fatalistic notions he might have had were crushed by Jem’s conviction that their love was written in the stars – but as he rolled things around in his mind it was impossible not to believe that this story had somehow been delivered to him. It was the period that most interested him in all history and the subject that made his heart beat faster than any other. And here he was, a writer living in Joss Grand’s property with the ghost of someone who had known something significant, who had been someone significant. Lover or witness or both, he had to know. Unlike Earnshaw’s story, this book was chasing him.
The starlings on the West Pier suddenly burst into life and swooped overhead in their evening murmuration. In a series of stunning formations they moved as one organism, contracting and expanding, curling and flattening, blocking the sun then peeling back to reveal it again. His empty stomach growled. He thought of Charlene, cooking her dad’s dinner in Whitehawk, and winced. He didn’t see how he could break his promise to her to stay away. He didn’t see how he could keep it.
Chapter 15
Luke walked around the cottage, tapping the walls to see if any of them were hollow or false, listening for missing bricks or holes in the plaster. He had been awake all night, turning theories over in his mind, and one of them was that the house might be a literal keeper of secrets. What if Kathleen Duffy had been hiding something for Grand, hiding it for half a century?
Even as he did it he felt foolish, and was glad there was no one there to see him acting like a kid in a Scooby Doo cartoon. What was he expecting to find? A gun, rolled up in an oily rag? A skeleton walled up behind a false door, some old crony from the Grand/Nye years?
The house was small and the treasure hunt did not take long. To humour himself and draw a line under the episode, he decided to search the little outhouse. Standing precariously on the cold black toilet seat, and sparing a thought for all those who had lived through the years before indoor plumbing, he scrabbled around in the dusty corners of the roof. A shower of grit rained down from the ceiling to coat his hair and skin.
When he came out, the security light was on in the next-door garden. The wall was low enough to reveal a young man with long hair and a handlebar moustache, poorly dressed for the night in an old T-shirt and flared denims.
‘Hey, neighbour.’ His accent was American, his voice deep. ‘Thought I heard someone. I’m Caleb, good to meet you.’
A wisp of cobweb fell out of Luke’s hair and caught on his eyelashes. ‘Hi. Luke,’ he said, blinking it away. ‘Er, likewise. Just been here a few days, still getting my bearings.’
‘You living here on your own?’ said Caleb, folding his arms against the cold. Luke nodded. ‘You’ve got the right idea. They’re one-person houses, really. I share with my girlfriend Belinda. We’ve just extended up into the loft and there still isn’t enough room for both our work stuff.’
‘What do you do?’ said Luke, spitting a fleck of something unpleasant from his lips.
‘I make props for theatre and TV and Belinda’s in costume, so it gets pretty cluttered in there.’
‘Sounds fascinating,’ said Luke.
‘It has its moments. We were both on location when the old Irish lady passed. They buried her like two days later, so we couldn’t get back in time for the funeral.’
‘Were you close?’
‘Kinda. Belinda knew her a lot better than me. You’ll have to come over for a drink one night and see what we’ve done with the place,’ said Caleb. ‘Next time we’re both home, we’ll call on you.’
‘That’d be great. Well, I’d better get back into the warmth.’ He had one last question to throw over his shoulder. ‘Just out of interest, when you built up into the loft space, did you have a proper survey done?’
‘Of course.’
‘So if these old houses had basements, you’d have known about
The starlings on the West Pier suddenly burst into life and swooped overhead in their evening murmuration. In a series of stunning formations they moved as one organism, contracting and expanding, curling and flattening, blocking the sun then peeling back to reveal it again. His empty stomach growled. He thought of Charlene, cooking her dad’s dinner in Whitehawk, and winced. He didn’t see how he could break his promise to her to stay away. He didn’t see how he could keep it.
Chapter 15
Luke walked around the cottage, tapping the walls to see if any of them were hollow or false, listening for missing bricks or holes in the plaster. He had been awake all night, turning theories over in his mind, and one of them was that the house might be a literal keeper of secrets. What if Kathleen Duffy had been hiding something for Grand, hiding it for half a century?
Even as he did it he felt foolish, and was glad there was no one there to see him acting like a kid in a Scooby Doo cartoon. What was he expecting to find? A gun, rolled up in an oily rag? A skeleton walled up behind a false door, some old crony from the Grand/Nye years?
The house was small and the treasure hunt did not take long. To humour himself and draw a line under the episode, he decided to search the little outhouse. Standing precariously on the cold black toilet seat, and sparing a thought for all those who had lived through the years before indoor plumbing, he scrabbled around in the dusty corners of the roof. A shower of grit rained down from the ceiling to coat his hair and skin.
When he came out, the security light was on in the next-door garden. The wall was low enough to reveal a young man with long hair and a handlebar moustache, poorly dressed for the night in an old T-shirt and flared denims.
‘Hey, neighbour.’ His accent was American, his voice deep. ‘Thought I heard someone. I’m Caleb, good to meet you.’
A wisp of cobweb fell out of Luke’s hair and caught on his eyelashes. ‘Hi. Luke,’ he said, blinking it away. ‘Er, likewise. Just been here a few days, still getting my bearings.’
‘You living here on your own?’ said Caleb, folding his arms against the cold. Luke nodded. ‘You’ve got the right idea. They’re one-person houses, really. I share with my girlfriend Belinda. We’ve just extended up into the loft and there still isn’t enough room for both our work stuff.’
‘What do you do?’ said Luke, spitting a fleck of something unpleasant from his lips.
‘I make props for theatre and TV and Belinda’s in costume, so it gets pretty cluttered in there.’
‘Sounds fascinating,’ said Luke.
‘It has its moments. We were both on location when the old Irish lady passed. They buried her like two days later, so we couldn’t get back in time for the funeral.’
‘Were you close?’
‘Kinda. Belinda knew her a lot better than me. You’ll have to come over for a drink one night and see what we’ve done with the place,’ said Caleb. ‘Next time we’re both home, we’ll call on you.’
‘That’d be great. Well, I’d better get back into the warmth.’ He had one last question to throw over his shoulder. ‘Just out of interest, when you built up into the loft space, did you have a proper survey done?’
‘Of course.’
‘So if these old houses had basements, you’d have known about
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