Seahurst E-Book

S. A. Harris

• Herausgeber: Salt
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Serie: Salt Modern Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 443

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

Evie Mathews and her son Alfie flee from her abusive partner Seth to spend New Year with her half-brother Luke at their late father's summer home on the Suffolk Coast, only to find Seahurst abandoned and Luke missing. Evie searches for her brother, filled with a deepening dread that something is very wrong at Seahurst and their father's death may not have been suicide after all. As Seahurst's ancient and sinister secrets unfurl around her, Evie fears the souls of the dead will soon claim another terrible revenge.

Leseprobe

S. A. HARRIS

SEAHURST

CONTENTS

TITLE PAGETHE SUFFOLK COAST, JANUARY, 1286CHAPTER ONECHAPTER TWOCHAPTER THREECHAPTER FOURCHAPTER FIVECHAPTER SIXCHAPTER SEVENCHAPTER EIGHTCHAPTER NINECHAPTER TENCHAPTER ELEVENCHAPTER TWELVECHAPTER THIRTEENCHAPTER FOURTEENCHAPTER FIFTEENCHAPTER SIXTEENCHAPTER SEVENTEENCHAPTER EIGHTEENCHAPTER NINETEENCHAPTER TWENTYCHAPTER TWENTY-ONECHAPTER TWENTY-TWOCHAPTER TWENTY-THREECHAPTER TWENTY-FOURCHAPTER TWENTY-FIVECHAPTER TWENTY-SIXCHAPTER TWENTY-SEVENCHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHTCHAPTER TWENTY-NINECHAPTER THIRTYCHAPTER THIRTY-ONECHAPTER THIRTY-TWOCHAPTER THIRTY-THREECHAPTER THIRTY-FOURFOUR MONTHS LATERACKNOWLEDGMENTSABOUT THIS BOOK ABOUT THE AUTHORALSO BY S. A. HARRISCOPYRIGHT

SEAHURST

THE SUFFOLK COAST, JANUARY, 1286

THEY ARE COMING as she knew they would. Their voices slip beneath the heavy wooden door, spreading across the brick floor on frigid air to where she sits. Her body aches huddled about the sleeping child. No light from outside. No window to let her know if the dawn has come.

She had put the candle on the floor hours ago, now little more than pooling wax solidifying about a guttering flame. Her brother starts from fitful sleep, his narrow back pressed against the opposite wall. He stares at her through the smoking candlelight. Shadows scatter across the low vaulted ceiling, shifting along the walls to crowd all around them. He has heard them too; boots ringing in the corridor, raised voices calling to one another. Coming closer. Growing louder

The draught grows stronger, rushing at her between wood and brick. The flame flickers. Dies. And for a moment, there is absolute darkness. A blackness so pure she thinks she might let go of the infant, reach out and touch it. More voices; three, maybe four.

Light glimmers beneath the door. She looks at her brother, his tunic folds about long skinny limbs like those of the newborn lambs they raised last spring. His pale face seems to float towards her, his eyes great glazed moons above hollow cheeks. His stare is fixed. Vacant.

Please, God. Not now.

‘Eli?’ He cannot hear her fear. Cannot hear her at all. Boots scuff to a halt beyond the door. Too late. Nothing she can do. The light beneath the door is fractured by the feet of the men outside. A low voice. The rasp and snap of a bolt drawn back. A key, grinding. The bundle in her arms shifts and squirms.

‘Billa?’ The child’s voice is slurred, soft with sleep.

‘Hush now,’ she says, pulling her sister closer.

The door swings open, and she raises her hand before her eyes, squinting. Three men step into the room. One has great chain loops hanging from his shoulder; another holds a lantern high above his head. They look at her, then at Eli laying on the floor, limbs twitching, his eyes open, unseeing. She struggles to her feet beneath the weight of the child. Her legs are numb from sitting for too long. The infant cries out, the bone rattle falling from folds of linen to the floor. Two of the men step towards her brother.

‘Please!’ They turn to her, startled by the shrillness of her tone. ‘Don’t hurt him,’ she says, hating the pleading tone in her voice.

They grab the boy under both arms and drag him to his feet. His head lolls forward, his thin body convulses. She hastens towards them. The third man steps before her and grips her elbow. No need to be rough, she will not resist him. They all know how this plays out.

‘Come quietly, for their sakes,’ the man says, his words slow and calm. He looks her full in the face as the men drag her brother into the corridor. She scoops up the rattle and pushes it into the pudgy hand of her sister.

‘Come,’ he says, turning towards the door. He waits while she gathers herself. Her feet have grown dirty and cold. Where did she lose her shoes? They hadn’t let her snatch up anything other than the linen to wrap around the child. He holds the lantern high as she hobbles into the passage, the cramp in her joints easing as she moves.

The cool air smells of damp stone, and she thinks of the Abbey, limestone arches curving to tall ceilings. If she had fled there … But there is no sanctuary, not for them. She tries to quicken her pace, but he holds her back.

‘My brother needs me.’

He does not acknowledge her words, and she can contain herself no longer. The taut band beneath her ribs rises to her chest and into her throat. Fear wets her underarms and prickles her upper lip. She tries again to hasten, to reach the stone steps and the gash of cold daylight spilling down them. The roar of voices, shrill and angry, rises and falls, and she is thankful Eli will be lost to these people. They cannot harm him.

‘Why in such a hurry?’ he says as she strains against his hand. He is close enough for her to see the golden flecks in his grey eyes, smell his sour breath.

‘You gave me your word,’ she says. His gaze falls to the upturned face of her sister as they reach the first step. He drops his hand, indicating for her to move ahead of him. ‘When I am gone. You will help them? They have done nothing,’ she says, her voice so low she wonders if he hears her.

