The Guesthouse. Abbie Frost

another, smaller silhouette. A dark figure. Moving away from the open front door and down the slope towards her. A shadow walking calmly through the rain. As if it knew she wouldn’t get far, knew she would be waiting here in the mud.

      Waiting to die.

       Chapter One

      Six days earlier

      A shriek of sound cut through the silence. Buzzing and whirring. Hannah forced her eyes open, fumbled for her phone on the bedside table, then on the floor. Finally she had it, dropped it, groped for it again. Shut up. For God’s sake shut up.

      A croak. ‘Hello.’

      ‘Han, at last. I’ve been ringing and ringing.’ It was Lori.

      Hannah pressed the phone to her ear and lay back with her eyes closed.

      ‘Where are you?’ Lori’s voice was harsh.

      Where was she? Her eyes blurred as she tried to focus. Sunlight cut through the drawn curtains and fell across the bed. She looked at the clothes strewn around the room. Her own room.

      ‘I’m at home. Why? What’s wrong?’

      There was a pause. ‘So you made it back all right.’ Lori sighed. ‘I feel like shit today – probably those cheap cocktails. How are you coping?’ She didn’t wait for a reply. ‘Look, I was really worried about you last night, and then you just disappeared. Who was that guy you went off with?’

      A sudden flash of memory, of nausea and hot shame. Sweaty plastic seats in a taxi somewhere in London, hands groping. The stranger’s lips on her mouth, on her neck, his hands down her top and up her skirt. The taste of cheap booze and cigarettes, the taxi spinning with something like desire. Not thinking for once, not feeling bad for once.

      Then the world had tilted further, her hand had gone to her mouth and she’d had to push him away. ‘Stop … I’m going to be sick.’ Swearing from the driver as he braked to a halt. The door opening and her stumbling out onto the street. Vomiting cocktail after cocktail, shot after shot. Down her skirt and her bare legs, onto her shoes.

      Then the shameful walk back to the taxi that seemed to last a lifetime. Strangers in the street pointing and laughing. The desperate urge to get warm, to swallow some water, to be back home.

      She’d pulled at the door handle of the taxi, but nothing happened. She tugged at it again. The driver wouldn’t even look her in the eye as he started the engine and began to pull away. Her bag flew out the window and onto the street, its contents spilling into the gutter. The guy, whose hands had groped her just moments ago, had sat dead still in the back seat, staring ahead as they drove into the distance.

      Hannah swallowed and stared at the ceiling of her bedroom. Her mouth dry as she sat up and looked around for a glass of water. ‘Yeah, just some wanker. I told him to drop me off and get lost.’ She coughed into the phone. ‘Sorry I left you like that.’

      Silence on the end of the line. Then Lori began to talk, starting off gently, but quickly getting into her stride. The nagging tone, one thing after another about all that Hannah had done wrong. She tuned it out after a while and pulled the covers over her cold shoulders. When she stretched her leg over the side of the bed she saw the red, angry scrape on her knee, and remembered weaving and stumbling her way home. She’d fallen through the garden gate, her knee smacking onto the path. Terrified her mum would hear. Twenty-five years old and back living with her mother. Back getting shit from her school friends.

      Lori was still speaking, the words blending into one. ‘I know you’ve had a hard time, but I’m sick of it. Just sort yourself out. You can’t keep fucking up your life.’

      Then, finally, a long silence that Hannah couldn’t face trying to fill. The phone felt sticky with sweat in her palm.

      Lori spoke again, her voice softer now. ‘Look … you’re my best friend. We’ve known each other for years.’ Another pause. ‘But … I’m tired, Han, really really tired. I didn’t want to say this, but I’m starting to get why Ben and you broke up … why he was so angry with you.’

      Hannah tried to speak but Lori drowned her out, loud again, firm. ‘Listen, until you sort yourself out, I’m done with you. I don’t want to hear from you. Don’t bother calling me. Texting me. Just leave me alone!’

      Then the phone went dead. Hannah stared at it for a moment, then let it fall from her hands to the floor and watched it thump into a pile of dirty clothes. Some peace and quiet at last. Her head fell back onto the pillow and she closed her eyes.

      When she woke again, all she could think about was water. And something to still the hammering in her head. In the bathroom she put her mouth under the tap and washed down a couple of paracetamol. Her knees shook as she sat on the edge of the bath, the floor swaying beneath her, thinking back over her conversation with Lori. Why Ben and you broke up … why he was so angry with you.

      The bathroom door rattled. ‘Hannah. Are you all right?’ Her mum.

      ‘Yeah, I’m fine. Just an upset stomach.’

      Footsteps in the corridor as her mum walked away. In the mirror Hannah saw last night’s make-up smeared around her mouth and eyes. Her stiff and unwashed hair hadn’t been trimmed or coloured for ages. It looked yellow rather than blonde, the roots dark. No wonder the job interview yesterday had been such a disaster. It was a surprise she’d even got as far as an interview this time.

      She stepped into the shower and turned the power on full. Stood in the hot water for as long as she could, letting it numb her throbbing head, then dressed and went downstairs. Better go and face it.

      Her mum, Ruby, was sitting at the kitchen table with a coffee pot in front of her. As always there were papers and a laptop open next to her. Hannah poured herself some coffee and sat opposite, pulled out her phone and began to scroll.

      ‘Morning.’ Ruby took off her reading glasses and pushed back her dark hair. It was streaked with grey now, but to Hannah she looked the same as always. Except those tiny new creases around her mouth and eyes, the ones that Hannah had caused. There was no denying it: Hannah’s lifestyle over the past weeks and months had aged her mother.

      Ruby reached for her hand and it felt so warm and familiar that Hannah had to look away. ‘How did the interview go?’

      Her throat felt raw. ‘It was all right. They’ll let me know in a week or so.’ She remembered the way the panel had looked at her as she stammered through their questions. The silence while she muttered her thanks and stumbled towards the door. She still couldn’t meet Ruby’s eye. ‘I didn’t really fancy it though.’

      Ruby sighed. ‘Have you seen anything that you do fancy?’ Hannah gritted her teeth, but her mum continued speaking. ‘And what time did you get in last night?’

      ‘Mum.’ A deep breath, trying not to let it turn into a sigh. ‘About one, I think.’

      Ruby shifted, closed the laptop and began loading papers into her bag. Hannah stood up and walked to the sink, staring out at the immaculate lawn and the freshly painted brown fence. Her mother had probably been lying awake last night, listening for the key in the lock, thinking about all the things that could have happened to her daughter. Even though Ruby had worked right through Hannah’s childhood, she had always been there. Always came to school plays, sports days, parents’ events. Took time off when Hannah was sick and read to her every single night.

      The years of hard work had all paid off and her mum was now a successful financial consultant, working long hours, but still finding the time to keep this house spotless – and to worry about her daughter’s life. Hannah knew she could still rely on her; she just didn’t want to. Because Ruby couldn’t help her now. There are some things that even your mum can’t cure.

      ‘Hannah, are you listening to me?’ Ruby