THE OPEN HOUSE
Sam Carrington

Copyright

Published by AVON

A Division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2020

Copyright © Sam Carrington 2020

Cover design by Andrew Davis © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2020

Cover photograph © Daniel Brothers/GettyImages (background); Shutterstock.com (sign)

Sam Carrington asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of 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 ebook 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.

Source ISBN: 9780008331399

Ebook Edition © October 2020 ISBN: 9780008331405

Version: 2020-10-21

PRAISE FOR SAM CARRINGTON

‘Sam Carrington has done it again. One Little Lie is a twisty, gripping read. I loved it.’

Cass Green, bestselling author of In a Cottage In a Wood

‘Expertly written … with plentiful twists and unforgettable characters. An insightful and unnerving read.’

Caroline Mitchell, bestselling author of Silent Victim

‘A kick-ass page turner … I was knocked senseless by the awesome twist.’

John Marrs, #1 bestselling author of The One

‘I LOVED Bad Sister. Tense, convincing and complex, it kept me guessing (wrongly!)’

Caz Frear, bestselling author of Sweet Little Lies

‘This book is not only gripping, but it explores the mother/daughter relationship perfectly, and ends with a gasp-out-loud twist’

Closer

‘I devoured this story in one sitting!’

Louise Jensen, bestselling author of The Sister

‘How do you support victims of crime when you live with unresolved mysteries of your own? Psychologist Connie Summers is a fascinatingly flesh-and-blood guide through this twisty thriller.’

Louise Candlish, Sunday Times bestselling author of Our House

‘Keeps you guessing right to the end’

Sue Fortin, author of Schoolgirl Missing

‘I read One Little Lie in one greedy gulp. A compelling thriller about the dark side of maternal instinct and love – I couldn’t put it down!’

Isabel Ashdown, author of Beautiful Liars

‘A gripping read which moved at a head-spinning pace … I simply couldn’t put this book down until I reached the dramatic and devastating conclusion.’

Claire Allan, USA Today bestselling author of Her Name Was Rose

‘I was fascinated by the cleverly written threads linking the psychologist, police, criminal and victim. Utterly original and thought provoking … This cries out to be made into a TV series.’

Amanda Robson, Sunday Times bestselling author of Guilt

‘Engrossing psychological suspense about the effect of a murder on the mother of a teenage killer. Sam Carrington had me hooked!’

Emma Curtis, bestselling author of One Little Mistake

Dedication

For my dearest friend, Trace

We grew up together, we’ll grow old together, and together we’ll laugh through it all

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Praise for Sam Carrington

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One: Amber

Chapter Two: Amber

Chapter Three: Barb

Chapter Four: Amber

Chapter Five: Amber

Chapter Six: Amber

Chapter Seven: Barb

Chapter Eight: Amber

Chapter Nine: Barb

Chapter Ten: Amber

Chapter Eleven: Amber

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen: Amber

Chapter Fourteen: Barb

Chapter Fifteen: Amber

Chapter Sixteen: Amber

Chapter Seventeen: Amber

Chapter Eighteen: Barb

Chapter Nineteen: Amber

Chapter Twenty: Amber

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two: Amber

Chapter Twenty-Three: Amber

Chapter Twenty-Four: Barb

Chapter Twenty-Five: Amber

Chapter Twenty-Six: Amber

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Amber

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Amber

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Barb

Chapter Thirty: Amber

Chapter Thirty-One: Amber

Chapter Thirty-Two: Amber

Chapter Thirty-Three: Barb

Chapter Thirty-Four: Amber

Chapter Thirty-Five: Amber

Chapter Thirty-Six: Amber

Chapter Thirty-Seven: Amber

Chapter Thirty-Eight: Barb

Chapter Thirty-Nine: Amber

Chapter Forty: Amber

Chapter Forty-One: Amber

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three: Amber

Chapter Forty-Four: Barb

Chapter Forty-Five: Amber

Chapter Forty-Six: Amber

Chapter Forty-Seven: Amber

Chapter Forty-Eight: Amber

Chapter Forty-Nine: Amber

Chapter Fifty: Barb

Chapter Fifty-One: Amber

Chapter Fifty-Two

Chapter Fifty-Three: Amber

Chapter Fifty-Four: Amber

Chapter Fifty-Five: Amber

Chapter Fifty-Six: Amber

Chapter Fifty-Seven: Barb

Chapter Fifty-Eight: Amber

Chapter Fifty-Nine

Chapter Sixty: Barb

Chapter Sixty-One: Amber

Chapter Sixty-Two: Amber

Chapter Sixty-Three: Amber

Chapter Sixty-Four: Amber

Chapter Sixty-Five: Barb

Chapter Sixty-Six: Amber

Chapter Sixty-Seven

Chapter Sixty-Eight: Amber

Chapter Sixty-Nine: Amber

Chapter Seventy: Amber

Chapter Seventy-One: Barb

Chapter Seventy-Two: Amber

Chapter Seventy-Three: Amber

Chapter Seventy-Four

Chapter Seventy-Five: Amber

Chapter Seventy-Six: Barb

Chapter Seventy-Seven: Amber

Chapter Seventy-Eight: Amber

Chapter Seventy-Nine: Amber

Chapter Eighty

Chapter Eighty-One: Barb

Chapter Eighty-Two: Amber

Chapter Eighty-Three: Barb

Chapter Eighty-Four

Chapter Eighty-Five: Amber

Chapter Eighty-Six: Amber

Chapter Eighty-Seven: Amber

Chapter Eighty-Eight: Barb

Chapter Eighty-Nine: Amber

Chapter Ninety: Barb

Chapter Ninety-One: Amber

Chapter Ninety-Two: Amber

Chapter Ninety-Three: Barb

Chapter Ninety-Four: Amber

Chapter Ninety-Five: Amber

Chapter Ninety-Six: Amber

Chapter Ninety-Seven: Barb

Chapter Ninety-Eight: Amber

Chapter Ninety-Nine

Chapter One Hundred: Amber

Chapter One Hundred and One: Amber

Chapter One Hundred and Two: Barb

Chapter One Hundred and Three: Amber

Chapter One Hundred and Four: 8 Months Later: Amber

Acknowledgements

Keep Reading …

About the Author

By the Same Author

About the Publisher

Prologue

No one will find out.

Those were the words I’d spoken. It was what I’d believed then, that day. The day after. The week after. Every time.

Until now.

Now I know them to be a lie.

I had no idea what would happen, though.

Everyone makes mistakes.

It was just unfortunate that several of them came to light all at one point in time.

And the lies, untruths – whatever you want to call them – had a knock-on effect.

One event started it. One I hadn’t known about – couldn’t possibly have been aware of, even.

When a butterfly flaps its wings in Brazil, it can cause a tornado in Texas.

The lie that upturned my life like a tornado and started this particular chain of events got out of control; gathered speed. It attempted to destroy everyone in its path.

I hadn’t wanted to become one of its victims. I had to ensure the storm missed me. Took someone else instead. In the end, it hadn’t been up to me to choose who; fate had already decided.

I’m sorry it had to be you, Amber.

Chapter One
Amber

‘I’m not saying you’ve made a mistake, exactly …’

Barb’s tone cuts through me; it drips with contempt. Of course she’s saying I’ve made a mistake. She’s told me this very thing almost daily for the past ten months. I’m tired of trying to fight my corner alone. I’ve enough to be thinking about without my mother-in-law constantly on my back.

Soon-to-be ex-mother-in-law.

‘Good, because I haven’t,’ I say, without daring to make eye contact with her over my kitchen table. I’m not scared of Barb, and on another day I might well bite, but I can’t risk being drawn into this same argument again right now – I need to shut it down. I get up and walk purposefully out of the kitchen, leaving her sitting, back straight as a rod, bone-china cup lifted to her thin lips. The cup she insists I keep just for her. ‘Come on, boys, we’ll be late!’ I shout up the stairs.

‘I’ll help you with the boys, Amber. I can take them to school.’ Barb’s now honey-drenched voice drifts out into the hallway. My spine stiffens.

‘No, you’re all right. Thanks though,’ I call back. I smile as I say it, so that my own tone sounds light. ‘You can stay and finish your tea if you like; let yourself out.’ I turn to grab the boys’ coats off the bannister post.

‘Christ!’ I gasp, almost crashing into Barb as I spin back around. She’s standing directly behind me; I could’ve easily knocked her delicate five-foot-two-inch frame over. I hadn’t even heard her move. She can certainly be stealthy when it suits her.

She gives me a half-smile. ‘Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.’ Her watery, pale, blue-grey eyes seem brighter today; there’s a sparkle I haven’t noticed since the day she found out Nick and I wanted to split. Well, since I wanted to. That’s when her “you’ve made a mistake” speech first began. It’s progressed since then. Now she’s telling me at every opportunity that putting the house on the market and wanting to start afresh, with a new partner, is adding to my list of errors in judgement.

Barb and this precious house. If I could sell it back to her, I would, but she’s no longer in the position. She seems to hold it against me, even though it was her idea for Nick and I to buy her out so we could live in the family home and bring our children up here. She chose the assisted-living complex because she was “thinking ahead”. She bought the best bungalow there, because her apparently arthritic knee joints meant stairs were becoming more troublesome. No one twisted her arm.

To prevent the added stress of court hearings, Nick and I sat down and hammered out the financial side, coming to our own arrangements. The family home was included in this. It was agreed the best option was for me to stay here with the boys until it was sold, then split the proceeds equally. He is amicable – and secretly I think he’s relieved – that we’re apart and I’m going to be leaving Devon. He can put all his efforts into his job then without my constant moaning about how the police force is his priority and he’s not spending enough time with me and the boys. This plan suits him, even if his mother disagrees.

As I wait for Finley and Leo to get their shoes on and gather their rucksacks, I go outside. I stand back from the front step and turn to look at the house. Its cream-rendered exterior is a little tired-looking but I’m hoping to get away with leaving it unpainted. It doesn’t look shabby next to the identical houses either side, anyway, so I don’t think it’s an issue. I do like it, and had the circumstances been different, I could’ve carried on living here. It is a great place to bring the boys up and, despite it being a terraced property, a good size.

However, there hasn’t been the slightest sniff of interest. It’s possible it’s to do with the proposed new development in the fields behind, even though planning hasn’t been granted yet and won’t be if the villagers have their way. The houses on this estate were built in the early Seventies, and even back then there was controversy about it. But Apple Grove – an estate of forty houses arranged both sides of the road in a large, elongated semi-circle – isn’t as bad as two hundred brand-new homes, which is the planned size of the new one. That scope of development would put a great deal of pressure on the village’s amenities; the school has certainly not got the capacity for an influx of new pupils.

So, I think it’s a safe bet it won’t go ahead, despite a couple of properties – one being my next-door neighbour on the right, Maggie – already selling to the developer. Apparently, they need to take part of the long back gardens of the houses along my side of the road, but as they have progressed from offering to buy a part of the land, and it’s now the entire property they want, I’m guessing their longer-term plan is to demolish the houses too. I don’t understand why people would sell to them. It’s so selfish. I will most definitely not be considering any offer from those developers. I might well be desperate to move, but I have morals.

I glance at Move Horizon’s For Sale sign, which is standing just inside the dwarf garden wall, and make a mental note to contact Carl later for an update; he’s gone rather quiet. I don’t like quiet. To me, it means he’s not working hard enough on my behalf, which is the opposite of the promises he made in his bigged-up speech when he was trying to get me to sign up with him. Typical estate-agent speak; I shouldn’t have bought into it, but I got swept along as I need to sell this house quickly and his, according to Barb, is one of the most successful estate agencies locally.

‘Is Nanna coming to live with us when we go to Kent?’ Leo asks as we hurry along the pavement towards Stockwood Primary School, Finley hanging behind as usual so none of his friends see him walking with me and his little brother – being eight seems to be an awkward “in-between” stage for him.

‘No, sweetie. What makes you ask that?’

‘It’s what Nanna said.’ He sniffs, wipes his nose with his coat sleeve, then starts kicking a stone along in front of him. I hesitate before answering. Surely Barb wouldn’t have put this idea into his head.

‘Maybe you heard her wrong?’ I offer, ignoring the prickling sensation at the base of my neck and the urge to fire twenty questions at him in the middle of the street. I smile so he doesn’t think I’m accusing him of lying. Lately, if I query anything he says, he gives me a pouty stare, crosses his arms and says I never believe him. I don’t remember Finley being like this at six, but then he wasn’t as sensitive to things as Leo is. I take a deep breath, waiting for his response.

