The Guesthouse. Abbie Frost

the meal Hannah stayed quiet. It seemed that they all, except Lucy, had some kind of connection to the area. Liam obviously loved the sound of his own voice, even more so than his wife. He told them all that he was a very successful GP who’d recently retired from a local practice and was moving back to Scotland with his family as soon as their house was ready.

      Lucy wasn’t Irish, but she’d been living in Dublin. She’d been attracted by Preserve the Past website and its promise of comfortable historic houses in quiet locations.

      ‘But this was the only one I could afford. I also think self-check-in is a cool idea – it just makes sense. I mean, who actually wants to meet the host?’ When nobody responded, Lucy went on. ‘I’ve stayed in B&Bs before where they never leave you alone.’

      Hannah couldn’t sit still. She picked at her food and her eyes kept returning to the drinks cupboard in the corner of the room that by rights should have contained wine, at least a few bottles of Henry Laughton’s expensive vintage stuff. Hannah’s hands felt clammy and her top kept sticking to her back. She wanted to open a window, but it was freezing outside. When Mo stood up and suggested cheese and biscuits or ice cream, Hannah made her excuses and went to leave the room without meeting anyone’s eye.

      ‘Chocolate ice cream for me. What about you, Chloe?’ Mo said.

      ‘She’ll have some fruit or a plain yogurt,’ Rosa replied.

      Hannah slipped out the door. Wouldn’t fancy being Chloe and putting up with Rosa The Dictator for a mother. But by the time Hannah was halfway up the stairs, she was thinking of nothing but the vodka waiting in her room.

      But something made her stop, a prickling along her spine like a feather touching skin. She turned and stared around the hallway, expecting to see someone watching her. But it was empty, just the strange paintings across one wall and the tapestry hanging beside the kitchen door.

      Then a huge bang echoed around the space, and Hannah let out a gasp. She dropped to her knees.

      Another crash, this time even louder, from somewhere in the house above her. Then silence.

      Heart thumping, one hand on the bannister, Hannah stared up the stairs and waited for the ceiling to fall down on top of her.

       Chapter Five

      The kitchen door burst open and the others piled out into the hallway and peered up at her. She stood and turned to them.

      ‘What the fuck was that?’ Liam pressed his fingers to his mouth. ‘Sorry, no excuse for bad language. Sorry, Chloe.’

      Rosa held her daughter closer, and Mo put a hand on his father’s arm. Only Lucy looked calm.

      Mo ran up the stairs to Hannah and put his hand on her back, eyes concerned. ‘Are you all right?’

      For a moment she was aware of how good his touch felt. Then she thought of Ben, thought of the random guy from the other night, the random guys on so many recent nights, and stepped away.

      ‘I’m OK. I think it came from upstairs.’

      Mo looked down at the others. ‘I’ll check it out.’

      Liam started up the stairs. ‘I’ll come with you. It’s probably a window crashing down. If the cords rot on these old sashes, they break in the wind. I opened a couple of dodgy ones in our room.’ He ran up past them, his eyes lingering on Hannah for a second too long.

      Mo followed. ‘We should all be careful.’

      Hannah waited on the stairs as her heart rate returned to normal. Liam entered the family room at the top and emerged moments later holding up a piece of white cord.

      ‘Yes, that’s it. I knew it. The damn thing’s broken: worn out.’ He grinned and headed back down the stairs. ‘I’m surprised they didn’t replace them all when they did the renovations. Maybe just missed that one. Anyway, be careful with them and we’ll let the host know.’

      Sandeep’s voice cut through the hall. He had been silent for so long Hannah had almost forgotten he was there. ‘That didn’t sound like a window banging in the wind. It was too loud, and the wind isn’t even that strong. It could have been a problem with the roof. Something could come crashing through on us.’

      Rosa looked up at the high ceiling with a frown, but Liam just laughed. He bounded down and put his arm around her. ‘Don’t worry about it. The roof’s completely sound – I had a good look around earlier.’

      Hannah couldn’t remember him exploring the house, but she was too tired to care. Let him blow his own trumpet for a bit. She said nothing and carried on upstairs. The vodka was calling her.

      When she got to her room she poured herself a large glass, topped it up with Coke, and swallowed it down with a sigh. She’d left her phone charging but the lead had come loose and was lying on the floor. When she plugged it in again she saw a reply from Henry Laughton.

      Apologies about the road access. We had hoped to have a metalled approach lane installed before your arrival, but planning permission was delayed. I did message you about this a few weeks ago and a notice was added to the website. I hope it doesn’t interfere with your holiday too much.

      I’m sorry I wasn’t there to greet you, but I’m held up at one of our other properties.

      Regards Henry.

      Hannah knew it was possible she had missed his message. She hadn’t been taking much notice of anything recently, except all the trolls on social media.

      But surely one of the other guests would have seen the message. No doubt old Henry, in his fancy Barbour jacket, was chuckling to himself, assuming he’d get away with it. She couldn’t be bothered to reply; Rosa would probably give him an earful anyway.

      Sitting on the bed she realized that for a short while today, surrounded by people who knew nothing about her, listening to the chatter over dinner, she hadn’t once thought about Ben. And as she took another sip of vodka, she tried to keep those dark memories at bay, tried to ignore the familiar pain beginning to settle around her heart.

      A small chest of drawers with a kettle and an array of white china containers filled with posh teabags, instant coffee and chocolate stood by the corridor wall. She made herself a mug of chocolate, undressed and climbed into bed. Took a soothing sip of the drink, then added a slug of vodka and left the bottle on the bedside table, close to hand.

      The bright lamp made her dry eyes throb. But when she switched it off, the images she dreaded began to swirl around her in the blackness.

      She tossed and turned in the bed, clutching at her duvet, unable to stop herself from reliving the same dark memories. Thinking back to Ben’s funeral.

      She remembered getting out of the cab on the side of the road and walking all alone towards the church through crowds of people. His friends and family turned to face her – whispering – then moved away.

      She sat alone at the very back of the church as Ben’s family filed towards the coffin, his younger brother following behind with bloodshot eyes. He had always been friendly to her, and when he came to sit next to her after the service, she thought for one tiny moment that he was going to tell her it would be all right. That everyone knew she wasn’t to blame.

      Instead he hissed, his voice low and bitter, ‘Mum and Dad asked me to say: don’t come to the grave or the house afterwards.’ He swallowed. ‘Just stay away from us.’

      She sat there, alone in her seat, as the crowds filed out. Her head bowed, staring at the floor.

      She must have drifted off to sleep then, because suddenly she knew she was dreaming. Thoughts of Ben and his family gradually vanished, but Hannah felt no relief – just a sense of absolute terror.

      She was still in bed, the sound of her breathing low and steady in her ears. A curtain moved softly in the breeze from the window,