Hiding From the Light. Barbara Erskine

shrugged. ‘I suppose so. Well, come on. Lead the way.’

      Emma paused as they stood in the hall, listening, half wondering if she would hear the strange voice calling to her again, but the house was silent, expectant, as though it, like her, was waiting to hear her mother’s verdict.

      They spent an hour exploring the cottage and its outbuildings, then they walked out into the garden. ‘I have to admit, it is very sweet.’ Peggy stared round. ‘Idyllic in some ways, but I would have seen you going for something a bit more sophisticated. A bit more modern. And the garden is huge. It’s not a very practical idea, darling. You’ve never done any gardening in your life.’

      Emma stared at her. ‘Excuse me! What do you call that place on the roof outside the flat?’

      ‘Apart from the roof garden.’ Peggy snapped a rose off one of the bushes and sniffed it. ‘But that is all in pots!’

      Emma shook her head. ‘And in the pots is earth. And in the earth are plants. And I have tended every one of those plants for the four years that garden has existed. I designed it. I bought the plants and the pots and I created it! Piers never lifted a finger except to buy the furniture he sits on to watch me tend the garden!’

      ‘Sorry!’ Peggy shook her head. ‘I stand rebuked. OK. So, you have a huge part of your soul craving to be a gardener. But you are an investment analyst with a totally absorbing job in London. How much time would you have for this garden?’

      ‘I could employ a gardener.’ Emma walked out between the beds. The long grass brushed her bare legs and caught at the buckles of her sandals. ‘Or I could give up London and come and run this place commercially.’ She swung round to face her mother. ‘That’s what I want to do. I want to garden. I want to tidy it and rescue it and make it thrive again. I want to run it as a business.’

      ‘And Piers?’ Peggy scanned her face thoughtfully. ‘How does he fit into this plan?’

      ‘He could commute?’ Emma paused and suddenly she smiled, her face radiant, full of mischief. ‘It’s got to work out! Somehow I’ll persuade him. Look at it. It’s so beautiful! It was meant to be!’ She stretched her arms above her head and did a little pirouette. ‘We’ll sort something out. I know we will. This is my home, Ma. This is where I want to spend the rest of my life!’

       13

       Monday lunchtime

      Lyndsey braked sharply and drew to a halt as she saw the green Peugeot backing out into the lane ahead of her. Her bicycle basket was laden with books and the weight made her wobble slightly as she dismounted. She was close enough to recognise the passenger as the brown-haired woman who had been there on Saturday and she frowned thoughtfully. So, she had brought someone for a second opinion.

      ‘Penny for them!’

      She jumped at the voice. A dusty old blue Volvo had coasted to a halt behind her and she was concentrating so hard on the woman in the car, she had failed to hear it. She turned to the balding man at the wheel. ‘Hi, Alex. Sorry! I didn’t hear you.’

      ‘Just as well I was driving slowly.’ He chuckled. He was fond of this gamine young woman with her quirky ways and passionate, vivid personality. ‘Are you spying, by any chance?’

      She smiled. ‘Of course. That woman was here two days ago.’

      ‘It’s time someone bought the old place. It’ll fall down if they don’t.’ Alex reached for the handbrake and killing the engine he climbed out. He was a tall man, in his early forties, with the high complexion and bleached eyebrows of the very fair. He had light-blue eyes, their clarity emphasised by a short-sleeved blue polo shirt and cream chinos. He pointed to her load. ‘Stick them in the car. I’ll run them back for you. It’s too hot to bike in this weather, never mind with about a hundred books!’

      ‘I’ve borrowed them from Oliver Dent. He doesn’t mind how many I take as long as I return them.’ Lyndsey lovingly ran a hand over the assorted volumes.

      Alex opened the door of the car and she passed him the books. ‘I didn’t know he was a reader,’ he said.

      ‘He’s got thousands of books. I’ve just got a job cleaning for him once a week. Poor old boy can’t cope up there on his own any more.’

      ‘Well, I hope you’ve still got time to look after my kids.’ Alex stacked the books safely and slammed the door. A quick glance had shown they all appeared to be about plants and flowers.

      ‘You know I have.’ She hauled the bike out of the hedge and straddled it. ‘You still want me tonight?’ She babysat for the Wests two or three evenings a week and sometimes looked after the children after school as well.

      He nodded. ‘Paula and I are going to supper with someone she’s met on the train.’ He shrugged with a pained look towards the heavens. ‘Networking with knobs on. What did I do to deserve a commuting wife?’

      Lyndsey grinned. ‘You know you love being a kept man! If Paula didn’t make all that lovely money in the City you and the kids wouldn’t be able to ponce around in the country having such a good time now, would you!’

      ‘True.’ He sighed. ‘Not that I’d have chosen redundancy and house husbandry as my preferred career.’ There was a moment’s silence. His face had grown solemn as he thought of the various failed business ideas, the so-hopefully printed cards, the silent phone at home. In seconds his smile returned. ‘Reckon those are rich weekenders, going to buy Liza’s? I wonder if they would employ me to run that place for them? The Simpsons had a decent living from that nursery.’

      ‘Not from Liza’s they didn’t.’ Lyndsey glanced fondly towards the cottage. ‘That’s why they are selling it. Their money came from their garden centre up in Bradfield. Letting this place to holiday-makers was all they did in the end, and even that was too much hassle. Their son doesn’t want to take it on now they’re retiring and I don’t blame him.’

      ‘I suppose so.’ Alex sighed. ‘Ah well, I must get on. See you tonight.’ He grinned. ‘I’ve told Sophie and James you’re coming to look after them and I think they’re planning mayhem, so be careful!’

      Lyndsey raised a hand as he climbed back into the car. ‘Not to worry,’ she grinned. ‘Mayhem is what I do best.’

       14

      The others were already there when Mark made his way into the shop. He looked round. ‘No sign of the new tenant yet?’

      ‘Not a peep.’ Colin was eating a toasted teacake, his fingers shiny with butter. ‘So there’s no one to ask. If we’re quick we can get the extra shots we need upstairs and be out of here before they come! All set?’ He stopped chewing and stared up at the ceiling with a frown. ‘You did check, Joe? It sounds as though there is someone walking about up there.’

      They all stared upwards. Alice had gone very pale. Clearly audible, they could hear someone walking slowly across the boards above their heads, the footsteps dragging slightly, one then another board squeaking in sequence as they moved.

      Joe gave a soundless whistle. He stubbed out his cigarette in the lid he was using as an ashtray on the counter. ‘I just stuck my head in the room. Maybe there was someone up in the attic. Or in the cloakroom. Shall I have another look?’ He did not seem too keen.

      Mark glanced at the stairs. He recognised an extreme reluctance of his own to climb them. Last night, again, he had had the experience of waking suddenly, his heart thudding, the echo of a woman’s scream ringing in his ears. It had for a moment paralysed him with terror as he lay staring up at the ceiling, trying to steady his breathing, aware that he was bathed in sweat and aware too