Maddy pauses at the table, crosses her arms and murmursconfidentially, ‘I’ve heard an even darker tale... that she murderedhim and then fled the scene, never to return. And the place has been hauntedever since.’
Ellie snorts. ‘You shouldn’t believeeverythingyouhear on the rumour grapevine.’
Maddy frowns. ‘Well, Cissie Bevan, who lives fairly near,swears she’s seen spooky lights in there at night, even though the place is supposedto be empty.’
‘Cissie Bevan thrives on gossip,’ says Bertha. ‘It’s all justsilly tittle-tattle. The real story is probably nowhere near as dramatic asthat.’
‘I feel for those kids, though,’ I murmur. ‘I wonder if theyreally did end up in care?’
There’s a brief pause as we ponder this sadly.
Ellie breaks the silence. ‘But now Sycamore House is aboutto be brought back to life,’ she murmurs. ‘If that builder’s van on the drive lastweek is anything to go by.’
Bertha nods. ‘It went on the market a few months ago but Iguess no one’s shown any interest, hence the forthcoming facelift.’
‘I suppose it’s hardly surprising,’ I murmur, holding mybelly as the twins embark on an energetic goal-scoring competition. ‘It’s lainempty for years, so goodness knows what it’s like inside.’
‘True,’ says Bertha. ‘That’s bound to have put potentialbuyers off. And the rumours that surround the place, of course.’
Krystle grimaces. ‘Well, I think I’ll stick with Rose QuartzCottage, thank you very much. That house and its history soundswaytoocreepy for me...’
Lottie
CHAPTER TWO
I park my car outside the gates and stand on thedriveway of Sycamore House, staring at the house where I grew up. Most peoplefeel sentimental returning to their old family home but I just feel vaguelynauseous. I’d rather be anywhere except here.
I long to hop back in the car and zoom straight back toBournemouth, but I won’t. There’s a job that needs doing here and I’ve neverbeen one to shy away from a challenge. My brother Dylan used to joke that I wasmore stubborn than a mule when it came to things I believed in, and I would laughand accuse him of being far too willing to compromise and forgive so thatpeople would like him...
My insides swirl around as I think of my big brother,picturing his lanky frame and wild mop of dark blond hair...his wide, generous smile...
I give my head a little shake, stopping any sentimentalthoughts in their tracks.
Dylan’s no longer here – his choice – and anyway, I don’tneed him. I’m perfectly able to tackle this renovation project all on my own.
Liz, the owner of the bed and breakfast place in Sunnybrook,where I’ve been staying for the past few days, cooks a delicious full Englishbreakfast but I couldn’t face it this morning, knowing I’d be back here to meetEddie, the contractor, at ten. I slept badly and woke in a sweat, after ahorribly real nightmare featuring my scumbag ex-boyfriend.
I shudder now at the memory. In the dream, I was locked inthe scarily dark under-stairs cupboard at Sycamore House. I could hear my extelling my brother that I’d gone to live in Spain and I kept shouting that itwas a lie and banging on the door, but they couldn’t seem to hear me and I feltlike I was suffocating.
Now, shrugging off the nightmare, I glance at my watch. I wasworried I’d be late for Eddie – but it’s now nearly ten-thirty and there’sstill no sign of him.
Where on earth is he?
To make matters worse, it looks like rain and I don’t havean umbrella, which means fairly soon my shoulder-length blonde hair with itsnatural kink will fluff up and give me that shaggy sheepdog look!
I glance warily at the darkening clouds overhead. I’ve triedEddie’s mobile but he’s not answering and I’m starting to worry. I’ve alreadypaid him for the work they’ve done over the past few days – replacing rooftiles to make the house watertight – plus a few hundred more towards theinternal work that’s planned. They’re going to knock down a wall to create amodern kitchen-diner, which will hopefully make the house more attractive topotential buyers – because since putting the house on the market a few monthsago, I’ve had not a single bite. Loads of viewings, of course – although nodoubt mostly people curious to see the inside of the abandoned house with itssupposedly dark secrets.
Having ventured inside myself last week – for the first timein a decade – I can understand why there hasn’t been a rush of offers on theplace.
I’d put it on the market back in March but I had absolutelyno intention of going inside it if I didn’t have to. I’d called an estate agentin Sunnybrook – from my current home in Bournemouth – and spoken to a veryhelpful woman called Lois, who assured me that I didn’t need to be there inorder for her to list the house.
‘Send me the keys and I’ll go there myself and check it out,and get the For Sale board up,’ she said.
‘No one’s lived there for years,’ I told her doubtfully.‘It’ll probably be a complete mess inside.’
Lois said it didn’t matter. ‘A big place like that is likelyto be snapped up by a developer because it needs work. They won’t be worriedabout the dust.’
I hoped for a quick sale. But when, after five months, itwas still languishing on the market, I realised I’d have to give the house afacelift if I wanted to have any hope of selling it.