‘Nope. I didn’t.’ He stops walking and lifts his head to mine, daring me to challenge him.

‘Oh, okay. Well, Nanna was telling me how she will miss you boys very much. I don’t think she would’ve said that if she’s thinking of coming with us. Do you?’

Leo sets off again, his head bowed. ‘That is strange,’ he mutters.

Yes, it certainly is. And I believe Leo.

What on earth is Barb playing at?

Chapter Two
Amber

I tentatively open the front door and creep inside – anticipating seeing Barb still sitting at the kitchen table, or worse, flitting around the place, tidying – something she often used to do if left unattended for any length of time. She means well, and to be fair, in the days when the boys were toddlers, I was grateful for her help, seeing as I don’t have family nearby. But for the last couple of years I’ve tried to discourage it.

It’s quiet, though; no sounds bar the deep grumbling hum of the fridge that needs replacing. I relax, letting out my held breath. Good, she’s gone. I need to hurry up and get myself sorted or I’m going to be late for work. They’ve been good at Stewart Optician’s – knowing I now have to do all the school runs, they’ve allowed me some flexibility to the usual working hours. But I don’t want to push my luck because if the house sells, I’ll be giving notice and likely landing their small family-run business in the shit. I haven’t informed Henry and Olive Stewart of my intention to leave Devon yet; they don’t know the house is on the market – none of the staff have ever been to my house so they wouldn’t recognise it in the estate-agent window. The way it’s going, the move might not happen for ages, so I can’t risk them finding out and immediately seeking a replacement and then “letting me go” before I’m ready.

The doorbell rings as I’m in the en-suite bathroom slapping my make-up on; there’s not enough concealer and camouflage lately to cover up the dark circles under my once wrinkle-free, bright blue eyes. I’m still two years off the dreaded four-O, but I fear it will only get worse. I sigh and reach for my phone, pressing the SmartRing app.

‘Hello,’ I say into my phone, my attention flitting from the mirror to the slightly blurry image of the back of a DHL delivery driver standing on my doorstep. He whirls around, presumably confused as to who is speaking to him. ‘Just leave it on the doorstep; I’ll get it in a sec,’ I say.

Finally realising the voice is coming from the bell to the left of the door, he steps closer to it and shouts, ‘Needs a signature.’

Dammit. I stop caking on my foundation to sweep the mascara wand haphazardly over my lashes, rush to the door, sign for the parcel and leave it on the hall table. It’s for Nick. He obviously hasn’t bothered to update his address yet. I’ve no time to tidy the mess I’ve just made in the bathroom, which means today is bound to be the day Carl brings someone for a viewing. I throw my handbag over my shoulder and head out the door, locking it behind me. Carl has a set of keys so that he can conduct viewings in my absence. It’s been almost two months and, as yet, I don’t think he’s needed them – if there have been visits, he’s failed to inform me.

Hopelessness soars at the realisation it might be weeks before we get any interest. Now it’s been decided I’ll be getting a place with Richard, I’m impatient and just want us all to be in our new home together, starting our new chapter.

I thought it would be easier than this.

But I also thought my marriage would be forever.

I don’t remember feeling quite so intense about Nick as I do about Richard. A warm sensation envelops me at the mere thought of him and I pause on my doorstep to send a quick “good morning, gorgeous” text. I don’t wait for a response; he’s probably already at work. I head to my car, which I always manage to park directly outside of the house. The lovely thing about Apple Grove is most people stick to parking in their own spot, and as the semi-detached properties have driveways it means I’m rarely unable to park. I think it’s one of the unspoken rules of the neighbourhood.

‘Morning, Amber!’ a voice calls. I don’t need to turn to know it’s Davina. Sadly, the unspoken rule of not bothering your neighbours at every opportunity has yet to infiltrate Davina’s brain.

I throw my hand up, giving a brief wave before ducking quickly into the car, slamming the door and starting the engine. I can only imagine her expression. She’ll think I’m being rude, which I guess I am, but if I even utter good morning, she’ll take that as a sign I want to converse with her. And I don’t have twenty minutes to spare to listen to her village gossip or bat away her questions about Nick. Since he left, she’s been itching to get the inside info; find out why. I glance in my rear-view mirror as I drive away and note Davina’s slumped posture as she walks back towards her house – on the opposite side to mine and up a little.

It’s not as if we’re friends; she merely lives in the same road. We don’t have a thing in common: she’s older than me by about fifteen years for one – and as far as I know, she hasn’t any children. Her only interest seems to be in other people’s business, which has always riled me. I don’t really know much about her as she only talks about others, never herself. The woman can rub me up the wrong way just by looking at me with her small, beady eyes. Eyes I sense are on me whenever I leave my house. Still, I feel a niggling tug of guilt for my abruptness.

It doesn’t last beyond the junction.

Once on the main road, I lean forward and press the phone icon on the car display, then tap Carl Anderson’s name. The phone is picked up on the second ring.

‘Good morning!’ Carl’s always-cheerful voice fills the car. ‘Just the lady I wanted to talk to.’

‘Oh?’ I say. His upbeat tone momentarily lifts my spirits. ‘You have an interested party?’

‘Um …’ Carl gives a little cough. ‘Not exactly …’

I’m about to butt in, but Carl must sense it and he quickly continues.

‘But. I do have a plan,’ he says. I envisage him smiling that wide, toothy grin – the obvious fake one reserved for blindsiding clients – and running his fingers through his thick mass of golden-blond hair, which I am sure he must dye as I find it hard to believe a man in his late forties lacks even a single grey. An audible sigh escapes my lips.

‘Go on,’ I say. I attempt to sound intrigued, but it’s suspicion that I unintentionally convey. A nervous flutter begins in my belly; I get the feeling I’m not going to like this plan.

‘I’m arranging an open house for you. It’s the best way to create a buzz about your property. My gut tells me something will come from it.’

My focus leaves the road as I stare at the speaker where Carl’s excited voice is emanating. Oh, God. An open house sounds horrendous. A bunch of strangers traipsing in and out of my home all at once, finding fault with my décor, my furniture, my life – each trying to outdo the other with their snide remarks. I don’t actually have any experience of open-house events, but I do have experience with people – so that’s how I imagine them to go.

I’m about to decline, tell him I don’t think it’s a good idea at all, when I hear myself saying, ‘Sure. Let’s try it. What’s the worst that can happen?’

Chapter Three
Barb

I linger in the house after Amber leaves with the boys; I don’t want to go yet. I’m not ready. Slowly, I circle the lounge, brushing my fingers over each of the framed photographs of my precious grandsons. I smile as I remove my favourite one from the cheap, white IKEA bookcase; I’d never have entertained such a monstrosity when this was my house. The picture is of Nick standing behind Finley and Leo, his arms draped loosely around their shoulders as, between them, they hold up their catch from the fishing trip. It was taken last year, just before Amber dropped her bombshell. My fingertip traces the boys’ ruddy faces; their expressions, happy and proud. They’re the spit of Nick and Tim when they were that age. An ache pummels my stomach; I rub it away with my other hand.

The thought of not being able to drop in and see my only grandchildren when I want to, not being able to give them hugs every week, crushes me. A pain burns from within my chest.

I’m going to lose it all if I’m not careful.

I can’t let them leave. I just can’t.

Chapter Four
Amber

The afternoon traffic is at a standstill and I’m still twenty minutes from the school. I crane my neck for the tenth time to see what the hold-up is. For the tenth time I see nothing but a line of stationary vehicles. What is going on? There are no cars coming in the opposite direction either, so whatever it is, I’m assuming it’s bad and the entire road is blocked. It’s been like this for seven minutes according to my car clock.

I drum my fingers on the steering wheel. If we aren’t moving within the next five minutes, I’m not going to be there in time for school pick-up. It’s not a disaster because the teachers at Stockwood will obviously keep hold of the boys until I get there. There is an after-school club opposite the primary school, so if I ring and explain, I’m sure they’ll walk them over there even though they aren’t registered. I’ll pay the fee as a one-off – there shouldn’t be a problem.

I hate being late. And yet it’s getting to be a habit.

Car horns blare up ahead. I’m glad I’m not the only impatient one.

I switch to the local radio station in case there’s a travel update. Maybe there’s been an accident. Although, there’s been no sign of any emergency vehicles; I haven’t heard any sirens. Ed Sheeran’s song is playing for the millionth time today. Why must they repeat the same song until it makes you want to gouge your own eyes out? Hurry up with the news.

Maybe it’s a fallen tree. The recent rain after the long dry spell may have caused the embankment to slide. This road is known for it. I wish I’d taken the left turning before the roundabout and gone the alternative route. It’s shorter, but narrow, so if you’re unlucky you spend half an hour reversing up and down the same piece of road. This way is longer, but wider. And usually it’s an easier drive.

Sod it. There’s still no movement.

I press the phone icon on the car display and hit School.

‘Oh, hi, it’s Amber Miller,’ I say, relieved it’s Jill who’s picked up. She’s the more amenable of the two school secretaries. ‘I’m so sorry, but I’m going to be late picking Finley and Leo up. There’s some kind of hold-up on—’

‘No worries, Amber,’ Jill says, brightly. ‘Their nan has collected them.’

‘Oh? That wasn’t arranged …’ I press my fingertips to my forehead and with a circular motion rub at the furrows. Why has Barb done that without me asking her to? There’s an uncomfortable pause at the other end of the line.

‘Erm … Barbara Miller is a named guardian; she’s on the list you gave …’

‘Oh, yes, I know. It’s fine, Jill. Don’t worry. I just hadn’t asked her to pick up today, that’s all.’ I finish the call.

What will Barb do with them? She can’t take them home because I had to give the only spare key to Carl. Perhaps she’ll take them to the park. But why didn’t she call me to let me know she wanted to pick them up? She’s always waited to be asked in the past.

A thought pushes itself into my mind, and I immediately try to dismiss it as ridiculous. I’m probably overthinking her actions.

But I can’t help thinking Barb has done this on purpose so she can get my boys to herself.

Chapter Five
Amber

It’s another fifteen minutes before the cars ahead of me finally begin to edge forwards.

‘Well, about bloody time,’ I shout as I turn the engine back on. It’s been the longest fifteen minutes I’ve ever experienced and during this time I’ve run through several scenarios about where she could’ve taken them. I’ve rung Barb’s mobile a dozen times and each time it’s gone to voicemail. I leave a light and breezy message asking where she, Finley and Leo are. I don’t think Barb would take the boys to her bungalow – it’s a bit far out and she doesn’t drive, so would have to get a bus or taxi. I’m not quite sure what she’s playing at by randomly picking Finley and Leo up from school without even speaking to me first, but I’m beginning to feel she’s got an agenda. With Leo saying his nanna had told him she’s coming with us to Kent, and now this – I’m contemplating the possibility that she’s trying to get into their heads; manipulate them so they beg me not to leave Stockwood or something. I’m being mean, really, thinking Barb would be underhand in this way. She’s not a bad person.

But she is a desperate one.

I tap my palm against my forehead as though that’ll dispel the thought. I’ll be back home, all being well, in the next ten minutes, then my mind will be at rest when I see them all waiting for me at the front of the house.

Then I might ring Nick and tell him how his mother is bloody interfering.

She’s always interfered to an extent, though. Particularly in the early days. It began after the first seven months of being together, when it looked like me and Nick were becoming serious about each other. She’d been all sweetness and light up until that point – especially once she found out my parents had been killed in a car accident when I was eighteen. She’d happily have me over for meals and let me stay most nights. Her attitude cooled, though, when she realised I might be a permanent fixture in Nick’s life. In her life. It had taken at least eighteen months of hard work on my part to coax her, get her to come around to the idea Nick didn’t need her as much as he needed me. She felt replaced. I get that – it can’t be easy. No doubt I’ll have all that to come with my own boys.

And she only had Nick. She’d already lost her other son, Tim – he ran away when he was seventeen and was never heard from again – so I was mindful of that. Careful to include Barb in our plans, involve her in the wedding organisation. After Finley was born, something changed; she seemed to soften, becoming more affable. When she offered Nick and me the family house, I knew I’d properly “arrived”; I’d been fully accepted. She liked me; I’d given her a grandchild. She was happy for me to be a part of Nick’s life.

I understand how she must feel now things have changed – like her family is being torn apart again. Me leaving her son after twelve years of marriage and now wanting to leave Devon, is a big blow. We are everything to her. But she must understand life can’t stay the same forever. I am not the person I was when I first met Nick. Nick certainly isn’t who I first fell in love with. Everyone changes over time; that’s life. She’ll have to adapt, too. It’s not like I’m taking Finley and Leo abroad – we’ll be a few hours’ train ride away. She can visit – I’ve made that clear.

