AllFreeNovel
Share Us
‘There is something,’ she says. ‘I saw a man on Sunday morning when I was staying at the Manor. He was sneaking around the entrance.’
‘What was he doing?’
‘He came in and disappeared behind one of the big hedges at the top of the driveway. At first, I thought he was one of Sasha’s yoga students, but then he snuck back out after a few minutes. He looked furtive.’
‘Can you describe him?’
‘He was scruffy, wearing a T-shirt and cargo shorts and young, maybe in his twenties. He looked a bit like a vagrant. Or a hiker, maybe. I think he was carrying a small pack, but he was quite a distance away, so it was hard to tell.’
‘Have you ever seen him before?’
‘No.’
‘Did anyone else see him?’
‘Kitty didn’t. I forgot to ask Olly or Sasha.’
‘Do you feel unsafe?’
‘I’m okay. I’ve got someone staying. Tom’s best friend.’
‘Well, that’s good. Let us know if you see the man again, or anyone else behaving suspiciously.’
‘I will.’
The Barn feels very silent in the aftermath of the call. She checks outside the front. Olly and Sasha have gone. She comes back inside and closes the door, realising as she does that someone could have crept in while she was on the phone. How long was the door unattended? A few minutes, at least. Olly and Sasha should have shut the door, but perhaps they didn’t notice she’d left it open.
She thinks of the man she saw creeping through the Manor House gates and stands stock-still, listening, in case someone did creep in, in case he did, but she hears nothing unusual. Though it would be easy to hide in this house if you wanted to. It’s so big. Her heart rate ticks up and she puts her hand on her chest to calm herself down. Patrick should be back soon. She could wait for him outside, but that’s where Tom died. On the whole, she thinks she feels safer in here.
16
FIVE YEARS EARLIER
Anna’s Journal
After a few weeks of yoga and a growing and wonderful friendship with Sasha my black mood caught up with me again. I knew it was too good to last.
I’ve been mislaying things more often over the past few weeks and it has sapped my confidence. I lost my purse and a necklace that Nick gave me. They both turned up, but I feel as if my brain just gets foggier by the day and I’m second-guessing myself all the time.
I made a mistake, socially. I tried to rekindle a friendship with one of the women I had felt closest to before Nick died: Lucy Samson. I woke up one day feeling confident and sent her a message asking if she wanted to have coffee. Stupidly, I built her response up in my mind. She would be pleased to hear from me, I thought; we would have coffee and then see each other regularly, just like I do with Sasha. It would be my introductionback into the lives of these women who always seemed so busy and purposeful.
But she didn’t reply, even though I could see that she read my message, and it hit me hard.
I reverted to not being able to leave the house, even to go to yoga. My mind persuaded me that even friendship with Sasha was an illusion and I felt too bleak to do anything, even to write in here. All I could think about was the future that Nick and I had lost. For the first time since we bought it, the Manor House seemed more like a drag than a joy. It felt overwhelming and I blamed it for bringing me here ten years ago and ripping me away from my old friendship circles into those new ones which turned out never to mean anything. The feelings were hard to cope with because I’ve always loved this place, and Nick did, too. We were so aware of all its history and all the people who lived here before us. We bought it because we loved every part of it, every material that went into building it, every nook and cranny inside and outside. It’s a precious piece of the past. But that didn’t stop me wondering whether it was time to sell up and let someone else take it over.
Sasha called me right after the class I missed, and she’s been calling me every day since, cajoling me into returning. ‘I can’t let you slip back into depression,’ she said. ‘What happened? You’ve been doing so well. Come to class again. All you need to do is to show up and I’ll support you through the rest. I know you can do it.’ I felt the tug of her words. It was nice to be wanted. ‘I miss you,’ she said. ‘And I wouldn’t say that to just anyone.’
Kitty encouraged me, too. ‘This is just a dip you’re having,’ she said. ‘Get back out there. You were doing so well. Nick would have been proud of you.’
I went back. It felt like the hardest thing in the world, but it was good to do it. Sasha was very attentive. Afterwards, over coffee, I told her how I’d been feeling. ‘I wouldn’t normally be as forward as this,’ she said, ‘but I care about you so I’m going to suggest something.’
‘What?’ I asked. I was feeling better in the glow of her attention. It was as if I’d stepped out of the cold, and she was warming me up. Being with her made me feel different, lighter, more hopeful. The attention she gave me was so intense and personal.
‘I’d like to come to your house, to look at it. I want you to see it through my eyes, because I think your depression has, understandably, made you blind to what you have and to the possibility that you can be happy again.’
‘Would you really do that?’ I asked. I couldn’t believe she wanted to visit me in person. Her classes were crowded, and she was charismatic. I’d seen plenty of other women trying to befriend her only to be gently, courteously rebuffed, and yet she wanted to come to my home.
‘Yes,’ she said.
