He unzips his overnight bag and lays out his things with quiet precision. A fresh shirt, a Western paperback with a cracked spine, a flask and a torch. Two pairs of binoculars, their lenses spotless. He runs a hand over one, feeling the familiar weight in his palm, then places them both on the desk by the window.
Outside, the wind stirs the trees, shifting the reflection of the house on the lake’s surface. He watches for a while, then straightens, slipping his flask into his coat pocket.
Time for a drink, he thinks.
The Pike and Anchor is exactly what he expects. A low-beamed ceiling and tired, mismatched furniture. The smell of old ale seems to be soaked into the very bones of the place, but it’s not unpleasant. A few locals are scattered around, their conversations low and easy, the hum of them blending into the soft crackle of the fire in the grate. It’s cool in here with its foot-thick stone walls and tiny windows keeping the sun at bay.
He orders a still mineral water and takes a seat at the bar. The barman – a thick-set man with a ruddy face – barely glances at him but that’s OK. He’s come here to listen, not talk.
Snatches of conversation drift past. Someone grumbling about roadworks on the main stretch. A woman laughing too loudly, slightly slurring her words. A discussion about a missing dog with a sighting up near the woods.
And then…
‘Aye, that’s the one. Up for grabs in a bloody prize draw, can you believe? One of those charity raffle things.’ Snatchesof a nearby conversation reach his ears. ‘Young couple from God-knows-where waltz in, win themselves a multi-million-pound house. Never worked a day for it.’
He shifts, just enough to turn towards the speaker – a wiry bloke in a waxed jacket, his hands wrapped around a pint.
The landlord shrugs. ‘They’re probably just waiting to cash out and then they’ll bugger off back to wherever it is they came from.’
‘Or stick it on Airbnb.’
A few disgruntled noises of agreement.
The man takes a long sip of his pint, then sidles up to him. ‘You from round here?’
He smiles. ‘Just visiting.’ He finishes his drink and sets the empty glass on the bar. Sounds to him like the locals are firmly on his side.
25
Tuesday
Merri
The morning is warm, the kind that promises a hot day ahead. Dev’s gone to pick up some stuff he’s ordered and I’m sweeping gravel off the path outside the front door. My eyes keep shifting to the drive where I’ve left the gates open.
I’m hoping Jack’s girlfriend, Sarah Fielder, is as perfect as Dev seems to think she’ll be – reliable, and looking for work over the summer. She seems to be exactly what we need, but there’s always that hesitation, the need to see for myself who we’re inviting into our home.
At last, a silver hatchback pulls up, and a young woman steps out. She’s in her twenties, short and slim, dressed in simple jeans and a T-shirt. She waves and smiles, and I feel myself respond to her friendly manner. There’s something inherently sunny about her demeanour. Alert, intelligent brown eyes, short brown hair cropped neatly around her elfin face, and an easy warmth that seems to emanate with her smile.
‘Sarah!’ I call, meeting her as she walks up to the house. ‘Thanks for coming round.’ We shake hands.
‘Hello, Merri, it’s really lovely to meet you!’ she says cheerfully, as I lead her to the kitchen. She laughs. ‘Thanks for opening the gates. Jack said he had to climb over them to get in!’
‘What?’ I stop walking. The way he just appeared on the terrace the other day …
‘Wow, this place!’ Oblivious, she walks over to the glass, her mouth slightly open. ‘It’ssocool.’
‘It is very special,’ I agree. ‘Can I get you something to drink? I’ve got coffee or ginger kombucha?’ I smother a grin. I’ve only just discovered kombucha courtesy of Booths.
‘Ooh, yum, that sounds perfect. Thanks.’ She turns back to the terrace. ‘My mates are all obsessed with Lakeview House. We watched it going up. All that glass and steel. What a dream.’
I pour two glasses over ice and we head outside. Sarah falls quiet, sipping her drink as she takes in the stepped garden and the view beyond.
She gives me a sheepish grin. ‘I’ve bought a couple of DreamKey tickets in the past few months after seeing this house go up. My guilty secret!’
‘Why not? It worked for us!’ I ignore the flashback of me chewing off Dev’s ears for squandering money on our single ticket.
‘How did it feel when you found out you’d won?’ She’s fascinated. ‘You must’ve thought you were dreaming.’