Maybe not clear enough.

I turn off the main road and slowly drive through the village. Annoyance makes me grip the steering wheel tightly as my eyes search the pavements for Barb and my boys. Nothing. I’m still banking on them being outside the house, playing on the lawn while Barb sits on the doorstep waiting for me.

I round the corner, turn right at the junction and drive into Apple Grove. The pavement in front of my place is empty, the garden deserted.

I do a quick U-turn and drive back out. Where the hell is she?

The playing field. Finley would’ve begged Barb to take them there, where he could go off to the skatepark and not be seen with his nanna and brother. It’s the only other place I can think she’d go with them.

Squeals from children greet me when I exit the car and hurry to the park gate. I scan the playing field, visually checking off each piece of equipment. I can’t see Leo. All the benches on the perimeter are empty. No Barb. Squinting, I try to see if Finley is at the far end by the skate ramps. There are a group of kids there, but not him, I’m sure.

Bloody hell.

Adrenaline surges through my veins. Barb is out of order taking my children without permission. I turn, the gravel crunching beneath my feet, and run back to my car. I try her mobile again and this time I can’t help myself – I leave a shitty message. She’s got ten more minutes, then I’m calling Nick. I hope it’s a case of having missed them and while I’ve been driving around, they’ve returned home.

I throw the door open. The house is quiet. Going room to room, I check if any of their school stuff has been deposited. There’s a possibility Carl might’ve let Barb in if he happened to be here showing a client around the time school ended. But there’s no sign of them. Where on earth are they? I’ll have to do another drive around the village.

As I’m about to step back out the front door again, I see something sticking out of the letterbox on the inside. I grab it. A torn page from Finley’s jotter is folded in half. Words written in pencil are scrawled across it.

Nanna picked us up from school. Daddy is taking us all to Maccies. Love Finley and Leo xx

‘Really?’ I screw the paper up. ‘Fuck’s sake, Nick. Thanks for the call.’

Honestly. Is it so difficult to pick up the phone and ask? He’s never done this before. It’s got to be Barb’s idea. My agitation continues to grow despite now knowing where they are.

I need to vent.

Chapter Six
Amber

‘Hey, Jo. Mind if I come in for a bit?’ I force my lips into a smile, which likely resembles more of a grimace.

‘Don’t do that. It looks like you’re constipated,’ Jo says as she swings the door open and steps aside.

I’ve walked down the road to the only safe place I know. The one place where I can shout and scream, swear and rant without any judgement. And where, without fail, I’m offered wine.

‘Thanks,’ I say as I head through the hallway passage, which leads to the kitchen – the hub of the home, as Jo always says. Keeley is standing by the open fridge, a large glass of white in one hand. She stretches it out towards me.

‘Ahh. How did you know?’ I take it from her and immediately gulp some of the cold liquid. I feel my body relax a little, the tension already beginning to disperse.

‘Amber. As soon as Jo opened the door, I could sense your current mood,’ Keeley says with a sympathetic smile.

‘What’s he done now?’ Jo asks.

‘Well, actually it’s not Nick. Or, not directly, anyway. It’s Barb!’

‘Oh, that old battle-axe? She still sticking her nose in where it’s not wanted?’

‘She picked the boys up from school today, without me asking, and without telling me. I was running late, but she wouldn’t have known that.’ I slide onto one of the bar stools next to the kitchen island. ‘She just took it upon herself to do it, and then … then, she got Nick to take them all to McDonald’s!’ I take a breath. ‘She got Finley to write me a note and stuff it in through the letterbox. I only just saw it.’

‘God, Amber. I’m sorry, mate. You don’t need the extra worry on top of the stress you already have in your life.’ Jo places an arm around my shoulders and gives me a squeeze.

‘Have you spoken to Barb or Nick yet?’ Keeley asks.

‘I left a shitty message on Barb’s phone before I realised where they were. I was a bit hasty. I’m sure that’ll cause an argument—’

‘Er … well that’s not your fault,’ Jo cuts in. ‘Your obstinate mother-in-law is to blame; she shouldn’t have taken them in the first place if it hadn’t been arranged. She of all people should know better, Amber. Don’t you dare make excuses for her or worry about the repercussions of your message. She needs to be worrying about the consequences of taking the boys without consent. And don’t get me started on Nick. Why didn’t he call you?’

‘I don’t know. Punishment, maybe?’ I take another gulp of wine, then reconsider my statement. He wouldn’t have been punishing me; it’s not his style. ‘Or, more likely, lack of thinking,’ I add quickly.

‘He’s a detective. Lack of thought isn’t one of his many faults.’ Jo purses her lips.

‘He hasn’t got that many faults, Jo.’ I find myself defending Nick because despite the separation, the reasons for it, we did have some very happy times. We’d bonded at a gig – a terrible rock tribute band – as we happened to be standing next to each other, both laughing at how bad they were. I’d looked up at him, his floppy dark hair and boyish good looks immediately causing my heart to skip. It was as though it was meant to be.

The first years were good, but after we married, his obsession with his job and the long shifts began to alter our relationship, particularly once Finley was born. Then when Leo came along, tiredness, stress and lonely hours came between us. Maybe I was too needy – always wanting and expecting more of Nick. Somehow, somewhere, we lost our connection; the love dwindled, and his dark moods became more frequent. He seemed to be chasing something, a missing part of his life. A gap I wasn’t good enough to fill. And then, of course, came the other woman. The police sergeant who was suddenly the one he confided in because he spent more time at the station than at home. The beginning of the end. I went through a tough time, and Jo was privy to my struggles. She was the one to pick me up.

Jo’s always had my back, has done from day one of secondary school. That first day when I was being bullied by the older girls, she’d rocked up and given them what-for and from that moment on I knew I had a friend for life. We’d gone our separate ways following college – she moved away and later met Keeley. After marrying her in a civil ceremony in 2008, they’d come back to Devon and I was thrilled they chose to live in Stockwood. But while I loved her choice of partner, Jo had never really taken to Nick. As one of my oldest friends, though, she’d tried her best to put her own feelings about him aside for my sake. Until I announced the split. Then he became fair game.

I sit with Jo and Keeley for just over an hour, the conversation eventually turning to Richard and how he’s so much better for me than Nick. My anxiety lowers as I talk about my new relationship. Jo says I’ve got a sparkle in my eyes and excitement in my voice when I’m speaking about him. And it’s true – the warm glow, the nervous tummy, the happiness that even thinking about him creates, is exciting. And all of it points to this being a good move for me.

On a brighter note than when I went in, I leave – my head a little woozy from the wine. It’s been good to get my frustration, and anger, off my chest before facing Barb. My emotions are in better check now.

Nick’s car isn’t outside the house. That’s good; I’ll have time to thoroughly compose myself. Although it is annoying that the later they are, the more difficult it’s going to be to settle the boys for bed. I don’t suppose Nick’s thought of that, seeing as it’s not him going to have to cope with them.

I’m almost through the front door when I hear Davina’s voice.

God, not now.

‘I wondered where you were,’ she shouts, as she walks across the road in her slippers. I internally groan. ‘Seemed quiet at yours.’

‘Well, yes. Because no one was in.’ I give a tight smile. Davina doesn’t even flinch at my sarcasm. Her skin is as thick as a rhino’s. She pulls the sides of her long grey cardigan across her chest. That’s a sign she’s settling in for a lengthy chat. I’ll have to nip this in the bud.

‘Saw a fella coming and going – thought it must be a new man in your life?’ Her pitch goes up irritatingly high at the end of her sentence – it’s something she does with every question she asks. And she asks many questions.

‘No, no.’ I don’t want to tell her anything about Richard. ‘Just the estate agent I expect – and prospective buyers,’ I say before rushing inside and slamming the door. Why must she be so nosy? It’s Neighbourhood Watch overkill. You’d think she was an eighty-year-old spinster the way she goes on, not a married, fifty-something woman. I don’t understand why she spends so much time talking about other people’s business. I go to the kitchen and fill up the kettle. I’ll have a coffee to counter the alcohol.

Carl hadn’t mentioned any viewings, so I’ve no idea who Davina saw. I wish I’d paid the subscription for the SmartRing app now – I could have used the recording feature and looked back through the footage of the comings and goings just to check. But it was one more expense I couldn’t justify, and I only really want to be able to see who’s at the door when I’m home before answering it; screening visitors the way I now screen all my calls. Anyway, wouldn’t Carl have told me if he’d shown someone around? Maybe he was re-checking measurements or taking new photos or something in preparation for the open house.

The doorbell rings, bringing me out of my thoughts. I don’t need to check the app now as I can hear the excited, sugar-induced squeals from Finley and Leo on the other side.

‘What’s crawled up your nose?’ Nick says after I wrench open the door and glare at him. His comment does nothing to ease my annoyance.

Deep breath. Slow, deep breaths. Don’t lose it.

‘What the bloody hell did you think you were doing?’ My hoarse “whisper” isn’t as quiet, or calm, as I intend. The boys have already rushed inside, but I keep Nick and his mother on the doorstep, their smug, shocked faces now looking up at me, aghast.

‘Oh, please!’ I continue when they don’t say a word. ‘Don’t play the innocent with me. You shouldn’t have taken them, Barb. Not without my permission. I was worried,’ I say, flicking my eyes from one guilty party to the other. Nick stands rigidly, arms at his sides, his piercing blue eyes boring into mine.

‘We left a note …’

‘Not good enough, Nick. Your mother picked them up from school without even speaking to me first.’ I purposely talk about Barb as though she’s not there, not making further eye contact with her for fear of what else might come out of my mouth.

‘She just thought it would be nice, seeing as she’s probably not got long left with them,’ Nick says, his fashionably stubbled chin jutting forwards in defiance.

‘Oh, why? Is she dying?’ I can’t help myself. Nick shakes his head and sighs, as if I’m the one who needs chastising.

‘Look, I’m sorry if I worried you, Amber, darling.’ Barb steps forward into my line of sight. She wouldn’t be coming into such close proximity if she knew what was going through my mind. And “darling”? I bristle, but hold my tongue. Let her continue to wriggle out of this. ‘But when you didn’t show up, I thought it was best to take them with me, you know, rather than leave them alone on the school playground like poor, forgotten children.’

‘They were not forgotten, Barb, and I wasn’t that late. I’d called the school and they would’ve ensured a teacher stayed with them until I arrived.’

‘But I was right there – it would’ve been silly to leave them, no?’

I can’t argue with Barb when she’s in this mood. It’s counterproductive.

‘Yes, but a phone call would have been nice. No?’ I widen my eyes as I use her phrasing against her.

‘Well, we all had a lovely time at Maccies, and the boys are safe and home, so no harm done,’ Nick says as he takes Barb by her elbow and they turn away from me. But I’m not finished yet.

‘Who are you to say if harm has or hasn’t been done?’

‘Amber, please don’t make this into something it isn’t, eh?’ Nick’s voice softens, his eyes flitting to next door. I’ve probably got an audience now with the fuss I’m making. But I don’t appear to be able to stem my rush of anger now it’s flowing.

‘In future, no one picks the boys up unless it’s arranged that they do so. Okay?’

‘Fine.’ Nick shakes his head again.

‘I do want to make the most of them being here, though, Amber,’ Barb adds. ‘I am their only nanna, after all. It would be such a shame to deprive us all of the time we have left.’

‘You have a lifetime left, Barb. We will only be a few hours away by train and I’ve told you, you can visit whenever you like. Please don’t act as though I’m taking them away from you – they’re my kids.’

‘Mine too,’ Nick says, quietly.

It’s the first time I see tears in his eyes.

Am I being an awful person by wanting to move away?

Chapter Seven
Barb

‘See what I mean? She’s being unreasonable, Nick. Over-reacting,’ I say, when we’re both in his car heading out of Amber’s road. My road. ‘As she’s prone to doing …’

‘Mum. Don’t start, please.’

‘But, if she hadn’t started all this horrible business, then none of this would be happening, would it? Why don’t you fight it, Nick? Why?’

Nick takes one hand off the steering wheel and rubs it over his face. ‘I’ve been over and over this. Leave it be; it’s not your concern.’

‘It most certainly is my concern.’ I twist sharply in the passenger seat to face him. ‘Those boys are everything to me – all I’ve got …’ I dab a crinkled-up piece of tissue over my cheeks, patting the tears away.

