The Edwardian house felt familiar, and his mind skittered back to happier times with Pippa. He’d escaped Flynn House then too. His life had been on track. He closed his eyes, imagined himself sprawled on the grass, Pippa in his arms. Would things have been different if he hadn’t returned to Flynn House?

Hugh climbed from the car, and pulled on his overcoat, buttoning it to the neck. He stepped out towards the front door.

Clara McCloud had been in her late seventies when he and Verity had rented there. She would be in her eighties now. He glanced at the two annexes at the side of the house, in darkness. Students, if they still rented there, would be home for the summer break.

As he stepped onto the porch a security light sprung on. He pressed the doorbell.

It was some time before Clara opened up. ‘Can I help you?’ she said. She looked the same, but wasn’t as agile. Her stout body supported by a walking frame. She narrowed her eyes. ‘Hugh?’

‘That’s right.’

‘I thought so. I never forget my lodgers.’ Her voice was soft, her eyes lifting upwards as though searching for memories. ‘How are you and that sister of yours, Vivian?’

‘Verity.’

‘That’s right.’ She screwed up her life-worn face. ‘Are you all right, dear? You look terribly washed out.’

‘I’m OK. Thank you.’ Hugh looked back at the car. ‘The thing is, I need somewhere to stay. Only temporarily.’ He looked over at the annexes. ‘I wondered …’

‘Well you’re in luck, Hugh. It being the summer break, you can take your pick.’

‘That’s fantastic. Thank you.’

Clara turned, and plucked a key from a row of hooks by the front door, and handed it to him. ‘Now please don’t think me rude, but I’m in the middle of a Hitchcock film – the one about the birds.’ She turned in the hallway, moving slowly with the aid of her frame. ‘But if there’s anything you need, dear boy, you know where I am.’

‘Thank you,’ he said, knowing Clara wouldn’t bother him while he worked out how to repair his life.

*

The following month was traumatic. Hugh’s injury should have been stitched, and was taking a while to heal. His trips out to get food and clothes were torturous.

The child barely slept, and when she did she would often wake in tears following recurring nightmares about being dragged back to Flynn House.

It had taken a lot of coaxing to get the little girl to eat, but with the aid of food supplements, she was gradually gaining weight.

At times Hugh wondered if he had made a mistake – was he really up to caring for the child? Was he really any better than Verity or Felix, trapping this little girl in a tiny annex, where nobody knew of her existence?