‘I’m putting it up for sale.’ Alice glances down and strokes Martha’s head. Each of us has a dachshund on our laps.
‘Oh, right,’ he says lightly. ‘Not tempted to keep it?’
‘I’m afraid not.’ As she flashes me a knowing smile, I can’t help comparing her no-nonsense approach to that of Vince, who’s reacted so strongly against changing anything in his parents’ house. ‘We’ll just rattle through it all,’ she explained on the train, as she made a list in a tiny leather-bound notebook detailing where her parents’ possessions will go. Auction house, various charities and – as she put it bluntly – ‘the dump’. All that’s fine, of course. I’m trying not to dwell on the fact that we’re also bringing in a gardening team, and that it’ll be my job to oversee them.
How hard can that be? I reassure myself. They’ll know what they’re doing, surely? Ateam, though. It seems a little excessive for a domestic garden. Must be a real mess, I reason.
More pressing still is the very real possibility of someone calling Alice tomorrow, explaining why the real Kate hadn’t turned up.
‘Why did you lie?’ she’ll ask me, aghast.
What’ll I say?I didn’t lie exactly. I just wanted to help. Stuff’s been happening and I needed to be very far away from home.
Which, actually, is the truth of it. I need to be as far away as possible from Vince and that bungalow and Deborah and Agata and their sneery looks. And if I’m found out? I’ll just have to throw up my hands and apologise profusely and take whatever Alice throws at me.
Anyway, I’m here now, meandering through the country lanes in a taxi as Alice and the driver chat companionably. Despite the madness of what I’ve done, it still feels oddlyright.After all, the happiest times in my childhood were spent here among these hills and valleys and forests. Finally, Mum and George and I could be happy and not worry about angering Dad by doing something as innocuous as biting into an apple. ‘D’you have to eat so bloody loud? You’re like a fucking horse!’
It was our sanctuary, this place. We’d play hide-and-seek in the forest and cook sausages on a grill Mum made from wire she’d found in the woods, over a fire. Down a little lane, there was a table with an awning where you could buy eggs and home-made preserves. We couldn’t believe that there was no one manning it – just an honesty box with a slot that you dropped your money into. And at night in our tent, George and I would be lulled to sleep by the sound of owls hooting, instead of being kept awake by Dad’s roars.
Now the lane has narrowed to a bumpy single track. Dusk is falling and the lights of faraway houses speckle the hills. In the distance purplish hills are outlined against the darkening sky.
An imposing house, set a little higher than road level, has come into view. What look like formal gardens sweep gracefully towards ornate gates. Closer now I can make out turrets and spires and numerous multi-paned windows, with no sign of life behind them. Obviously once a grand residence, there’s something rather forlorn about the place. ‘That’s some house,’ I remark.
‘It is,’ Alice agrees with a nod.
‘It looks kind of unloved, though,’ I add, ‘and a bit spooky. No sign of life in it at all.’ There’s a lull then as we slow down further, and the driver pulls up at the wrought-iron gates.
‘Is thisit?’ I gasp, turning to Alice.
‘Yes, this is it,’ she says, as if it’s a perfectly ordinary home.
‘It’s... it’s not what I imagined,’ I blurt out before I can stop myself, feeling bad for calling it unloved.
‘Whatdidyou imagine?’ Alice raises a brow, and my heart quickens.
‘Um, I don’t know. Just an ordinary house, I suppose. You know. A cottage...’
The driver laughs and looks round at us. ‘You’ve never been here before?’
‘No, I—’
‘You had no idea what it was like? You hadn’t seen any photos?’
‘Er, no,’ I say, wondering ifhe’srealised I’m an imposter and shouldn’t be here at all. I climb out quickly, still overcome by the austere yet magnificent home, set on a grassy mound with forested hills behind. There’s a lake in the grounds, gleaming in the moonlight, and a faded green lattice summerhouse perched at its edge.
The iron gates have been secured shut with a padlock and a thick chain. Beside them stands a rickety-looking wooden garage, and on the low stone wall a sign readsOsprey House.
‘Guess your daughter’s a bit shocked then? To finally see the old family seat...’ The driver chuckles as he climbs out and lifts Alice’s case from the boot.
‘Oh, I’m not Alice’s daughter,’ I say quickly. ‘I’m just—’ I stop as she catches my eye, then pays and thanks the driver.
‘Well, good luck then,’ he says. Then he’s gone, leaving Alice and me and the dogs at the roadside.
‘This way, Kate.’ She beckons me through a smaller side gate in the stone wall. Then she links my arm, pulling her case along, having set the dogs loose to scamper towards the house.
As we walk, my heart seems to lift as I replay what she said, just then, to the taxi driver: ‘There’s nojustabout it. Kate is my right-hand woman.’ Which feels a heck of a lot better than being a back end.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
