Page 31 of One Summer

At the end of the room, there’s an uncarpeted staircase, painted white, and right next to it, a closed blue door. The striped roller blinds in the living room are likewise closed, but when I go to open them, my eyes begin to sting and water. There’s a smell. It’s something minty. No, not minty – eucalyptus. Very much like… Vicks VapoRub.

Twenty-Eight

Circle

Maybe it’s some bizarre air-freshener or a weird plant that’s emitting noxious odours?

I wind up the largest blind in the living room and the view takes my breath away. There’s a circle window with a cushioned window seat beneath, and I feel a warm rush of joy as I sink knees-down onto it. I have always dreamt of a circle window. How could anyone possibly be unhappy looking out of a circle window?

I swing my legs around and recline there, feet up on the wall, drinking in the view of turquoise ocean and pink wildflowers waving in the breeze.

I am so lucky to be here, to have this fresh start, to make a whole new life for myself away from Max.

I get to live in a beach house for free. All I need to do is look after a few low-maintenance animals and I will have so much time to walk and daydream and be inspired to make jewellery. It will be the stuff of Hollywood movies. I might even start an Instagram account for this adventure. Hell, maybe even a YouTube channel. Give Max a run for his money.

Closing my eyes, I take a few deep breaths and luxuriate in the wonderful sensation of sunshine on my eyelids and cheeks. This is the life. This is how the other half live. I am living the dream.

All of which I will have to keep from Henny, or she’ll insist on coming to visit.

I open up the rest of the blinds and windows, letting the fresh air circulate and freeing a few more trapped blowflies in the process. Then I close the windows again, because I don’t want Nemo dashing outside and getting lost on his first day. Not that he could get far, given the parameters of the island, but still. He could fall off the cliff or into a blowhole or get abducted by a hostile puffin.

I decide I’ll just enjoy the view for a bit longer before I check out upstairs, where I know the animals are kept in the guest bedrooms. And talking of animals, I should probably free Nemo.

When I unclip the cage front of his basket, he extracts himself slowly, and freezes as if he’s just spotted a sparrow within striking range.

He sniffs the air, and his ears go back.

It’s not excitement; it’s fear.

Something has set him on edge. He takes a cautious step and looks anxiously at a wall, where there appears to be nothing at all.

‘What is it, boy?’ I say, considering stroking his long back, but all his hackles go up and I don’t trust him not to whip round and claw me.

He leaps onto the sofa, across to a rocking chair, a writing bureau, and then climbs up a tall bookcase. He settles himself on the very top, next to a porcelain ornament of frolicking Siamese cats, and tucks himself into a sphinx.

‘Comfortable spot,’ I say, noting the porcelain Siamese cat ears pressing into his belly, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He seems content up here on the tallest piece of furniture in the room.

I’m just about to unpack the small bag of cat litter and the tray I’ve brought to tide him over the first few days, when I hear a noise.

A noise that sounded like a… snort.

There can’t be someone else in here. That’s impossible. This is my house; at least, it is for the next six months.

Cautiously, I approach the closed door, stand stock still and listen.

I can hear breathing. Noisy, rasping breathing.

Human breathing.

Twenty-Nine

Shoes

Could it be the hypothetical linen-changer? The bringer of supplies who didn’t actually bring supplies?

And yet, this person sounds very much asleep. Why would someone just come in to take a nap? Unless they’re Goldilocks, I don’t see a good reason for it.

Not moving a muscle, I consider the options. Most likely scenario: this is an asthmatic sociopath who has broken into the house, having somehow taken the key from the lockbox – perhaps having guessed the uncrackable code of 1234 – and was lying in wait for unsuspecting life failures to come stumbling into his fully plastic-sheeted kill space, presumably until the tedium became too much for him and he drifted off to sleep.

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