“Your sperm father?”
She grinned. “Can he be my ‘birth’ father when he wasn’t at the birth? He wouldn’t have foreseen this DIY DNA craze. Connecting with him or his family on a genealogy website would feel like a sneak attack.” She laughed at Tom’s open-mouthed expression. “You’re having trouble computing.”
“No, it sounds almost … liberating. It’s like you’re brand new. Free to be whomever you choose, shape your own fate. Not that I should project my hangups onto you.” He scanned the bookshelves again. “This book really is not here. I know it was a year ago because I added my father’s date of death to it. Right here.” He tapped a gap betweenDebrett’s Correct FormandBurke’s Landed Gentry. “Amelia, are you feeling paranoid today?”
“I feel paranoid every day. I can’t believe I chose last night, of all nights, to not be paranoid.”
“But do you still feel like you’re tripping? Do you really think we hallucinated that body? I know logic suggests we did, and I want to believe it, but I also can’t shake the image of the anglerfish, and it feels real.” He shook his head, as if that would loosen the sticky thoughts.
Her teeth toyed with her lower lip. “It still feels like it happened. But I would also swear they were cyclopses. And I know for sure I heard them arguing but why can’t I remember it?And I keep thinking about the bumps and things I heard in the night.”
“And Duncan not having turned up. And little things, like this missing book, the noise in the servants’ corridor, the jangling. I remember thinking as we lay in bed that the jangling was unusual, trying to pinpoint what it could be, deciding it was coming from the lower floors, but I didn’t want to get up.” Because he was way too warm and comfortable curled up around her.
“I can’t believe these words are about to come out of my mouth, but do you think we might have seen a ghost?”
“I do not. I’ve lived here nearly all my life and I’ve never seen a ghost, and believe me, I’ve looked—except for my dog.”
“You have a ghost dog?”
“No, but Basil died a few months ago and I still subconsciously look out for him, or I’ll glimpse him in the corners. But of course when I look straight at him it’s always a cushion or a shadow or whatever.”
“Oh. That’s sad.”
“He had a good innings. He was old and arthritic.”
“Still sad.”
“No point getting another dog now. I might well end up in a bedsit in a dodgy part of London you don’t want to go walking about in the dark. Anyway, my point is that the abbey is a grumpy old lady and she moans and clinks and groans, but I assure you the noises are all structural or plumbing-related.”
She looked up at a puddled water stain on the ceiling. “Not all that reassuring, but okay.”
“I don’t think it’s possible to live in a house like this without fancying you catch a glimpse of something now and then, but no, I don’t believe in ghosts. If they existed and were living among us and visible, we’d all know about it. They’d be on talk shows, dancing in the streets, living their best lives.”
“So to speak.”
“Do you know, there’s supposed to be something like fifteen dead people for every living one? They would be inescapable to the point of being annoying.”
“Also not as reassuring as you might think.”
“Wait! The jangling!”
“What about it?”
There was a knock. Xanthe was standing in the doorway, hands on hips, staring at Tom expectantly.
“Bollocks. Sorry, Amelia, I’m late for my spiel.” He held up a pointer finger. “But I know where your keys are. Back in a minute.” He followed Xanthe out.
And once he’d retrieved Amelia’s keys, she’d have no more reason to linger. Yesterday morning he hadn’t known she existed, and now the prospect of never seeing her again made him feel like he was about to lose the very thing he hadn’t known he needed.
Chapter 7
Amelia
While Amelia waited for Tom to return, she checked out the curtains in the library. Museum pieces, predictably—as was the carpet, and the worn verdure tapestry on a baroque armchair in one corner. What if the new owners threw it all in the trash? Or worse, upcycled it?
Amelia would never know. Her missing keys had been a nagging worry in the back of her head all morning, but the second Tom said he knew where they were, she felt suddenly dejected. She already missed his hugs. Boy, the guy knew how to hug. Full-body, bottomless, wraparound hugs. She had thirsted for hugs from Rory—for any kind of physical comfort, especially after the robbery—and this guy, this stranger, handed them out without a second thought. It was like being wrapped in the embodiment of safety.
When something terrifying happened while you were lying at home in bed with your partner, when you should be at your safest, there was no safe place anymore. Not in the world. Not in your head. But last night, in Tom’s arms, she’d felt safe again.Before that, her biggest hope for her vacation was to get some distance from the robbery. But Tom had given her so much more, just by being Tom.
