Cover

THE
PARTY
HOUSE

Lin Anderson

Dedication page

This book is dedicated to my father, former Detective Inspector Bill Mitchell, who brought his family to live in the Highland village of Carrbridge

Map page

Ailsa

Before

Eleven o’clock and the sky was still light. In Glasgow it would be dark by now, she thought.

She hadn’t wanted to come here, to this dead-end village in the Highlands, but here she was.

You could have run away again, a small voice reminded her.

No, I made a deal. Come here, stay clean. Go to art college in September.

She’d hated it at first. Folk looking at her as though she’d just dropped in from outer space. They were friendly enough, she had to admit that, especially the local boys, who’d fought for her attention from the outset.

She smiled, remembering the fun she’d had with that, playing them off one against the other. It was a game that had kept her sane at the beginning. Made her feel good about herself. She’d even tasted some of the wares on offer, and found a few to her liking.

Especially when they took place here in the heart of the woods.

She ran her eyes over the circle of carvings that stood sentinel among the trees, thinking again how beautiful they were. The birds fashioned from stripped pine, some in flight, others resting quietly on a branch. Her favourite was the owl sitting watching her from atop a tree trunk pedestal.

He was so real that she often found herself talking to him.

Then the woodland creatures . . . A roe deer, she could imagine taking off to bound away through the trees. A pair of majestic wolves nearby which might pursue it. Even imagining this didn’t worry her, because she had no doubt who would win that particular race.

Her eyes were now drawn to the centre of the circle and the father and mother of all the carvings . . . literally. The green woman of the woods, together with the green man.

Until it was explained to her that they were a symbol of rebirth, she’d had no idea what the green faces staring out of the leaves and twigs were. Initially, she’d found them rather spooky. Once she knew they represented the cycle of new growth that occurred with every spring, her attitude to them had changed.

She’d starting bringing her sketch pad here and, sitting on this tree trunk, she’d drawn all of the carvings, then added a few imaginary ones of her own.

It was here she’d first encountered him. In fact, it was he who’d explained the carvings to her.

She was startled from her reverie by a burst of music escaping from the distant village hall as someone opened the back exit. Raucous shouts followed from the guys who were hanging about on the steps, drinking and smoking.