Chapter 4
Mia
Freshly showered, Mia shuts off the taps and fumbles for a dry towel.
She somehow managed to get shampoo in her eye, and now she’s fumbling through everything half blind.
Pushing back the shower curtain, Mia steps over the edge of the clawfoot tub.
It’s a manoeuvre she’s navigated hundreds of times, and yet she still wobbles as she sets one bare foot down on the tiled floor.
The Robinson family home has loads of charm and history, but Mia is briefly homesick for the modern flat she shares with Lucy with its walk-in shower and temperature regulator.
She hasn’t missed doing this awkward dance every time she needs to shower.
Wrapping the towel under her arms, Mia wipes the fogged-over mirror and squints at her reflection.
The gold-infused eye patches did their job at least – her dark circles have been erased.
Mia quickly brushes her teeth and runs another towel through her hair.
The rest of her toilette will happen in her room.
Old habits die hard, and Mia is eternally aware of the fact that there is only one bathroom on this floor.
Six bedrooms, one bathroom. Leave it to her ancestors to plan poorly for the future plumbing requirements of this house.
The ceramic doorknob is cool on her palm as she twists the door open. Her eye smarts again, and she squints her eyelids shut tight, trying to blink away the pain. She could navigate this corridor in her sleep, but she doesn’t account for the unexpected obstacle in her way.
‘Ow! What the—?’ Mia stumbles backwards.
‘Mia! Aaggh!!’
Mia pries her eyes open enough to see her brother hopping indignantly on one foot, rubbing his shoulder with one arm, his phone tucked between his cheek and the other shoulder. Is he hurt? Serves the traitor right.
‘Let me call you back,’ Charlie mutters. He stuffs the phone into his trouser pocket and shakes his head. ‘Ouch. That’s gonna bruise. Mia, why don’t you watch where you’re going?’
‘I hope you do bruise,’ Mia hisses, clutching her towel tighter. ‘I hope it bruises enough that it hurts every time you breathe.’
Charlie’s eyes widen comically. ‘O … K. Is there a reason for all this misdirected anger? Or am I supposed to just roll with it?’
‘How could you?’ Mia snaps, folding her arms across her chest.
Charlie’s expression morphs from pained to bewildered. ‘I’m gonna need more to go on here. How could I … occupy space on the landing?’
Mia smacks him on the arm. ‘No, idiot. How could you invite him? Here?’
At first, he simply looks bewildered. But Mia sees the exact moment he catches on. He takes on an annoyingly kind, paternalistic expression that she’d like to punch off his face.
‘Mia Tia, come on,’ he says, as if he can just jolly her right along. Also, he knows exactly how much she despises that nickname. ‘We’re all grown-ups here. It’s not that big a deal.’
His brush-off hurts more than she expected. ‘Charlie. You were there. I was humiliated!’
‘It’s been years! Don’t you think it’s been long enough for you to—’
‘I could be decaying in my grave and it still wouldn’t be long enough.’
Her brother rolls his eyes. ‘Grow up, Mia.’
Heat fills her face. ‘Let me hear you say that one more time—’
‘Hey, Charlie, your mum said to ask you where the spare toothbrushes are?’ Sam’s rich voice travels down the corridor and Mia freezes mid-sentence. ‘I seem to have forgotten mine.’
And it’s all too much. Sam, intruding in her home. Charlie, being so obtuse, making it seem like she should just get past it? As if she’s the problem?
She shoves past Charlie, hurrying down the corridor just short of a gallop.
She will not run into Sam wearing nothing but a towel.
Somehow, at some point, Mia will find a way to exact her revenge, but this is not that moment.
Bursting into her room, she slams the door behind her and hurriedly dresses in her light pink ‘Merry Everything’ sweatshirt and a clean pair of jeans.
She shoves her feet into battered duck boots and throws her hair up into a ponytail.
After determining the coast is clear, Mia slips down the back stairs and lets herself out into the garden.
