The Guesthouse. Abbie Frost

so they’re throwing in all sorts of extras. Food and drink in the fridge, logs for the open fires, free run of the house.’ He kissed the back of her neck and slid his hands down to her breasts, whispering in her ear. ‘We might be the only guests. Imagine cuddling up in front of a roaring fire miles from anywhere.’

      Hannah continued to look through the photos. ‘I love the building, but it’s kind of … outdoorsy. And …’ She touched the screen. ‘There are five visitor bedrooms, so it could be packed.’

      ‘We’ll just take a bottle to our room and lock ourselves in for the week.’ Ben kissed her again and again. Short sharp kisses on her neck on her face, her lips, and then everywhere and they were soon making love on the sofa.

      An hour later they booked the best bedroom on offer and organized their flights.

      Hannah bit her lip and killed the app. She was due to arrive in Ireland in two days’ time. She couldn’t go – there was no way – she should reply to the host and cancel. Pulling on a jumper and leggings, she forced herself to go downstairs.

      Her mum had gone to do some work in the study and a pot of pasta simmered on the stove. At the kitchen window Hannah poured herself a glass of water with a shaking hand. Outside in the garden, autumn had crept up without her noticing, the trees heavy with red, orange, and golden leaves, their colours glinting in the evening sun.

      There was a reason she had chosen County Mayo. It was probably why the offer email had been sent to her in the first place, after she had spent long nights trawling through Cloud BNB, zooming in on Fallon village, refreshing the page, waiting for a sign to appear there like a beacon. It was a reason she didn’t want to think about now, something that she had only ever told Ben.

      What would Ben say if he could see her now? She could remember the smell of his aftershave, the way he held her at night when she awoke screaming from a nightmare.

      The way he looked at her when he found out that she was cheating on him.

      She took a sip of water, trying to ignore her shaking hand. When Ben realized what Hannah had done, their argument had spiralled into a fight that ended their relationship. She’d tried to make him understand, promised it would never happen again, but it had been no good. He’d stormed out into the night, and that had been the last time she would ever see him.

      Hannah looked around the kitchen at the immaculate surfaces. Her mother’s constant, almost oppressive worry, this house like a pristine cage. Maybe she should go to Ireland, to get away from it all. She watched a magpie hop down onto the lawn and begin to peck at something dead in the grass. Her mum and Lori would certainly be relieved to see the back of her.

      Everyone would.

      Because Ben was dead, and it was her fault.

       Chapter Two

      She regretted it as soon as her plane landed. She’d left London in sparkling sunshine and arrived at Ireland West Airport to drizzle that turned to rain. And it got worse as the taxi headed for Fallon. Water flooded down the cab windows, the frantic swish, swish of the wipers failing to drown out the driver’s annoying country music.

      At least he didn’t speak to her and he held his thick red neck so stiffly it was obvious he wouldn’t welcome any chatty comments from the back seat. She tried to relax as green mile after green mile sped by, distorted by the streams of grey water. It didn’t matter what the weather was like: she wasn’t here to enjoy herself, just to get some respite, to get away from social media and from London’s clubs and bars. Ben had encouraged her to make this trip and had paid half the cost. At least this was one tiny way in which she wasn’t going to let him down.

      She must have dozed off, because the cab door suddenly opened, and the driver was standing staring in at her. The rain had eased to a thin colourless veil, as if a net curtain hung in front of the fields.

      The fields that stretched out for miles on both sides.

      She sat up in her seat and looked around. They were parked in a layby in the middle of nowhere. ‘Sorry, excuse me, I think there’s been a mistake. I asked for The Guesthouse.’

      The man nodded.

      ‘It’s on an app called Cloud BNB. It’s where I’m staying.’ She pulled out her phone. ‘I can show you a picture.’

      He said nothing. His wide, ruddy face expressionless as he gave the screen one fleeting glance.

      ‘It used to be called Fallon House.’

      He pulled the door wider, not looking at her. ‘This is as far as I go.’

      It must be a joke, probably some sort of local prank. She swallowed. ‘I want The Guesthouse.’

      He turned away so that, with his accent, she struggled to make out the words. ‘Take the path over the fields. Ye can see it there.’ He pointed along a muddy track towards a low range of hills. ‘Keep going straight.’

      ‘But where’s the village?’

      He gestured ahead. ‘Along this road. ’Bout five or six miles.’

      ‘The website said the house was near the village,’ she said weakly.

      He ignored her and walked back, opened the boot and slung her case down onto the roadside. She had no choice. She and Ben hadn’t intended to bring a car, so neither of them had thought to check whether the place was accessible by road.

      Cold rain dripped down the neck of her parka as she shrugged on her rucksack and pulled up her hood, staring at her trainers and wishing she had brought water-resistant footwear. It was only afternoon but felt like a gloomy winter evening. Bleak, nothing like the sunlit hills and glittering streams the website had promised.

      The driver closed his door, impatient now. He pointed again. ‘That’s the way.’

      The track led off through puddles and muddy ridges towards the hills. She looked at her stupid wheeled suitcase. How the hell was she going to drag it through all that?

      She fumbled for her purse. ‘Could you carry my case for me?’

      He laughed, but there was a flash of sympathy in his pale eyes. ‘Sorry, love, I’ve got another fare in the village.’

      And then he was gone. She stared at the taxi as it drove into the distance, its wheels kicking up wet spray from the road.

      Shivering in the cold, she walked across to the footpath. As she trudged through the mud, half-pulling, half-carrying her case, she thought about the bottle of vodka she’d bought at the airport. A nice vodka and Coke: that would be her reward when she got to the house. If she ever did.

      At the end of the first field, she stopped under the shelter of a tree for a breather. It couldn’t be far from here. She dumped her case on the floor and pulled out her phone to call up a map. One bar of signal. Her finger hovered over the Facebook icon on her screen. This was exactly what she had told herself not to do on her holiday. Why she had turned off all her notifications and promised herself to stay away from social media. But after a moment, she opened the app and sat down on her case with a sigh. Just one final look.

      She deleted two friend requests from random guys she vaguely remembered chatting to in a bar. Then felt the familiar stab of pain as she navigated her way to Ben’s wall. Before she could stop herself, she’d clicked on his profile pictures, scrolled through his albums. She knew them all in perfect detail.

      Her favourite picture of Ben filled the screen, but when she went to reload the page, it froze. His eyes were replaced by a slowly buffering circle, then he disappeared. She sat there for a moment, watching the whirling circle, thinking back to the exact moment when she had found out that Ben had died.

      It was just two days after the argument that had ended their relationship. She had been on her laptop at home, scrolling through Facebook, when a direct message had flashed up at the bottom of her