Chapter 3
Chapter Three
ALICE
There’s a funny thing about coming home—no matter how long I’ve been away, the moment I step through the gate, it feels like no time has passed at all.
Mum’s house, with its towering columns and spotless windows, looks just as cold and imposing as I remember.
The garden is perfectly trimmed, the flowers arranged in neat little rows, not a petal out of place.
Of course, heaven forbid Mum allow a little bit of chaos into her pristine world.
Still, some part of me smiles, because this is home.
I know I haven’t been here in a while, and I know when I hit eighteen, I couldn’t wait to leave, but there are memories here.
My memories. There’s something oddly comforting in the familiarity.
The crisp smell of lavender from the garden, the quiet hum of the city beyond the gates.
It’s like a tiny pocket of time, frozen just for me.
Or maybe frozen against me. Knowing Mum, probably the latter.
I heave my bag along the drive and reach the door. I give it a knock, though I know there’s no point. Mum always knows when I’m coming. She has this uncanny ability to track my every move. Sure enough, the door swings open before I’ve even dropped my hand.
“Well, look who finally decided to grace us with her presence,” Mum’s voice greets me like a cold wind—cool, sharp, and very much unimpressed.
I paste on my best good daughter smile, even as my stomach does a somersault that would score epic points at the Olympics. “Good afternoon, Mother. It’s nice to see you.”
“You’re late. You’re always late.”
The sting of her words slaps against me, and I flinch, trying to brush it off. I won’t let it get to me. Not this time. “I’m not late, actually. I arrived exactly when I said I would.”
She gives me that look—the one that says I’m already wrong, no matter what the facts are. “Well, I suppose you’d better come in. We’ve been waiting long enough.”
I step inside, and the scent of polish fills my lungs. The house, like the garden, is perfectly clean and neat. Every piece of furniture in its proper place, not a speck of dust anywhere. It’s like walking into a magazine spread.
“Grace is already here,” my mother says, shutting the door with a snap. “She’s been such a tremendous help. I don’t know what I’d do without her.”
I bite my tongue, keeping my smile in place. “That’s great. I’m glad you have her.”
Grace is my sister. She’s always right, and I’m always wrong.
Mum sniffs, clearly unsatisfied with my response. “At least someone knows how to step up and be responsible in this family.”
There’s the familiar pang in my chest at her words, but I shove it aside.
Today’s not the day for an argument. I’ve spent too many years trying to win her approval, and I know by now it’s a lost cause.
Still, the sunshine in me refuses to be dimmed.
“Well, I’ll do what I can to help now that I’m here. Better late than never, right?”
She eyes me for a moment, like she’s deciding whether I’m worth the trouble. “Hmm. We’ll see. Your sister’s in the lounge, but I’ll show you to your room first.”
I nod, following her up the winding staircase.
As we climb, I can’t help but think about the last time I was here—how different things were then.
My room was still my little haven, full of fairy lights, old books, and the magic Gran had always encouraged.
I know before I even get there, it isn’t going to be the same now.
I’m sure Mum would have stripped all that away before I even got on the bus out of here.
She stops in front of my old bedroom door and turns the knob with a flourish, as if she’s revealing some grand masterpiece. “Here we are.” She claps her hands together and steps inside. “I finally got it redecorated.”
She inhales deeply, clearly proud of her work, and all I can do is clench my jaw and stare at the monstrosity of a room that doesn’t even remotely resemble the place I left behind.
I step into the room, and my heart sinks.
I’ve stepped into a stranger’s room. Everything is gone—the fairy lights, the shelves of fantasy books, the soft blankets and colourful pillows.
The walls, once a soft, calming pastel, are now stark white.
The furniture is sleek, modern, and completely devoid of any personality.
“It’s... different,” I say, forcing the words out.
My mother beams, clearly pleased with herself. “Exactly. It’s clean, it’s mature. No more of that childish nonsense you used to keep in here.”
Childish nonsense. Right. I swallow the lump in my throat, forcing my smile to stay in place. “You’ve really made it your own.”
“Much better, don’t you think?” She looks at me, as if she’s expecting applause.
“Yeah,” I say, trying to keep the disappointment out of my voice. “It’s very... grown-up.”
She nods, satisfied, and turns to leave. “I’ll expect you downstairs shortly. Aunt Petunia will be here soon, and so will Uncle Harold. I’d like us to sit down and have some tea, discuss how things are going to go tomorrow. We’ve got the will reading on Monday.”
I nod, watching her leave before I allow myself to let out a breath.
I shouldn’t have been surprised. I moved out.
It’s her house, so this is her room now.
But she got rid of every part of me. Gran helped me make this room my own.
I miss it... I miss her. The warmth, the magic she brought into my life.
Everything feels a little colder without her.
I set my suitcase down by the bed, and that’s when I see it. Sitting on the perfectly made bed, right in the middle of the stark white duvet, is a single playing card. The Queen of Hearts, with a small red rose lying next to it.
My heart skips a beat. I pick up the card, turning it over in my hands, but it’s just a card. A regular playing card. Still, something about it feels... strange. It doesn’t belong here. Not in this perfectly organised room.
I turn and call out, “Mum? What’s this?”
She appears at the doorway, frowning at the card. “What do you mean? I haven’t put anything there.”
“It was just lying here, on the bed.”
She waves it off, clearly unimpressed. “I’ve no idea where that came from. It’s just a playing card, Alice. You’re not going to start with your wild fantasies again, are you?”
I suppress the urge to roll my eyes. “No, Mum. It’s just... odd, that’s all.”
She sighs, her patience clearly wearing thin. “Well, whatever it is, it’s not important. Now come downstairs.” If I didn’t know her better, I’d miss the slight flush in her cheeks, the telltale twitch in her hand. “I told you as a child, we won’t speak of that nonsense ever again.”
She disappears again, leaving me alone with the card. I look at it one more time, a strange sense of unease creeping into my chest. The Queen of Hearts. The red rose. It’s too... deliberate. Too perfect.
Gran always loved a good mystery. Maybe this is her way of sending one last bit of magic my way.