The Girl in the Picture. Kerry Barrett

angles to the other houses, with its back to the sea. It was the back view we’d seen all those months ago from the beach – and the back view was a lot prettier than the front, I now realized. It was built from reddish brick, and it had three storeys and white-painted gables. It had a higgledy-piggledy extension on the side and mismatched windows.

      It was about as far away as it was possible to be from the chocolate-box cottage everyone imagined when we said we were moving to Sussex. But Ben was adamant that it was completely right – even the fact that it had stayed empty from the time we’d spotted the to-let board from the beach until the time we’d been ready to move was a sign, he claimed. I heard him telling friends that it was exactly the house we’d have designed for ourselves if we’d had the chance. I hoped he was right and that Dad was wrong. My spontaneity seemed to have abandoned me now we were actually starting our new lives.

      I pulled up the handbrake and Ben grinned at me. I smiled back. His enthusiasm was infectious and despite my worries, deep down I did feel like this was a new start for us. I peered out of the car window at our new home. The house had probably been quite grand once, but now it looked slightly forgotten and in need of TLC. Maybe we’d give the house a new lease of life, I thought. I’d even wondered whether, if we bought it, we could add a conservatory on the back where we could sit and look at the sea.

      Ben grabbed my hand as I went to undo my seatbelt.

      ‘It’s not too late to change your mind,’ he said in a murmur so the boys wouldn’t hear. ‘We can turn round now and go back to London if you want.’

      I felt a wave of nerves again. Now I’d given up work, Ben was going to be shouldering the financial burdens of the family. So far it had been fine, but there was a lot of pressure on him at the football club. They had a lot of very valuable players and the legs Ben was looking after were worth millions – or so he kept telling me. This was his big break and he had to make it work.

      Meanwhile, after months and months of not writing anything, I’d told my editor, Lila, I was going to start. But I was regretting that a bit now because I had no ideas, even less motivation, and Lila was breathing down my neck desperate for words. I was worried Ben was putting too much pressure on himself and putting too much faith in the house. What if I couldn’t write any more? What if Ben’s job didn’t work out? Was it all a terrible mistake, just like Dad had warned me it could be?

      I took a breath. ‘Of course I don’t want to go back to London,’ I said, as much to myself as to him, squeezing his hand. ‘This is absolutely the right thing for us to do.’

      Ben looked at me for a second, then he squeezed my hand back. ‘So let’s move in,’ he said.

      I leaned over to unstrap Stan’s car seat. ‘Everything’s going to work out perfectly,’ I said firmly.

      ‘In this perfect house, with this perfect family?’ Ben said, chuckling with what I thought was relief. Or maybe he was just as nervous as I was? ‘How could it not?’

      He helped Stan clamber out of the car and then grabbed him for a cuddle. ‘What do you think, little man?’ he said. ‘What do you think of your new home?’

      Stan whacked him on the head with a wooden Thomas the Tank Engine. ‘Nice,’ he said. ‘This is a nice house.’

      Oscar yanked my hand. ‘Come. ON. Come on, Mummy.’

      He dragged me out of the car and up the path.

      ‘Hurryuphurryuphurryup,’ he breathed as he pulled me along. I laughed in delight and threw the car key to Ben so he could lock up.

      Stan wriggled out of Ben’s hug and raced to join his brother and me. I felt Ben’s eyes on us as he beeped the car doors and followed. We had to make this work, I thought. But he was right. How could it not?

      ‘The door should be open,’ Ben called.

      Oscar grabbed the handle and it opened. ‘Mummy, Mummy,’ he gasped as we all fell through the front door. ‘Look at the staircase.’

      ‘Staircase, Mummy,’ Stan echoed.

      ‘Mummy, can we get a dog? Daddy said we could get a dog. So can we?’

      I let myself be dragged around the house, laughing, as the boys and Ben fell over themselves to be the first to show me things.

      ‘Look, Mummy, there’s a fridge,’ said Oscar proudly as I admired the large, if slightly dated, kitchen.

      Sunlight streamed through the windows, which were gleaming. The whole house was sparkling clean, actually. Ben said the estate agent – Mike – had arranged for it to be done as it had been empty for a while. It all shone in the sunshine and the house was filled with light but strangely all I felt was dark.

      Ben was so proud as he showed me round; I could see he really loved the house. And me? Well, I felt a bit funny. Like it wasn’t really ours. Probably I just had to get used to it; that was all. Get all our belongings in there. Settle down. It just all seemed a bit temporary and that made me nervous.

      ‘It’s wonderful,’ I said, squeezing his arm. Suddenly desperate to get out of there, I muttered something about seeing the garden, and walked out of the French doors on to the lawn.

      Listening to the boys’ excited voices as they tore round the house, I wandered down to the end of the garden, breathing deeply, glad to be out of the house.

      There was a line of trees at the end of the lawn, and behind them a rocky path led down to the narrow, stony beach where the waves crashed on to the shingle.

      ‘Amazing,’ I said out loud. It was incredible. I thought of our London house, with its tiny garden where the boys roamed like caged tigers. Here they could run. Burn off their energy in safety. Swim in the sea. Collect shells. It would be idyllic, I told myself. A perfect childhood in the perfect house.

      Thinking of the house again made me shudder. I turned away from the sea and walked back across the grass towards the back door, but I couldn’t quite bring myself to go inside. Instead I dropped down on to the lawn and sat, cross-legged, looking back at the house.

      From the back it wasn’t so ugly. It was all painted white – in stark contrast to the red brick front – so it dazzled in the bright sunshine and looked less thrown together. I was being silly, I thought sternly. It would be lovely living close to the sea and the light was beautiful. Maybe it would inspire me to write.

      The sun went behind a cloud and I gazed up at the top of the house, trying to work out which windows belonged to the room that would be my new study.

      There were two large windows on the top floor on this side, which I knew would bring light flooding into the room, and one smaller window. I suddenly felt excited about things again, so I decided to go upstairs and check out the room – Ben had been so enthusiastic and I wondered – hoped – if some of his glee would rub off on me and perhaps kick my writer’s block into touch. But as I got to my feet, a movement at the top of the house caught my eye.

      I glanced up and blinked. It looked like there was someone up there, framed in the attic window. I couldn’t see them clearly but it certainly looked like a figure.

      My mouth went dry. ‘Ben,’ I squawked, hoping it was him up there. ‘Ben.’

      Ben appeared at the French windows from the lounge. I looked at him then looked back up at the window. There was nothing there. I’d been imagining it.

      ‘What’s the matter?’ he said. ‘What’s wrong?’

      I forced a smile. ‘I thought I saw someone upstairs,’ I said. ‘I’m seeing things now – I must be tired. Where are the boys?’

      Ben stepped into the garden, blinking in the bright sunlight. ‘They’re in the kitchen,’ he said. ‘Where did you see someone?’

      I pointed to the window, and as I did, the sun came out from behind the cloud and reflected off the glass, dazzling me. ‘Must have been a trick of the light,’ I said, squinting.

      ‘Must