The traffic is stopping, red brake lights flashing everywhere. As they come to a halt, hail, the size of marbles, clatters against the windscreen. ‘Looks as though we could be stuck here for a while,’ Leon says, taking the bag of crisps from Alice. ‘Did you bring a book? Playing cards? Game of Cluedo?’

*

‘Alice!’ She can hear Leon’s voice, but struggles to free herself from her vivid dream, where she’s being pulled up a staircase towards a red door. She can’t escape. ‘We’re almost there, Alice … Alice?’

With determination, she opens her eyes, looks up at Leon, and out of the car window at the darkness. ‘God!’ She pulls up in the seat. ‘What’s the time?’

‘Gone six.’

An accident on the A1 stole four hours of their day. Alice tries to console herself that it was far worse for the poor souls in the minibus that ended up on its side.

As the incredible sight of Flynn Hotel comes into view, a chill trails down her spine, and a strong sense of foreboding washes over her. Should they turn the car round? She looks at Leon. His eyes are fixed on the windscreen as he manoeuvres the final country road. He glances at her and smiles. She’s being ridiculous. And anyway, he would probably kill her if she suggested going home now.

There’s no doubting it’s a stunning view from the mainland, every window of Flynn Hotel lit by an orange glow. The place is balanced on the cliff edge, as though with one nudge it would topple into the restless sea below.

Leon pulls into the clearly signposted car park, where five other cars are parked – Alice recognises Faith’s Fiat – she’s here, thank God.

‘Do you reckon we’ll meet the Addams family while we’re here?’ Leon says with a smile, as he pulls on the handbrake.

Alice laughs, grateful for his humour, for being here with her.

He kills the engine. ‘So what now?’

The shimmering sea separates them from Seafield Island, the causeway covered by the ocean. ‘I’m guessing we call the hotel.’ She shrugs, peers out of the side window. ‘Yes, look.’ She points at the contact number on a sign, and takes her phone from her rucksack. She dials the number, holds the phone between her shoulder and ear while rummaging for the paperwork she printed off before she left.

A female voice answers. ‘Flynn Hotel, Christine speaking. How may I help you?’

‘Oh … hi, this is Alice Hadley. I have a room for tonight and tomorrow—’

‘Ah, yes, hello, Miss Hadley, we’ve been expecting you.’

‘We got stuck in traffic, so—’

‘No worries at all.’ She sounds pleasant and friendly, has a broad Suffolk accent. ‘Are you at the car park?’

‘Yes, we are.’

‘We?’

‘Yes, I’ve come with my … friend. I hope that’s OK. Cameron said it was a double room.’