‘He said he’s one of your followers.’ Faith sips her drink. ‘He’s going to direct message you.’

‘Is he? Why?’

Faith shrugs. ‘No idea, though he’s rather gorgeous.’

‘That doesn’t answer my question.’

Faith laughs. ‘He went over the top about Gothic House. Oh, and he asked if you based the piece on Flynn House in Suffolk, but I—’

She covers her mouth. How is this all connected?

‘Are you OK, sweetie? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

Alice lowers her hand. ‘The idea came from …’ She’s not sure how much to tell Faith about her recurring dreams. ‘My imagination,’ she says, her voice high and shaky.

The door swings opens, and two young women enter. Suddenly the shop feels too warm. Alice grabs her coat. ‘Come on, Henry.’ She pats her thigh, and he rises and plods over to her – much happier to go on walks now. ‘Good boy,’ she adds, fastening his lead.

‘You off already?’ Faith furrows her forehead.

‘I’ve got a bit of a headache, that’s all.’

‘Well, how about we meet for a drink later?’

‘Maybe. Text me.’ Alice raises her hand and heads out of the shop, her mind racing. Who is this Cameron? And, more importantly, what is her own connection to Flynn House?

Chapter 6

Late October 2019

Alice

Alice lies on her yoga mat in the lounge of Butterfly Cottage, dressed in lilac leggings and a black vest top, her eyes closed, her hair loose about her shoulders. This is her favourite bit of her yoga routine: the corpse pose.

She barely needs to hear the instructor on the TV; Alice knows this pose so well. But the woman’s voice is comforting, reassuring. ‘Surrender to the stillness, stretch those legs, relax those ankles. Let your mind and body combine. Find yourself in a beautiful stillness. Rest in peace.’

*

Alice sees Faith pushing through the throng with two glasses. It feels strange being in a crowded bar after not going out much for so long. She fiddles with her watch, her anxiety level high. She needs to beat this. Get her life back on track.

‘There you go,’ Faith says, handing her a glass of white wine. ‘Get that down you.’

Alice takes a gulp, the zesty, dry tang of Sauvignon Blanc on her tongue just what she needs.

Faith sits down opposite, takes a long swig from her pint of lager. She’s average height, but small-framed. The glass looks too big for her. She glances at her phone, then towards the door. ‘He should be here by around quarter to eight.’

‘Sorry?’

‘Mitch. I told you he wants to meet you. I hope that’s OK.’