gone down to Sussex with Ben because I was still a bit queasy.

I picked up my glass of water from the bedside table and held it against my hot forehead while I thought about the house. It had been back in the spring when we’d spotted it, on a spontaneous weekend away. Ben had a job interview at a football club in Brighton. Not just any job interview. THE job interview. His dream role as chief physio for a professional sports team – the job he’d been working towards since he qualified. Great money, amazing opportunities.

The boys and I had gone along with him at the last minute and while Ben was at the interview, I’d wandered the narrow lanes of Brighton with Stanley in his buggy and Oscar scooting along beside me. I had marvelled at the happy families I saw around me and how my mood had lifted when I saw the sea, twinkling in the sunshine at the end of each road I passed. That day I felt like anything was possible, like I should grab every chance of happiness because I knew so well how fleeting it could be.

The next day – after Ben had been offered the job – we’d driven to a secluded beach, a little way along the coast, and sat on the shingle as the boys ran backwards and forwards to the surf.

‘I love it here,’ I said, shifting so I could lie down with my head resting on Ben’s thigh and looking up at the low cliffs that edged the beach. I could see the tops of the village houses that overlooked the sea and, on the cliff top, a slightly skew-whiff To Let sign.

‘I wish we could live here,’ I said, pointing at the sign. ‘Up there. Let’s rent that house.’

Ben squinted at me through the spring sunshine. ‘Yeah, right,’ he said. ‘Isn’t that a bit spontaneous for you?’

I smiled. He was right. I’d never been one for taking risks. I was a planner. A checker. A researcher. I’d never done anything on a whim in my entire life. But suddenly I realized I was serious.

‘I nearly died when Stanley was born,’ I said, sitting up and looking at him. ‘And so did Stanley.’

Ben looked like he was going to be sick. ‘I know, Ella,’ he said gently. ‘I know. But you didn’t – and Stan is here and he’s perfect.’

We both looked at the edge of the sea where Stanley, who was now a sturdy almost-three-year-old, was digging a hole and watching it fill with water.

‘He’s perfect,’ Ben said again.

I took his hand, desperate to get him to understand what I was trying to say. ‘I know you know this,’ I said. ‘But because of what happened to my mum I’ve always been frightened to do anything too risky – I’ve always just gone for the safe option.’

Ben was beginning to look worried. ‘Ella,’ he said. ‘What is this? Where’s it come from?’

‘Listen,’ I said. ‘Just listen. We’ve lived in the same house for ten years. I don’t go on the tube in rush hour. I wouldn’t hire jet skis on our honeymoon. I’m a tax accountant for heaven’s sake. I don’t take any risks. Ever. And suddenly I see that it’s crazy to live that way. Because if life has taught me anything it’s that even when you’re trying to stay safe, bad things happen. I did everything right, when I was pregnant. No booze, no soft cheese – I even stopped having my highlights done although that’s clearly ridiculous. And despite all that, I almost died. Oscar almost lost his mum, just like I lost mine. And you almost lost your wife. And our little Stanley.’

‘So what? Three years later, you’re suddenly a risk taker?’ Ben said.

I grimaced. ‘No,’ I said. ‘Still no jet skis. But I can see that some risks are worth taking.’ I pointed up at the house on the cliff. ‘Like this one.’

‘Really?’ Ben said. I could see he was excited and trying not to show it in case I changed my mind. ‘Wouldn’t you miss London?’

I thought about it. ‘No,’ I said, slowly. ‘I don’t think I would. Brighton’s buzzy enough for when we need a bit of city life, and the rest of the time I’d be happy somewhere where the pace of life is more relaxed.’

I paused. ‘Can we afford for me to give up work?’

‘I reckon so,’ Ben said. ‘My new job pays well, and …’

‘I’ve got my writing,’ I finished for him. Alongside my deathly dull career in tax accountancy, I wrote novels. They were about a private investigator called Tessa Gilroy who did all the exciting, dangerous things I was too frightened to do in my own life. My first one had been a small hit – enough to create a bit of a buzz. My second sold fairly well. And that was it. Since I’d had Stan, I’d barely written anything at all. My deadlines had passed and my editor was getting tetchy.

