‘I thought it was very nice – and extremely generous of them,’ Maurice said.

‘There’s another thing. Didn’t they clearly say there was no one else in the house, Maurice?’

‘Yes, I think they did.’

‘Well, I saw someone – a woman walked across the hall.’

Maurice didn’t mention the woman’s face he had previously seen at the window.

18

Saturday 15 December

Jason Danes stood in the kitchen, staring down at the command device. He was aware he had drunk far more than normal – was that it? Was he off his face? He had switched the thing off, but it was very definitely back on. This time he pulled the power cable out, placed it on the table and weighted it down with a cook book.

As he walked back out, he bumped into the island unit, then almost knocked over a chair.

Shit. I’m pissed.

He collided with the door frame as he re-entered the living room. Emily was carefully wiping their precious wedding album.

‘God, what dreadful people, putting their sticky paws all over this. Did you notice they totally ignored the napkins you gave them?’

‘It made me angry – but I couldn’t say anything. Did I drink a lot tonight?’

She stared at him. ‘Like, yes! You were knocking it back. We all were.’

‘I feel a bit smashed.’

‘You look it; you’re stumbling.’

He glanced at his watch. ‘Nine o’clock. We’ve done over three bottles of champagne and all I’ve eaten is a couple of peanuts.’

‘We’ve got one of those pies we bought at the garden centre. Fancy that with some baked beans?’

‘I fancy you.’

‘Ha ha,’ she replied, but a little flatly. ‘So, what’s going on with our wonderfully teched-up home?’

He shrugged. ‘Do you want a top-up?’

‘No!’

‘Probably a good idea. I don’t know – I thought I’d switched that command thing off. I know I did. How did it switch itself back on?’

She was looking at him strangely.

‘What?’

She shook her head. ‘I don’t know. Something doesn’t feel right.’

‘In what way?’

She stared down at the table, looking pensive. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘What, darling? In what way?’ He went over to her, stood behind her and nuzzled her neck. ‘Tell me? What doesn’t feel right?’

She shrugged. ‘I’m probably just being hypersensitive. They say moving is very stressful – that’s probably all it is.’

‘I’m sure you’re right.’ He removed his arms and picked up a glass that still had some champagne in it and drained it.

‘Let me ask you something – do you think ghosts exist?’ she asked.

‘Ghosts?’

‘You said something about them, earlier.’

‘I was joking.’

‘But do you? Do you think they exist?’

‘Why are you asking?’

She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I just…’ She fell silent.

‘Just what?’ he prodded.

‘You’re an artist, you’re a very sensitive person, and you are open-minded.’

‘You think we have a ghost here? One that switches back on that box and slams doors?’