The roar of the mob rises above them. He jerks his head towards the top of the flight. She hitches the child higher onto her hip; there are ten, maybe a dozen narrow stairs. Her courage dissolves, acid burning inside her empty belly like poison. The rhythm of her heart quickens with the crescendo of the crowd. His hand cups her elbow, urges her on. She puts out her foot, feels cold stone beneath the soles of her feet as she climbs.

She stops at the top of the flight in the arched stone entrance to the yard. All of them turn towards her, faces of neighbours and friends. The roar of the crowd dies as they see her. She searches their faces; friends she ran with, played with, learned to gut fish and skin rabbits with. The people who fed and clothed her, shared their hearth with her and a pew on Sunday. She raises her gaze beyond them to the Abbey soaring at their backs. The square hulk of the bell tower, black against a cold sky, streaked red. He has not come then, her accuser.

The crowd murmur as metal clinks. Her brother lays on the ground in front of the low round wall of a well. He is still now, face pale and dazed as the men wrap chains around his waist.

‘No!’ she screams, running forwards. The man at her back takes her arm roughly, jerking her backwards. They cross the chains over his chest, turn the boy on his side and coil them about his neck.

‘You swore!’ she spits her words into the face of the man gripping her arms. His eyes are dead things, no emotion, nothing at all. She twists and kicks out, but cannot free herself from him. The child cries and puts up small arms, flinging the rattle that rolls across the cobbled ground towards the feet of the crowd. Click-clack, click-clack. People draw back hissing, ‘Witch!’

She holds her sister towards the man as the other two men approach, chain swinging between them. The man is motionless, his arms crossed over his chest. How did I let myself believe you? She turns to the crowd, the familiar faces.

‘Will you not help?’ She holds the infant out before her, arms aching. ‘She is not yet two summers.’ She holds the gaze of the midwife. The woman ducks her head and turns away, weaving between the onlookers packed into the yard.

The men are beside her, the chain about her waist and ribs now. They wrap it about her skirts and ankles. Her mind goes numb, all of her shaking. She pulls the child close, rocks her. Strokes her silken hair. Mama, how did you bear this? She closes her eyes. Help me do this for Issy and Eli.

The weight of the chains presses down on her body. The crowd grows silent. She hears only the heavy breathing of the men as they work and the caw caw of the crows high up in the tower.

The men leave her, she hears their boots crossing the yard. They pant with effort, the crowd stirring, voices calling out. Words she cannot make out. She must see him, one last time. Eli.

The three men hold her brother upturned by his feet and ankles, his head just visible above the lip of the wall. The clear blue gaze of her younger brother, whose body would curl into hers in the dark of a cold winter’s night, finds her across the filth of the yard. She tries to curve her lips, but cannot make herself smile this last time.

The crowd roar as the men release their burden and step back from the well. A silent scream goes off inside her. She shakes violently, her teeth chattering. They turn to her; she is ready. Anger flares inside her. She pulls herself to her full height, lets her gaze linger across the faces of the crowd.

‘As God is my oath, I curse you. May you perish by water, and this town fall prey to the mighty North Sea.’

CHAPTER ONE

TORONTO AIRPORT, 26TH DECEMBER, PRESENT DAY.

IPULL TO a halt beneath the departure board, drop the suitcase at my feet and scan the list of international flights.

‘That’s ours, Mom. The gate’s up already!’ Alfie stands just in front of me, jabbing his forefinger at the list of destinations. His dark hair is a mess. No time to sort it before we left, not that he’s bothered anyway.

On-Time. Boarding, Gate 11.

‘Let’s get the bags checked in.’ I shift my rucksack higher onto my shoulder as we wait for a gap to open up in the busy flow of passengers. I glance back past the floor-to-ceiling Christmas tree to the entrance doors, jammed open by the constant crush of travellers. Shoulders and hats sparkle with snow, the light flurries when we left the apartment turning to something steady. I scan the pale faces of people hurrying back and forth beneath the glare of fluorescent lighting – no sign of Seth.

I nudge Alfie forwards. ‘Let’s go.’

We merge into line behind a rowdy family of five, their trolley piled with enough luggage for a dozen people. The toes of my suede ankle boots are darkened and wet. Stupid to wear them; they’re killing already. No chance I’ll find my old scuffed black leather ones amongst all the stuff we jammed into the suitcase.

‘I’ll try and get hold of Uncle Luke again,’ I say, struggling to drag the case behind me while hitting redial on my mobile. I should call Mum as well, but what’s the point? There’ll be hell to pay either way, and she’ll be asleep by now.

‘Come on, Mom!’ Alfie bolts off, weaving between people milling about the concourse.

‘Hey! Wait up, Alfie. We must stick together!’ This suitcase is way too heavy to do anything but trundle along with the travellers massing towards the check-in desks. ‘Alfie!’ I crane my neck to see through the crowd. ‘Alfie, wait!’

The man in front half-turns his head and looks back at me. I ignore his irritated frown and glance down at my mobile, the call connecting. I put the phone to my ear and try to cut out the background jingle-jangle of Christmas carols. An unfamiliar, distant dialling tone drones through several rings. Pick up, Luke, pick up!

What time is it in the UK – maybe he’s out someplace or at his mother’s – what does he do over Christmas and New Year? A family dash past me, shouting to each other, jostling agitated people out of their way. I jam the mobile to my ear and pull the case out of the stream of traffic. I must catch Luke before we board.

Across the sea of knitted bobble and ski hats, Alfie is stuck behind a dawdling party of school children. The tannoy trawls through half-a-dozen delayed flights to the US; I can hardly hear the ringtone through the blare of it – if only we could have left earlier, given ourselves more time. The ringtone stops, the line crackles to an automated voicemail – leave a name and number, he’ll call right back.

