Pippa noticed a couple of average farming landscapes on the walls opposite a small, ugly grandfather clock and some black-and-white photographs. She had no idea which room was which, and the first two doors she tried revealed double beds neatly made in each.
‘They’ll do,’ she said tiredly. Really this whole escapade was bonkers, and she’d be having a serious word with her dad. He always did this, set her some ridiculous task he wanted her to sort and then took himself off-grid where she couldn’t reach him to give him a piece of her mind. Well, she would track him down this time for sure, he’d gone too far, and she wasn’t going to be…
‘Mum? Are you even listening?’
‘What?’ Pippa whirled around, still mentally giving her dad the sharp end of her tongue, and enjoying it.
‘Isaid, will you check on me in the morning when you get up?’
‘Of course I will.’ Pippa’s irritation with her dad dissipated as she looked at Harriet standing in the doorway of the first room. She didn’t often seek comfort from her mum these days and seemed to be aiming for nonchalance as she fidgeted with the phone in her hand, but Pippa had caught the flash of uncertainty in her gaze.
‘And if I’m still asleep, don’t wake me up, okay?’
‘That’s fine.’ She didn’t mind in the least how long Harriet slept in tomorrow; it might delay the row about the Wi-Fi that was on the way. ‘And I won’t go out until you’re up. We’ll have to go shopping, though heaven knows where. It’s probably miles to the nearest town but those few bits we brought won’t last long.’
‘Didn’t you even google Hartfell before we came, find out what’s here?’
‘No. What did you discover?’
‘Well, there’s a shop and a pub so we won’t starve.’
‘Okay, I’ll take a look tomorrow. And the house will be up for sale just as soon as I find a local estate agent.’ Pippa knew her lack of online curiosity would be astonishing to Harriet, who barely made a move without checking it on her phone first. But she wasn’t about to confess to her clever and intuitive daughter that she’d half hoped if she ignored the plan her dad had set in motion, then it might have simply gone away. But now here she was, knowing barely anything about the house and even less about its surroundings. Harriet dragged her case into the room and Pippa followed, watching her dump it on the floor.
‘Night sweetheart, sleep well.’
‘Night.’ Harriet came over to give Pippa a quick squeeze and she held her daughter for those few, brief seconds until Harriet wriggled away. ‘You too. Close the door on your way out.’
Pippa obliged, pressing her lips together. Once they would have snuggled on Harriet’s bed to read a story before she tucked her daughter beneath the covers, but those days were long gone. She trailed into her own room and shut the door. This one was slightly larger, with floral green wallpaper and similarly coloured curtains that reminded her of wet moss. Cushions on an armchair in one corner were edged in lace, matching those on the bed, and she tossed them to the chair. A wooden dressing table and wardrobe were looming and dark, and the only thing she liked about the room was the size and the bed framed in brass.
She heard Harriet trying doors on the landing until she found one that was presumably the bathroom, and when she’d finished, Pippa followed to freshen up. Blue tiles didn’t suit a turquoise suite and the only mirror was the door of a small, wall-mounted cupboard. It had been a long drive up from London, with all the traffic problems that holiday getaways usually brought, and she found all this clashing colour adding to her exhaustion. It probably wouldn’t help get the house sold in a hurry, but if the price was right, it would surely sell soon enough, and then she and Harriet would be back in their little corner of Maida Vale in no time.
Her short silk pyjamas were perfectly adequate at home, but Pippa was shivering as she got into the brass bed, plain cotton sheets cool against her skin. She’d stayed in plenty of hotels when she and her siblings had travelled with their dad, and was used to falling asleep in strange places, but this one seemed different. There was a stillness to the silence that felt empty, eerie even, and not even the owl hooting outside could drive away the sense of isolation creeping over her.
She knew the village was nearby, but they’d barely passed any lights along those last twenty miles since leaving the motorway, and she had no idea how far away proper civilisation might lie. She tossed and turned uneasily for a good hour, trying to stay warm and ignore the clock on the landing chiming every fifteen minutes.
