Page 39 of The Cottage at Brambleton Hall

‘Saaammy,’ Chloe’s voice burst through, bright and chaotic as ever. ‘I’ve got news.’

‘That sounds dangerous.’

‘I’ve found someone for your room,’ Chloe said.

‘What happened to Wendy?’

‘I can’t live with her. I’ve found a couple instead. They’re perfect. Well . . . perfect-ish.’

Sammy wasn’t convinced about this plan. ‘A couple?’

‘Yeah, but . . .’ Chloe rushed on, ‘I don’t love it. You know I don’t love it; it’s not you.’

Sammy leaned against the cold Belfast sink, eyes closing briefly. ‘Sounds like you’re sorted. I can stop the direct debit for the rent,’ she said gently. ‘And you can reimburse me for August’s, like you said you would.’

Last night Sammy had been disappointed but not surprised to discover Chloe had transferred no money.

‘It is sorted,’ Chloe said quickly. ‘If you could keep covering things a bit longer, only until we know I can live with this pair. Lend me a hand with the council tax would you . . .’

‘Chloe . . . I’m not paid again for another month and I’m skint.’

‘It won’t be long,’ Chloe said. ‘Promise.’

Sammy let out a small breath. ‘It’s fine,’ she said. ‘I’ll manage. I might have to start eating kohlrabi . . .’

‘What’s that?’

‘Don’t ask.’

‘You’re the best,’ Chloe said. ‘Honestly, what would I do without you?’

Sammy’s smile came automatically. ‘Probably get a job,’ she said lightly.

‘Rude. I have options.’

‘Of course you do.’

They both laughed. Sammy hung up, the smile lingering as she slipped the phone away; then slowly thinning.

That evening, Sammy sat on the edge of her bed, phone in hand, the quiet pressing in around her.

She opened her banking app.

Payday: four weeks away. Balance: not enough. Her thumb hovered, then she transferred it anyway. Another £50 to Chloe.

A familiar hollow relief followed – gone nearly as soon as it came.

It’s only for now. It’ll sort itself out. Once that couple started paying rent Chloe could refund her. She set the phone down.

No time to dwell.

Sammy was halfway through laying breakfast – for three – when Magnus interrupted.

‘Upstairs today.’

Something lifted in her chest. Upstairs meant higher stakes. And best of all – no Valerie. Valerie cleaned upstairs on a Monday, downstairs on Wednesday and Friday. ‘Upstairs?’ she queried, folding napkins and putting one on each side plate.

‘Guest rooms. Trial run. You will assist with preparation.’