‘Luke, it’s me. I’ve tried …’

‘Evie?’

‘Luke? Thank God! I’ve been trying to call you for over an hour. Did you get my email?’

‘It’s the early hours of the morning here! You’re lucky I didn’t have my mobile on silent. I’m reading it now. What made you change your mind?’

‘Long story,’ I grab hold of the case, give it a sharp tug and rejoin the flow of people. I need to catch up with Alfie. ‘Is it okay if we still come over? Just me and Alfie.’ The blare of carols drowns out the call as I pass under a speaker. ‘Luke?’

‘Still here – said I can’t wait to meet Alfie.’ Luke’s voice and something else, jazz playing in the background cutting to the mellow tones of a late-night radio show host.

Flight number *** 4:07 to Heathrow now boarding at Gate 11.

‘Say that again, Luke.’

‘I’m so glad you’re finally coming over.’ I dodge between piles of ski and boot bags scattered across the walkway, surrounded by groups of milling, chattering teenagers. I catch a glimpse of Alfie up ahead. ‘How long are you over for?’

‘A week. Alfie’s back to school on the 6th, so home before then, if that’s okay?’

Luke’s laugh is a deep undulating sound, so like Dad that, for an instant, I’m running up the cliff path to the Abbey ruins to meet him, my kite bobbing behind me on a scorching July evening.

‘Stay as long as you want, both of you. Lou and the crowd can’t wait to see you. No Seth?’

‘The restaurant’s busy until after New Year.’ I jerk the suitcase behind me as I try to keep Alfie in sight. ‘We can’t both be away, not just now.’ The case catches a crack in the floor. It twists my wrist, the rucksack slipping off my shoulder and down my arm. ‘Jesus Christ!’ I say as a woman swerves to one side and heads around me.

‘You okay?’ says Luke.

‘Half of Toronto’s travelling today, and Alfie’s run ahead.’

‘It’ll be good just the two of you. It’s pretty quiet here at this time of year. Not too much going on. I’ll have to wait to meet Seth another time. Besides, there’s stuff we need to sort out.’

‘Stuff?’ I say, picking up the case. Alfie’s getting too far ahead.

‘About the house … and Dad.’

‘How do you mean?’ A man steps sideways into my path, his broad back right in front of me. I jolt the case to a halt; he’s oblivious to my presence. There’s no way past him, bags and people everywhere. I can’t concentrate on Luke’s conversation and keep Alfie in sight at the same time.

‘Things aren’t as we thought. I’ll let you go, Evie. We can talk once you’re both here.’

‘Great idea, it’s manic right now, and we’re short on time to check-in. You’ve got all the flight details?’

‘I’ll be at arrivals, big board with your name on it. You won’t be able to miss me.’

‘Don’t forget,’ I say, laughing.

‘Very funny! See you in a few hours.’

The walkway opens out to a broader space lined with check-in desks. I weave between passengers, craning my neck for a glimpse of Alfie. Air Canada’s stretch of red and white fill the wall along the left-hand side. Alfie will have gone to our desk to get in the queue. I pat the side pocket of my parka, feel the bulk of our passports as I hurry down the line scanning the destination boards. My mobile vibrates in my hand. I look at the screen, Seth’s number again. I let it go to voicemail as I find our desk. Alfie’s halfway down the queue, his dark hair falling in his eyes as he jumps up and down, waving madly.

‘Mom!’

I ignore the muttering from the guy behind Alfie and lower the case to the floor. ‘Don’t rush off like that again, Alfie. We have to stick together until we board, all right?’

Alfie nods, watching the passenger in front of us boarding his bags. We should make the gate no problem if there’s no delay at security.

‘I’ll call Maxwells,’ I say, pressing the restaurant’s number on my mobile.

‘Call them after check-in!’ Alfie’s reaching for my mobile. I turn away and hear the call go through to voicemail. I leave a message about tomorrow’s order. Let them know I’ll call about next week’s menus once we land in London and apologise twice for the lack of notice.

The man in front is done, Alfie’s at the desk, putting the suitcase on the conveyor. He turns back, his eyes holding mine. I’ll make things right for him once we get to Suffolk, have a proper Christmas and New Year. I pull the passports from my parka as Alfie loads the rest of our bags.

Within less than a minute, we’re running across the concourse towards passport control. The queue presses between taped barriers, zig-zagging towards the overhead scanners. Boxing Day is far busier than I thought it would be.

‘Do we have to wait in line?’ Alfie’s looking past passengers shuffling between the tape to the rows of conveyors.

‘If we get the last call for the flight, I’ll ask the security woman if we can go ahead.’ Alfie sways one foot to the other, looking past people, assessing the speed of the queue.

‘Stop stressing, Alfie. We’re moving quickly. We might even have time to grab some food if you’re hungry.’

Alfie came through to the kitchen this evening straight after Seth left for Maxwells, his first words, as ever, asking what was there to eat. Once he saw my laptop screen, the flight booking whirling and confirmed, he’d got dressed, packed and into the car in under fifteen minutes. Other than a stale bottle of water he found on the backseat, he’d had nothing since lunchtime. My mobile buzzes in my hand, a text on the screen:

Hurry up, you’ll miss your flight.

I stare at the message; my stomach does the weird thing like I’m in an elevator dropping too fast. I glance about the concourse, scan the faces of the passengers hurrying past us. Seth can’t be here?

‘Can I have a burger then?’

‘What?’ I say, looking into Alfie’s grinning face.

‘A burger? Just this once, if there’s time?’ he’s looking at me, his grin faltering. ‘Is it Dad?’ he says, looking down at the mobile.