‘Maybe a change of scenery would help,’ I said, suddenly feeling less desperate when it came to my writing. ‘Maybe leaving work, and leaving London, is just what I need to unblock this writer.’

That was the beginning.

Ben started his job at the football club, commuting down to Sussex every day until we moved, and I handed in my notice at work. Well, it was less a formal handing in of my notice and more a walking out of a meeting, but the result was the same. I was swapping the dull world of tax accountancy for writing. I hoped.

My phone rang again, jolting me out of my memories.

‘Ready?’ Ben said, smiling at me from the screen.

‘I’m nervous,’ I said. ‘What if we hate it?’

‘Then we’ll find something else,’ said Ben. ‘No biggie.’

I heard him talking to another man, I guessed the estate agent, and I chuckled as the boys’ tousled heads darted by.

It wasn’t the best view, of course, on my phone’s tiny screen, but as Ben walked round the house I could see enough to know it was, indeed, perfect. The rooms were big; there was a huge kitchen, a nice garden that led down to the beach where we’d sat all those months before, and a lounge with a stunning view of the sea.

‘Show me upstairs,’ I said, eager to see the attic room.

But the signal was patchy and though I could hear Ben as he climbed the stairs I couldn’t see him any more.

‘Three big bedrooms and a smaller one,’ Ben told me. ‘A slightly old-fashioned bathroom with a very fetching peach suite …’

I made a face, but we were renting – I wasn’t prepared to risk selling our London place until we knew we were settled in Sussex – so I knew I couldn’t be too fussy about the décor.

‘… and upstairs the attic is a bare, white-painted room with built-in cupboards, huge windows overlooking the sea, and stripped floorboards,’ Ben said. ‘It’s perfect for your study.’

I couldn’t speak for a minute – couldn’t believe everything was working out so beautifully.

‘Really?’ I said. ‘My attic study?’

‘Really,’ said Ben.

‘Do the boys like it?’

‘They want to get a dog,’ Ben said.

I laughed with delight. ‘Of course we’ll get a dog,’ I said.

‘They’ve already chosen their bedrooms and they’ve both run round the garden so many times that they’re bound to be asleep as soon as we’re back in the car.’

‘Then do it,’ I said. ‘Sign whatever you have to sign. Let’s do it.’

‘Don’t you want to see the house yourself?’ Ben said carefully. ‘Check out schools. Make sure things are the way you want them?’

Once I would have, but not now. Now I just wanted to move on with our new life.

‘Do you want to talk to your dad?’

‘No.’ I was adamant that wasn’t a good idea because I knew he’d definitely try to talk us out of it. I’d not told him anything about our move yet. He didn’t even know I’d handed in my notice at work – as far as he was aware, Ben was going to stick with commuting and I’d carry on exactly as I’d been doing up until now.

I got my cautious approach to life from my dad and I spent my whole time trying very hard not to do anything he wouldn’t approve of. I’d never had a teenage rebellion, sneaked into a pub under age, or stayed out five minutes past my curfew. I’d chosen my law degree according to his advice – he was a solicitor – and then followed his recommendations for my career.

This move was the nearest I’d ever got to rebelling and I knew Dad would be horrified about me giving up my safe job, about Oscar changing schools, and us renting out our house. And even though moving to Sussex would mean we lived much nearer him, I thought that the less he knew of our plans, the better.

‘We could come down again next weekend,’ Ben was saying. ‘When you’re feeling well?’

‘No,’ I said, making my mind up on the spot. ‘I don’t want to risk losing the house. We were lucky enough that it’s been empty this long, let’s not tempt fate. Sign.’

‘Sure?’ Ben said.

‘I’m sure.’

‘Brilliant,’ he said, and I heard the excitement in his voice again, along with something else – relief perhaps. He would be pleased to leave London.

‘Ella?’

‘Yes?’

‘I’ve been really happy,’ he said softly. ‘Really happy. In London, with you, and the boys. But this is going to be even better. I promise. It’s a leap of faith, and I know it’s scary and I know it’s all a bit spontaneous, but if we’re all together it’ll be fine.’

I felt the sudden threat of tears. ‘Yes,’ I said.

‘We’re strong, you and me,’ Ben said. ‘And Oscar and Stan. This is the right thing for us to do.’

‘I know,’ I said. ‘We’re going to be very happy there.’