Several hours later, the green curtains were no match for the glare of the morning sun and Pippa jerked awake from an unsettling dream in which she was being followed by a clanking suit of armour. She breathed deeply, waiting for the vision to fade from her mind, and reluctantly emerged from the duvet and bright patchwork quilt thrown across it. An old-fashioned triple mirror on the dressing table helpfully revealed three tired versions of her own self, dark circles beneath her eyes. She found a socket and plugged in her phone, which she’d forgotten to do last night, half expecting crackling, and was relieved when none came.
The house seemed to be holding its breath too and she opened her door quietly so as not to disturb Harriet, even though a marching band might not manage it when her daughter was asleep. She stepped onto the landing and her feet nearly left the floor when the grandfather clock cheerfully chimed six a.m. She shot it a filthy look as she released her grip of the banister, mentally adding ‘get rid’ to the list of jobs in her mind.
Now would be a good time to check on Harriet as promised, making sure she was warm and comfortable. For all that Pippa did everything she could to create a normal life for her daughter, their family wasn’t exactly the most ordinary one, and Harriet had declared an unwelcome degree of independence when she’d set her heart on attending a secondary school outside of London. Pippa had been vehement in her opposition to parting with her during the week and, as usual, Jonny had stepped in to support his granddaughter until Pippa had eventually relented. The compromise had been found in the school’s exceptional reputation for sport as well as other subjects, and she still had to cling onto unshed tears every time she drove Harriet back to Kent.
Harriet had settled well and soon flourished as a flexible boarder, one of her friends from primary joining her at the co-educational school. But since she’d returned after the Easter break, Pippa had known that all wasn’t quite right. Harriet was spending more time in her room and Pippa definitely felt at times that her daughter was avoiding conversations and their usual closeness seemed to be disintegrating.
Though she’d obviously not wanted another of her dad’s problems to sort out, the main reason she’d agreed to represent Jonny in Hartfell was because it would be a rare chance to spend time with Harriet and somehow try to reconnect. Life in London didn’t stand still for anyone, and if she didn’t act soon then Harriet would be gone, on to A levels before university and studying for a career in physiotherapy. In quiet moments at home when it was just the two of them, Harriet would still allow the occasional sofa snuggle and Pippa felt acutely the threads holding her daughter to her stretching, becoming thinner with every month that passed.
She was more than ready for her first coffee of the day and just as soon as she’d checked on Harriet, then she’d go in search of the kitchen and supplies. Whoever had prepared their rooms was supposed to have left some shopping essentials to get them started, and she hoped there might be fresh fruit or even yoghurt in the fridge. Her stomach rumbled at the thought; dinner had been twelve hours ago in a service station on the way up.
‘Harriet?’ Pippa whispered as she tapped gently on the bedroom door. She was certain Harriet was still asleep, otherwise the lack of Wi-Fi would definitely have got her out of bed in search of a network and a password. She’d have a quick look and then leave her to rest.
She knocked a second time and carefully opened the door to peep around it. On the opposite side of the house to her own room, the sun wouldn’t filter into this one until much later and dark curtains were helping to hold back the morning light. It took her vision a moment to adjust, and she blinked as her gaze landed on the bed. A large dog was flat out on the duvet and someone beneath it, presumably Harriet, was snoring in a manner she’d never heard emanate from her daughter before. Pippa’s jaw dropped as she loosened her grip on the door, and it swung back to clatter against the wall.
‘Harriet,’ she yelled, forgetting how slowly Harriet liked to come to in the mornings. ‘Where did that dog come from and why is it sleeping on your bed?’
The results of her shout were twofold, and Pippa wasn’t expecting either of them. The dog leapt to the floor and set up a cacophony of barking that she thought might actually wake the dead and certainly bring to life whoever had inhabited that suit of armour downstairs. The top half of the figure beneath the duvet sprang up, revealing messy blond hair and a bare chest that quite possibly would have taken her breath away if she hadn’t been so busy trying to fend off the dog, which had decided it didn’t mind the look of her now and was trying to lick her to death instead.
‘What the…’ The man ran a bewildered hand through his hair, squinting at the sight greeting him in the doorway. A scowl spread across his face, shadowed by rough, golden stubble. ‘Ah. You’re here.’
Chapter Two
