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Finn seemed totally unconcerned, but it was beginning to worry me that it had been quite a while since we’d passed the last village, and I hadn’t seen a signpost in ages.
‘We’re going to be very late,’ I said, trying not to panic that we had absolutely no idea where we were.
‘Try my phone again,’ Finn suggested, pulling it from his pocket and dropping it on to my lap.
I wafted his iPhone about, trying to trap a signal. I even stuck it out through the open car window, which would have been disastrous if I’d dropped it, for the narrow road we were travelling on was bordered on both sides by gullies so deep, I couldn’t even see the bottom of them through the dense, overgrown foliage.
‘Up there,’ declared Finn, pointing to something he’d glimpsed through a thick bank of trees. ‘I saw sunlight glinting off glass, the way it does off a window. There must be a property up ahead, on the left.’
I pulled a face, preferring the idea of turning around and going back the way we’d come rather than showing up at someone’s home in the middle of nowhere.
‘It’ll be fine,’ Finn said, already turning down a dirt track that would lead us who knew where. ‘What’s the worst that could happen?’
‘For a man who writes psychological thrillers for a living, you seem to have a remarkably poor imagination,’ I said darkly. ‘I bet you wouldn’t catch Stephen King saying that.’
Finn laughed and took my hand once again.
*
The cottage stood on an enormous plot. The grass was overgrown, and there were weeds sprouting in the driveway. Ivy was creeping determinedly around every window, as though trying to peek in. Nature was definitely on a mission to take back this solitary dwelling, but despite its dilapidated appearance, the cottage was holding its ground.
It was the kind of house little children draw when you give them a sheet of paper and a handful of crayons. It was perfectly symmetrical, with four windows on either side of a front door that might once have been a deep forest green but was now faded to the colour of a vegetable smoothie. A single chimney rose from a roof that was missing several tiles but otherwise looked sound. Like an old lady who’d once been beautiful, this house had excellent bones. They shone through the patina of age and neglect.
I’d never believed in love at first sight, because – if anything – the exact opposite had happened between Finn and me. So it was startling to find myself falling head over heels not for a person but for a collection of bricks and mortar. We pulled up at the foot of the driveway to Mushroom Cottage and for a moment neither of us spoke. I turned to Finn with a look of barely reined-in excitement and saw the same expression reflected back at me.
If this had been a film, there would have been a ‘For Sale’ sign hammered into the front lawn, but the overgrown grass held nothing except a sprawling oak tree and a lot of weeds.
The property wasn’t for sale, and, more than that, it was clearly occupied. There was an old car parked on the driveway, and flowery drapes bordered the lacy net curtains at the windows. One of those nets twitched several times as we idled at the end of the drive.
‘Have you got any signal yet?’ asked Finn, after checking his own phone.
I shook my head as Finn unclipped his seat belt and prepared to climb out of the car.
I glanced all around. We were quite literally in the middle of nowhere and although the house looked delightful, we couldn’t be sure that the same would be true of its owner.
‘I don’t think you should read any more of my books,’ Finn teased as he took my hand and began leading me down the path to the front door.
We passed beneath the overhanging boughs of the oak, and something made me look up. The remains of an old rope swing, looped around a sturdy branch, were still visible through the leaves. At some point in its history, this had been a family home, and for some reason that comforted me.
We were just a few yards from the front door when my phone suddenly connected with a nearby mast. The frozen screen sprang back to life and our route was once again displayed. I nudged Finn’s arm, but it was too late. Behind the green front door, I could hear the rattle of a security chain sliding on its track.
I gripped Finn’s hand a little harder, and he squeezed mine back reassuringly.
The front door creaked ajar, plaintively crying out for oil or more visitors. The same might also have been said for the wizened elderly man who stood in its opening.
‘Hello,’ he said, peering forward like a tortoise emerging from its shell. ‘I don’t know you, do I?’
‘No, sir, you don’t,’ said Finn, extending his hand to the elderly gentleman. ‘My name is Finn Douglas and this is my girlfriend, Gemma Fletcher. I do apologise for bothering you, but I think we might be lost.’
I glanced up at Finn and then meaningfully back down at my phone screen, but Finn responded with an infinitesimal shake of his head.
‘We’re trying to get to Hodgeson Creek. Do you happen to know where that is?’
The old man smiled, revealing a set of dentures that I suspected were even older than Finn’s Ford.
‘Mercy me. You are definitely on the wrong road. But don’t worry, I can give you directions.’
My vote was still to offer an apology for disturbing him and let Google Maps do what it did best, but Finn clearly had a different plan in mind.