‘Oh, don’t cry, Mum. Tears don’t help anyone,’ Nick says. The pain is clear on his face. I hate seeing him upset.

‘I only want you to be happy. Want us all to be a family again. I don’t understand why you don’t want that, too.’

‘It’s not as simple as you think.’

‘It is simple, Nick. I can help you.’

‘She’s made her decision and I’m not standing in her way. Life’s too short and I’ve enough on my plate.’

‘What exactly do you have on your plate, Nick? Some cold cases that are more pressing than losing your family?’

‘That’s not fair.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I mumble. It was below the belt, and I shouldn’t be taking Amber’s shortcomings out on him. Since she threw him out, he has suffered emotionally. He was only put in charge of cold cases as his superior noticed him struggling at work. Poor Nick, the shock of the separation got to him. No wonder his mind wasn’t as sharp as usual. At least not being on the frontline, as such, means his stress levels are somewhat lower now.

‘It’s okay. I know you worry, but I’m fine. Amber and the boys are fine. And Richard is a good bloke.’

‘How can you be so sure of that? You haven’t even met him,’ I snap. ‘Amber found him on the internet, for goodness’ sake. He could be anyone.’

‘It was Facebook, not a dating site – although that’s the way a lot of people meet and fall in love these days anyway, Mum. Amber’s not stupid, she’d have been careful; wouldn’t have let it get this far if she wasn’t sure about him.’

‘Facebook is on the internet – so, same difference in my eyes. People do strange things when they think they’re in love, Nick. Act out of character, rush into things. Ignore warning signs, brushing away niggles and papering over the person’s bad characteristics thinking they can “change them”. This Richard could be a paedophile for all we know.’

‘Seriously, you don’t think I’ve had a colleague check him out? Come on, Mum.’

‘Hmm … well. If he hasn’t been caught doing anything untoward, then his name won’t have flagged up any alarm bells, now would it?’

‘I trust Amber’s judgement. And I’m sure they’ll all be very happy. That’s good enough for me.’

I stare out of the window.

It isn’t good enough for me, though.

Chapter Eight
Amber

‘You kept that quiet!’ Jo leans against the doorframe, waving a piece of paper in her hand.

‘What’s that?’ I say.

She steps inside the hallway and unfolds the paper, holding it up in front of my face.

OPEN HOUSE is printed on the top with a photo of my house underneath.

‘Ahh, no. I forgot.’ I usher Jo into the lounge. ‘The boys’ abduction took precedence,’ I say jokingly – which is easier to do now the situation has blown over. Carl certainly didn’t hang around, making up leaflets and distributing them so quickly. I’d only agreed to it on Friday morning.

‘I hope it works. As much as I will hate for you not to be around the corner from me – and hate even more that you’re moving to where we came from – I can’t wait to know you’re happily getting on with your life post-Nick.’

‘Thank you, Jo. I hope that too. Ironic, isn’t it? We’ll have literally swapped locations!’

‘I certainly didn’t see that coming,’ Jo says, giving a shrug. ‘Perhaps we’ll move back, too – follow you around the country.’ Her expression is solemn. I feel bad leaving my friend behind.

‘Maybe one day, eh?’

‘We’ll have to make sure we visit loads,’ she says, brightening. ‘And as I say, I am happy for you. Really. Still, I’m surprised you agreed to this, even if you are desperate.’

‘Well, if I’m honest, I wasn’t keen on the idea and I categorically told Carl I wouldn’t be here while it went on – I couldn’t bear it. But if I get some interest, it’ll be worth it. If you ask me, it’s been ridiculously slow so far.’

‘If nothing else, this’ – Jo flutters the paper in the air again – ‘will at the very least ensure your neighbours get to have a good look inside your house.’

‘What? I hope not! Surely they won’t be interested? None of their houses are on the market – the Sampsons from next door have already sold up and moved out. The house is empty.’

‘But now they’re invited.’ Jo laughs.

‘What are you talking about?’ I stand up and launch forwards, grabbing the paper from Jo’s hand. ‘What the hell …’

There, in capitals, are the words: PLEASE FEEL FREE TO COME ON IN.

‘I like the added touch of “apologies for the likely increase of cars in the road”, as if he’s expecting droves of people to attend. Talk about bigging up your house,’ Jo says. Then she must clock my horrified expression and adds, ‘At least he’s trying to hype it up a bit, create a buzz?’

‘Oh, God.’ I slump back onto the sofa. ‘Why invite the bloody neighbours? It makes zero sense. What a waste of time.’

‘I suppose they might tell others about it. Word of mouth can be a good form of advertising.’

‘Really? You and I know all that’ll happen is people will come for a nose about and nothing more.’ Then the thought hits me. ‘Fantastic.’ I fling my arms up. ‘What a great opportunity for Davina to finally get inside my home!’

Jo tries and fails to hide a snigger. ‘Bless her. You’d best lock away anything you don’t want her to see.’

‘It’s not funny, Jo. The nosy bag has been desperate to come in for years. She’ll jump at the chance to walk around my bedroom, see if she can deduce if I’ve had another bloke here since Nick.’

‘Yes, she will be in her element. Remember when me and Keeley moved here? She was particularly keen to find out all about us and kept stopping one or other of us to ask how we were “fitting in”? I don’t think she knew many lesbians … We were the only gays in the village.’

I shake my head, but can’t help smiling at Jo’s joke and the memory. ‘Maybe I should cancel it, tell Carl it’s a bad idea.’

‘Don’t be daft, Amber. Any buyer coming into your home is already an invasion of your privacy, a few more people won’t hurt – even if one of them is Davina.’

I groan. The thought of her poking around, touching my things is enough to make my skin prickle.

‘Maybe I’ll set my phone up to record. Then I can see who’s coming in and out and if they touch my stuff.’

‘Yep. That’s not paranoid behaviour at all.’

‘Well. What would you do?’

‘Let Carl get on with his job? He’s done these things before you know. People have open houses all the time these days. Just go with it. Relax.’

She has a point. ‘Yeah, I’ll try.’

‘As it’s on Sunday, why don’t you and the boys come over to us? Keeley will leap at the chance to play with them for the afternoon, and I’ll cook us a roast. It’ll take your mind off the viewing.’

‘Thanks.’ I nod. ‘That would be lovely. It’s not just because I don’t want to be here – I think it would be really unsettling for the boys. At least by the time we get home it’ll all be over. And with luck, I might even have a buyer.’

‘That’s the way. Positive thinking.’ Jo grins.

I try to match her enthusiasm, but deep down, I can’t let go of the uneasy feeling I have about this open-house event.

Chapter Nine
Barb

I can’t help but stop and stare in through the window every time I pass it.

Move Horizon is where the butcher’s used to be back in the Nineties. I’m sure Howard wouldn’t have wanted his son to become an estate agent, much less take over the business premises of the family butcher. Carl had never been interested in following in his father’s footsteps, and his grandfather’s before him. But still, Carl did at least have the decency to wait until Howard was cold and buried before putting the final nail in the coffin of Anderson’s Butchers.

I scan the window for the house. I still can’t believe it’s up for sale – it breaks my heart to imagine it belonging to someone other than my family. Resentment courses through me. I should never have had to hand it over the way I did. If I’d had more money, things would’ve been different: I’d be living in the place I’d made a home. It wasn’t to be, though. Bern made sure of that; I was left with nothing but debt and worry.

I make a quick sign of the cross on my chest. Shouldn’t speak ill of the dead.

Finally, I see it. The photos and details have moved from the prominent middle position to bottom right. Much less noticeable.

That’s good. She listened to me, then. Now, if I could get her to take it out of the window altogether …

The itch needs scratching.

I can’t walk on past today; I have to go in. Suzanne will give me an update.

Chapter Ten
Amber

I’ve hoovered three times, washed down all the surfaces in the kitchen even though I’d done it already, bleached the spotlessly clean toilet and put fresh linen on all the beds. I’ve dusted, tidied every single toy away, stored all my crap in bags or boxes and stuffed them under the bed as well as in the space under the stairs – the house is presentable. Yet I’m still faffing about, moving things to a better position, checking each room from differing angles – I’m stressed beyond belief. I can’t wait for this to be over.

‘Can we go, now, pleeeaase?’ Leo says.

‘I need to do one more sweep,’ I tell him.

‘But, Mum! You’ve been doing this ALL MORNING. I’m bored because you won’t let me play with anything.’

‘Okay, okay.’ Poor boy, I have been rather bossy today. I wouldn’t even let either of them on the trampoline. It’s right at the end of the long garden and usually it’s great as I don’t mind them making as much noise as they like because it’s a good distance from ours and the neighbouring houses. The gardens back onto the fields, so their noise doesn’t bother anyone. But it’s been raining, and that end of the garden is also “unloved” as Nick often put it, so tends to get muddy. I couldn’t risk them traipsing mud through the place. ‘Let’s go, then.’ I ruffle his hair and back up towards the front door. ‘Have you used the bathroom since—’

‘No! And Finley hasn’t either. Come on.’

Leo takes my hand and begins pulling it.

‘Where’s Fin?’ I ask.

‘I’m outside!’ I hear him call. ‘I’m too scared to be in there.’

I smile. ‘Sorry, my darlings. It’ll be over soon.’ I really hope this open-house event is a one-off. I realise that until the house is sold, I’m always going to be more jittery about the state of it, but this time it feels a million times worse. Knowing groups of people, rather than just one person, or a couple, will be viewing it, has added an extra level of pressure.

After locking up and walking briefly around the front garden checking for any litter that may have been blown in, we head for Jo and Keeley’s. I turn back a few times before the house disappears from view. God, I hope Davina doesn’t really accept the invitation to go. Despite knowing I’ve tidied within an inch of my life and made sure nothing too personal is on show, I still have a bad feeling she’ll snoop. Carl had better keep a close eye on whoever comes into my home. Do people take these opportunities to steal things? Look at computers?

‘Hello, my little terrors – come on in,’ Keeley says, beaming as she opens the door to us. Despite wanting to appear more grown-up lately, even Finley grins and rushes inside at Keeley’s invite. The smell of roast beef wafts out to greet me, and I immediately relax as I cross the threshold.

Lunch was fabulous – and it always tastes so much better when someone else has cooked it. Keeley disappears with the boys after they’ve helped clear the table, leaving Jo to chat with me. I hear them excitedly rummaging through one of the huge boxes of Lego they keep for their nieces and nephews when they visit from Kent.

‘Hope Barb hasn’t got wind of this open house,’ Jo says. ‘She’ll probably turn up and try to put people off.’ Her eyebrows rise impossibly high, making her bluey-green eyes wide and comical. She’s joking, I think, but the comment catches me off-guard. I hadn’t thought of that – my concern up until this point has been Davina.

‘Do you think she would?’

‘I really wouldn’t put it past her, Amber. You said yourself she doesn’t want you to leave – or the boys, at any rate – I’m sure she could come up with a way to warn off prospective buyers.’

I consider this for a minute. Barb can be a bit underhand sometimes; she likes to be in control – she was certainly infamous in her role as a local councillor during the Nineties. But I can’t see how she could possibly cause people to be put off.

‘What’s she going to do? Stand outside with a placard saying: “Don’t live here, it’s a terrible area”? No one would believe anything like that. And people would do their homework on the area prior to viewing, surely?’

‘Yeah. I was kidding really. Well – maybe I wasn’t, I don’t know. Sorry, I don’t mean to make you feel more uptight than you already are.’

‘It’s fine.’ My mind drifts. The house has been on the market for two months and there’s not been a jot of interest, yet other houses in the area have been sold during that time. Granted, two of those have been to the developers, but I’ve seen other sold signs too. Has Barb somehow been putting people off viewing my house? I mean, it’s not even like she’d have to do something herself; she could get someone else to cause issues. She knows almost the entire population of Stockwood by name, having spent her whole life in the village and making it her business to know any newcomers. Even though she’s moved to the complex, she still spends a fair amount of time in the village attending WI meetings, going to coffee mornings at the community hub and visiting her cronies. ‘Has she got someone on the inside?’

‘Like one of the other estate agents you mean?’ Jo says, suddenly.

‘Eh?’ For a split second I’m confused but realise I must’ve asked that question out loud. I’d assumed it had been just a thought in my own head.

‘You think Barb has what, paid someone off from the agency?’

‘No,’ I say. ‘No, I don’t think she has the funds for that, but she does have some sway in this village. I guess she might be able to convince one of them to sabotage the viewings – cancel them, say the property is under offer or something? Might explain why there’s been no interest.’