‘How?’ I say. ‘How can he know we’re here and so fast?’

‘Did you change your password like I said?’ Alfie’s eyes are wide as he stares into my face. I nod and look back at the message. I haven’t used our joint account to pay for our flights or the car parking. I’ve used my credit card for everything.

‘You have to be right. He hacks my emails, Alfie. It’s the only way he could know.’

I look at my son as the line shuffles forward. ‘Alfie?’ I follow his gaze between the shoulders of passengers in front of us to the head of the queue. A guard checks boarding tickets and feeds passengers through to the security area. Beside her, just outside the taped barrier, stands Seth. His black puffer jacket is unzipped, the red cashmere scarf he bought himself for Christmas hanging loose at his neck. In his right hand, he’s holding his mobile. My eyes meet his as my cheeks flood with heat. My phone buzzes in my hand. I don’t bother to check the screen.

‘What do we do?’ Alfie is tugging my coat like he did when he was five years old, his focus still on Seth. I glance at my mobile, a second message on the screen.

You didn’t say goodbye.

There are four missed calls from Seth’s number; I can’t have heard the last one in the commotion of checking the bags in. Alfie sees the screen.

‘What do we do, Mom? We’re still going, right?’

I’m nodding on autopilot. My mobile chimes – an incoming text.

Your mom’s worried. Says you didn’t say goodbye to her either.

Shit! I knew he’d speak to her, but he’s onto all this so fast. I glance up, although I know I shouldn’t catch his eye. Seth raises his right hand in a small wave, smiles again as he leans across the barrier, says something to the security guard as he points in our direction. Another text.

Are you okay? I’m worried about you, so’s your mom.

I read the message, hardly register what he’s saying.

‘Mom?’

‘Let me think, Alfie.’ The line moves forward.

‘We’re going, right?’

I don’t answer, just pull my scarf up over my chin and catch a glimpse of myself in the polished dark glass of the drug store we’re filing past. I look like Alfie, eyes wide and glassy. I’ve piled on too much foundation. It gives my skin a ghostly pallor but thank God it’s covered the bruise. There had been no time to shower; my hair, in dire need of a wash, is pulled back into a scrunchie. I smooth back a stray strand of blond hair, see it slink back across my forehead.

‘I bet he put the tracker back on your phone. I’m checking mine for sure,’ Alfie scrolls through the settings on his mobile.

My phone rings – Mum’s number. I let it go to voicemail. There’s nothing she’ll say that’ll help right now.

‘He can’t stop us going, can he, Mom?’ The queue shuffles again, the woman behind us close at our backs. Alfie steps forward, looking back at me. I move to stand beside him. ‘Mom?’

‘I don’t think so, Alfie.’

‘You don’t think so?’ Alfie opens Google on his mobile, and I let him search. I did the same thing last night after everything calmed down. The engagement ring is still on my ring finger – why couldn’t I take it off and leave it at the apartment? My mobile buzzes again.

We need to talk about Alfie.

There are two groups of travellers between Seth and us. The stout security guard is waving the first forward at the head of the queue. Seth’s having a conversation with her. What the hell am I dealing with now? Alfie waves his mobile at me and hisses under his breath.

‘He can stop me going, Mom, can’t he?’

If I had Alfie’s rage, his fierce temper, this would be a whole lot easier to handle.

‘I checked out the regulations last night,’ I say, keeping my eyes lowered, watching the heels of the woman’s snow boots in front. If I look up now, Seth will be just a couple of metres beyond her. ‘Dad probably doesn’t know he can stop you.’

‘What? Are you crazy, Mom? He’ll know for sure!’

‘We both go. I won’t leave you behind.’

‘You totally promise, right?’

I nod and squeeze his hand. ‘I would never leave you behind.’

The couple in front follow the guard’s directions, and we move to the head of the queue. Seth dives forwards, ruffles Alfie’s hair, my son ducking, jerking his head to one side. Alfie hates that, he’s been too old for it for years. Seth persists just to irritate the hell out of him.

Seth’s gaze is on my face. He’ll see my cheeks burning. I pull my scarf up over my chin and to my mouth. Seth’s smile is smooth and confident. It must look like a romantic farewell in the sort of Hollywood movies I hate watching. He pulls me into a tight hug, his lips brushing hot against my face. I feel like a piece of rag, unable to find any strength to pull back. His grip tightens, his warm, damp breath whispering into my ear.

‘Leave, and you’ll be begging to come back before you know it.’ He releases me and brushes my cheekbone with the back of his hand, my skin crawling beneath his touch.

‘Excuse me, Ma’am?’

The guard indicates for us to move forward with a beckon of her fingers. Alfie rushes to the nearest empty scanner slinging his rucksack into a blue plastic tray.

‘Got engaged yesterday,’ Seth explains. The guard’s smile is uninterested as she continues to wave me forward. ‘Trying to persuade her to stay for New Year’s.’ Seth presses his lips into a flat smile.

The guard looks at Seth, then at me. ‘What’s it to be?’ she says, glancing to where Alfie stands in front of the scanner. His coat and boots are thrown on top of his rucksack, the plastic tray moving along the conveyor. ‘Do I call your kid back?’

‘He can’t go, Evie. Alfie stays here.’

‘You can’t look after him and Maxwells.’

‘Your mom’s helping out.’ Seth’s hand holds my elbow, steering me away from the queue.

The guard is calling Alfie back. She’s not interested in us, only the long line of people she has to feed through to the departure lounge. Alfie’s looking back at me, his face white and full of uncertainty. I’ve U-turned so many times …

‘Let’s go back to the apartment and talk this through sensibly. You can rebook the flights, and we can fly over together like we planned.’