Chapter 2

From then I barely had time to draw breath, which was lucky really. If I’d had time to think about what we were doing I’d have changed my mind, because the truth was I was absolutely terrified about the move.

On paper, the house was perfect and I trusted Ben’s judgement. And it wasn’t as if I hadn’t been involved, I told myself, when all my worries about how I’d not even seen our new home surfaced. I’d spotted it first. I’d seen it on FaceTime and on the estate agent’s website. I’d been part of the decision-making from the start.

So, I concentrated on the fact that we’d found a tenant for our London house with almost indecent haste. I worked out whether our battered sofa would fit in the new lounge, and if the boys would need new beds, and I dreamed of having my own study, a haven, tucked away in the attic room.

The one fly in the ointment was Dad. I had to tell him we were moving of course. So one day, a week or so before we finally went and just before I finished work, I took a half-day and drove down to Kent to see him and my step-mum, Barb.

‘I thought we could go for a late lunch at the pub,’ I said when I arrived, thinking that if I told Dad the news in public, it might go better. I breathed a sigh of relief when Barb and Dad agreed, so we all strolled along the road towards their local. Truth be told, I had no idea how Dad would react because I’d never done anything he didn’t agree with before.

‘He might be fine,’ Ben had said. ‘I think you’re overthinking this. He just wants you to be happy.’

But I wasn’t sure. I was scared my whole relationship with my dad was conditional on me doing what he wanted me to do. I knew he would be nervous about the risk we were taking, and he’d expect me to listen to his concerns, and then announce he was right and change my mind. But I wasn’t going to do that this time – and that’s why I was so worried.

I’d grown up, with Dad, in Tunbridge Wells. Dad didn’t live in the same house any more because he and Barb – who I loved to bits – had moved when they got married, soon after I started university. It wasn’t far from where we’d lived when I was a kid, but far enough, if you see what I mean.

‘So how’s Ben’s job going?’ Dad asked, as we settled down at our table.

‘Good,’ I said. ‘Really good.’

‘Dreadful commute,’ Dad said.

‘Awful,’ I agreed. ‘And that’s why we’ve made a decision.’

Dad and Barb looked at me as I took a breath and explained what we were doing.

‘It’s a lovely house,’ I said. ‘And we’re just renting, though Ben says the landlord mentioned he’d be willing to sell if we like it.’

Barb smiled at me.

‘It sounds wonderful,’ she said. ‘But won’t it mean you commuting instead?’

There was a pause.

‘Well,’ I said. ‘Actually.’

Dad took his glasses off and rubbed the bridge of his nose and I felt my confidence beginning to desert me.

‘Actually?’ he prompted.

‘Actually, I’ve handed in my notice,’ I said. I picked up my sparkling water and swigged it, wishing it was gin.

Barb and Dad looked at each other.

‘That’s a big decision,’ Barb said carefully.

‘It is,’ I said. ‘But we’re confident it’s the right thing to do. Ben’s salary is good enough for us to live on, and I’ve got my writing.’

Dad nodded as though he’d reached a decision. ‘You’d be best taking a sabbatical,’ he said. ‘What did they say when you asked about that? If they said no, you’ve probably got cause to get them to reconsider. I can speak to Pete at my old firm, if you like? He’s the expert on employment law …’

‘Dad,’ I said. ‘I didn’t ask about a sabbatical, because I don’t want to take a sabbatical. I’m leaving my job and I’m going to write full-time. It’s all planned.’

Dad looked at me for a moment. ‘No, Ella,’ he said. ‘It’s too risky. What if Ben’s job doesn’t work out? Or the boys don’t settle? Have you checked out the school for Oscar? He’s a bright little lad and he needs proper stimulation. And don’t even think about selling your house in London. Once you leave London you can never go back, you know. Not with house prices the way they are.’

‘Dad,’ I said again. ‘It’s fine. We know what we’re doing.’

‘I’ll phone Pete, now,’ Dad said. ‘Now where did I put that blasted mobile phone?’

‘Dad,’ I said, sharply this time. ‘Stop it.’

Dad winced. ‘Keep your voice down, Ella,’ he said. ‘What’s wrong?’

I shook my head. ‘I knew this is how you’d act,’ I said. ‘I knew you wouldn’t want me to give up work, or for us to move house.’

