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Frowning, he followed her and opened the door. ‘Why do you say that?’
‘You can’t afford to hire a manager, can you? And unless you free up some of your own money, which I don’t think you should do, who else is going to run the place?’
It was a question he’d been asking himself for the past week. Who indeed? Even if he sold his house in Leeds, it would be months before the money came through, and where would he live when he returned home?
‘Besides,’ she said, patting his chest. ‘I think this could be a new start for you. A fresh challenge, something to get your teeth into.’
He experienced another sinking feeling. ‘I’m only staying until probate is sorted. Then I’m going back to Leeds.’
She frowned at him. ‘And what about the care home?’
‘I need to decide whether to sell it, liquidate it or hire a manager to run it.’
Her expression softened. ‘I think your uncle Bert envisaged you taking over the running of it.’
‘I’ve no idea why. I’d be rubbish at it.’ It still confounded him that his uncle had done that. But then he guessed his uncle was just looking out for him, giving him the option of a second profession after his football career had ended.
She shook her head. ‘I think you underestimate yourself.’
‘My life’s back in Leeds. I have friends there, I want to be close to my family.’
‘It’s also the scene of the crime,’ she said, giving him a sad smile. ‘I know you love the place, but do you really want to stay somewhere where you’re constantly reminded of all that pain and suffering? You’d never escape it. Wouldn’t it be better to make a fresh start somewhere new? Somewhere people don’t know you, and where they won’t look at you with sadness, but instead see a remarkable and beautiful young man who’s making a new life for himself.’
He felt the tears welling up. ‘That place isn’t Pluckley.’
‘No? Shame. It’s where I’ll be.’ And with that, she lowered herself into the car.
Had he heard right? He ducked down to look at her. ‘I thought you were only visiting for a few days?’
‘I’m not getting any younger, Calvin. It’s about time I started looking at care homes, and what better place to move into than the home run by my beloved grandson.’
His heart sank. ‘Granny, I’m not staying in Pluckley.’
‘So you keep saying.’ She patted his hand. ‘And you know better than to call me Granny.’
‘Sorry… but seriously, this isn’t what I want.’
‘We’ll see. Now, are you going to fetch that last suitcase from the platform before someone pinches it? Only, I’m dying for a cuppa.’
He straightened up, wondering how the hell he was going to fit a third suitcase into his car… and knowing that that was the least of his problems.
Chapter Five
Thursday, 25thNovember
Kate Lawrence stepped onto the deserted railway platform and decided it was the type of night only the dead could enjoy – cold as hell and miserably wet. But this was only to be expected, seeing as she’d just arrived in Kent’s most haunted village – something Calvin Johnson had conveniently omitted to mention when he’d offered her a job here.
Amongst the peeling paint and rusted chains holding up the heavy wooden sign, the faded name of Pluckley stared back at her, creaking rhythmically from the rafters, propelled by the occasional swirl of wind that tunnelled through the station. Nice touch. Very eerie.
Zipping up her jacket, she wheeled her suitcase towards the exit.
A single wooden gate led her away from the tracks and onto the station forecourt. The ground was uneven, making manoeuvring her luggage difficult. Still, it wasn’t the end of the world: she only had to make it out front, where her client would be waiting for her. A client she’d made the mistake of googling last night – something she’d been regretting ever since.
Her motivation had been driven by uncertainty – after all, she had accepted a job without properly researching the man she’d be working for. He could be an axe murderer for all she knew. Just because he appeared to be nice and kind and sane, with a set of killer dimples and a smile that had rendered her speechless, it didn’t mean something darker didn’t lurk beneath his attractive exterior. Good-looking men could be jerks, too. She’d been married to one.
What she hadn’t expected to find when she’d run a search on his name was that he was a well-known footballer. The image that had popped up on the screen showed him dressed in a smart suit, with his arm around a striking woman with long dark glossy hair and the kind of body that could stop traffic – something which had sent Kate’s self-esteem plummeting even further.
She’d slammed her laptop shut, unwilling to read any more details about how successful and talented and gorgeous Calvin Johnson was. She’d learnt all she needed to know. The man was unlikely to be a mass murderer – which alleviated her concerns about his trustworthiness, but only added to the humiliation of having sobbed all over him, the memory of which still made her cringe. It hadn’t been her finest moment. Anxiety had a lot to answer for.