‘Luke’s picking us up,’ I say, my voice so quiet I barely hear myself over the hum of the airport. The guard ushers Alfie back from the security area. His eyes find mine, the deflated expression tears at my chest. I look away. The electronic ripple runs across the departure board. The information updates. The flight to Heathrow – Boarding. Last call to passengers.

‘Our bags are all loaded,’ says Alfie, a red flush now across his cheeks as he drops his rucksack at his feet.

‘What’s it to be, Evie? Your decision.’ Seth smiles as we move further away from the queue. His grip on my elbow tightens.

‘It’s not Mom’s call.’

Seth turns back to where Alfie stands. He’s hugging his coat and boots to his chest, his socked feet either side of his rucksack.

‘What did you say?’ Seth smiles at Alfie, but the expression in his eyes makes me shudder.

‘It’s not Mom’s call.’ Alfie’s eyes flick to me and back to Seth. ‘It’s mine.’

CHAPTER TWO

THE SUFFOLK COAST; 27TH DECEMBER, EARLY AFTERNOON.

LOU HUNCHES OVER the steering wheel, focusing on the pothole-riddled track. I can’t get over how great it is to see her after almost fifteen years. Rough grass scrapes the underbelly of the Beetle, wheels rocking into puddles spraying mud along the length of the car. I roll down the window and draw in a deep breath.

‘What the hell are you doing?’

‘I want to smell the sea,’ I say, laughing at her outrage.

The woods are silent, black trunks twisting upwards into a dense, pressing mist; a sharp green scent beneath a soft shifting canopy. I’ve never seen them this way before. Earthy dampness threads through the cold air rushing across my face as I close my eyes, and I hear them, ever so faintly – waves crashing on shingle.

‘Close the damned thing. You’re freezing me half to death!’

I roll up the window. ‘I don’t remember you being such a wimp,’ I say, laughing. I look at my mobile. ‘Still nothing from Luke. I can’t think where on earth he’s got to.’

‘No worries.’ Lou throws a glance my way, smiling. ‘Betty and me were so excited to pick you up.’ She taps the flat of her hand on the steering wheel as I glance back at my phone. ‘She actually started first time.’

I smile at her and stare out at the trees. There’s nothing from Seth either, which is so weird it’s starting to worry me. No way is he letting me come over here this easily. I look into the back of the car at the top of Alfie’s head. Still on his phone. What the hell was he talking about at the airport? I turn back in my seat. Three missed calls from Mum. I should call her as soon as we get to Seahurst, but Seth will be grilling her for info for sure. Lou stamps on the brakes, my seatbelt snapping across my chest as rubbish from our petrol station takeaway shoots off the dash and into my lap.

‘This track is worse than ever!’ she says.

‘I’m so sorry to drag you all the way out here, Lou!’

Despite what she says, I know my frantic call earlier caused a degree of chaos up here as arrangements were hurriedly made to meet up at Saxmundham station. I should have thought to grab a cab. The Beetle hits a rut and jolts sideways.

‘Shit!’

‘Alfie!’ I twist in my seat to glare at my son crushed between shopping bags and our suitcase on the narrow back seat.

‘That messed up the level!’ Alfie doesn’t look up from his mobile, his thumbs working furiously against the screen.

‘Come off your phone. We’re almost there.’ I watch the top of my son’s head, but there’s no response. ‘We’ll see the sea any second.’

He’s hardly said two words since we made it onto the plane. He’s never been like this. Has Seth been messaging him instead of me? It would make sense – I need to ask him again what the hell is going on once Lou’s dropped us at the house. I turn back in my seat and gaze out of the passenger window. I remember the track dropped down here; gnarled tree roots writhing like ancient limbs through banks as high as the window, ivy smothering everything it touches. Mum’s three voicemails are increasingly short-tempered, but what’s Seth up to? It’s totally unlike him not to spam-call and text.

‘I can’t get over you still driving this old thing,’ I say, aware I’m all but ignoring Lou when she’s gone to so much trouble to pick us up.

‘We usually leave her tucked up in her garage, lovely as she is; reliability isn’t her thing.’ Lou’s knuckles are white. The dark red lipstick, eyeliner and black mascara had taken me straight back to the last few summers here as we hugged outside the train station earlier. ‘I’m a bit worried I won’t get her back up here once I’ve dropped you two off.’

‘She’ll be happier going uphill so long as you take it steady.’ The track sinks lower, bullied on either side by bracken and bramble. It narrows to a single-vehicle width; Lou constantly on the brakes. ‘Do you want me to drive?’

‘In those smart boots? What the hell happened to dogeared sneakers and bare feet?’

‘I guess we all grew up,’ I say, as the lane turns left then right, the trees thinning as the track widens out to undulating heathland dotted with rabbit holes. ‘Can you believe we’re thirty-two? Luke will be forty next year.’

‘He’s practically a fossil,’ she says, laughing. ‘Maybe he’s had to dash off to Essex.’

‘Surely he doesn’t still dance to his mother’s tune?’

He had seemed so clear on the phone about meeting us at the airport. I feel edgy about it; the radio silence seems so strange. I’ve called him a dozen times since we landed. Maybe I’m just tired; Lou seems chilled about it.

‘At least she won’t be visiting here. Wouldn’t that be difficult, you and Nicola Symonds in the same room?’

Lou winks at me and grins just as she used to when she had mischief in mind – I’m so relieved she hasn’t changed, but I can’t blame Nicola. Mum and Dad’s affair must have hit her like a shit-storm.

‘I’ll drop you and run, if that’s okay. I’ve got this top chef coming over for dinner later and need to get sorted.’

‘Who would that be then?’ I say, returning her grin. ‘You know an omelette is just fine? Seriously, I see far too much fine dining.’