‘I just worry,’ Dad said.

I felt a glimmer of sympathy for him. Of course he worried. But I wasn’t his little girl any more and we didn’t have to cling to each other like we were drowning, like we’d done when I was growing up.

‘Don’t,’ I said, more harshly than I’d intended. ‘Don’t worry. I’m fine. Ben’s fine. The boys are fine.’

Barb put her hand over Dad’s as though urging him to leave things there, but Dad being Dad didn’t get the message.

‘I think I should phone Pete,’ he said. ‘Just in case.’

I pushed my chair back from the table and stood up. ‘Do not pick up your phone,’ I said. ‘Don’t you dare.’

Dad and Barb both looked stunned, which wasn’t surprising. I’d never raised my voice to Dad before. I’d never even disagreed with his choice of takeaway on movie night.

‘Ella,’ Dad said. ‘I think you’re over-reacting a bit.’

But that made me even more determined to put my point across.

‘I’m not over-reacting,’ I said. ‘I want you to understand what’s happening here. I’m leaving my job, and we are moving to Sussex. Which, by the way, means we will be nearer to you than we are now. I thought you’d be pleased about that.’

My voice was getting shriller and I felt close to tears, but as Dad stared at me, shocked into silence, I continued. ‘I know it’s risky, but we have decided it’s a risk worth taking. Because, Dad, you know better than anyone that things can go wrong in the blink of an eye. You know that.’

Dad nodded, still saying nothing.

‘So it’s happening. And I knew you wouldn’t approve. And I’m sorry if this makes me difficult. Or if me doing something that you don’t like means you don’t want me in your life any more. But it’s happening.’

‘Ella …’ Dad began. ‘Ella, I don’t understand.’

‘Oh you understand,’ I said, all my worries about the move and about telling him spilling over. My voice was laden with venom as I leaned over the table towards him. ‘You understand. I’ve always been a good girl and done what you wanted me to do, haven’t I?’

Dad still looked bewildered and later – when I went over and over the conversation (if you could call it a conversation when it was really only me talking) in my head – I saw the genuine confusion in his face, the hurt in his eyes, and it broke my heart. But at the time, all I thought of was that I’d been proved right.

‘For the first time in my whole life, I’m doing what I want to do,’ I said. ‘And it’s not what you want me to do but I’m going to do it anyway.’ I picked up my bag. ‘And you can’t send me away this time – because I’m going.’

Ignoring Dad’s shocked expression and Barb’s comforting hand on his arm, I threw my coat over my shoulder and marched out of the pub, and down the road to my car, where I sat for a while, sobbing quietly into my hands. I wasn’t sure what had just happened and I had a horrible feeling that I’d got everything wrong.

Chapter 3

I drove home from Kent in a bit of a daze, ignoring my phone as it lit up with missed calls from Dad. And I carried on screening our landline and my mobile – avoiding any calls from him and Barb – for the next few days while we packed up our house and said goodbye to our friends in London.

‘Phone him,’ Ben said as I was getting dressed ready for my last day in the office. I ignored him.

‘I won’t be late,’ I said. ‘I’m not going to stay for drinks or anything like that.’

I looked at my reflection in the mirror. Hair neatly twisted up and out of the way, smart suit, sensible shoes.

‘I’m going to throw this outfit away,’ I said. ‘And I’m going to cut my hair.’

‘Good for you,’ Ben said. He was still in bed because he’d got the day off to finish packing, sitting up drinking a cup of tea and reading a biography of a footballer I’d never heard of. ‘Phone your dad from the hairdresser’s.’

I scowled at him. ‘I’ll phone him when we’re settled,’ I said. ‘Invite him down for a weekend. It will be fine.’

But I wasn’t sure it would be.

As we pulled up outside the house on moving day, I felt my nerves bubbling away in my stomach. I knew what the house looked like, of course, but seeing it in real life, up close instead of peering at its roof from down on the beach, made it all seem – suddenly – like a very big decision for Ben to have made on my behalf. All of Dad’s warnings about the risk we were taking, and having no safety net were weighing heavily on my mind.