‘Let’s say she does have someone on the inside, she’d definitely know about this event today then, wouldn’t she? If no one turns up, then there must be a problem. But will Carl be honest enough to tell you no one showed?’

‘I’m sure Davina will be watching proceedings. She’ll tell me.’

‘True. She’s likely to be in there, getting first-hand info!’

We laugh for a moment. But then I have an idea.

‘Actually, why wait?’ I get my phone from my handbag. ‘I can see for myself.’ I grin as I brandish my mobile.

It’s a few minutes until the start time to the open house. Using my SmartRing app I can see who’s going in my home. ‘Here, look.’ I pop the phone on the table and open the app.

My slate-grey front doorstep appears on the screen.

Carl comes into view, a large book – probably his diary – clutched to his chest.

‘Ta-da!’ I smile. ‘Right, let’s see if nosy Davina or meddling Barb make an appearance, shall we?’

Chapter Eleven
Amber

Carl appears stressed. He’s pacing back and forth like a caged lion, his movements interspersed with an exaggerated checking of his mobile, presumably for the time. Why doesn’t he just go on in and wait? Acting like this, he’ll put people off without any help from Barb. We watch his continued pacing for the next five minutes.

‘Christ! Is no one going to show for this either?’ I look to Jo, whose expression is one of awkwardness. I can tell she wishes she’d not said anything and I’d not looked on the SmartRing app.

‘It’s early days?’ she offers.

‘What do you mean? It’s past the time on that bloody flyer. I mean, no shows? Not even Davina? I’m screwed.’ I slump back against the chair, my arms covering my face. This is disheartening; I have a tingling sensation in my eyes. I don’t want to cry.

‘Oh, hang on,’ Jo says. ‘Look … people!’

I sit upright and propel my face towards the phone screen. Yes, she’s right; there’s a small group of people congregating on the step. Carl is now unlocking the door.

‘Thank God. That’s a relief.’ Jo gives me an enthusiastic pat on the back as she gets up. ‘I’ll make us a coffee. You can relax now – a little, anyway.’

‘That’s four people gone in. Although, they may have all been together – just one family.’

‘Possibly. But at least it isn’t a complete waste of time. And Carl has escaped the heart attack he looked as though he was heading for a moment ago. Poor bloke. Can you imagine if no one turned up? You’d kill him,’ she says, laughing as she clangs mugs and rattles jars.

I don’t disagree. ‘Ooh, more. Another couple just went in.’ My voice rises with excitement. ‘He must’ve left the door open, though, as no one’s ringing the bell.’

I can’t peel my eyes away from the app – it feels a little like spying. But it is my house. I just wish I could see inside.

‘No sign of Davina yet then?’ Jo places my mug of coffee to the side of me.

‘Don’t think so, but it’s not easy to tell – I can’t make out any detail because they’re walking past the camera so quickly and not even glancing in its direction. If they had to stop on the step and wait for the door to be opened, I’d have time to take in their faces. I’m sure I’d recognise Davina or Barb, though.’

‘Unless they sneak in with other people, of course.’ Jo is standing behind me, leaning on the back of my chair, watching the small screen, too.

‘I doubt there’ll be big groups, Jo,’ I say, turning to grin at her. ‘Sadly.’

‘Well, there seem a fair few there,’ she says pointing.

I look back and do a quick count. Seven people step up and into my home. ‘Yay! Okay, well, I make that thirteen people.’

‘Unlucky for some,’ Jo says.

I narrow my eyes. ‘Fourteen with Carl – we’re good.’

I am relieved, yet anxious, that the open event seems to be fairly well attended. Better than I’d imagined, anyway. I say a silent prayer that at least one of those thirteen people will put in an offer afterwards.

‘Shall we go and join Keeley and the boys now you know it’s all okay, then?’ Jo walks towards the lounge.

‘In a sec. I want to keep watching for a while. See how long people stay for. Might be a good measure of their interest.’

Jo shakes her head, mockingly. ‘And you call Davina nosy?’ She goes off, giggling. I return my attention to my mobile, and sit, coffee in hand, waiting.

After fifteen or so minutes, there’s movement. I rub my eyes – I’ve had them trained for so long on the small screen that my vision is blurry and unfocused. Eight people leave, one after the other. It’s as though they’ve been queuing to get out. Maybe Carl has had them signing something before they go. It’s another five minutes before anyone else leaves. I watch the back of another three people as they walk away. That leaves two people. My pulse picks up as I imagine the remaining couple talking about where their furniture will fit in, telling Carl how they can imagine themselves living in my house. Am I being too optimistic? My fingers drum nervously on the table.

Come on, people. Want my house. Want it, want it.

A full seven minutes later I see a figure on the step. A man. He ambles down the step and to the left of the property. He’s checking out the garden, I assume. His partner must still be looking inside. Maybe Carl was right. He said he had a good feeling about the open house. I try not to allow my sudden optimism to outrun my usual cautiousness. It might mean nothing. Another person finally comes into view. The man turns towards the door, so his face is clear. It’s Carl. My optimism deflates as rapidly as it appeared. The other man’s wife isn’t with him. Where is she? I watch as Carl locks the front door and turns, something under his arm – seemingly his diary – and heads towards the road. No one is with him. No one else has left the house.

‘You still watching?’ Jo’s voice makes me jump.

‘That’s weird,’ I say.

‘What now?’

‘Only twelve people came out.’ I frown at the mobile app, noting the flashing battery indicator.

‘You sure? You didn’t miscount?’

‘No. A group of eight, then three, then one man. I was waiting for what I assumed to be his partner to come out, but then Carl did. Alone. And he just locked up and left too.’ I consider this again for a moment, totting the people up again. But I’m sure I’m right. ‘Not everyone came back out, Jo.’

Chapter Twelve

If I’m careful, I could come out of it with what I want. Which is to be forgiven for my part in all this.

It’s a bit like Jenga, though. Remove the wrong block and the carefully constructed tower will come tumbling down.

Things must be played in a certain order – the right people have to be in the right place before another move can be made. It’s complicated. It could be a lengthy game.

Worth it, though.

It has to be worth it in the end.

Because in the end, this storm should have passed me by, and I can relax, spend the rest of my days as though none of it ever happened.

Chapter Thirteen
Amber

‘The first group coming out maybe had more people than you thought?’ Jo comes to my side and leans over me, twisting the phone screen towards her. There’s nothing left to see now, though, just an empty step.

‘They came out slowly, not in a big huddle or anything. But yeah, I guess I must’ve.’ I frown, then let out a big sigh. ‘God. I got my hopes up at the end there, thinking the last couple were The Ones.’

‘Nothing to say The Ones weren’t there somewhere today, Amber. It was a pretty good turn-out.’

‘If they weren’t all my friggin’ neighbours, yeah.’

‘I’m sure Carl will give you the lowdown soon. Keep positive.’

I want to call Carl right now. But as I’ve just seen him drive away, I’ll give him ten minutes or so to get back to the office, or home – if that’s where he’s heading – before quizzing him.

The question of how many people turned up is the one upmost in my mind.

‘Right, I’d best get out of your hair,’ I say, finally getting up from the chair I’ve been practically glued to for the past hour. ‘Thanks for lunch, Jo. I really appreciate you having us over this afternoon.’

‘Anytime. You know that.’

I tear Leo and Finley away from the Lego – and Keeley – and we say our goodbyes then walk back home.

‘What’s the matter, Mum?’ Finley asks me as I hesitate on the front step, my hand poised with the key an inch from the lock.

‘Nothing,’ I say, pushing it firmly into place and twisting it. My gut also twists with an uncomfortable sensation. Thirteen strangers have just been inside. It feels weird. But I know it’s not just that fact that is bothering me. The cause of my nervous discomfort is more to do with the horrible thought that someone is still in there, waiting for me to get home.

And then what? They’re going to attack me? Us? Is that really what I think will happen?

With a rush of annoyance at my irrationality, I push the door open. But my boldness vanishes instantly.

‘Wait a second,’ I say to the boys, throwing my arm to the side to prevent them stepping inside. ‘Let me quickly check …’ I don’t know what to tell them I’m checking for; I’m suddenly at a loss for words. ‘Er … I need to make sure the estate agent has finished.’ It’s a feeble, paper-thin reason to give – even if he hadn’t finished, I wouldn’t be holding the boys back from entering their own house. They probably know this and that’s why they’re looking at me with large, concerned eyes. I don’t want to frighten them by saying I don’t think everyone left.

‘Just call out,’ Leo says, simply.

‘Wait a minute.’ I ignore his suggestion and go inside, leaving them standing on the step. I quickly sweep through the kitchen and lounge. No one. I drop my handbag on the hallway floor, then run upstairs. I’m not sure what I’d do if I was to find someone there. A stranger sitting on my bed, or something. My mind hasn’t come up with any answers. Which turns out is fine, because none are needed.

The rooms are empty.

I let out a long stream of air from my lungs.

I simply miscounted – as Jo suggested.

‘Okay, boys – come on in,’ I shout down.

I hear them clamber inside and slam the door. Now the immediate alarm is over, I find myself thinking about who was in here an hour ago. Whether they liked what they saw, whether they were imagining themselves living in this space. Wondering if they touched my things. I inspect the items in my bedroom to make sure all is in its place. As I left it. Everything appears as it should. And as far as I can tell, nothing is missing. But then, I have too much stuff, so wouldn’t immediately notice if it were. I’m about to go into Finley’s room to do the same when Leo hollers.

‘Mum!’

‘Yes, Leo?’ I walk to the top of the stairs.

‘Your mobile’s ringing.’

‘Oh, thanks.’ I run back down and take the phone from his outstretched hand.

It’s Richard. Good timing. I say hi, then walk through to the kitchen, closing the door to the lounge so I can talk without the boys hearing.

‘Is everything all right?’ Richard’s smooth, calm voice asks.

‘Had the open house earlier,’ I tell him. ‘And to be honest, it’s unsettled me.’

‘You’re not having second thoughts, are you? We’ve talked at length about our decision, the pros and cons, how it’s really the only way we’ll be able to be together.’

‘No, no. Nothing like that.’ I’m a little taken aback by the abruptness of his tone. His instant assumption that I’ve changed my mind. But I brush over it for now, so I can share my concern with him. ‘I was watching on the SmartRing app, so I saw how many people turned up.’

‘Oh, right. Good. Well, did it go well? Any interested parties?’

‘People turned up, yes – I haven’t had feedback from Carl yet as to interest, though. But I counted thirteen people going inside—’

‘That’s hopeful.’

‘Yes, you’d think,’ I say. ‘Thirteen people came into my house, but I only counted twelve going back out again.’

The line goes quiet.

‘Are you sure?’

I’m not. I’m fairly certain, but without being able to watch the footage again and recount, I can’t categorically state this as fact. I tell Richard this, and as suspected he, like Jo, simply dismisses it as a miscount.

‘It’s still disconcerting, Richard. I’m alone here with the kids. I’m feeling a little on edge thinking someone is in my home still. Can you drive down? You could be here in four hours.’

‘I can’t, babe, sorry. I’ve got to be in work by seven tomorrow morning. Can one of your friends stay with you?’

‘Probably, if I asked. I only just left Jo and Keeley’s though. They did us lunch and we stayed all afternoon; I don’t feel I could ask more of them.’

‘Barb?’ Richard says, very quietly.

‘Absolutely not. I haven’t had a chance to tell you the latest on her, but no. I don’t want her staying here more than she has to, thanks. Look, it’s fine. I’ll get over it, and by morning when I’m rushing around like a headless chicken trying to get the boys ready for school, I shan’t give it another thought. It’s only because I know people have been traipsing around my house, I’m a little oversensitive, that’s all.’

‘That’s my girl.’

My smile is forced; I’m glad we’re not FaceTiming.

‘Right, well. I’ll let you go, then,’ I say. ‘Battery is about to die.’

‘I’ll text when I can tomorrow, Amber. But if you need me, do call. I’ll make an excuse to leave the office to speak to you.’

‘Okay, thank you.’

‘Speak soon, babe. I love you,’ Richard says. I reciprocate the sentiment before hanging up. The distance between us is such a challenge sometimes – if he lived close by, he’d have not thought twice about coming over and I’d certainly feel safer with him here. I curse his job, too. His long hours as a system analyst in an IT consultancy firm offer no flexibility. I remind myself it’s all temporary. Soon we’ll all be together properly. Please let it be soon.

I plug my phone in to charge and return to the lounge to find the boys lying on their tummies, elbows planted on the wooden floor, chins cradled in their cupped hands, looking up at the TV. The Simpsons is on.