The bracken and gorse are sparse now. Course tufted grass clinging to rough sandy ground, and the sea: choppy water flecked with white horses as far as the blurred horizon.

‘Alfie, look!’ I sit forward in my seat, the belt tight across my chest. I glance into the back of the car, into the angry, red face of my son.

‘I’ve only got one bar, Mom!’

If Lou weren’t here, I suspect he’d tell me how much time he’s lost on his damned game – inevitably, it’ll somehow be all my fault.

‘Come off the phone!’ I snap.

I turn back to the front of the car as Lou gathers a little more speed. ‘Sorry, he’s not usually so rude.’

‘The signal is patchy around here. It might be better once we’re away from the trees.’ Lou glances at me, her eyebrows raised. ‘Don’t worry about it. It’s been raining for days – the mist is lifting a bit, the weather knackers the signal.’

‘We’re both tired and hungry; a bad combination.’ I lean towards the narrow windscreen. ‘I’d forgotten how massive the skies are here.’

The wipers smear the glass as I watch the sweeping bend uncurling in front of the car. My heart quickens, and I realise I’m holding my breath. We round the bend, and the fern and gorse peter out to an open, flat landscape sloping to the cliff edge.

Seahurst has its back to the woods, sky and clouds reflecting off the face of the rectangular glass and steel building as it stares out across the sea to the horizon. Luke must be home; the kitchen and sitting areas are lit. Way up above Seahurst’s flat roof, the Abbey ruins are wreathed in thinning white mist on top of the rise.

‘Luke told me about the tower,’ I say, staring up at the ruins as they fade in and out of view.

‘Still can’t get used to it. I always knew from the beach where your dad’s place was when we saw the tower, just the arch left now.’

‘Where did the tower go?’ says Alfie.

‘There was a huge storm about eight or nine years ago. The tower was a ruin, right on the cliffs’ edge, it got washed into the sea,’ I say.

‘No way!’ I glance back at Alfie. His mobile lies dead in his lap. Hopefully, we can forget about that for a while.

‘It land-slipped onto the beach, the council had to bulldoze it away, but your mum’s version sounds so much better.’

‘We can go for a walk on the beach once we’re unpacked, if you like,’ I say. ‘We’ll need to do something to keep ourselves awake until dinnertime.’

‘Mum can show you where the skeletons from the graveyard hang out of the cliff face.’

‘Is she for real?’

I laugh at the enthusiasm in Alfie’s voice and pull a horrified face at Lou. ‘There’s nothing there now – at least, I hope not.’

‘The papers were full of it at the time, but they reburied the bones in St James’ church.’ Lou glances at Alfie in the rearview mirror. ‘We passed the church before we drove through the village.’

‘Can we go there?’

‘The church?’ I stare straight ahead at the brightly lit building. ‘If you want to, but there’ll be nothing much to see.’

Luke had mentioned his concerns about the eroding cliffs. One of his pet subjects, along with nagging me to visit. It’s hard to judge, but there must still be at least thirty feet between the house and the cliffs. Hardly an imminent threat, surely?

‘Where does the archway go?’ Alfie’s voice is loud in my ear as he leans forward between the front seats. I look up and see it clearly as the mist retreats inland.

‘Nowhere, not any more,’ says Lou. ‘Just fresh air and saltwater if you take a walk through there now.’

A black 4×4 is parked at an angle to the slate path leading to Seahurst’s glazed front door. The Beetle crunches across the gravel apron as Lou parks alongside it.

‘Luke must be home. This is his Jeep,’ she says.

Freezing damp air floods into the car as Lou throws open the driver’s door and jumps out of the vehicle. Alfie pushes her seat forward and is outside in an instant.

‘Hey! Take your …’

The door slams and Alfie runs past the car holding his mobile out in front of him, the camera presumably still working. I pull my beanie hat over my ears and zip my parka to my throat. Wind yanks the door lever from my fingers, flinging it back on its hinges as I step out of the car.

‘He’s keen all of a sudden then,’ says Lou raising her eyebrows. ‘Let’s go and find out what’s been keeping your brother all this time.’

‘I’ll grab the rucksacks,’ I say.

Lou dashes between puddles heading for the slate front path, her long dark hair swirling about her head. Alfie waits for her, his arms wrapped about his waist, his hoody pulled low against the mizzling rain. He’s looking up at the glass box of a building. Dad’s last big project, never quite finished. He would have been so excited to show his grandson around.

The stiff offshore wind snatches my breath from me, and I clutch my scarf tight at my throat. Some summer days here could be chilly, but this is something else. I drag my parka hood over my beanie, slam the car door and walk to the post-and-wire fence that skirts the cliff edge. I’ve dreamt of standing here so many times. Now here it is, the North Sea beneath the weight of a vast December sky. The land slopes steeply away, tilting towards the sea, the cliff edge a jagged line dissolving into the ozone. I press my knees against the soft, rotting stump of the fence and dig my hands deeper into my pockets. Sea spray feathers my face as I suck in a lungful of damp, salt air. The beach is hidden beneath the overhanging cliffs. The tide must be in; the roar of the waves ebbs and flows to the rhythm of the wind. The thought of the drop makes me dizzy. I take a step back. It was so right to come here – we should have come sooner, much, much sooner than this.

I’m shivering after roasting in the dry air of the Beetle’s rattling old heater, and my parka is far from windproof. I can stand here as long as I like tomorrow and for the next few days. I head back to the car, open the boot and drag out our rucksacks. The suitcase was a nightmare to get onto the back seat and needs two of us to haul it free. I shift my backpack onto my shoulder and carry Alfie’s under my arm.