It wasn’t a pretty house, I thought, as I pulled the car on to our new drive. It squatted at the end of the lane, at right angles to the other houses, with its back to the sea. It was the back view we’d seen all those months ago from the beach – and the back view was a lot prettier than the front, I now realized. It was built from reddish brick, and it had three storeys and white-painted gables. It had a higgledy-piggledy extension on the side and mismatched windows.

It was about as far away as it was possible to be from the chocolate-box cottage everyone imagined when we said we were moving to Sussex. But Ben was adamant that it was completely right – even the fact that it had stayed empty from the time we’d spotted the to-let board from the beach until the time we’d been ready to move was a sign, he claimed. I heard him telling friends that it was exactly the house we’d have designed for ourselves if we’d had the chance. I hoped he was right and that Dad was wrong. My spontaneity seemed to have abandoned me now we were actually starting our new lives.

I pulled up the handbrake and Ben grinned at me. I smiled back. His enthusiasm was infectious and despite my worries, deep down I did feel like this was a new start for us. I peered out of the car window at our new home. The house had probably been quite grand once, but now it looked slightly forgotten and in need of TLC. Maybe we’d give the house a new lease of life, I thought. I’d even wondered whether, if we bought it, we could add a conservatory on the back where we could sit and look at the sea.

Ben grabbed my hand as I went to undo my seatbelt.

‘It’s not too late to change your mind,’ he said in a murmur so the boys wouldn’t hear. ‘We can turn round now and go back to London if you want.’

I felt a wave of nerves again. Now I’d given up work, Ben was going to be shouldering the financial burdens of the family. So far it had been fine, but there was a lot of pressure on him at the football club. They had a lot of very valuable players and the legs Ben was looking after were worth millions – or so he kept telling me. This was his big break and he had to make it work.

Meanwhile, after months and months of not writing anything, I’d told my editor, Lila, I was going to start. But I was regretting that a bit now because I had no ideas, even less motivation, and Lila was breathing down my neck desperate for words. I was worried Ben was putting too much pressure on himself and putting too much faith in the house. What if I couldn’t write any more? What if Ben’s job didn’t work out? Was it all a terrible mistake, just like Dad had warned me it could be?

I took a breath. ‘Of course I don’t want to go back to London,’ I said, as much to myself as to him, squeezing his hand. ‘This is absolutely the right thing for us to do.’

Ben looked at me for a second, then he squeezed my hand back. ‘So let’s move in,’ he said.

I leaned over to unstrap Stan’s car seat. ‘Everything’s going to work out perfectly,’ I said firmly.

‘In this perfect house, with this perfect family?’ Ben said, chuckling with what I thought was relief. Or maybe he was just as nervous as I was? ‘How could it not?’

He helped Stan clamber out of the car and then grabbed him for a cuddle. ‘What do you think, little man?’ he said. ‘What do you think of your new home?’

Stan whacked him on the head with a wooden Thomas the Tank Engine. ‘Nice,’ he said. ‘This is a nice house.’

Oscar yanked my hand. ‘Come. ON. Come on, Mummy.’

He dragged me out of the car and up the path.

‘Hurryuphurryuphurryup,’ he breathed as he pulled me along. I laughed in delight and threw the car key to Ben so he could lock up.

Stan wriggled out of Ben’s hug and raced to join his brother and me. I felt Ben’s eyes on us as he beeped the car doors and followed. We had to make this work, I thought. But he was right. How could it not?

‘The door should be open,’ Ben called.

Oscar grabbed the handle and it opened. ‘Mummy, Mummy,’ he gasped as we all fell through the front door. ‘Look at the staircase.’

‘Staircase, Mummy,’ Stan echoed.

‘Mummy, can we get a dog? Daddy said we could get a dog. So can we?’

I let myself be dragged around the house, laughing, as the boys and Ben fell over themselves to be the first to show me things.

‘Look, Mummy, there’s a fridge,’ said Oscar proudly as I admired the large, if slightly dated, kitchen.

Sunlight streamed through the windows, which were gleaming. The whole house was sparkling clean, actually. Ben said the estate agent – Mike – had arranged for it to be done as it had been empty for a while. It all shone in the sunshine and the house was filled with light but strangely all I felt was dark.

Ben was so proud as he showed me round; I could see he really loved the house. And me? Well, I felt a bit funny. Like it wasn’t really ours. Probably I just had to get used to it; that was all. Get all our belongings in there. Settle down. It just all seemed a bit temporary and that made me nervous.

