There was a double door leading out of the house from the living room but I didn’t bother opening it. Nor did I look out of the windows. Stupidly, I was feeling spooked again. Despite the total silence, I felt as though someone was inside the house, watching me. I told myself not to be ridiculous as I straightened the crooked print on the wall; then I went back to the kitchen door and made sure it was securely locked from the inside and that the bolt was in place. I opened one of the windows to allow some air in and switched off the harsh fluorescent light, before turning on the standard lamp instead. The glow was softer and more relaxing, but I still couldn’t quite get over the feeling of being watched. As I made my way upstairs I felt the need to remind myself yet again that I didn’t believe in spirits or ghosts or things that went bump in the night. And it didn’t matter that I was alone in the house in the middle of nowhere, because being alone was perfectly safe. After all, being alone couldn’t hurt you. Other people could.
There were six rooms upstairs. Four bedrooms. Two bathrooms. And a cupboard for bedlinen, which also contained a motley selection of old, but clean, oversized T-shirts and cotton shorts. The first doors I opened led into unfurnished rooms, but the next contained two unmade single beds and the fourth had a king-sized bed with bedlinen neatly folded and placed on the mattress. When I turned on the light a ceiling fan began to rotate slowly, although it didn’t actually cool the warm air, just moved it around.
I was suddenly overcome by tiredness. I put my handbag on the small dressing table and opened the window. I left the shutters closed and slipped out of my skinny jeans, which I threw on to the tub chair in the corner. I unfolded the bedlinen. It was crisp and clean, with a faint scent of lavender. I made the bed and fiddled with the ceiling fan so that it stayed working when I turned off the light. Then I lay down and closed my eyes.
But even though I was exhausted, I couldn’t sleep. I tossed and turned and finally reached for my phone again. This time accessed my voice messages. It was the only one he’d ever left for me.
I wish I was there with you. His voice was clear and strong. I wish I had my arms around you right now.
I wished he had too.
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Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
Contents
About the Author
Praise
Also By Sheila O’Flanagan
About the Book
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Acknowledgements
Author’s Note
Read the opening section of THE HIDEAWAY
Her Husband's Mistake Page 39