All the while he’s been dragging her backwards, she’s been pulling away from him in the opposite direction. But now, without warning, her resistance stops. Instead of bracing herself against him, she’s going with him – not just surrendering to him, but actively pushing in the direction he’s been dragging. This change of force is astonishing, and suddenly he finds himself flung backwards. His spine cracks against the banister that skirts the landing, and he feels the sudden splintering of that old wood, those ancient spindles. There is the briefest sensation of hair in his face – the perfumed scent of it in his nostrils, a red swish across his eyes – and then there is a rush of air around him and beneath him, the distortion of walls and ceilings racing past. His arms and legs kick out at nothing, and as he flies down through the house, he feels the wind leave his lungs in a single astonished breath before the floor crashes through him. His limbs twitch briefly. Darkness falls.

OCTOBER

30

Hilary

On a dull Thursday morning in October a Sale Agreed sign appears outside Number 14. Hilary sees it as soon as she draws back the curtains in her bedroom.

For a moment, she just stands there, her hand to her chest as if there’s pain. It’s not pain, but a different sensation – unexpected. Relief. As if she’s been holding something tightly in her chest and now can let it go. Relief that this is all about to be over.

Downstairs, she finds Greg in the kitchen finishing his breakfast and tells him.

‘That was quick,’ is his response.

The house has been on the market for barely a month, and for the past three weekends, Hilary has stood at her bedroom window and watched as dozens of people – prospective buyers as well as the curious and the prurient – disappeared inside Number 14 for the open house viewing.

‘It’s not all that surprising, I suppose,’ Hilary says, as Greg sets a mug of tea in front of her at the table. ‘It’s priced very low.’

‘I expect he wants a quick sale.’

‘Probably,’ she says thoughtfully, watching as he gulps his tea while checking his watch.

It’s almost eight fifteen. Only half an hour until school starts.

‘I wonder who the buyer is,’ she says, and Greg snorts.

‘Whoever they are, I hope they know an exorcist.’

Placing his mug in the sink, he comes towards her. ‘Any plans for the day?’

She shakes her head and asks what he’d like for dinner that evening.

Sweeping aside her question, he says: ‘I’m cooking, remember? You’re to take it easy. Do something nice for yourself.’ He leans down, brushes her cheek with his lips, and then he is gone.