She just needs to clear her head. Maybe she’ll call Lucy to have a nice little bitch session.
She’ll vent about James, and the trip out here, and the unwanted house guest. Once she’s paced the length of the property and cried about it all to Lucy, she’ll feel better.
Rounding the house, Mia is hit with an icy blast of wind.
The resulting shiver goes all the way down to her bones.
It’s one of those horrible days where the snow feels like it’s pelting tiny arrows at her skin.
Mia hunches inward, desperate to find shelter.
Given the awful outdoor conditions, and the fact that the house is out of the running, she has no choice but to head for the gardener’s cottage at the back of the property.
Penny has been hounding Martin for years to finish fixing up the cottage so they can rent it out as a holiday house.
Penny has waxed eloquent on more than one occasion that the untold masses of London would give their left arm for a weekend in this part of the country.
As Mia approaches, she grudgingly admits her mum might be right.
The cottage practically oozes country appeal and the promise of refuge.
Her eye catches on the charmingly uneven roofline as she reaches the sage green door with the antique brass knob, the colour perfectly coordinated with the warm tones of the stone.
The cottage seems right at home within the landscape, especially covered in snow.
Mia rummages in the flowerpots at the base of the dormant climbing rose until she locates the spare key.
Letting herself inside, she stomps the snow from her boots.
After toeing them off, she sighs appreciatively at the warmth inside the little cottage.
The crackle of a fire beckons her through the whitewashed kitchen, with its collection of pottery teapots in the deep windowsills and the mismatched chairs set around the rough-hewn table.
She pads across pleasingly clean slate floors, and ducks through the low doorway into the front room.
This room has always been a favourite. There’s a thick, faded rug covering most of the wide floorboards.
An inglenook is carved from the same stone as the exterior walls, its brown tones homey and comforting.
Inside, a wood stove burns merrily, radiating heat throughout the room.
Wood is stacked all around the stove, with smaller kindling tucked at the ready just to the side.
The mismatched furniture screams comfort.
Mia knows from experience how perfect the sofa is for a long reading session, but she settles on the wingback that faces the window to call Lucy.
She’ll have a great view but she won’t have to freeze her arse off.
Pulling her phone from her pocket, Mia presses the call button, taking the last two steps towards the chair.
As she moves around to the front of the chair, her phone beeps in her ear.
Pulling it away from her face, she grimaces as the call fails to go through.
‘Ugh. Well, isn’t that just the bitter icing on the cake of disappointment. Of course I can’t make the call. Of course!’ She flops down into the chair with exaggerated motions. ‘Because with my luck – AGGHH!’
Heart pounding, Mia belatedly registers the fact that another human is occupying the cottage.
And this chair, more specifically. She’s just landed in the lap of a man who is rather bony and pointy.
An argyle sweater-wearing man who looks just as surprised to see her as she is him.
Mia shoots up out of his lap in surprise.
‘What the hell?’
‘You can see me?’
‘Well, of course, I’m not blind!’
‘No, I can see that, but … you can see me?’
‘I mean, I really hope I am not hallucinating. Wouldn’t that be the perfect development in this already abysmal weekend?’
It occurs to Mia that they could continue this way for quite some time.
After all, the man’s presence is entirely unexpected, but then again, Mia realizes she probably shouldn’t have assumed she was alone once she saw the fire roaring in the hearth.
Is this a friend of the family? Yet another unexpected guest?
Or has her mother already begun to rent the cottage out?
‘Sorry, let me try this again,’ says Mia. ‘Who are you?’
The cottage guest now looks completely at a loss for words.
He pushes to his feet, all tall and lean, more gangly limbs than svelte runner.
His face has the not-unpleasant lines of someone in their late thirties and there’s a smattering of early grey mixed through his dirty brown hair.
Mia is no hairdresser, but she suspects the man has lowlights added to the mix as well, and the overall effect is quite dashing.
