Page 3
They dissolve into a fit of hysterics, and despite my best efforts not to laugh, my own bubbles up until I’m clutching my stomach right along with them.
The tightness in my chest eases as I finally relax, settling back into the sofa. Next weekend is still looming, it’s still full of uncertainty, but—and this might be the wine talking—I think I’m going to be okay.
Chapter 2
Bri
The further I get from Edinburgh, the less convinced I am that this is a good idea. Which is ridiculous, because I'm not even that far away. The lodge is only forty minutes from my flat. Twenty from the convention centre. Logically, I could probably have driven back and forth every day, but after spending five nights on Ava’s sofa I need my own space.
On Saturday I’d returned home expecting to flop my tipsy ass into bed and sleep. Instead, I'd opened my front door to find Poseidon had wandered into my flat, thrown a tantrum, and left without cleaning up after himself. Or rather, rainwater had thundered through a gaping split in the roof, bringing half my bedroom ceiling down with it. Same thing. I’d sprinted through the river that was now my home, shoes sinking into the sodden carpet, already knowing the boxes of books I’d been storing for this weekend were ruined. Paper and ink floated everywhere and I’d just stood there. Actually, stood there with my keys still in my hand while my entire business dissolved in front of me. Now I owe Lottie and Ava for the rushed reprint.
My fingers grip the steering wheel harder as tension squeezes my shoulders. I need to turn a profit this weekend; I have to pay them back.
Salvaging what clothes I could, I’d bundled Mr. Meow into his carrier, and caught a taxi to Ava’s, after dissolving into a crying fit down the phone. She didn’t hesitate for a second, even though I know full well an extra body in that house is the last thing she needs right now. That’s partially why I’m glad to be heading to the lodge —she could use the space as much as I need the escape.
The true crime podcast I selected for the drive, cuts through my thoughts; “she was staying in the middle of nowhere when she went missing.” Brilliant. Exactly what I need to hear while driving towards a lodge in the middle of nowhere. The open scenery around me looking more like a potential crime scene with every mile. “She wasn’t found for three weeks, when a hiker wandered off the trail and discovered a shallow grave.” I should be at home relaxing, not driving towards my imminent murder.
“Oh my god. Shut up Bri,” I mutter to myself. “No one’s going to murder you… Probably.”
Spotting a lay-by beside a field of horses, I pull over. The need to quit scaring myself too strong to resist, besides a break sounds good.
A beautiful white-and-tan horse ambles over as I lean on the fence, letting me stroke his velvet-soft nose before nudging my hand hopefully.
“Sorry, gorgeous, I don’t have any apples.”
He huffs a warm breath, tickling my ear, as he turns his back on me—clearly offended. Laughing softly, I tip my face towards the warm July sun, savouring its heat as I breathe in the scent of damp grass and wildflowers. And for the first time all week, I feel my shoulders loosen. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.
Back in my little red Peugeot, I swap murder for music and continue the drive. Bon Jovi gives way to Guns N' Roses, and I hum along feeling lighter than I have all week.
The lodge retreat is my birthday gift from Lottie and Ava. They presented the voucher as a writing retreat—a weekend to finally finish my second book somewhere quiet. After spending the last five days working my remote analyst job from the local café and trying to squeeze in writing amid the chaos of Ava’s home, it’s a relief to have somewhere I can escape to, breathe, and hopefully relocate my creative streak.
“Go be an actual author,” Lottie said.
“You can thank us in the dedication,” Ava added. “This book is all thanks to my two favourite people, who sent me to a writing retreat in the countryside so I could no longer procrastinate.”
I’d laughed and promised I’d book it once the convention was over—but seeing as I don’t currently have a properly functioning home, I figured cashing it in now was not only a smart move, but it would literally save my sanity. My ass of a landlord hasn’t fixed anything yet so I’ve no idea what I’m doing after this weekend. I’m technically homeless. On the bright side, at least I’m using it on my actual birthday. Forty-two on Sunday. Another year older, another birthday spent alone. Not that I mind. I tell myself I don’t anyway. But there’s a difference between choosing your own company and realising you don’t have anyone to share the little moments with.
Lottie and Ava are amazing, but they’re at that stage of life now where they have families of their own and naturally they come first. I don’t begrudge them one bit of their happiness. I just miss our spontaneous nights in together. My life can be pretty lonely sometimes, even if I do enjoy my own company.
As the road climbs a gentle hill, I crest the top and… “Oh, wow.”
Nestled below me is the lodge, and from this angle, it looks more like an old farmhouse that’s been quietly existing for hundreds of years—all honey-coloured stone glowing warmly beneath climbing ivy and mature trees. It’s... Quaint. Not serial killer chic—thank you universe. The front entrance is charming. A small sage green door with wooden shutters tucked into a high stone wall stands next to a polished brass plaque, just visible through the greenery, telling me I’ve arrived at ‘Honeypot Lodge.’
I reach for my phone. Five percent. “What?” No. No, no, no. I definitely plugged you in. The charging cable is sitting beside the gear stick entirely disconnected. Classic. Absolutely classic. Quickly opening the booking email, I scribble down both the main door and room codes on a napkin retrieved from the glovebox. The screen goes black almost immediately afterwards. Perfect timing. “Outstanding work, Bri.”
After wrestling my suitcase and laptop bag out of the boot, nearly dropping my handbag in the process, I enter the lodge. A short corridor stretches in front of me and I take my time navigating it, careful not to mark the wooden floors with the wheels of my case. Peering through the door on my right as I pass, there's a large yet empty, country kitchen, complete with hanging copper pans and thick wooden worktops. A few steps later the corridor opens up on my left towards a small wooden bar, with a dining area tucked neatly behind it. Beyond that I can just make out a lounge area where oversized sofas and armchairs adorned with mismatched cushions and blankets, are neatly arranged around an enormous grey stone fireplace, as though someone fully expects guests to curl up with books for hours. There’s a door set against the far wall that is closed and vases of freshly picked wildflowers sit everywhere—bringing in little bursts of yellow, purple and white to the warm wood and stone. The faint scent of them mingles with coffee and polished timber. It’s beautiful, cosy and inviting. I grin. Maybe nobody gets murdered here.
“Hello?”
Silence.
Strange, maybe everyone’s out?
It’s ok, I’ve got my room code and it would be nice to get settled before having to deal with anyone else.
Dragging my suitcase behind me, I step through the open patio doors into the courtyard, locating my room on the opposite side. Smoothing out the crumpled napkin, I punch in the numbers to unlock my room. Red light. I blink, try again, red. “Noooo...” This is just my luck. I check the napkin again, definitely the right room and code. That is unless I’ve somehow invented entirely new numbers, which is definitely possible. I let my forehead rest against the door for one undignified second. “It’s been a week.” The door offers no sympathy.
Abandoning my case by the patio doors, I wander through the silent dining room and empty lounge before pausing at the closed door near the back. Rapping gently, I push it open, expecting to find someone who works here, but oh my God, it’s a library!