‘Isn’t that uncomfortable? And you shouldn’t be watching that.’ I reach for the remote and switch the channel.

‘Ahh, Mum! It’s fine. All my friends watch it. It’s a cartoon,’ Finley shouts.

‘It’s a rubbish cartoon and not age-appropriate,’ I tell him, while scrolling through the recorded programmes. ‘Watch Horrible Histories instead. It’s still unpleasant, but also educational.’

‘Whatever.’

‘Finley! Less of the attitude, please. Your brother will pick it up.’

‘No, I won’t.’ Leo shoots me a sulky stare before returning his attention to the TV.

‘Anyway, it’s bath time now. Leo, you’re up first.’

‘I want Fin to come with me,’ he says without looking at me.

‘Oh, okay. You don’t usually want him to.’

‘I do tonight. I don’t want to be upstairs on my own.’

A shiver runs down my back. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I don’t want him watching me,’ he says, his face now turning to mine. His eyes are narrowed; serious. I’m confused. If he doesn’t like his brother watching, then why is he asking for him to be in the bathroom with him?

‘Then Finley can be in his bedroom, or I can stay upstairs.’

‘I don’t mean Fin,’ he says, irritation in his voice.

‘Then who do you mean?’

‘The man upstairs.’

Chapter Fourteen
Barb

It’s interesting what people will tell you if you give off an air of superiority, appear to them as though you are someone who should be in the loop. I’ve had that skill since I was a young woman. I’ve put it to good use over the years. Obviously, I’m not the only one, though.

You can be as active or as reclusive as you like, but in the village of Stockwood one thing is for sure – there’ll always be someone who knows everything about everyone. Or thinks they do. Each generation has one such person. When I lived at Apple Grove with Bern, Tim and Nick, that person was Geraldine Harvey. Now, Amber tells me it’s Davina, which doesn’t surprise me in the slightest.

I was still living at the house when Davina moved in across the road. It was me who approached her first, though. I always like to welcome new villagers; it’s only polite. It didn’t take long for me to ascertain she was a busybody. I was sitting on her brand-new, cream leather sofa, while she watched me with an almost unblinking focus as I sipped from the thick, heavy china mug – I’ve always preferred high-quality bone china myself. I remember my sense of unease. She was afraid I was going to spill my drink on her sofa, I could tell. Or onto the impossibly spotless cream carpet. Only people with no children in their family had such décor.

I remember being confused with the mixture of cheap tacki–ness with the more luxurious items and wondering if maybe her and her husband’s tastes were polar opposite. She asked a lot of questions, most of which I gave vague answers to. I got the distinct impression she didn’t like me and had only invited me in so she could grill me on the village and its inhabitants. I hadn’t stayed long, not long enough to even set eyes on her husband, Wayne, although she spoke as though he was there.

When she saw me several days later, she was keen to cross the road and chat with me. It was only a matter of weeks before I was due to move into my bungalow at the sheltered accommodation and I knew Nick, Amber and Finley were preparing to move in. I didn’t tell Davina any of this. As it turned out, she wasn’t interested in anything I had to say anyway; she was more concerned with what she’d found out about the couple at number 46. Of course, I already knew they’d been having issues. I was fully aware he’d been accused of having sexual relations with a minor. Nick had let it slip. It seemed I’d missed the arrest, though. Davina said she’d seen it all. Had practically invited herself into my house so she could inform me of the details.

It’d been the first and last time I’d let her in.

She was a nosy busybody. And a dangerous one.

I didn’t trust her then, and I don’t now.

Chapter Fifteen
Amber

The back of my throat dries in an instant and my body weakens. I reach to the arm of the sofa and slump down on it.

‘What man upstairs?’ I ask, fearful of the answer.

‘The one you were talking about with Richard,’ Leo says, his shoulders hunched.

I didn’t specifically mention a man, I don’t think, and nothing about someone being upstairs as far as I’m aware – but I’m relieved for the time being. He’s overheard my conversation and exaggerated it; he hasn’t actually seen a man upstairs.

‘That’s not what I said, Leo. If you listen in on other people’s conversations, sometimes you pick up the wrong idea, especially as you could only hear what I was saying, not what Richard said. There’s no one upstairs – it’s fine.’ I’m hoping there’s more conviction in my voice than I feel.

‘To be fair, Mum,’ Finley sits up and joins in. ‘You were the one who ran up there to check, and you did say to Richard that you thought someone was in the house. I heard you, too.’

Honesty is the best policy. I smile; my attempt at appearing unperturbed.

‘I had a funny feeling, that’s all. It’s because I knew a lot of people had been inside our house. I don’t really like the thought of strangers having been here, that’s all. And I let my imagination run away with me.’

‘Like how I do sometimes at night?’ Leo looks up at me thoughtfully. ‘When I have my bad dreams?’

‘Yes, a bit like that,’ I say and slide from the sofa to sit on the floor. I pop my arm around Leo’s shoulder and pull him in towards me. He snuggles in and I breathe in the comforting smell of his mop of sandy-brown hair. Leo inherited my colouring; Finley is darker, like his dad. But they both have our blue eyes.

‘I still want Finley with me.’ Leo’s little voice is muffled in my jumper.

‘Sure thing.’

After some coaxing, and a further check of the upstairs rooms, Leo is now happily in the bath, and Finley is sitting on the closed toilet seat reading a book.

It takes longer than usual to settle the boys into bed, Leo demanding more stories and Finley unwilling to put his Nintendo Switch away because he was at a “crucial point” in the game. They both wanted to keep their lights on. I’m angry with myself for my lack of diligence. Just because I was in the kitchen, and talking quietly, didn’t mean they couldn’t hear me. I have always let myself think if I can’t see them, they can’t see me – naively, like a child – and it also stretches to believing if I whisper, I can’t be heard. Despite being caught out numerous times in the past, it seems I still continue to hold this erroneous belief.

Light floods my bedroom as I press the switch. It’s a bit early for me to go to bed, but I want to be upstairs with the boys. I’ll read for a while. I stand in the doorway for a moment, my eyes searching my bedroom again, darting from wall to wall, object to object. How would I know if people had touched my things, run their hands over my bed sheets? Would anyone have been as brazen as to open any cupboards or drawers?

I’m being stupid. I try to remember Jo’s wise words: people have open houses all the time. It’s commonplace – I know this. And I’ve never heard of anything untoward happening at any of these events.

So, why do I feel so on edge?

Living here on my own has made me more paranoid about safety. When Nick was here, I was never once concerned about people breaking in. I suppose I always assumed he’d protect us if there was ever any need. Him being a copper also gave me an extra sense of security. When he left, I kept up a strong front – not just for the boys’ sakes, but for my own too – but deep down I feel more vulnerable now. Although, I’m guessing, if it came to it, I’d put up a good enough fight; what mother wouldn’t do everything in her power to protect her children? I just don’t want to find out if I’d be capable. I don’t want to ever face such a test.

I walk to the TV and turn it on; I need background noise tonight, or I won’t settle either. A film is on, from the Eighties by the look of it. Usually this would lighten my mood, as I love the films from that time – but not tonight. I don’t recognise it, and don’t even bother to press the info button to find out its title.

A noise wakes me. I must’ve drifted off while reading as I’m slumped over my book. The TV has gone on standby mode – the screen is black but there’s still a power light on; it glows orange. My mind immediately concludes there’s an intruder. My earlier thought about how I’d cope with such an eventuality may now be something I’m about to find out.

Adrenaline forces out all traces of sleep. I lie dead still, barely breathing. I remain in this state of catatonia for a minute or so before my muscles release me, and I slowly shift myself out from under the duvet. I bend over, slipping the baseball bat from beneath the bed frame. I grip it in my right hand and stand up. My ears are hyper-alert; I can hear every noise: the hum of electric, the gentle breaths of the boys in their rooms, and my pulse as it whacks against my neck. Then, I hear a creak on the stairs.

I suck in my breath and hold it.

There really is someone in the house.

I clench the bat even tighter and raise it slightly, getting into defensive mode, ready to strike the invader. I’m not going to hesitate. I’ll hit first, ask questions later.

A thought occurs to me, springing up from nowhere. I’ve given Carl a key to my house; he’s the only other person who could let themselves in. Even Nick doesn’t have a key anymore. I don’t really know Carl, yet I’ve entrusted him. I screw my eyes up tight. For God’s sake, calm down. He’s an estate agent and has been for about fifteen years. Of course he can be trusted.

I’m at the door to my bedroom now. I press my ear against it as close as I dare without moving it – I always leave it ajar in case Leo has a nightmare and needs me. I don’t want to alert whoever’s inside; make him aware I’m awake. And armed with a weapon. The bat slips a little in my grip – sweat lubricating the wood. Nick left the bat here, for me. In case. I never imagined I’d have to use it.

‘Mum, mum … MUM!’

My blood runs cold through my veins as though it’s turning to ice. Leo’s cries pierce through my skin, straight to my bones. It’s probably only for a split second, but my limbs go to jelly before they burst into action. I fling the door of my bedroom open and race across the landing, eyes scanning the immediate area in front of me before launching into Leo’s room, bat raised, expecting to see a figure hunched over him, hurting him.

‘I’m … here. I’m … here,’ I say, my voice weak and breathless, the words sticking to my tongue like toffee. The night lamp gives off a soft, warm, orangey glow, casting shadows on the walls. I squint, trying to make my eyes adjust in the dimness. I don’t think anyone else is in the room, but I smack the main light on with the palm of my free hand anyway.

‘Did you see him? He was there, just there. Did you get him?’ Leo pants. His eyes are wide and bloodshot, frantically casting around the room. That’s how I can tell he’s had a nightmare; it’s the telltale sign.

Despite this, I turn to check the area again. To allay Leo’s fears, or my own, I can’t tell.

‘There’s no one here, baby. It was a dream.’

I struggle with the notion there might still be someone in the house, though. I did hear a noise – the creak of a stair.

‘Why don’t I go and see anyway, eh? I’ll make doubly sure for you, then you’ll be able to go back to sleep. Okay?’

‘Okay,’ Leo whimpers. His grasp on my arms loosens, but he doesn’t let go. I gently prise him off me.

‘I’ll be two shakes of a lamb’s tail,’ I say brightly. This saying usually garners a smile from him, but his face remains stony now.

‘Be careful, won’t you?’ he says, instead.

‘I’m going to close your door for a minute. All right?’

I don’t wait for an answer, I just shut it. I don’t want him to see me walking with the bat raised as he’ll know I’m scared too. Finley’s door is closed tight. I can’t believe he didn’t wake up with Leo’s screams; he must be in a deep sleep. I open the door and stick my head around to check all is well in there. His Star Wars duvet is half-on, half-off him; one pale leg sticks awkwardly out. Satisfied, I steadily descend the stairs. With my back against the wall, I slide slowly downwards. There’s some light seeping from the open lounge door, which is illuminating the first part of the hallway. I’d obviously forgotten to close the curtains as I went to bed so early and the streetlights are still on.

Hesitating at the bottom, I strain to hear any sound that’s out of place. Nothing now. No movement that I can make out. No footsteps, no heavy breathing. I don’t know what I was expecting. My muscles relax a little, and my heart rate begins to return to its usual pace as I steal through the lounge into the kitchen, checking the back door’s locked. The fight-or-flight response is subsiding. I feel somewhat proud of myself; at least I didn’t flee – I was ready to front up to the threat. Fight for my little family.

But I’m extremely relieved it doesn’t look as though my fighting skills are going to be required.

With one last look around downstairs, I go back into the hallway. As I reach the front door, I check that too. And for good measure, slide the key chain across. Not that it’d be enough to prevent someone forcing their way in, but it makes me feel better.

‘Everything’s fine, Leo,’ I say as I return to his room. He’s sitting up, knees drawn to his chest, head resting on them. He looks so little. I prop the bat up just outside his door and walk in and sit next to him. I pull the duvet over us both. ‘I’ll stay with you if you like?’

He stares at me for a moment. ‘I think I’ll be all right, actually, Mum.’

‘Oh, okay. If you’re sure. You can bunk in my room if you’d prefer. It’s bigger.’ I smile and stroke his hair. He ponders this for a few seconds.

‘Well, if you’d feel better with me there, then I could do.’

Bless my little boy. ‘That would make me feel better, yes,’ I say.

‘Can I bring Monkey A?’

