Page 89 of Serenity Falls

Introductions done, coffee poured, and I’m about to take a seat when the door to the staffroom opens again and a dark-haired woman walks in.

‘I’m so sorry I’m late,’ she says.

‘Not at all, Miss Hegarty,’ Lockhart says. ‘You’re just in time.’

Lockhart says something else. I hear my name. But the rest of his words are drowned out by the buzzing in my head. I can’t speak. I can’t move. I can’t breathe.

All I can do is stare at my wife.

25

Sadie waits until she sees the yellow SUV disappear around the end of the road, then steps outside the front door and pulls it closed behind her.

Just gone one thirty and the street is quiet, heavy with heat. Most sensible people are probably inside with the aircon turned up to max. She looks both ways, just to check, and then crosses the road and stands outside Home and Spry.

Beyond the gate, a paved path leads up to the door of the house. Sadie can hear the whisper of the sprinkler. Birds are calling somewhere. She’s half expecting to hear someone shout out or ask her what she’s doing. But the street remains quiet.

She pushes the gate open and looks around. Lush green lawn either side. The sprinkler whirring back and forth. The house sits pleasantly in front of her. Not threatening or scary. Just another faux-colonial-style property, beautifully kept and maintained. Conserved.

Before she can change her mind, she walks up the path to the front door. She can see a discreet security camera tucked just over the frame. Will it be working if no one lives here? Maybe, if the Conservators want to keep the house secure. On the other hand, if someone has already broken in, maybe not?

Next to the door is a small black box. A key safe. She remembers Frances saying that some residents kept traditional keys for spares. She presumes the box is empty and, even if it wasn’t, she doesn’t know the number to open it.

She crosses to one of the windows. She’s feeling bolder. She’s not doing any harm, after all. If anything, she’s being a good neighbour; checking that everything is okay. The curtains are open, and she cups her hands around the glass and peers inside.

Unlike their house, which is open-plan, this house has a more traditional layout, divided into separate rooms. This one looks like some kind of workroom. There’s a table with a sewing machine on it and a chair draped in fabrics. In one corner a figure stands motionless. Sadie jumps, then realizes her mistake. It’s a dressmaker’s mannequin. She lets out a breath, laughing at her own stupidity. Just a little twitchy there.

She walks over to the other front window and peers in. From here she can see straight into the living area, all the way to where doors open out to the back yard. Again, it’s the complete opposite of their house. Instead of modern furniture in neutral tones, the sofa and armchairs are floral and chintzy. There’s a large Persian rug on the floor and dark cabinets filled with china and ornaments.

Seeing the interior, she revises her opinion of the owners. Maybe not Dale and Nancy. This wouldn’t be their style. Dale and Nancy would be more cream leather sofas, glass coffee tables and golfing trophies. This is more prim and proper. A Hyacinth Bucket or Dolores Umbridge. Sadie can practically picture her. Houseproud, prissy. The sort to keep a ball if it went over her fence and tell children off for making noise. Not the sort to just disappear and leave all her prized possessions.

Of course, none of this explains the figure she saw inside or the phone calls. Someone is moving around here at night, and it’s not a burglar, unless they’re a very neat burglar, judging from what she can see through the windows. A squatter, then? But a squatter who has her phone number. The thought is unsettling, but it doesn’t feel right. It feels, weirdly, like the caller was trying to help her.

Sadie steps back from the window, feeling frustrated. She worked up the courage to come over here, but it hasn’t really told her anything. She needs to look inside.

She turns and walks back down the path, mulling over her options. If she could get round the back, maybe there’s a way in there. But how? She’s still preoccupied as she lets herself out through the gate and almost walks straight into a tall figure coming down the street.

‘Whoah!’

‘Oh, shi— I mean, sorry!’

Sadie looks up. Shorn white hair. Sharp features and crazy mismatched eyes – one blue, one brown. The priest from the other day. Father Miller. Not in his robes but dressed down in a shirt and jeans, although still wearing a clerical collar.

He frowns as if also taking a moment to place her. ‘Sadie?’ Then he smiles. Sort of. ‘Well, this is serendipitous. I was planning to call on you on my way into town.’

‘You were?’

‘I like to introduce myself to all newcomers – whether faithful or sceptical.’

There’s an amused glint in those mismatched eyes, and Sadie feels a little thrown. Some people, you can sum up quickly, but with Father Miller, she can’t be sure whether he’s being serious or messing with her.

‘Well, Dad’s at a staff meeting at the school.’

‘Ah. That’s a shame. Bad timing. And you look like you’re on your way out too.’ He pauses, then glances back at the house. He frowns. ‘Forgive me if I’m mistaken, but isn’t your house across the street?’

Sadie’s cheeks flood with heat. ‘Yes, I, erm, got confused.’

‘Confused as to which was your house?’