Ruth rose and placed two towels at the foot of the teenager’s bed. There’s nothing much to see here.
She made her way into Rosamund and Neil’s room, which smelt of aftershave, and hairspray. Ruth put two towels on the end of the bed, and looked at her watch. She shouldn’t hang about; they would be back soon.
She hurried downstairs once more, noticing a game of Monopoly set out on the coffee table. Silver counters: the dog and the top hat, piles of toy money laid out around the edges.
Ruth padded towards the door, and ran her hand over Rosamund’s orange coat hanging on the rack. Before she could stop herself, she’d lifted it down, and slipped it on. It was far too long for her, almost touching the floor, but she didn’t care. She rolled her chin over the soft collar. It smelt of expensive perfume.
Within moments she was strutting up and down the lounge, as though on a catwalk, spinning around several times. Oh, to be as beautiful as Rosamund – oh to have had the life I should have had.
The door swung open. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ It was Rosamund. Her arms folded across her yellow anorak, her face red with rage.
‘Nothing,’ Ruth said, almost toppling as she took off the coat.
‘How is putting on my coat nothing?’ Rosamund snapped.
‘Sorry. It’s just so beautiful. Sorry.’
Neil and Elise appeared behind Rosamund.
‘I just brought fresh towels,’ Ruth babbled, shoving the coat into Rosamund’s arms. ‘I’ve put them on the beds.’ And without another word, she pushed past the congregated family, and headed back to her cottage.
Chapter 21
A Year Ago
Amelia
The sun was going down, now a shimmering spread of deep orange on the horizon, reflecting on the sea.
There was no sign of Lark.
Rosamund and Neil had taken the others back to Drummondale House some time ago, and Amelia and her dad now made their way down the beach in the direction Lark had gone several hours before.
‘She’s lost track of time, that’s all,’ Amelia said, trying to keep up with her dad’s long strides. But she couldn’t help thinking Lark was being inconsiderate, taking off – worrying everyone – again. ‘Are you OK, Dad?’ she added, when he didn’t reply.
‘Do I look OK?’ He blinked furiously. ‘Sorry. Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you, love. It’s just hard enough, all this.’
‘A total nightmare.’
‘And now Lark has taken off, and Rosamund Green and her add-ons have turned up.’ He dragged fingers through his hair. ‘Why the hell your mum got back in touch with that woman is a mystery.’ He kicked a large pebble. ‘She hurt her, Amelia.’
‘That was a long time ago, Dad. People change.’
‘Do they? Do they really? In my experience people rarely change – just the masks they wear.’
‘Well Mum seems happy she’s here. Surely that’s the most important thing right now.’
He said no more, and they continued on in silence, not seeing a soul for almost half a mile. And as the darkness thickened, Amelia’s anger that her sister had taken off turned to worry.
‘Where the hell is she?’ she said, her feet heavy in the sand. ‘Why would she take off like this?’
‘She’s not herself.’
She swallowed. ‘None of us are, Dad.’
‘No. But she’s just a kid, Amelia.’ His voice cracked with emotion. ‘A teenager.’
It was as they rounded a bend, and the view of jagged rocks against sand and sea swooped in front of them for miles, Amelia spotted the silhouette of a young woman perched on a rock, looking out to sea, hair blowing in the breeze. She looked like a mermaid.
‘Lark!’ she called, as they ran towards her. ‘Thank God.’
Lark looked down at them as they reached the foot of the rock, the moonlight catching her wet cheeks telling them she’d been crying.
‘What’s wrong?’ Amelia called up to her, as her dad grabbed Lark’s hand, and helped her climb down.
She shrugged. ‘Mum’s dying, is all. Do I need another reason to feel like crap?’
Amelia opened her arms instinctively as Lark stepped onto the sand, and as her sister fell into them, any residual anger dissipated. Lark was only seventeen, after all.
Chapter 22
Present Day
Ruth
It’s almost dark, and snow tumbles from heavy clouds. I can’t push my trolley along the path in this weather, so distribute the towels a few at a time to my guests.
Maddie took hers from me at the door, with a polite thank you a few moments ago.
So did Robert.
Now, I’m on my way to Primrose Cottage, soft white towels pressed against my chest as I attempt to shield them from the falling snow. My steps are quick and short along the slippery path. The heavy torch Finn bought a few months back unbalancing me slightly. I preferred the small one I used for years, but he insisted it wasn’t bright enough. My foot skids across the icy pavement, and I grab the ornamental fence surrounding the cottage veranda, eyes falling on the snowman. As my eyes focus on its face, I let out a yelp.
‘Jesus!’ A creepy mask of a young boy’s smiling face has been put on the snowman. My stomach knots. I’ve seen masks like this before – the face too pink, too bright; the smile too wide – and yet eyes so lifeless, dead. After a beat, I take a breath; consoling myself that Elise must have put it there.
I tap on the door, and peer through the glass. The power is still out and no candles flicker inside. I knock again. Rosamund mentioned earlier, when she bought some bread, that she was going to go for a walk, saying she hoped to take some photos of the ruins