Seahurst glows as the day fades. Luke has every light on in the place, bright slats cutting across the dark ground. I can make out the square units of the kitchen, but the reflection of the clouds drifting like ghosts across the face of the glass makes it difficult to see much else. I put my head down against the wind and pick my way along the slippery slate path. The security lights that winked on as Alfie and Lou ran up the path blaze at me, rain tumbling through the white beams like shards of shattering glass.

The front door is open, water driving across the threshold and pale wood floor. The rubber-boot mat is awash, the black and white woven runner beyond it looks soaked. Alfie dashes to the door and stops just in front of me. He glances back over his shoulder to where Lou stands beside one of the oversized sofas.

‘What’s up?’ I say.

My son looks at me, his expression uncertain.

‘Evie?’ Lou looks back at me, an urgency in her tone.

I step past Alfie, the door sliding shut behind me with a soft thunk. I drop his rucksack on the floor and walk to where Lou stands. The room is so familiar but different in a way I can’t immediately put my finger on. There’s a mustiness, an old, closed-off smell.

‘The door was wide open,’ Lou says. ‘Rain has to have been coming in for hours.’ I stare dumbly back at her. ‘I nipped downstairs, the place is empty. No one’s home.’

CHAPTER THREE

THE GREY GRANITE countertops gleam beneath halogen spots at Lou’s back as she stares at me.

‘It’s bloody weird he’s not here, Lou. Should I be concerned or pissed off?’

After all these months of nagging us to come over, promising to pick us up at Heathrow …

I drop my rucksack onto the brown leather seat of the nearest of the two sofas. Dad’s coffee table is in the space between them. On its glass top is a half-drunk mug of tea, a plate scattered with crumbs and a laptop.

Beyond the sofas is an open area. There is a wood burner and its tall metal flue rises to the ceiling set opposite the spiral stairs; chrome and leather loungers face the rise to the cliffs.

‘There’s a lot of square furniture,’ Alfie says.

‘Don’t you like it?’ I’m suddenly aware of how much it matters that Dad’s grandson approves of this place.

‘What’s down there?’ Alfie walks towards the metal banister that curves down to the lower ground floor.

‘The bathroom, bedrooms, we’ll go and find where we’re sleeping in a minute.’ I cross the space to stand beside him, hold onto the rail and look down the spiral stairs.

‘Hello? Luke?’ My voice echoes into the brightly lit corridor below. Silence. Alfie moves away, taking in the oversized TV opposite the sofas. A Luke addition. It’s fixed to the metal girder rising above the old flint and brick wall jutting just above ground level. He glances back to where I stand beside Lou and grins.

‘There’s an Xbox.’

‘Thank goodness for small blessings,’ I say, feeling more grateful than I should that my brother wastes his time on such stuff. ‘I’m sure Uncle Luke won’t mind you taking a look.’

Lou glances about the room. Dusk gathers outside, light rebounding off the glass, the restless, crowding trees lining up along the back wall. I look up at the slab of stone recycled from the Abby ruins. Sunk into the chimney breast above the wood burner, the crude daisy wheel carving cut into the stone was Dad’s pride and joy. Lou walks away from me, passing the sofas, and points out the ruins at the top of the steep rise to Alfie.

I leave them chatting and wander to the kitchen. Wind sweeps rain across the face of the triple-layered glass, the cliffs, sea and sky bleeding into each other. On the floor, a dozen or more carrier bags sag in front of the kitchen cupboards. Another bag is in the sink, the tap dripping water onto the plastic. I turn off the tap, stand in front of the induction hob and stare outside. Dad’s sunken garden looks neglected and bare, more gravel and slate than the sea holly and lavender that used to be there. Lou’s hand on my shoulder makes me jump.

‘I’m sorry, are you okay?’

‘Fine,’ I say. There’s concern in her hazel eyes, so I smile. ‘Your dad used to sit in the garden with mine, do you remember?’

‘Putting the world to rights over a few beers while we got up to God knows what.’

I smile again, and she turns away. The pull of sadness feels overwhelming. It’s almost fifteen years since Dad’s suicide, but even so, coming back is harder than I thought it would be.

‘Still like the Tardis, isn’t it?’ Lou’s looking across the room to where Alfie stands, pointing the remote at the black TV screen. ‘All a bit faded now, though.’

I run my fingers over the cold surface of the hob.

‘The kitchen’s pretty much the same. The leather on the sofas could do with a stain and polish.’

I pull out my phone and look at the screen. More messages from Mum. Silence from Seth. Nothing from Luke. I press redial on my brother’s number, then cut it off as it goes straight to voicemail. I’ve left enough messages already today.

‘Maybe Luke hasn’t been gone as long as we think. He’s not like your dad, that’s for sure.’ I look at Lou, I don’t get what she’s saying. ‘He always had the place locked, didn’t he?’

‘He was a bit hot on security, but no one’s been in. That laptop would be the first thing they’d take,’ I say.

‘There’s a hell of a lot of water on the floor, Evie. That didn’t happen in five minutes.’ She holds my gaze for a moment then continues, ‘I’ve loads to do for dinner tonight, but I can help you find a bucket and mop and get the worst of it cleared up, if you like.’

‘You get off, Lou. Like I said, just an omelette would be great.’

I want her to stay, but she’s anxious about getting Betty to the main road, and we’ve already ambushed her day. I’ve so wanted to come back here, but nothing feels right. I pull off my beanie and run my fingers through my hair. I’ve never arrived without Dad or Luke being here. Winter is so different from summer. I hadn’t given it a thought; how strange it would feel. The light is already grainy, fading as dark clouds throw shadows across the bleached floorboards.

‘It feels like a time shift,’ I say, as much to myself as to Lou. The TV blares, and I jump again. I need to eat and sleep.

