Nina swiveled to face me. “Come on. Let’s take your things upstairs; then I’ll show you round.”
“One more thing, Beth,” Leonora said, also turning her back on the receding car. “Make yourself at home.” She searched my gaze and nodded, as though approving of what she saw there. “I mean it. We want you to feel like you’re part of our family here.”
It took me a moment to find my voice. “Thank you.”
Leonora’s gaze slid over my shoulder to the house, and her voice took on that distant tone again. “It can get lonely at Raven Hall, for an only child. It’ll be lovely for Nina to have someone to play with . . .”
I scrunched my toes in my jelly shoes and tried not to let my smile slip. We were fourteen—a little old to play, I thought. But I didn’t want her to think I was ungrateful.
“Mum,” Nina said impatiently, shielding her face from the sun’s glare with her hand as she squinted up at Leonora.
Leonora gave her head a little shake and blinked back at us. “Okay, run along now, girls. I’ve got things to do. Dinner at seven. Stay out of trouble ’til then.”
Sadie
January 2019
Sadie shoves the front door repeatedly to dislodge the pile of junk mail and newspapers wedged behind it. The narrow hallway feels even colder than the street outside, and there’s a damp patch on the carpet where the doormat used to lie. Her mother always kept the thermostat turned up high in the winter; Sadie used to peel off layers and complain it was like an oven in here, and her mother would grumble it was what her cold bones needed. But the central heating hasn’t been on for weeks now, and the air has acquired a musty, abandoned smell that makes Sadie miss her mother more than ever.
She scoops up the post and adds it to the considerable amount already collected in a cardboard box in the corner. With a bit of luck, this will be the last trip she needs to make here—the whole process has taken longer than she expected. Most of her mother’s possessions have been cleared out, and only one more vanload of furniture remains for the charity shop to pick up.
The new tenants are due to move in next week—a young couple with a baby, apparently. Sadie hopes the landlord will warm the house up for them before they arrive, and more pressingly, she hopes he’ll return her mother’s deposit promptly once she’s handed the keys back. Sadie has lost two part-time jobs in the last twelve months, and the income from her acting is erratic. She desperately needs that deposit money.
If her mother were still here, she’d be snatching up the local newspapers as soon as they came through the mail slot, circling job adverts for Sadie with her black marker pen and pressing them into Sadie’s hands as soon as she stepped through the front door . . .
Sadie sighs and wanders through to the living room, where an old sideboard and two faded armchairs are the only pieces of furniture left. A half-empty bag of her mother’s favorite toffees still sits on the mantelpiece, and she scoops it up and stuffs it into her coat pocket, before checking around the room for anything else she might have missed. Her gaze is drawn back to the sideboard.
It’s scratched in places, but it’s solid wood; she’s never properly examined it before, an object so familiar from her childhood. She runs her gloved fingers over it, searching for other damage, and her heart thuds guiltily; her mother was adamant that all her furniture should go to a particular homeless charity, but what might this fetch on eBay? Enough to cover the shortfall in her rent next month? Her phone buzzes under the toffees in her pocket, and she snatches her hand from the sideboard as if she’s been scorched.
Her agent’s name glows on the screen, and she jabs to accept the call.
“Wendy, what did they say?” Sadie presses the phone to her ear. “Have I got it? Did they like me?”
She knows it’s a no from the delicate sigh at the other end.
“Sadie, I’m so sorry. They loved you, but they want someone with a bit more . . .”
Disappointment churns in Sadie’s stomach. Will she really have to tell the charity collectors they can’t take the sideboard after all? And what about next month? Will she have to give in and sell her one piece of good jewelry—the charm bracelet her mum gave her on her sixteenth birthday?
“Someone with a bit more what?” she says dully.
“A bit more gravity, they said. But listen—”
“Gravity?” Sadie spits out the word. “For a mermaid in a toy commercial?”
“Toys are serious business.” Wendy’s voice is surprisingly upbeat. “But listen. I’ve got much better news—a fabulous job offer for you. It’s a murder mystery company, just starting up, and they want to act out a trial run of the game so they can take photos for their website—glamorous costumes at a posh dinner party, that sort of thing. It’s out in a big old mansion in the Fens—gorgeous-looking place, full of dark history . . .”
Sadie straightens, the mermaid commercial already forgotten. “Sounds interesting. When’s the audition?”
“That’s the best bit, Sadie. There’s no audition. The job’s yours if you want it, and the money is excellent.”
Sadie’s eyes widen, but her attention is caught by movement outside the window. The van from the homeless charity has arrived, and it’s blocking the road, its hazard lights flashing while its driver looks for somewhere to park. Directly opposite the house, a dark-colored Audi eases away from the curb, and Sadie peers into it; she’s seen it parked around here several times recently. But the driver shields her face with her hand as she passes, and Sadie glimpses only a white sports watch and a matching white hair band around the bun on the back of her head. Immediately, the charity van maneuvers itself into the vacated space.
“Hold on, Wendy,” Sadie says. “I’m at Mum’s. The people are here to collect the last bits of furniture.”
“Oh, sorry,” Wendy says. “I can wait.”
Sadie greets the senior charity volunteer at the front door with an apologetic wave of her phone. “Sorry, just on a call. Are you okay to—?” She gestures toward the living room.
“You carry on, my dear.” The woman gives her a sympathetic pat on the arm, and she and her assistant tug on their thick work gloves as they make a beeline for the sideboard.
Sadie speaks into her phone again. “So, how much, then?” She listens to Wendy’s reply and laughs. “Seriously? For one weekend? Of course I’ll do it.” She hurries up the stairs, embarrassed to be overheard sounding so desperate for money, but relieved she’ll now be able to pay next month’s rent, and the month after, without a problem. “So, tell me everything. What does it involve?”
“Well, I’ve got the actual invitation card right here.” Wendy sounds a little breathless. “I’ll forward it on to you. You’ll love it—it’s all embossed and everything. It says on the front, ‘You are cordially invited to play a Game at Raven Hall’ . . .”