Page 45 of Leafpoint Lighthouse

The singing woke me up. The lyrics were fixed in my mind. I recognised the tune as being Lowlands, an old sea shanty. The words were chilling, and I wondered why William sang them. Had he lost someone? I turned over. Why was that song haunting me? Was William trying to tell me something, or was the melody simply stuck in his head?

My phone rang, and I picked it up. “Hello?”

“Hi, I was wondering if you’d like to meet up,” Ophelia asked.

“I’ve been ill. Flu and a fever. Would you mind coming here?”

“Of course not. I’m on my way,” Ophelia said, and before I could tell her not to rush, she hung up.

Slowly, my body aching, I got out of bed and headed to the kitchen, hugging the walls. I didn’t feel stable on my feet, but I had to let Ophelia in. It took what little strength I had to unlock the door, and then I collapsed onto a dining chair. Moments later, a tea with honey was placed in front of me. I couldn’t see William, but it was him. Closing my eyes in sheer weariness, I cupped the mug and let its warmth flow into my hands.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

“I’ve a casserole on. Tell your cousin not to let it burn,” William ordered.

I nodded once; it was all I could manage. Twenty minutes after her call, Ophelia came through the door. She took one glance and began bullying me upstairs. I headed for the living room.

“You look like death warmed up. How long have you been ill?” Ophelia demanded.

“A couple of days,” I muttered as I curled up on the sofa. Ophelia grabbed the blanket off the back of it and tucked me in.

“And you didn’t call any of us?” Ophelia continued scolding.

“I’ve not had anyone to rely on for five years; this is all new to me,” I replied.

“Not good enough. You’ve got family now. You don’t need to be so independent. Stay there; I’ll go prepare you some lunch.”

Before I could say another word, Ophelia popped the TV remote into my hand and disappeared.

“What just happened?” I murmured, slightly dazed. I closed my eyelids; I needed a short nap.

“Here,” Ophelia said, and I opened my eyes. “Drink this. My old nanny would make it for me.

“You had a nanny?” I croaked.

“Yes. My parents were averse to raising a child. If you knew my mother, you’d know it’s a miracle she ever got pregnant. Although I did wonder if they’d used a surrogate once,” Ophelia remarked.

I stared in horror. “Are you joking? I can’t tell,” I said and wished I had not spoken. The discomfort in my throat was as if I’d swallowed razors.

“No. This is honey and lemon water. It’s hot. I saw you had a casserole on; why on earth you did that, I don’t know. This is one of your cans of soup. Eat it,” Ophelia ordered.

“You are far too bossy,” I complained as I shoved upwards. A glance at the clock on the wall made me flinch. “I was asleep for an hour?”

“Yes. I have cleaned up, not that there’s much mess. I changed your bedding and put fresh on. Stay there and eat. Do as you are told.”

“Are you staying at Clamshell?” I asked.

“Yep. I left my job in London and won’t be going back.” Ophelia’s eyes took on a distant look. “I don’t care what anyone else says!”

“Is someone saying you should?” Concern flared in me. Was Ophelia in trouble?

“Not yet, but they will. My parents disapprove of my choices lately, and they’ve no idea about any of this.” Ophelia looked amused.

“Ophelia…”

“Call me Lia. I prefer that. Anyway, what’s your movie preference?” she asked, picking up the remote control.

“Avengers?”