by R. P. Bolton
While she will always blame herself for Mia’s death, the ongoing therapy Dr Monk helped to arrange has enabled her to manage the guilt. She doesn’t sleepwalk anymore. It is slow work but she has begun to accept that she can’t change the past. To learn how to live in the moment. To understand that the only person she needs forgiveness from is herself.
Downstairs, Tom is closing windows and asking Carol if she’s seen the house keys. Trinity stirs and cries a little louder.
‘Mummy’s coming,’ Ellie calls and picks the suitcase off the bed.
Trinity pouts, releasing the familiar notes of her hunger.
‘Shhh,’ Ellie settles her onto the feeding cushion and into the routine that is so familiar now, it’s hard to believe she ever struggled.
As Trinity sucks, a cloud passes over the sun, casting a dark shadow across the grey carpet.
‘Ellie,’ Tom shouts from the hall. ‘Have you seen the house keys? I could’ve sworn I put them in the basket.’
‘No,’ she replies. ‘I’m just feeding Trinity then I’ll be down.’
A breeze blows in through the open nursery window, fluttering the curtains and rippling goose bumps up her arms. A fly buzzes close by and a flicker of unease stirs in her gut.
‘Got them!’ Tom rattles the keys in triumph. ‘They were in my jacket.’
The sun comes out, flooding the room with light and warmth. She shuts the window.
She hears the car boot slam shut. They’re giving Carol a lift back to the rented house where Roger is waiting, and a few minutes are spent making sure everyone has everything they need. Ellie passes Trinity to Carol who expertly straps her in the car seat and sits beside her.
‘Can you lock up, Els?’ Tom asks, tapping the postcode into the satnav.
The silver E glints as she locks the back door. She frowns. Tom, or maybe Carol, has tracked mud across the kitchen floor, but she doesn’t have time to mop it. They need to leave now if they are to miss the worst of the traffic.
The downstairs windows are shut. The back door is locked. Good to go. Taking her handbag and coat from the end of the banister, she glances back at the empty hall.
She is about to step outside into the sun when she hears it. Or thinks she does. Maybe it’s the breeze or her imagination.
Clutching the keys so tightly they dig into her palm, she strains her ears to listen.
Upstairs, very softly, a woman is singing Mary Mary.
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Acknowledgements
Special thanks to my wonderful agent, Anne Clark, for believing in this book, and to Sarah Goodey for her brilliant editorial insights. Ditto Helena Newton. Thanks to all the team at HQ Digital.
Thanks also to everyone who helped me along the way: the guys at MMU who read early drafts and gave invaluable feedback, especially Emrys H., Lara W. and Lisa R. Ditto Ellie C. To Lesley B. for kindly sharing her midwifely wisdom and D. C. R. F. for policing knowledge and general cheerleading. Any mistakes are entirely mine. To Amanda P. for many years of always being there. Love and thanks to Christina and Edward K. Ross M. and my writing companions Smudge, Minnie and Lola. And always Tim and Christian for their endless patience, support and cups of tea.
Letter to the reader
Dear Reader,
Firstly, thank you so much for choosing to read The Perfect House. My own TBR skyscraper grows by the day, so I greatly appreciate making it to the top of yours! I hope you enjoyed reading about the inhabitants (past and present) of number six Moss Lane.
I’ve always been interested in the personal histories of houses – who the previous occupants were and what their lives were like. When I renovated my first house, I stripped the wallpaper to find drawings by children who had lived there years before, which was intriguing (and slightly creepy). That fascination sparked the idea of writing about a house with sinister secrets.
As well as bricks and mortar, babies play a huge role in the book, linking the lives of the three women in unexpected ways. Ellie’s pregnancy complications have a psychological as well as physical impact on her, releasing memories she has kept under lock and key for years. How do you think Ellie’s own past impacts on her feelings about the house? Does her sense of isolation and guilt shape how she tries to make sense of 6 Moss Lane’s story? Or do you think there are supernatural forces at play? Maybe it’s a combination of the two?
If you’ve enjoyed reading The Perfect House it would be amazing if you could post a review. Writing a book means spending long, long hours on your own and getting lovely feedback from readers makes it all worthwhile! I also spend too much time talking books, dogs and the environment on social media, so please come and find me on Twitter @rachinthefax, Facebook R. P. Bolton or Instagram @rachinthefax
Hope to see you again in my next book!
Love,
R.P. Bolton x
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