‘Okay, no going into the woods though.’
He nods. ‘Can we have the leftover samosas from the fridge?’
‘Of course. I’ll cook something better in a bit. Harry?’
‘Yes.’
‘Can I have a hug?’
He walks over and lies next to her like when he was a little kid, and she holds him close, taking in his smell. He’s gone from baby powder to very masculine body spray. She misses him being little. He pulls away. ‘What would you like to eat later?’
‘I don’t want anything. I had a big lunch.’
He gets up off the bed and leaves as fast as he arrived. His footsteps thundering down the stairs leave her feeling hollow. Her boy is growing up so fast and all she wants to do is keep him close and away from all the hate and negativity in the world.
She lets out a frustrated laugh as she pulls a strip of her gel polish from her thumbnail. She didn’t tell Gemma how much she also hates the neighbours and indeed everyone. Ray has always had it in for Quinn. His views on having children out of wedlock never went unknown. Tessa – what a bitch, always thinks she’s better than everyone else. Her husband groped Quinn’s butt when they attended a party at Sid’s house. Then there are Zoe and Sid. They weren’t too bad. As for Ruby, the IT nerd, Quinn was sure that she was aware that Quinn had caused her relationship to break up by having a one-night thing with her ex.
Like Gemma, Quinn has finally had enough of Clover Lane. Very soon, she and Harry will be gone. She reaches into her bedside drawer and pulls the letter out. Black ink, in Dorette’s handwriting – capital letters. She holds the letter in her hand.
HELLO FRIEND AND NEIGHBOUR. I SAY HELLO BUT REALLY, I HATE YOU. I HOPE YOU DIE A LONG, HORRIBLE DEATH BECAUSE YOU DESERVE IT. IN FACT, I WILL MAKE SURE OF IT BECAUSE EVERYONE WANTS TO SEE YOU AND HARRY DEAD. YOU MIGHT JUST SLIP OFF A BALCONY AND END UP COLD ON A SLAB, JUST LIKE DORETTE AND YOU LOVED DORETTE SO MUCH. DIE BITCH!
Quinn’s hands shake from all the adrenaline coursing through her veins. The paper flaps with each tremor as she reads it several times. It’s time, so she creeps down the stairs hoping that no one will see her leave the house. The sound of the microwave humming conceals her footsteps as she sneaks past the kids and quietly out of the door. Even Diggerty won’t wonder why she’s leaving the house while there’s food around. She sneaks out into the snow, shaking as she holds the letter she’s just written – fresh and ready to enter a post box. Her heart bangs while she lets out a long slow breath before dropping the letter into the box. Letting out a nervous laugh with her hand over her mouth, she gazes up and down the street. There’s not a soul in sight.
As she stands under a streetlamp, she spots a smear of black ink on her hand.
Die bitch!
Twenty-Nine
Morgan
Diggerty runs out of the room. Harry calls up to his mum but there’s no answer. I check my phone, hoping that Mai will have seen my message and missed call, but I don’t think she has. I’m so annoyed about the Wi-Fi situation at home. I hate my stupid life right now. At least I have Harry to hang with.
The microwave pings. Harry runs back into the kitchen where he drops the steaming hot samosas onto a couple of plates. ‘Mum must be out.’ He goes to pick up his samosa and burns his fingers, so he drops it again. ‘Probably gossiping with the neighbours about the letters. I remember now, she said she had to get something from the shop earlier.’ He licks the grease off his fingers.
My mouth waters. I didn’t have lunch today as I didn’t want to bump into James again. I sat on my own in the library like some friendless loser, dweeb. My teeth sink into the warm yumminess and I gobble it down. It barely touches the sides.
‘Will you be all right for a sec? I’ll just go and grab our stuff from the games room.’ He takes his samosa with him and leaves me in their giant kitchen full of gleaming marble surfaces. Light bounces off the worktops, and I can’t help but have a nose around. Diggerty follows me.
There’s a long shelf spanning the whole wall that is stacked with the prettiest pots that look like they’ve never been used, all in a deep reddish colour. One day, when I have my own house, I want a huge kitchen-cum-entertaining room like this to party in. I drop my empty plate in the sink full of murky washing-up water and listen as it bangs and thuds before settling on another plate. Then I spot Quinn’s handbag. Who goes anywhere without their bag, especially to a shop?
It’s a fancy pink bag with a huge clasp on the front.
It’s open. A purse and what looks like a tiny notebook stick out. There is a name written on the spine – Klara. I take the tiny leather-bound book and it falls open on the first page. It smells musty and old, almost like parts of Clover House. That place stinks of old pond, cigarette and dust, all at the same time. There’s a date written at the top of the page. August, two years ago.
I glance around to see if I’m really alone in the kitchen, and I am. A coldness runs along my spine and that makes me check the corners of the room. I never feel alone at Clover House and that’s making me a bit paranoid. What if Quinn has cameras and can see me snooping? I don’t even know why I’m snooping in some stupid smelly notebook. I guess it’s because we’re all looking for answers and I don’t trust anyone, except Harry.
I read what comes next and frown.
This book belongs to Dorette Newmam. If found, please return to Clover House on Clover Lane, Whitby. A reward will be paid.
Her home phone number is neatly written underneath.
I figure the book must have been important to her if she was offering a reward for its return, so why does Quinn have my great-aunt’s notebook? I think back to what Mum and Dad have been saying. Quinn and Dorette were friends. Maybe Dorette gave it to her, but why would she? This is my great-aunt’s work but Quinn has it.
After flicking through a couple of pages, I smile at the little drawings of a friendly dragon with a bow on her head. Another sketch of a little girl brandishing a sword and fighting some evil blob coming out of what looks like a volcano. That name again – Klara, is written in black ink capital letters above the drawing and an arrow points from the name to the girl. Black ink, capital letters – the letters sent to the neighbours were written this way.
I turn the page. There are more notes on the little dragon. A door crashes against the kitchen wall, and I almost jump back as Quinn comes in shaking the snow out of her hair. I throw the notebook back into her bag and I start playing with the ends of my blue scarf.
