‘It’s Flynn Hotel, on the Suffolk coast.’ She rises and grabs a mug from the cupboard.

Leon looks suddenly awkward, as though he’s not sure if he should stay or go. He folds his arms high across his chest. ‘Looks like the kind of place you’d love.’

‘Mmm. I thought that too.’ She makes him some coffee, hands it to him. Wants to say so much more. ‘In fact, the owner’s invited me to go next weekend.’

Leon’s eyes widen as he takes a sip of his drink. ‘Why?’

‘I made a sculpture many years ago. The owner thought it looked like the hotel and bought it.’

‘And he invited you to stay because of that?’

‘Mmm, it’s an extreme gesture.’

‘Yeah. Will you go?’ His eyes narrow, searching her face.

The truth is, she desperately wants to go. The place is pulling her – begging her to visit. She feels certain she knows the place, that she may find answers there, a connection to her father, perhaps. But, on the other hand, it all feels a bit strange: the anonymous card with the tiger on the front, the photograph of Flynn House, a mysterious man turning up and buying her sculpture, inviting her to the hotel. She’s only just ventured out properly since her father’s death. Would she even be able to cope?

‘Alice?’

‘Sorry. No. God no,’ she says with a shake of her head.

Their eyes meet, the buzz between them tangible. ‘Last night,’ she says. ‘It was a mistake, right? We want different things, and—’

The chime of the doorbell cuts her off.

‘That’ll be Faith,’ she says, heading for the door, glancing back over her shoulder. ‘Maybe it would be best if …’

He raises his hand, puts down the mug. ‘I get it.’ He moves past her, his body radiating warmth, and the aroma of sleep. He pauses, touches her cheek, kisses her lips softly. ‘I’ll sneak out the back way, once I’ve grabbed my jeans. I’ll be gone before we can wish things were different.’

She doesn’t want him to go. Seeing him – sleeping with him – has opened up old feelings she thought she came to terms with a long time ago. She wants to talk to him, work this out, but knows if Faith sees him, she will bombard her with questions she doesn’t know the answers to herself.

He leaves the room, and she listens for his heavy footfalls on the stairs before making her way to the front door.

Faith stands on the doorstep, staring away from Alice at Leon’s car on the driveway next to her Fiat 500. She turns, swinging her ponytail, and smiles; touches Alice’s arm. ‘Morning, sweetie, how are you?’

‘I’m OK.’ She fiddles with her earring as Faith stares into her eyes, as though searching for secrets. ‘Honestly, I’m totally fine.’