Page 159 of The Cottage at Brambleton Hall

A metallic click from the shed. Sammy’s stomach dropped. ‘Chloe.’

‘Come on we’ll just take a look,’ Chloe said, laughing under her breath as if this was a game.

‘You don’t know how it works.’

‘I’ve seen him do it.’

‘That doesn’t mean . . .’

The squeak of a door. Chloe turned, the shotgun sitting awkwardly in her hands.

‘Jesus, Clo.’

Chloe’s eyes were fizzing with something that made Sammy’s chest tighten.

‘It’s not even that heavy.’

‘Put it back.’

‘In a minute.’

‘Now.’

Chloe rolled her eyes and swung the barrel as she shifted her grip. Not aiming at anything, swinging wildly.

Sammy’s breath caught. ‘Don’t . . . don’t point it like that.’

‘I’m not pointing it,’ Chloe said. ‘I’m holding it.’

‘Same thing.’

‘It’s not even loaded.’

‘You don’t know that.’

‘It won’t be.’

‘You don’t know that’ Sammy repeated, sharply. ‘Chloe, please. You’ve had your fun. Put it back.’

Chloe shook her head then grinned at Sammy. ‘You worry too much.’

Chloe stepped out onto the rough ground behind the shed. It wasn’t really part of her foster mum’s house, just the strip where the garden gave up and the common took over. The grass had worn thin in places, thick and tufted in others, with a narrow path stamped through by dog walkers cutting across to the footpath beyond. The fence had gone in one corner, slumped enough that you could step straight through onto the open stretch behind.

Sammy followed without meaning to. ‘Chloe.’

‘Watch.’

‘Don’t . . .’

Chloe lifted the gun, pressing her cheek against the stock, as if she was aiming. ‘Imagine,’ she said, ‘if I . . .’

‘Chloe, stop.’

A figure moved beyond the fence line.

Sammy saw it before Chloe did – a flash of movement, a shape resolving into a man, mid-fifties, walking a dog that was nosing along the grass. ‘Chloe put that down . . . now.’

‘Hold on . . .’