‘Sorry!’ says Alfie, pressing buttons madly to kill the volume.

‘He’s got food in at least,’ says Lou. ‘I guess he’s still expecting you.’ Lou crouches on the floor with her back to me and starts delving into the nearest bag. ‘This stuff needs putting away, Evie. Something’s leaking everywhere.’ Lou holds up one of the bags, a string of pale liquid dribbles from it. She puts her hand under it and dumps it in the sink. ‘The lid has popped off a tub of ice cream,’ she says as we look at a gloopy pink lump oozing from beneath the bag. ‘This stuff has been here for hours. What the hell’s your brother playing at?’ Lou piles packets of ham, bread and a sweating block of cheddar onto the counter. ‘At least the underfloor heating doesn’t seem to have been on, although you might want to look at that, Evie, warm the place up a bit.’

A small metal dish is on the counter beside the sink. Lou follows my gaze to a wallet and bunch of keys.

‘No mobile. I guess he has that with him,’ I say. ‘Just wish he’d bloody well answer my calls!’

Lou is back to emptying bags: eggs, packets of rice and pasta, milk. A packet of peppermint tea. ‘Like I said, the signal’s crap around here, no point taking it half the time.’

Beneath the metal dish is a long receipt, I pull it free and look past the list of items to the very bottom. ‘He picked this lot up this morning,’ I say. ‘So, where’s he gone, Lou, without his wallet and keys?’

‘I’d say that’s the big question, wouldn’t you?’

‘Should I call the police?’

‘That’s a bit of an overreaction, Evie. It isn’t like it’s the first time he’s gone AWOL, is it?’ Lou holds a pack of kitchen rolls in her hands as I stare back at her.

‘That was years ago!’ The arguments with Dad, Luke taking off without a word. No idea if he planned on coming back.

‘He won’t have gone far, not in this weather.’ She pauses for a moment and starts to rip the plastic off the kitchen rolls. ‘He often goes walking for miles, tramps all the way up to Covehithe and back sometimes. You know he’s taken up running?’

‘Running?’

‘Along the clifftops and back along the beach. Dad sees him sometimes when he’s heading home after a night fishing.’

‘I didn’t know Luke ran,’ I say, astonished.

‘He told Dad he’d give you a run for your money when you got here. He’s probably getting in some last-minute training.’

I must have talked about it at some point when we Skyped; how my run to and from the restaurant keeps me sane, clears my head.

Lou holds up a half-empty bag and shakes it.

‘Sorry, let me give you a hand.’

‘I’ll finish unloading. You find a bin-bag and sort that out.’ Lou’s eyeing the messy carrier bag and sticky ice cream carton in the sink. ‘Run the tap for a bit. It might clear the smell.’

‘What smell?’ I slip off my engagement ring and drop it into the saucer with Luke’s wallet. ‘All I’m getting is ice cream. We met over a dripping pink ice cream, do you remember?’ I say.

‘In the beach car park with the boys and the kite.’

There’s laughter in her tone as I pick up soggy cardboard. I try the cold tap, but it’s stuck. I twist it hard, and water splashes into the sink, spraying up the front of my parka.

‘Steady on!’ Lou’s laughing, shaking her head as she moves things around to make space in the fridge. ‘It must need a new washer.’

I turn the flow of water down and watch it pull the pink sticky mess into the plughole. ‘I was just thinking, that boy with the kite you liked worked out pretty well, didn’t it?’

She’s smiling, her skin pale beneath the halogen lights. ‘Can we save the reminiscing until dinner?’ She stops suddenly, looks at an egg carton and the large slab of cheddar. ‘You’re not vegetarian, are you?’

‘Alfie is,’ I say, keeping my voice level as horror creeps across her face. ‘I’ve been vegan for a while now.’

She stares at me, her eyes searching my face. ‘A chef, vegan? Shit!’

My lips tremble, a smile forcing through.

‘No, you’re not!’

She laughs, snatching up a kitchen roll, and I duck as she swings it at my head.

‘No!’ Alfie tears towards us, the TV remote held high above his head. He grabs the roll from Lou. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Hey?’ I say. ‘It’s fine. We’re just messing about.’

Lou looks astonished, staring at Alfie as if he’s gone insane. Alfie turns to me, his face scrunched into a frown, his eyes bright.

‘Really, it’s okay.’ I reach for the roll and gently pull it from him.

‘Have you got the Xbox working?’

Alfie shakes his head. With a side glance at Lou, he heads back across the room, picks up a controller from the low table and sits down in one of the chrome and leather armchairs in front of the screen.

‘Let’s get this done so you can head off,’ I say, moving swiftly between the fridge and cupboards, worried that Lou would somehow know about the bruise, although Alfie would say if anything started to show. I’ll have to tell her, but now’s not the time. ‘There are plenty of logs in the rack below the wood burner. I’ll have a go at lighting it once you head home. It’ll cheer the place up no end.’

‘That’s it, I think.’ Lou scrunches the last of the orange carrier bags between her hands. ‘It’s so good you’ve come back, Evie. Tonight will be perfect, you’ll see.’

She’s staring at me again, just like she did at the station. I can’t quite make out her expression.

‘Shall we get the case in then?’ I say.

Lou drops the carrier onto the counter, and I follow her to the door. She’s right, there is a ridiculous amount of water here. I pull up my hood and run after Lou, security lights popping on as we head for the car. It can’t be much after 3:30 pm, and it’s getting dark already.

‘It’s a shame the weather’s like this,’ Lou shouts above the wind as she pulls the driver’s door open. ‘We’ve had three solid days of it now.’

Between us, we wrestle the suitcase off the back seat and out of the car.

‘You go, Lou. I can manage it from here.’