Monkey A was his first cuddly monkey. Barb gave it to him when he was one. Since then he’s collected cuddly monkeys and named them, predictably, Monkey B, Monkey C and so on. He’s on Monkey T now, but his first is always his go-to one when he’s frightened.

‘Of course.’

And it’s as though he can sense I don’t want to be on my own either. This business about only twelve of the thirteen people making it out of my home has really creeped me out.

However, it seems I was wrong about there being an intruder tonight, more so that it was Carl. All the same, tomorrow I’m paying him a visit. One, to find out about the open house, and two, to take my key from him – this episode has given me cause for concern and I’d rather know I have the key in my possession. From now on, he’ll have to arrange any viewings with my knowledge and I’ll give him the key and get him to return it after each one.

Maybe I’ll be really lucky and Carl will have already lined up a buyer from the open house – then I won’t have to worry about any of this anymore. It’s a shame I can’t just leave all this house-selling business to Nick and pack me and the boys up and head to Kent, stay with Richard. But, sadly, Leila, Richard’s ex-wife, isn’t being as accommodating as Nick – although guilt plays a huge part in his amenability. Until I sell my house, Richard’s tied up financially without much hope of being able to afford another mortgaged property.

With Leo now settled in the bed beside me, I pray I can drift off to sleep despite my mind working overtime.

The morning light can’t come soon enough for me.

Chapter Sixteen
Amber

‘Mum! Mum, where’s my PE kit?’

‘Hang on, Finley. I’ll be there in a sec,’ I shout, my voice muted as my head’s currently jammed inside the dishwasher. The stupid clip on the runner has come off again. I’m fed up with having to fish it out and struggle to pop it back in place again every time I use it. I should wash it all by hand, but admittedly, shoving it in the dishwasher means I can make the place look tidier more quickly. Just in case of viewings.

‘I left it there. Now it’s gone,’ he whines.

I wince as I bang my head on the metal door when I try to manoeuvre myself back out. ‘Shit!’

‘Oooh, Mummy said a bad word,’ I hear Leo say as he bounds into the kitchen, his school shirt half-untucked from his grey trousers. I note there’s an inch gap from the end of his trousers to his feet, pink skin visible. Damn, those boys are growing too quickly. I don’t want to fork out on new uniform really, not when the school I’m hoping to get them into in Kent has black trousers as its uniform.

‘I said shoot, actually.’

‘It’s not right to tell lies, Mum. Nanna says so.’

‘Well, she’s right, of course. People shouldn’t tell lies. I’m sorry.’

Leo grins with what appears to be a smug satisfaction. Kids these days. Because I’ve not gone immediately to help Finley, he hollers again. I find him standing in the hallway in the middle of piles of shoes, boots, and wellies that he’s dragged from the under-stair storage space.

‘Finley! Was there any need to make such a mess?’ I haven’t got the time, or energy after my sleepless night to put everything back neatly before taking them to school now.

‘Got it!’ He holds up his bag triumphantly, steps over the chaos he’s created and goes into the lounge. The bag had been to the side; there’d been no need to pull anything out in the first place. I kick some of the shoes back underneath the stairs, then bend and sweep the rest under with an arm. It’ll have to do for now.

‘Right, come on then, my little destroyer – let’s get out of here. And you, Leo. Get your school bag please.’

‘I don’t know where it is,’ he says. I suppress the wail building inside my lungs.

‘Where’s the last place you remember seeing it?’

‘In my bedroom. I took it there when Dad and Nanna dropped us back after Maccies on Friday.’

‘Have you checked there?’ My voice is filled with an exasperation I haven’t felt in ages. It’s not the end of the world, and it goes with the territory. It’s only a few things that have been slightly annoying this morning, but my lack of sleep and my worry about the missing viewer from yesterday have all taken a toll,and I’m snappy and irritable. I just want this morning to go smoothly so I don’t turn up to work a tight ball of stress before even beginning the day.

I don’t bother waiting for a reply, I run up the stairs to look for it myself.

It’s not there. Now I come to think of it, I don’t remember seeing it over the weekend. What’s the betting it’s in Nick’s bloody car.

‘Anything important in it?’ I ask when I get back downstairs.

‘My lunchbox, my spellings and my reading folder,’ he states clearly.

‘Well, no lunchbox required as it’s a school-lunch day,’ I say. They only have school lunches twice a week, the rest of the time it’s packed lunches. I chose Monday for one of the days as it’s the one I’m least likely to be prepared for after a busy weekend. And then they have one on Thursday as I’ll have generally run out of nutritional – and permissible by the school – items to put in their lunches until I go shopping Thursday evening. ‘And the rest is going to have to wait as I assume Dad will have already left for work.’

‘I didn’t leave it in the car. It’s in my room. You didn’t look properly.’ He pouts and crosses his arms.

‘But you said you couldn’t find it either?’

‘That’s true.’ He puts a finger to his lips and looks up to the ceiling in a “thinking” pose. ‘Well, someone must’ve taken it then,’ he says.

I don’t respond, doing a quick sweep of each room instead. But no backpack.

‘You’ll have to go without it.’

‘I’ll get told off.’

‘No, you won’t. I’ll explain you left it at your dad’s.’

‘But I didn’t, so that’s another lie.’ He’s getting agitated and angry and, in a minute, I’m going to have a crying child on my hands. Then he’ll be late, and distressed, as well as ill-equipped.

‘Look, let’s get to school and I’ll speak with your teacher. I’ll call Daddy on the way,’ I reason with him.

It placates him – at least temporarily. I practically drag both the boys out of the house and, as we walk-jog to school, I dial Nick.

‘Ah, good. Didn’t think I’d catch you before you began work,’ I say, breathlessly.

‘I’m out and about. Fact-finding mission for my latest cold case.’

‘Oh, right. Well, Leo has left his school bag in your car.’

‘No, he hasn’t,’ he responds with no hesitation. ‘He definitely took his bag with him when I dropped the boys back on Friday. Didn’t he give you the letter I gave him? He put it straight into his bag.’

‘No. What letter? And why didn’t you just give it to me instead of giving it to our six-year-old son?’

I hear a deep sigh. I’m not even trying to be awkward, I’m genuinely at a loss as to why Nick didn’t hand it to me when he brought the boys back. Maybe he knew I’d be angry for the whole “taking them without permission” thing and thought it simpler to get Leo to put the letter in his bag. Who knows what goes through a man’s head?

‘It came to my flat. Lord knows why. It’s been on the side for a couple of days, kept forgetting to give it to you, so I put it in the car to jog my memory. Leo picked it up while I was driving, so I asked him just to shove it in his rucksack. Anyway, I’m sure it couldn’t have been important, not if they hadn’t correctly addressed it; probably junk mail.’

It seems odd that someone should send a letter to me to an address I’ve never lived at, though. Maybe it was from someone who didn’t realise we’d split and had assumed I was with Nick at the new address.

‘Oh, actually, that reminds me. I’ve got a parcel at the house for you, too. Came on Friday. In the … er … stress of not knowing where the boys were, I forgot to give it to you.’

We left the call on amicable terms, as we always did, even after the heated discussion the other evening. I’ve never been able to stay angry with Nick. And it seemed that was a mutual thing.

So, now I’m left with a missing school bag and a missing letter.

Chapter Seventeen
Amber

When I open the front door twenty minutes later and walk through the hallway, I see the bag.

In the middle of the pile of shoes and stuff Finley had yanked out from under the stairs, there it sits.

‘What the hell?’ I grab it, pulling it free of the shoes. There’s no way I’d have missed it there. How could I have? And Leo, too? I’d been on my hands and knees shovelling all the stuff back. I’d have noticed a rucksack.

But I was rather stressed. And Leo wasn’t even looking properly.

God’s sake. If I make a detour to take it to school now, I’ll be late for work. Great start to Monday. Leo’s teacher was fine about it anyway, so it won’t hurt if I don’t take it. Leo was upset, but he’ll get over it – it’s probably already forgotten.

As I’m about to fling it back under the stairs, I remember the letter.

I check every zipped compartment. No letter.

Typical.

I have to go. I’ll ask Leo about it later. Maybe he took the letter out and put it somewhere “safe”.

I decide not to call Carl now as I’ve had enough stress already. I’ll do it this evening. I make some time up on the drive to work – no slow traffic, no tractors. And a parking space close to the entrance of the car park means I shave a little time off my walk to the optician’s. Hopefully my day is getting better.

My optimism wanes when I walk through the door, only to be greeted with stony faces and an accusatory glare from the boss, Henry. His wife, Olive, is standing beside him, her hand firmly on her hip.

They know.

I’m on the back foot – I wasn’t expecting this scenario to play out just yet.

‘Morning,’ I say. I carry on through the shop floor to the back room where we keep our bags and coats. I hang mine up, and while my back is turned, I try to plaster on a facial expression that fits with ‘I’m so sorry to land you in it,’ and ‘I’m sorry for not telling you myself.’

Who did tell them? When I turn back to face them, they’ve both disappeared.

That’s bad. They’re obviously really upset with me. I should’ve been upfront right from the beginning.

‘Olive?’ I call. ‘Henry?’

‘Why didn’t you say?’ I hear Olive’s soft, quiet voice. She’s in the doorway of the break room. ‘I don’t understand how you could keep it from us, Amber.’

‘I’m sorry, Olive.’ My posture sags. I really am sorry as I know they’ll feel let down. And I kept the move from them for my own selfish reasons. I didn’t think I’d feel this ashamed. ‘I honestly didn’t know how long it would all take, so didn’t want to be too premature in telling you. I’ve had no offers, so it could be months and months yet before I’d even need to give notice.’

‘Need to?’ It’s Henry’s voice that booms in my ear now. He’s come to join in – watch my discomfort. ‘I really didn’t think it would be a case of what you were required to do, Amber. Not after all we’ve done to accommodate your needs. I’d have thought you’d offer the common courtesy of giving us a heads-up – a couple of months’ notice rather than the statutory one month.’

‘Of course. I completely understand, and that would be what I’d like to do, too. But how can I give notice if I don’t know when I’ll be leaving? As I just said to Olive, I’ve had zero interest – it could be months, a year, for all I know.’ My defences are up. Being put on the spot is making me anxious and when I’m cornered, I tend to say things I later regret. However much I’m in the wrong, morally, I’m going to put up a fight so I don’t come off worse.

It takes another five minutes of me trying to explain myself before Olive and Henry appear to have accepted I didn’t withhold the information to purposely hurt their business. I did say I was “testing the market” and might not go at all – which of course is an untruth. And one Leo would be very upset with me for telling. But I need this job until I’m ready to go.

It’s not until lunchtime, when Olive is sitting eating a microwave korma meal, that I get the opportunity to ask the burning question.

‘How did you know my house was on the market anyway?’

‘Oh, your mother-in-law came in to pick up her glasses on Saturday. She mentioned it in passing. She obviously didn’t realise you hadn’t told us.’

My face burns. Barb did know I hadn’t informed the Stewarts. I’d specifically told her. And she happened to come into the shop on a Saturday, a day she knew I didn’t work. And after the whole Maccies debacle on Friday. I attempt to swallow the anger. I ball my fists and take some slow, deep breaths.

There’s no doubt in my mind that Barb has done this on purpose.

Chapter Eighteen
Barb

How could she think I did it on purpose?

My ear is hot where I’ve been holding the phone tight up against it for the last ten minutes while Amber talked at me. She barely took a breath; certainly not long enough for me to get a word in. No chance to even defend myself. I tried to point out that her employers finding out about the move wasn’t in my interest either – if Amber were to be replaced before the house had sold, it could force her to sell to the property developers to speed everything up. But I stuttered and started and stopped, because Amber wouldn’t allow me to complete a single sentence.

Honestly, I’m shaking. Doesn’t she care what I’m going through? She seems to have forgotten I gave up my house. And here she is repaying me by accusing me of ruining things for her. I’ve had to make a cup of tea and sit on the sofa to recover from her outburst. When my ear stops burning and my hands stop trembling, I’m going to call Nick.

Amber seems overly upset about it all. I’d say there’s more to it; there’s something else troubling her. Hopefully, she and Richard have had a lover’s tiff; some disagreement about the future arrangements.

Or maybe she’s found out something that has rung an alarm.

Yes, I bet that’s it. Richard isn’t as wonderful as he’s led her to believe. She’s unearthed a bad side to him.

Wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest.

Everyone has a darker side, don’t they? Some are just better at keeping it hidden.

Chapter Nineteen
Amber

I’m all of a fluster after the phone call with Barb, but not as flustered as Carl appears to be at this moment. The doorbell rang as I was hanging up, so I opened it without checking the app to see who it was – the surprise at seeing him standing there took the edge off my frustration at Barb’s serious lack of ability to take responsibility for her actions.