‘It’s wonderful,’ I said, squeezing his arm. Suddenly desperate to get out of there, I muttered something about seeing the garden, and walked out of the French doors on to the lawn.

Listening to the boys’ excited voices as they tore round the house, I wandered down to the end of the garden, breathing deeply, glad to be out of the house.

There was a line of trees at the end of the lawn, and behind them a rocky path led down to the narrow, stony beach where the waves crashed on to the shingle.

‘Amazing,’ I said out loud. It was incredible. I thought of our London house, with its tiny garden where the boys roamed like caged tigers. Here they could run. Burn off their energy in safety. Swim in the sea. Collect shells. It would be idyllic, I told myself. A perfect childhood in the perfect house.

Thinking of the house again made me shudder. I turned away from the sea and walked back across the grass towards the back door, but I couldn’t quite bring myself to go inside. Instead I dropped down on to the lawn and sat, cross-legged, looking back at the house.

From the back it wasn’t so ugly. It was all painted white – in stark contrast to the red brick front – so it dazzled in the bright sunshine and looked less thrown together. I was being silly, I thought sternly. It would be lovely living close to the sea and the light was beautiful. Maybe it would inspire me to write.

The sun went behind a cloud and I gazed up at the top of the house, trying to work out which windows belonged to the room that would be my new study.

There were two large windows on the top floor on this side, which I knew would bring light flooding into the room, and one smaller window. I suddenly felt excited about things again, so I decided to go upstairs and check out the room – Ben had been so enthusiastic and I wondered – hoped – if some of his glee would rub off on me and perhaps kick my writer’s block into touch. But as I got to my feet, a movement at the top of the house caught my eye.

I glanced up and blinked. It looked like there was someone up there, framed in the attic window. I couldn’t see them clearly but it certainly looked like a figure.

My mouth went dry. ‘Ben,’ I squawked, hoping it was him up there. ‘Ben.’

Ben appeared at the French windows from the lounge. I looked at him then looked back up at the window. There was nothing there. I’d been imagining it.

‘What’s the matter?’ he said. ‘What’s wrong?’

I forced a smile. ‘I thought I saw someone upstairs,’ I said. ‘I’m seeing things now – I must be tired. Where are the boys?’

Ben stepped into the garden, blinking in the bright sunlight. ‘They’re in the kitchen,’ he said. ‘Where did you see someone?’

I pointed to the window, and as I did, the sun came out from behind the cloud and reflected off the glass, dazzling me. ‘Must have been a trick of the light,’ I said, squinting.

‘Must have been because there’s no one there.’ Ben nudged me gently. ‘Come inside and have a cup of tea – I’ve unpacked the kettle. We’re all tired and you could do with a break.’

Chapter 4

I let Ben guide me back to the house, telling myself it had been a trick of the light. There was that thing, wasn’t there, where your mind makes people out of abstract shapes? It must have been that.

While Ben made tea I chatted mindlessly with the boys, reminding them about the beach, and wondering if they’d like to go for a paddle in the sea tomorrow. The house seemed too big and echoey without our furniture – where were those removal men?

I looked round. Rationally I knew this house was as ideal for our family as the garden was. It was just so different from our old place, and suddenly the leap we’d taken seemed way too big for us to cope with.

‘Shall we explore some more?’ I said, desperately trying to muster up some enthusiasm. The boys jumped at the chance and raced off upstairs. Ben and I followed more sedately. I was keen to get into the studio, but also nervous about what I might find; I was still unsure whether I’d seen someone at the window.

As the boys and Ben discussed which room Oscar wanted and which room would be best for Stan, I took a deep breath and climbed the stairs to the attic.

It was empty – obviously – and it was also perfect. I grimaced a little unfairly at Ben being right about that, too. It was a big room, sloping with the eaves of the house to the front and with two huge windows to the back – the window where I thought I’d seen the figure standing was on the left. It had bare floorboards, painted white. The walls were also white, emulsion over brick, or over the old wallpaper in parts. It was cool and airy.

