My phone buzzes with a text notification from Paige. I open it and click on the link she’s sent me to a Facebook page. I feel the blood drain from my face as I stare at the image and the name of the page.
Merri and Dev – The Lucky Winners!
There, on a public page I didn’t create, are three photographs. Not photos copied from the generic ones on the DreamKey website, but personal pictures of our new home.
The first is of the master bedroom. Sunlight pours through the window illuminating the unmade bed. Small piles of garments I unpacked a couple of days ago and didn’t finish putting away are scattered across the floor.
The second is the kitchen – my kitchen – the worktop bearing our kettle and toaster, the mug tree and the vase full of fragrant freesias I bought last week. I stare at it, the angle familiar, as if the person holding the camera had stood in the doorway, watching.
And then the third. The photograph taken from exactly where I sit now, showing the view down to the lake.
I shiver, despite the warmth of the day. Icy fingers creep over my body making my skin prickle. This is my favourite spot, the one I stand in every morning with a cup of tea while Dev’s still asleep. There’s a particular angle to the view that means I see the distant hills and trees rather than water. But this picture shows the lake in all its glory and I feel painful memories stir in the pit of my stomach.
I pinch out the photo to study the title of the page again. Underneath in small letters, it reads:Page Admin: Merri Harris.
I try to reset the password. I can’t do it because somehow it doesn’t recognize my email address.
The pieces click into place. Someone has clearly hacked into my personal Facebook account and changed the password so I can no longer access it. Then they’ve created a public page in my name: a public platform to show off private photographs of the interior of Lakeview House. They are good quality and clear. Someone has been careful not to rush and has taken care to get the snaps they want. There’s only one caption underneath each image:Lakeview House: Still can’t believe our luck!
Our private lives, displayed for the entertainment of strangers. I stare past the graffiti and out of the window. I don’t know who might be there right now. Watching me. Watching us. We’re so exposed here and there’s plenty of cover if someone wanted to monitor us but … Someone must have broken in to get these pics of the inside.
I read a few of the 238 comments.
All right for some!
Why don’t you donate some of your lump sum to the Windermere Lake pollution charity?
Spare a thought for those people born here who can’t afford to buy!!!
I close the message window and sit back, my hands trembling. Despite what Dev says, I’m right. Everyone here seems to hate us. First a brick thrown at the house before we even moved in, then the much worse vandalism to the glass. Now these comments. What lengths might someone be prepared to go to if they don’t succeed in driving us out?
I open the DreamKey website. Our house has been replaced on the homepage by an equally stunning property in Norfolk. The DreamKey juggernaut has already moved on, selling the dream to another couple they’ll drop into a new home, in a blaze of glossy photographs and publicity, in a place far from what they know. Like us, they’ll blindly think that nothing but good can come from their amazing luck. But doesn’t every major life change have a cost of some sort?
The house stands silent around me. Dev is out picking up supplies for his new study, so I’m alone here.
I glance towards the hallway and, beyond it, the new door and locks Jack fitted that I double-checked this morning. Even that doesn’t feel like enough protection after the brick and crude message that shattered the glass. But these new photos, with so many nasty, unfriendly comments below them … The question ricochets around my skull:who would do this?
Dev doesn’t bother with social media. He never has. It would take a big effort for him to learn how to post a photograph. He’s just not the sort to share personal details online.
But if it wasn’t me or Dev, then … who?
I run through the possibilities, forcing myself to think clearly through the fear that not only has someone hacked into one of my devices but they’ve been in the house when we’re not here.
Maybe someone from the moving company took them. No. Why would they? Then the most obvious answer presents itself. Someone who’s been invited here has betrayed us. Jack, Simon, Sarah and Tilda have all been here at different times. All people who seem so pleased for us after our win. People we hoped would become good friends.
I close the laptop, but the images stay with me. Our unmade bed and scattered clothes, the flowers I bought just a few days ago – details that are now imprinted on my mind.I picture someone standing inside the house, phone camera in hand, moving silently from room to room. The bedroom. The kitchen. The lake.
It’s a strong word, but I feelviolated.
I force myself to breathe, but the air feels thick and heavy. I get up and check the locks again, even though I know they’re secure. I peer out through the curtains, scanning the hillside. Nothing.
My phone buzzes on the table. I jump.
It’s another text from Paige.
Sorry if I upset you earlier. I didn’t mean anything by it. Let’s talk soon.
I stare at the message for a long time. When I finally reply, my fingers feel stiff tapping on the virtual keyboard.
