‘Well, she first got Max when he was a puppy, from a breederup in the Lake District, and after she collected him, they kept in touch. Thebreeder kept two of the puppies in the litter, so they would send each otherphotos of the dogs from time to time. And twice, Auntie Josie went up therewith Max on the train, so the litter could be reunited. Both times she stayedat this amazing hotel nearby that allowed you to have your dog with you.’
‘Aww, how cute.’
She nods. ‘I know. She always raved about that hotel. Shesaid that if she had the money, she’d love to open her own hotel for owners andtheir dogs down here in Surrey.’
‘So you think she might have gone up to the Lake Districtand booked into that hotel?’
‘I do. She had such happy times staying there with Max. Butwhen I phoned the hotel to enquire, they said it was their policy to keep thenames of guests private, so they couldn’t confirm if she was there.’
‘Right.’ I frown. ‘But surely if shewasn’tthere,they would have told you that?’
‘That’s what I thought, but they were polite but cagey andwouldn’t say.’
I frown, thinking about this. ‘I think you should go upthere and find out.’
‘All the way to the Lake District?’
‘Why not? At least it would set your mind at rest one way oranother. And if your auntie is there, I’m sure she’ll be delighted to see you.’
Dorothy nods. ‘It would give me something to do,’ shemurmurs, ‘instead of just sitting here worrying and feeling useless.’
‘Exactly.’
‘And I’d love to see it. The hotel, I mean. Apparently, it’sdeep in the countryside with the most amazing walks in the area. I might evenpersuade my husband to take a few days off work and come with me.’
‘Great idea!’
She smiles. ‘Do you know what, Lottie? That’s what I’m goingto do. I feel better already just thinking about it.’
When we part, she has a spring in her step and my fingersare firmly crossed that Dorothy’s trip to the Lake District to find her auntwill be a success.
As for me, I’m heading straight back to Sycamore House whereI have a date with a strimmer and a temperamental lawnmower!
As I drive along, I find myself thinking about Liam. Eversince he called in at the café yesterday, looking for me, he’s been slippinginto my mind far too often for my liking. He obviously gets on really well withhis lovely researcher, Nat. I really warmed to her. She was so bubbly andfriendly. She seemed to like Liam a lot, too.
Not that this bothers me at all.
I mean, why would it?
I’ve already decided that romance is off the menu. There’sno way on earth I’ll be risking my heart again any time soon...
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Back at the house, I’m fully intending to get changedand go straight out into the garden to tackle the wilderness again. Butcuriosity gets the better of me.
I was too spooked last night to explore upstairs, but Idon’t want to put it off any longer. If I don’t go up there now, it’ll get darkagain and my apprehension will ramp up even more. It’s silly, I know, becauseall I’ll see up there is the bedrooms, pretty much as they were the day Dylanand I left ten years ago. Dylan lived here for a while after he left the carehome, but I never went back. Not even to visit him. I swore I never would.Dylan always came to see me at the care home or we’d meet in a café or pub.
So although I know it’s irrational, I need to dispel thefear of what I’ll find once and for all. Only then will I be able to fullyrelax in this house of memories.
The downstairs was easier to face. But upstairs is where allthe personal items will be. Mum’s dresses still in the wardrobe. Dad’s artstuff still in the spare bedroom. Dylan’s room untouched since he left SycamoreHouse to move into the rented flat we shared so I could take care of him andmake sure he stayed off the drink.
No wonder my heart is in my mouth as I slowly climb thestairs.
My parents’ room is directly ahead of me.
I pause for a moment outside the door, which is slightlyajar, then I push it open. Standing there on the threshold, the musty smell ofa room long-forgotten hits me, along with a jumble of memories. Suddenly, I’mfinding it hard to breathe. My eyes land on Dad’s slippers by his side of thebed and I feel the solid weight of suppressed emotion inside me start to loosenand shift. Ever since we lost Dad, I’ve had to be strong for Dylan. He was thesensitive one and I knew he wouldn’t survive the trauma of losing a parentunless I stayed strong and he had me to lean on. So I pushed down my owndespair and sadness as best I could, determined not to break. But now, at thesight of those rather threadbare blue slippers, the heavy weight of grief in myabdomen is surging to the surface.
Just before I pull the door closed again, I glimpse Mum’spine dressing table with the strings of pearls draped over her jewellery standand the brush just lying there, as if she’ll be back in the room at any second,needing to blow-dry her hair into its sleek brown bob.