‘Sorry I sat on you,’ she apologizes. ‘I just didn’t expect anyone to be in here. Mum said the cottage wasn’t ready for guests yet.’
The man smooths down his multicoloured sweater and combs his hair back from his eyes. They are deep set, but brightened by the endearingly confused expression he’s currently wearing. ‘Yes, well, this is all a bit of a shock, isn’t it?’ His voice is raspy, as if it’s been unused for quite some time.
Mia sticks out her hand. ‘I’m Mia Robinson. Sorry to have intruded on your quiet morning.’
The man huffs out a laugh. ‘That’s quite a lot of sorrys.
And, I have to confess it’s been a little longer than a morning?
’ The man seems to be searching for words, but Mia has the distinct impression that he’s not as surprised to see her as she is him.
‘So, you must be – oh, apologies. I’m John.
’ He extends his hand, the fingers long and graceful, a small gold ring on his little finger.
They exchange a firm handshake, and then John slides his hand into the pocket of his perfectly pressed and pleated trousers. ‘I’m the gardener for this estate.’
Mia frowns. ‘Mum didn’t say anything about hiring a gardener.’
John’s expression is wry. ‘Yes, well, truth be told, I was hired about forty years ago.’
No way can this be true. The mental maths of his age doesn’t work, for one. Furthermore, she would have noticed when she was a little girl if someone lived in the cottage …
Mia can feel her eyebrows creeping up her forehead. A million sarcastic responses leap to her tongue, but she manages to hold them back. For a moment, at least, and she settles on, ‘What does a gardener do during the winter?’
John laughs. The sound is pleasant and rich, but not deeply masculine like Sam’s. No, why is she thinking of Sam again? She shoves him back out of her mind. ‘Well, to be honest, I haven’t done any work for the last three decades or so.’
‘Come again?’
‘Well, you see, there was a bit of an accident here on the property and I was quite injured—’
Mia rolls her eyes. ‘If you’re planning to sue my parents, I think the statute of limitations ran out after the first two decades.’
‘Oh dear,’ he says, his forehead wrinkling. ‘I would never—’
‘Do you rent this place, then? Or—’
‘No, no – you see – well, it’s rather a long story, but—’
As he fumbles through his words, now Mia sees what she’s dealing with – an opportunist. A mooch, who’s apparently been taking advantage of her family for years.
How has she never heard of him before? With the exception of her Botox appointments, her mother can’t keep things private to save her life – surely she would have vented to Mia at some point about their long-lingering ‘gardener’?
Clearly the man is lying, though shame on him for thinking he can get away with it.
‘Your skin is surprisingly good for someone so old,’ she says, not bothering to keep the accusatory tone from her voice. Did he get Botox with her mother? Secret Botox buddies?
John’s hand instinctively goes to his face and he seems inordinately pleased by this compliment. ‘… thank you?’
‘So, you stay here for free,’ says Mia, determined to get to the bottom of this. ‘And my parents haven’t asked you to leave?’
‘I don’t cause any trouble,’ he says defensively.
‘And, well … you see, my injury – it—’ He scratches his head, an expression of distress again wrinkling his brow, but Mia will not be softened by his act.
She sees no evidence of any injury in the way he’s moving, and if he thinks he can just stay here for ever, unchallenged, because her parents are too good-hearted to confront him, he’s got another thing coming.
She gestures towards the door. ‘Listen, erm … John.’ If that was even his name.
‘I don’t mean to be rude’ – she did – ‘but you might want to just move along. You know, find your own place to live. Basically, get a life.’
She’s not sure what she was expecting, but it certainly isn’t the dejected way that John flops back down into the wingback.
‘Get a life?’ He lets out a small, bitter laugh. ‘I would if I could, believe me! In fact, there’s nothing I’d like more than to “move along”.’ His long fingers make air quotes. ‘Alas, I am stuck here. For ever, it would seem.’ John turns to face Mia more fully. ‘You see, my dear, I am a ghost.’