‘No. But she’s just a kid, Amelia.’ His voice cracked with emotion. ‘A teenager.’

It was as they rounded a bend, and the view of jagged rocks against sand and sea swooped in front of them for miles, Amelia spotted the silhouette of a young woman perched on a rock, looking out to sea, hair blowing in the breeze. She looked like a mermaid.

‘Lark!’ she called, as they ran towards her. ‘Thank God.’

Lark looked down at them as they reached the foot of the rock, the moonlight catching her wet cheeks telling them she’d been crying.

‘What’s wrong?’ Amelia called up to her, as her dad grabbed Lark’s hand, and helped her climb down.

She shrugged. ‘Mum’s dying, is all. Do I need another reason to feel like crap?’

Amelia opened her arms instinctively as Lark stepped onto the sand, and as her sister fell into them, any residual anger dissipated. Lark was only seventeen, after all.

Chapter 22

Present Day

Ruth

It’s almost dark, and snow tumbles from heavy clouds. I can’t push my trolley along the path in this weather, so distribute the towels a few at a time to my guests.

Maddie took hers from me at the door, with a polite thank you a few moments ago.

So did Robert.

Now, I’m on my way to Primrose Cottage, soft white towels pressed against my chest as I attempt to shield them from the falling snow. My steps are quick and short along the slippery path. The heavy torch Finn bought a few months back unbalancing me slightly. I preferred the small one I used for years, but he insisted it wasn’t bright enough. My foot skids across the icy pavement, and I grab the ornamental fence surrounding the cottage veranda, eyes falling on the snowman. As my eyes focus on its face, I let out a yelp.

‘Jesus!’ A creepy mask of a young boy’s smiling face has been put on the snowman. My stomach knots. I’ve seen masks like this before – the face too pink, too bright; the smile too wide – and yet eyes so lifeless, dead. After a beat, I take a breath; consoling myself that Elise must have put it there.

I tap on the door, and peer through the glass. The power is still out and no candles flicker inside. I knock again. Rosamund mentioned earlier, when she bought some bread, that she was going to go for a walk, saying she hoped to take some photos of the ruins in the snow by moonlight to put on her Instagram. That’s where she must be. Elise must be with her.

Deciding nobody is home, I push my key in the lock, turn it, and shove the door open a few inches.

‘Rosamund,’ I call into the cottage, just to be sure. ‘Elise? I’ve brought clean towels.’ I push the door open further and step inside. ‘Rosamund?’