I wrapped my hands round my mug of tea and wandered to the window. The view was breathtaking and the light was incredible. It seemed to me like an artist’s studio and I wondered if a former resident had painted up here. Surely someone had? I could think of no other use for the room. It wasn’t a bedroom, or a guest room. The staircase to get up to the room was narrow and the door was small. I doubted you’d get a bed up there unless you took it up in pieces and built it in the room.

I looked down at the lawn where I’d sat earlier and glanced round to see if anything in the empty room could have given the appearance of a person. There was nothing.

Perching on the window ledge, as I always did back in London, I examined the studio with a critical eye. It wasn’t threatening or scary. It was just a big, empty room. A big, empty, absolutely lovely room. What I’d said had been right: the figure must have just been a trick of the light. The sunshine was so bright in the garden, it could have reflected off the old glass in the window …

My thoughts trailed off as I realized something. From downstairs, I’d seen two large windows and one small. Up here, there were only two large windows. That was weird.

Putting my empty mug on the windowsill, I went out into the hall. As far as I could tell there was nothing at the far end. No extra room, or door. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled. This was a strange place.

Tingling with curiosity – and feeling a little bit unsettled – I went back downstairs to the bedrooms.

Ben and the boys were in the biggest room, which also looked out over the garden. Stan’s face was flushed and Oscar looked cross.

‘Mummy,’ he said as I walked in. ‘I am meant to have this room because I am the biggest but Stan says he has to have it because he wants to watch for pirates on the sea.’ His face crumpled. ‘But I want to look for pirates too.’

‘Bunk beds,’ I said. ‘We’ll get you bunk beds and we can make them look like a ship. Then you can sail off at bedtime and look for pirates together.’

Ben shot me a grateful glance and I smiled at him.

‘I’ve found something funny,’ I said, casually. ‘Can you come and see?’

Ben and the boys followed me up the narrow, rickety stairs to the attic room. We all stood in a line in the middle of the floor, staring out at the sea.

‘Look,’ I said. ‘When I was in the garden, I could see three windows in this room. There were the two big ones, and a little one – remember?’

Ben nodded, realization showing on his face. ‘But up here you can only see two windows,’ he said. ‘That’s mental.’

He went over to one of the windows and pushed up the sash, but it was fixed so it couldn’t open too far. ‘I thought I could lean out and see the other window,’ he said. ‘But I won’t fit my head through that gap.’

‘My head will fit,’ said Oscar.

‘No,’ Ben and I said together.

Oscar looked put out. ‘Maybe the little window is on next door’s house,’ he said.

Ben ruffled his hair. ‘Good idea, pal. But next door isn’t attached to our house. It’s not like in London.’

I was standing still, staring at the windows, feeling a tiny flutter of something in my stomach. Was that excitement?

‘You’re loving this,’ Ben said, looking at my face. ‘One sniff of a mystery and you’re in your element.’

He had a point.

‘Oh come on,’ I said. ‘A missing window? Don’t pretend you’re not interested.’

He smiled at me, not bothering to deny it.

‘Maybe there’s a hidden room,’ I said. ‘Maybe it’s a portal to Narnia.’

‘Or maybe there’s a ventilation brick in these old, thick walls.’

I snorted. ‘Don’t ruin it.’

Ben grinned. ‘I think we’d notice if the house was bigger on the outside than the inside,’ he said.

‘Like the Tardis,’ Oscar shouted in glee. Then he frowned. ‘But the other way round.’

I started to laugh. ‘I don’t think you guys are taking this seriously enough,’ I said, mock stern. ‘This could be something very exciting.’

Ben nodded. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I’ve got this.’

He went over to the wall at the far end of the room and tapped it. Then he tapped it again in a different place, and again and again. I sat down on the floor, with Stan on my lap, and watched.

‘What are you doing?’ I asked eventually.

Ben looked at me in pity. ‘I’m checking to see if the wall sounds hollow,’ he explained. ‘If it sounds hollow then perhaps there’s another room behind here.’

‘Does it sound hollow?’

There was a pause.

‘I don’t know,’ he admitted.

I laughed.

‘Well then we need to compare it to the other walls,’ I said.

And then there was chaos. Stan and Oscar raced around, banging the walls, as Ben and I listened and said, ‘hmm’. We had no idea what we were listening for, but it was fun. The boys shouted, and we laughed, and I thought that maybe everything was going to be okay.

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