‘I think I left my diary here yesterday,’ Carl says, his eyes wide as though he’s asked a question rather than stated a fact.

‘No. It’s not here,’ I say, keeping him on the doorstep. If I’m honest, I’m a little put out that he’s here for a bloody diary, not with news of a buyer. But at least him being here means I can ask him about the open house and for my key back. I’m about to tell him that I saw him leave with it, but I hold back – I don’t really want him to know I was virtually spying on him. I don’t think it’s really a big deal that I was, though. He must be aware of the doorbell app, he’s been here enough times. Although, to be fair, we’ve never spoken of it. The logo is on the bell itself and surely most people know what it is. Having said that, I don’t know anyone else with it in this village. I suppose most people don’t feel the need for the extra security in what’s considered a safe place to live. Before Nick suggested one, I hadn’t any knowledge of them apart from the odd advert on TV, which I didn’t take much notice of.

‘This is the last place I remember having it,’ he mutters and stretches his neck so he can see behind me, into the hallway. ‘Are you sure it’s not on the hall table?’ He’s rubbing the fingertips of each hand together. There must be a lot of important, possibly sensitive, information on his clients in it for him to be this concerned.

‘Quite sure. As you must’ve noticed, I’d cleared away any evidence of clutter, so I’d have seen it clearly.’ I don’t tell him how long it took to find Leo’s bag this morning. If it hadn’t been for me seeing Carl leave with the diary tucked under his arm, I would have to consider the possibility it was inside somewhere.

‘Yes, yes. You did a good job,’ he says, eyeing me cautiously. God, does he think I’ve taken the diary?

‘Sorry not to be of help. Did you return to the office after the open house? Or perhaps you took it home with you as it was a Sunday?’ I’m trying to be helpful, but Carl becomes more anxious, transferring his weight from one leg to the other. He looks like a toddler who needs a wee.

‘I can’t remember. Oh, well – it’ll turn up, no doubt.’

‘I assume all your appointments are computerised too, so you won’t—’

‘Yes. Yes – all that’s fine.’ He backs away from the door and turns as though he’s about to leave.

I can’t believe he isn’t going to mention the open house event.

‘Wait a moment,’ I say, to stop him leaving.

He whips back around to face me again.

‘How did the event go?’ I ask.

‘Oh, yes – sorry. Yep – went really well.’ He doesn’t seem keen to stay and chat; he begins to walk away again.

‘How well is well?’ I’m not letting him go until I’ve asked about everything that’s been concerning me. I’m sure I hear him huff.

Carl purses his lips, and then nods. ‘I’d say at least three positives, and one couple have asked for a second viewing. I just need to find their details …’

As he trails off, I experience a mini panic that their details are in the diary he can’t find. But I assume if worse comes to worst, they’ll call Carl if they don’t hear from him.

‘How many people attended?’ I’m aware I’m screwing my eyes up – and realise it’s partly from fear of the answer.

‘Er …’ He scratches his head. ‘Twelve, I think …’

I gulp. ‘Oh? You’re not sure?’

‘Well, I did write their details in the diary …’ He leaves the sentence hanging. Great. So, it’s not definitely twelve, it could’ve been thirteen like I thought. Not having a definitive number from Carl has just added another level of apprehension to my overanxious mind.

I must bring up the matter of the key now.

Ideally, I’d like to get him inside the house, rather than chatting about this outside. But as he’s edging towards his car this is my only chance.

‘I was thinking, Carl … Could I have my key back, please?’

‘Oh? Why?’ He stops in his tracks, his focus now fully on me. ‘I thought it was the best arrangement for you – you’d find it difficult otherwise while at work – and … well’ – he says with a wave of his hand – ‘whatever else it was you mentioned to begin with.’

‘Yes, that was the main reason for you having a key. But I could still let you have it in advance of any future viewings if you give me enough notice. I’d just feel better if I had the spare key in my possession, really.’

‘No one other than myself handles the key, Amber. It’s always locked away in the safe when not required.’ He’s getting defensive; his posture’s stiffened. ‘It’ll make it so much more awkward when arranging viewings …’ He peters off, but his eyes are boring into mine; their intensity makes me feel uneasy. It’s my key, my house – why should I feel bad about asking for it back?

‘I understand you keep it safe, Carl. It’s not that I don’t trust you, you know. But the other day when I was delayed at work, my mother-in-law couldn’t even get in the house with my children as you have the only spare.’ It’s not the reason I want it back, obviously, but on balance I think it’s a reasonable argument.

‘You could get another cut,’ Carl states.

‘I know I could. But I don’t want to,’ I say, my voice now rising in response to him being so obstinate.

‘Fine. If you insist, I’ll drop it back sometime after work tomorrow.’ He glares at me for a moment, then I see him open his mouth as though about to add something, but he changes his mind, turns and walks towards his Mercedes.

I’m conscious that the whole exchange was a little odd; I have an uneasy feeling I can’t pinpoint. His behaviour seems different since the open house – his reaction to me asking for my key over the top. What’s rattled his cage?

I hope the diary isn’t the only thing he’s mislaid.

What if he’s lost my house key, too?

Chapter Twenty
Amber

Before Carl has made it into his car, Davina rushes across the road, one hand waving madly. No doubt she was listening the whole time. One of the reasons I wanted to conduct the conversation inside the house, not on the doorstep. I’m sure I hear Carl groan when he hears Davina’s voice as it carries on the air like a seagull’s squawk. He does a quick manoeuvre and slips into his Mercedes before she can reach the pavement – even he doesn’t want to speak to Davina. It wouldn’t surprise me if she’s been bending his ear every time he’s been at the house.

‘That’s the man I keep seeing going into your house,’ she says, her gaze following his car as he drives away.

‘Yes, he’s the estate agent, Davina. I told you it was probably him.’

‘Hmmm, yes. Very good-looking. I can see why you chose him.’ Davina gives me a sly nudge and then winks. Oh, my God, this woman is incorrigible. I take a few steps away from her so she can’t nudge me again.

‘I chose him because he’s the only local agent who could accommodate the viewings without me needing to be involved,’ I say, angry with myself for feeling the need to substantiate my decision.

‘Oh, if you ever need anyone to oversee a viewing, I’m your woman,’ she declares, her grin so wide her entire top row of teeth seem to be visible.

‘Oh, no. You’re fine, thanks. I’m sure you’ve got better things to do. And you might be working anyway?’

It occurs to me I have no clue what Davina does for a living, if anything. She always appears to be at home.

‘I’m a writer,’ Davina says. ‘I’m almost always at home.’

Now, that makes sense. Always in comfortable clothes, her hair never styled, no make-up. I guess she thinks there’s no need seeing as she rarely goes out. Well, only to harass her neighbours. And writers are inquisitive by default, always looking for material for a bloody novel. Although I am actually a bit curious and would like to ask her about it, I refrain. I just want to cook tea, have a shower and lounge in front of the TV for a few hours before crashing into bed.

‘I’ll keep that in mind – thanks, Davina.’

‘Make sure you do,’ she says, smiling. ‘I like helping people out, and now you’re on your own, I want you to know I’m here if you need anything.’

Yes, so that you can dig out anything juicy about them to tell the rest of the village.

I nod politely and begin to make my way inside.

‘I was going to ask,’ Davina continues despite me walking away. ‘Any bites yet? Only I see that estate agent has brought the same—’

‘Must go, Davina – the boys need putting to bed.’ I skip up the step, turn quickly to say goodnight, then shut the door. Sometimes I question myself – think I might have got Davina all wrong; maybe I’m being too harsh on her. I’ve never given the woman a chance. What if she’s just lonely? Isn’t being a writer a very isolating career? I assume her husband isn’t at home all day, so she must spend so much of her time alone, secluded – no real people to speak with – just characters in her head. It must make you a little mad.

As I lock up, making sure I slide the safety chain across too, I make a mental note to be more friendly and open towards her, instead of cutting her off the second she opens her mouth. I don’t have to be best friends with the woman or invite her into my house – but I could make more effort to engage.

I remember the letter as I’m putting Leo to bed.

‘Oh, honey, I meant to ask – Daddy said he gave you a letter for me on Friday? You put it straight into your rucksack, but I didn’t find it. Have you put it somewhere else?’

His forehead crinkles. ‘Sorry, I forgot about it. But I didn’t take it out so it must be in there still.’

‘Okay – maybe I missed it. I’ll check again.’ I tuck the duvet all around him, making sure I push it in under his legs just as he likes it. He hates the feeling of any air reaching him. He couldn’t be more opposite to Finley, who is often sprawled over the bed, duvet abandoned on the floor. I kiss him goodnight, flick on the night light on his bedside cabinet and close the door. He calls out, telling me to leave it open “a crack”. I think he’s still unsettled following last night’s bad dream.

I pop into Finley’s room and find him at his desk, facing the computer, brandishing a controller as though it were a sword.

‘What are you up to?’

‘Fighting aliens,’ he says without his attention leaving the screen. I was against him having a computer in his bedroom. I’d been adamant there would only be one, and it would reside in the lounge, where I could always keep an eye on what they were doing. But, after the split, Nick left his old computer here and told Finley he could have it as long as it wasn’t connected to the internet. Basically, it’s a glorified games console. The laptop, which I ensure stays downstairs, is the only device they can use to look things up on the net. And then only with me present. It’s a sign of the times, I tell the boys if they ask why I’m being so strict. I don’t want to make too big a thing of it because it’s second nature – if something is off-limits, or out of bounds, it suddenly becomes more appealing and they’ll do whatever it takes to use it behind my back. I check my watch.

‘Half an hour longer, then bed, mister,’ I say. I go over and kiss him on the top of his head. Thankfully, he’s still allowing me to show some affection. I don’t suppose that’ll last much longer. Soon enough he’ll be going to secondary and batting away any form of sentimental stuff from his mother.

‘Forty-five minutes,’ he counters. There always has to be bartering involved.

‘Forty and you have a deal.’

He smiles. ‘You’re too easy,’ he says.

I raise my eyebrows, but decide not to bite. ‘You didn’t happen to see what Leo did with a letter on Friday, did you? Dad gave it to him in the car.’

Finley pauses his game and turns to me. ‘Yes. Dad told him it was for you, and Leo put it into his bag. In the main zip compartment. I watched him do it.’

‘Oh. Well, it’s not there now.’

‘Weird,’ he says, and his eyes narrow. ‘And you couldn’t even find his bag before, either.’

The fact he has pointed this out makes me think about it too. That bag was nowhere to be seen, then twenty minutes later was in the middle of a pile of shoes. Like someone had put it there during the time it took for me to take the boys to school.

Yet, a letter for me is no longer in the bag.

Barb was with Nick when he handed the letter to Leo. She would’ve known he put it in the bag. So, maybe she also took it out again.

Earlier, I was concerned maybe Carl had lost the key to my house. Maybe he actually gave it to Barb.

Has she been in here, messing around with things?

‘Did Nanna take it, perhaps, for safekeeping?’ I ask Finley, in case it jogs his memory.

‘I didn’t see her take it, no. Leo had his bag with him the whole time.’

‘Oh well – I’m sure it’ll turn up. Just like Leo’s bag did.’

‘Perhaps it’s already magically back inside the rucksack now,’ he says brightly. ‘You should check.’

‘Yes. Will do. Right, now you only have thirty-five minutes.’ I laugh as I close his door and hear him muttering to himself about that being unfair.

I do check the bag again when I get downstairs. I upturn it, shake it, and unzip each pocket again. Definitely not there.

Someone has taken it.

Chapter Twenty-One

It’s not easy keeping things from others.

Secrets.

They’ll destroy you eventually. Even if they stay secret, you just dwell on them, worry about making a mistake, worry about slipping up – saying something you shouldn’t. Right up to the day you die.

And if they don’t stay a secret – well, then you’re forced to deal with the fallout.

Or, run from it.

Burying your head in the sand – that’s a common coping mechanism. After a while, when you realise you’ve not been found out, you become smug. If that’s the right word; overconfident, maybe.

Then, after the weeks and months pass, the possibility the lies will never resurface seems greater.

It was unexpected that this village – its villagers – would be what turned. Which is naive of me, given the circumstances.

I suppose you can never be sure where the knife to the back will come from. Keeping friends close, but enemies closer might have worked for a while, but everyone has a price.

And regardless, for me, it turned out my loyalties had been completely misplaced from day one.

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