Sitting in front of the mirror she observed her reflection. Her face wasn’t particularly lined. It was more her jowls that gave her age away – much like her hands. She picked up the wig and pulled it on, tucking her greying ponytail up inside.
‘What do you think you’re doing, Ruth?’ she asked her reflection, hearing her mother’s voice in hers. ‘You look ridiculous.’
She snatched off the wig, her own hair falling free. ‘Stupid girl,’ she muttered, looking away from the mirror, and rising.
As she was about to leave the bedroom she spotted a thick pale-blue journal on the bedside table. She padded over and read on the cover the words: Caroline’s Journey.
She picked it up, lowered herself onto the bed, and opened it. Caroline’s writing swirled and curled on the pages. Notes about visits to hospital with Jackson by her side, how awful she’d felt after chemotherapy, how worried she was about Lark, how she missed Amelia so far away in London. There was no doubting from her words how much she loved Jackson, but Ruth could feel in the words Caroline’s sadness that Robert was no longer in her life. There were lots of mentions too of her best friend Rosamund – a dream come true that she’s back in my life.
The final entry in the book was labelled ‘My Last Holiday’ but there were no words there – not yet. Ruth closed the book, rose, and left the room.
She made her way into Lark’s bedroom, where she placed two towels at the foot of the girl’s bed, and ran her hand gently over the cotton fabric of the pyjamas folded neatly on the pillow.
‘Sleep well, my dear girl. Don’t let the bed bugs bite.’
Three Stephen King novels were stacked on the bedside cabinet next to a half-empty can of cola.
A make-up bag on the dressing table caught her eye. She padded across the room, glancing at the door every few seconds, before unzipping it. Inside she found eyeliner, a tube of pale foundation, red lipstick.
She picked up the lipstick and smeared it over her thin lips. ‘Tart,’ she said, and dashed it away with a tissue.
Lacy underwear spilled out of an open drawer. Ruth went to slam it shut, but noticed a small cardboard box. She pulled it out. ‘Diazepam?’ she whispered reading the label. ‘Why the need for antidepressants, dear girl?’
*
Back outside in the cool evening air, the door locked behind her, Ruth noticed lights on inside Honeysuckle Cottage. Finn clearly hadn’t tempted everyone on his ghost walk.
She walked over, towels in her arms, and knocked on the door. Within seconds it flew open. It was the American woman.
‘Hey, Ruth.’
‘Maddie,’ Ruth said. ‘I’ve brought you some towels.’ She liked to remember her guests’ names. Tried to memorise them. Connecting their names with something memorable. Maddie – Mad – Crazy American woman. Jackson – Jack the Lad. Lark – a beautiful bird trapped in a cage, desperate to be free …
‘Thanks so much,’ Maddie said, taking the towels from her, and burying her face in them. ‘They smell amazing. You’re so kind.’ With that she closed the door.
‘You don’t know me,’ Ruth muttered into the quiet night, as she turned back to her trolley. ‘How do you know I’m kind? You don’t know me at all.’
She tucked a tendril of flyaway hair behind her ear, and headed back to her cottage, the squeak of the wheels grating on her nerves. Finn would need to oil them. Thank goodness she had Finn.
Chapter 14
A Year Ago
Amelia
They made their way back through the forest. ‘So this is where our final ghost roams,’ Finn began. ‘She—’
‘So, have you seen any of these ghosts?’ Lark cut in from a few steps behind. ‘I mean what are you basing all this crap on?’
He looked over his shoulder, slowing his pace. ‘If I’m honest, I’ve never seen a ghost,’ he said. ‘But many people have.’
‘Who exactly?’
‘Visitors mainly, and my mum reckons she’s seen a spirit.’
‘Gin or vodka?’ She laughs.
‘Mum doesn’t drink, Lark.’ His tone was harsh. He took a deep breath. ‘You really are a piece of work, aren’t you?’
She shrugged. ‘I aim to please.’
‘My mother’s seen the ghost, I was about to tell you about before you rudely interrupted.’ He glared back at Lark, and she shrugged again, kicked the dusty mud beneath her feet as she walked.
‘A teenage girl who lost her life on Vine Hill is said to wander here.’
‘That’s awful, so tragic,’ Amelia said. ‘Do you know who she was?’
‘My sister.’ His tone was even, his eyes looking ahead. ‘Ever since I was small, my mum’s said she sees her.’
‘Oh God, I’m so sorry.’
‘Don’t be. I barely remember her. I was only three when she died.’ He turned to look at Amelia, his eyes wide. ‘It happened a very long time ago, and if I’m honest I don’t like the thought of her roaming here, never have.’
He looked about him, as though searching for her, before picking up speed, and Amelia dropped behind with her mum, Lark and Jackson some steps behind them.
‘Did you enjoy the walk, Mum?’ Amelia said, noticing how weak her mum looked.
‘Yes, although I’m a bit tired now.’ She sounded breathless. ‘I’ll sleep well tonight, I expect.’
An owl hooted in the distance, and Amelia grabbed her chest. ‘I’m not sure I will,’ she said with a laugh.
‘I thought we might have a picnic tomorrow, if the weather holds. Ruth will prepare one for us. We can head for the nearest beach with Rosamund and her family – they’ll be arriving first thing.’
‘Really? You never said.’
‘I wasn’t sure if she would come, so didn’t want to mention it before I was sure. But I had a text from her earlier. They’ll be here in the morning.’ She paused. ‘I hope that’s OK.’
‘Of course it is, if that’s what you want.’
‘It is, yes. I can’t wait to see her.’
As they pushed through some brambles, Amelia
