‘I agree, but Leon’s seen something. Someone needs to go out there with him and put his mind at rest.’

‘Well don’t look at me, Alice.’ Mitch splays his hands and widens his eyes.

‘Why not? It can be a real-life live-action role-play.’ Alice says, fed up with biting her tongue where this moron is concerned. ‘It may even make you feel like a real man.’

‘Don’t take the piss,’ Mitch snaps. ‘I mean what do you actually do with your life, eh? Faith says you’ve been stuck in your daddy’s house for months doing sod all since he died.’

‘Enough!’ Leon yells, glaring at Mitch.

‘I didn’t say it like that, Alice,’ Faith says, her eyes darting from Mitch to Alice. ‘I said I was worried about you, is all.’

‘It’s fine,’ Alice says. But it’s far from it. She’s beginning to dislike Mitch with a passion.

‘Whatever I saw out there,’ Leon says, running his hand over his chin, ‘seemed to disappear over the cliff.’

‘We should go out there,’ Alice says. ‘I’ll come with you.’ She moves away from everyone. ‘I’ll grab my coat from our room.’

‘Thanks,’ Leon says. ‘I’ll meet you downstairs in reception.’

As she heads away, Mitch gives a little cough and says, ‘Well as the only bloke with any balls around here, I guess I’d better come too.’

*

Alice closes the door behind her, and places her handbag on the bedside table. She leans against the door for a few moments, eyes closed, wishing she were back in her bedroom at Butterfly Cottage, looking out over Whitby.

She takes a deep breath. Leon’s odd experience, on top of the fact the hotel is evoking a strange kind of déjà vu, hasn’t helped. But she mustn’t let it get under her skin, play with her mind – she needs to keep calm. Not knowing about her past, her father’s past, has been a stumbling block all her life, and this place holds the secrets – she knows it does.

She flicks on the light, notices the window is open, and moves across the room to close it. She turns, about to grab her coat.

‘Christ!’ she cries, leaping backwards. Perched on one of the pillows is a ventriloquist’s doll. Its black, oily hair is combed back from its painted face; a red bow tie is attached to a black shirt. It looks familiar somehow. And there’s something else that sends a shiver down her spine – the puppet has no feet.

Leon

Christine supplied Leon with a couple of heavy-duty torches, and disappeared into the kitchen, Faith headed into the bar – needing a drink. He’s alone in reception, keen to get outside and discover what he saw, adrenaline masking his fear and exhaustion.