‘I’m not really bothered about their filial bonds,’ Jake says, not unkindly, as he comes to her.

His arms go around her and she feels herself being gathered up, drawn in. Feels the tender press of his lips against hers. The kiss lasts, and she feels all the hope and love and possibility within it. The difficult weeks are over. They are home.

‘Happy?’ he asks softly, his eyes searching out hers.

‘Happy,’ she tells him, and he grins with satisfaction, the now-familiar smile that transforms his face, lights him from within – the smile that drew her to him, the smile that broke down her barriers and finally let love in.

‘We should celebrate,’ he tells her. ‘Stay here.’

‘Wait! Where are you going?’ He’s already heading out into the hall.

‘There’s an off-licence around the corner. I’ll get some Prosecco. Back in a sec.’

She hears the door close after him, and then Leah is alone in the flat, hugging her arms around her chest, walking slowly through the rooms, taking it all in.

Their first home together.

She is twenty-six years old and feels as if her life is finally starting.

In the solitude of the flat, she can hear the echo of her footfall. Her fingertips trail over the walls, the doors, absorbing the feel of the place, registering all its newness, its unfamiliarity. This is her home now. Hers and Jake’s. She can feel safe here – a conviction that both warms and steadies her.

When she reaches the connecting door in the hallway, she stops and looks at it. There is a brass doorknob in the shape of a rugby ball, and a cast-iron bolt that looks ancient. A thought comes to her. Tentatively, she reaches for the bolt. It makes a rasping sound as she draws it back. Then, putting her hand to the doorknob, she feels her breath held in her chest. Turning the handle slowly, she feels the lock hold, just as Mark had said. She lets go of the handle but doesn’t move away. Instead she leans in, presses her ear to the wood panel, listens. Her breathing slows. But she hears nothing, only the swish of blood pulsing through her head.

Just before she moves away, a crazy thought comes over her: the feeling that another person could be standing there, on the other side of the door, and she wouldn’t know. Even as she discounts her own foolishness, the image lingers, that at this very moment, he might have his ear pressed against the other side, listening.

2

Anton

Nineteen years since this house has been occupied and he can still hear Charlotte’s voice. The rhythmic chant of a nursery rhyme for the children at bath-time. The rill of her laughter spilling down the staircase.