‘Gowdie Cottage, at the end of the lane. We’re on the outskirts, really.’ Miranda mutters something under her breath, something I can’t quite catch.

‘Oh.’ The woman sits forward in her chair, suddenly intent on the plastic ring her baby is chewing on.

‘Allie hasn’t been here long, she probably hasn’t heard the stories,’ Tara says blithely. ‘Although surely the estate agent must have told you, I mean, it’s common knowledge round here. Everyone knows the stories about Gowdie Cottage, that’s why it was on the market for so long. Ray Watts must have been over the moon when you two put an offer in.’

‘Sorry, Tara, I have no idea what you’re talking about.’ I look between her and the other women in confusion. ‘I mean, I’ve heard things about Pluckley, who hasn’t, right?’ I push out a small laugh. ‘The Colonel who committed suicide in the woods and still roams about the village? And you can’t really miss the ghosthunters, but there isn’t any story about Gowdie Cottage. Not that I’ve heard.’ Miranda keeps avoiding my eye, and any sense of kinship I had with her drifts away. Surely whatever it is can’t be that bad – wouldn’t the estate agent have had to reveal it if something dreadful had happened in the house? An uneasy feeling begins to prick its way up my spine, and I nudge my bag with my foot, checking it’s close by, already anxious to leave.

‘The witch house,’ Miranda says quietly. ‘You’re living in the witch house.’

Chapter Nine

‘It’s called Gowdie Cottage after Agnes Gowdie. She lived there,’ Miranda says, drawing breath to say more but Tara shoots her a look and her mouth snaps closed.

‘The witch house!’ I laugh, looking from Tara to Miranda and back again. ‘You’re … are you serious?’

‘It’s just a story,’ Tara says, but Miranda looks down at her hands, picking at the skin around her nails without saying anything. ‘A silly village legend like the others. You’ll hear all sorts of ghost stories now you’re here. It’s up to you whether you want to believe them or not.’