My spirits sank as Blackhall Manor came into view. The dilapidated building was perched in solitude on its hilltop, surrounded by a thick white mist which rolled in off the fields. It wasn’t the lifeless trees standing sentry that gave me the creeps as we navigated the winding path. Nor was it the ravens perched on the barbed wire fence. It wasn’t the sound of the wind howling through the galvanised outbuildings, or the creatures scurrying in the thick undergrowth. All those things would have frightened me once, but they paled in comparison to the tall brick building looming ahead. It came with a history fit for any ghost story. None of my friends visited. Neither would I, given a choice. In Blackhall Manor, it was Halloween all year long. Daddy said that living with Granny and Grandad would be fun. But after five long years of helping them with the farm, even he didn’t believe that anymore.

We parked up next to Uncle John’s BMW, which was facing out on the gravel drive. Ready for a quick getaway, I thought. Mummy once described him as a mediator, and by the look on his face as he exited the house, his visit had not gone well. Clutching my bag of sweets, I took slow, reluctant steps through the open front door, leaving Granny to exchange words with Uncle John.

A cold wind chased me as I walked inside. The air was thick with negativity and it was clear by the look on Mum’s face that an argument had taken place. Grandad stood at the base of the wide stairwell; his bushy brows knitted in a frown as he helped Robin with his wellington boots. ‘Look, Mummy!’ Robin squeaked, showing off his bag of sweets as she approached. ‘I got loads!’ Robin did not notice that Mummy’s eyes were red-rimmed from crying, but I did, and my heart sank even more. I followed them into the kitchen. ‘Where’s Daddy?’ I asked, undoing the button of my witch’s cloak. At least it was warm in the kitchen. Grandad kept the Aga fed with timber cut from our private woodlands, and the sweet smell of moss-covered cedar hung in the air.

‘Come along, young man,’ Grandad said as Robin downed a glass of milk. ‘Up to bed with you.’

I always found it strange how Grandad idolised my little brother, yet fought with Daddy all the time.

‘Brush your teeth,’ Mummy said. ‘I’ll be up in a minute to read you a story.’ But her words were hollow, her smile forced.

I walked towards the doorway, lingering as Mummy and Granny spoke. ‘Did you sort anything out?’ Granny said, her voice low.

But Mummy shook her head.

‘Give it time,’ Granny replied with a sigh.

Rarely a day passed without an argument of some kind. There were kids in my school whose parents were divorced. I didn’t want that happening to us.