The Emerald Comb. Kathleen McGurl

– we had outgrown this house. The two boys had to share a room, which didn’t work very well because of the difference in their ages. The kitchen was a reasonable size but had to double as a dining room. Just about OK for the five of us but hopeless if we had visitors. And the garage was stuffed to bursting with bikes, gardening tools and DIY debris.

      ‘Do you mean it?’ I asked, as I returned with the wine.

      ‘Mean what?’

      ‘What you said about wanting a bigger house.’

      He frowned, stared at the ceiling as though looking for an answer written on it, then sat upright. ‘Yeah, I think I do. How do you feel about moving?’

      ‘Well, I love this house, but we do need more space.’

      ‘Right then, let’s start house-hunting.’ He grabbed my laptop from the side table which doubled as a desk, and started tapping the keys.

      ‘Really? Right now?’ Was he serious or just fooling? Sometimes it was hard to tell with Simon.

      ‘No time like the present, eh? And no harm in looking.’ He grinned and patted the seat beside him. I sat down, and a moment later we were browsing a list of houses in Southampton which matched our criteria: four bedrooms, garden, two reception rooms. It was nice to do something together, as well.

      I pointed to a Victorian three-storey semi. ‘That one looks good.’

      ‘Bit pricey.’

      ‘What can we afford?’

      ‘Dunno, I’d have to do the figures. Say four hundred thousand maximum – that’ll give us an idea of what’s available. Good job I got that promotion.’

      They all looked nearer the half-million mark. I began to get despondent as Simon scrolled through. There was no point compromising on size – might as well stay where we are. We wanted to stay in Hampshire near our parents. Mine helped out with childcare occasionally and Simon’s mum – adoptive mum – was suffering from dementia and needed support. And there needed to be good schools nearby.

      ‘Winchester would be good. That’d cut fifteen minutes off my commute to London,’ said Simon.

      ‘Yes, I like Winchester too.’ I reached over and selected Winchester from a dropdown list of areas, and we began browsing a new set of houses.

      ‘Period or modern?’ Simon asked.

      ‘Period, definitely. Something with character. More wine?’

      ‘Why not? Period for me, too. Cor, look at this one!’ He clicked on a thumbnail image to expand it. I gasped – I’d seen that house before. Kingsley House, up for sale! Simon would click onto the next house instantly if he knew, so I quickly covered my gasp with an exclamation.

      ‘Wow, gorgeous! What’s the asking price?’

      ‘Hmm, four-four-five. Bit out of our price range. Looks a bit run down. Could be worth a look, though.’

      ‘Really? You want to go and see it?’ My heart beat a little faster at the idea of having another look at that house. I wondered whether anything had happened to Vera and Harold Delamere to make them put it up for sale. They’d mentioned feeling they ought to move somewhere smaller but had seemed reluctant to put the house on the market. I hoped they were OK. I’d thought of them and the house many times since my visit.

      Simon frowned at me. ‘Well, that’s how house-hunting works, isn’t it? You find something you like the look of, then go to see it.’

      ‘It’s just all a bit sudden. Have we actually decided we want to move?’

      ‘Do you want to?’

      ‘Well, it makes sense, so I guess I do …’

      ‘Great! So do I.’ He clinked glasses with me. ‘So if we’ve made the decision to move, we might as well start looking at properties sooner rather than later. Don’t you think?’

      And so it was that on Saturday I found myself standing outside Kingsley House again, grinning from ear to ear, with a slightly grizzly Thomas who’d just woken up holding my hand. Simon had dropped us off and was busy parking the car further up the lane. The older children and the estate agent were with him. I tugged on the bell-rope and heard a distant jangling inside.

      Vera opened the door and broke into a wide smile when she saw me on the doorstep. ‘Katie, how lovely to see you! But, I’m afraid we’re expecting visitors in a moment. The house is up for sale, you see.’

      ‘I know – it’s us who’ve come to see it,’ I said, shaking her hand.

      ‘You? Oh, how lovely! When the estate agent said a Mr and Mrs Smith wanted to see the house I didn’t think for a moment it’d be you!’

      ‘I know, it’s such a common name, not like St Clair. Listen.’ I spoke hurriedly, seeing Simon, Lewis, Lauren and the estate agent walking up the lane ‘My husband doesn’t know I was here before. I’d be obliged if you didn’t mention it. He’s not … well … he doesn’t get the whole ancestry thing, you know? I think it would put him off the house.’

      Vera raised her eyebrows, but nodded. ‘All right. Mum’s the word. And who’s this?’ She crouched down to Thomas’s level, but he became suddenly shy and buried his face against my leg. She stood up again as Simon and the others crunched across the gravel driveway. ‘Come in, everyone. Would you like to take the little one into the study? I’m sure I can find something to amuse him while the rest of you look around the house.’

      The estate agent, Martin, a skinny youth in a shiny suit, introduced everyone as Vera ushered us all inside. Martin set off on a tour with Simon, Lewis and Lauren, while I followed Vera into the study with Thomas.

      Harold was dozing beside the fire, in much the same place I’d left him on my last visit. ‘He’s not been so good,’ Vera whispered to me. ‘That’s why we’re having to move. We’re going into one of those little retirement flats, in a new development near our son in Bournemouth.’ She sighed. ‘It’ll break our hearts to leave this place, but the time has come.’

      She gently shook Harold’s arm to wake him up. ‘Harold, look who’s here to view the house.’

      He blinked twice at me, then smiled. ‘Katie St Clair! So are you going to buy our house, then?’

      I laughed. ‘Well, I’ll have to see what my husband, Simon, thinks. He’s having a look around now, with the kids.’

      ‘And you’d better go to join him, or it’ll look odd,’ said Vera. ‘Now, Thomas, shall I fetch you something to play with? I’ve got a box of old Matchbox cars somewhere. I used to keep them for our grandchildren. But they’re all grown-up now.’ She opened a low cupboard in the old shelving unit and pulled out a Tupperware container. Thomas trotted over and started rummaging through it happily, pulling out diggers and police cars, tractors and racing cars. Harold pulled out one and showed him how the doors opened.

      ‘Look, Thomas. It’s an old Ford Anglia. Like the first car I ever owned!’

      Thomas inspected the battered toy. ‘Daddy’s got a Galaxy. We came in it today. It’s red.’

      ‘Oh, I like Galaxies,’ said Harold. ‘Lovely big cars.’

      Behind him, Vera gestured to me to follow her out to the hallway, leaving the ‘boys’ to discuss cars.

      ‘It’s lovely to see him playing with a child,’ said Vera. ‘Does him good.’

      ‘Thomas loves cars. Your Tupperware box is the perfect thing to keep him happy.’

      ‘You’d better go and join the tour. I believe they’re upstairs now. I’ll make us some tea, and squash for the children?’

      ‘Perfect,’ I said, and trotted upstairs to find Simon and the kids who’d reached the two attic bedrooms.

      ‘Mum, I want