Chapter Five
The attic room smelled faintly of fresh paint and old timber — a combination Lydia had decided she quite liked.
She had finished the walls the day before, a soft, warm cream that made the sloped ceiling feel less like a cave and more like a cosy hideaway.
Today was woodwork day: skirting boards, window frame, the little built-in cupboard that would one day hold spare blankets for guests.
She had propped the window open to stop the freshly painted frame from sticking shut, and the breeze drifted in, cool and salty from the sea.
It was peaceful. Almost too peaceful. The wind picked up suddenly, rattling the window.
Lydia glanced over her shoulder just as the attic door slammed shut with a sharp bang.
She jumped, then laughed at herself.
“Honestly,” she muttered, “you’ve lived alone for years, and you’ve been here for just two days. A door slamming shouldn’t make you jump like a Victorian heroine.”
She dipped her brush again and carried on, humming under her breath. It was not until the paint tin ran low a few hours later and she decided she deserved a cup of tea that she crossed the room and reached for the door handle.
It turned. And turned. And turned.
But the latch did not move.
“Oh no,” she whispered.
She tried again. Same result. The knob spun freely, useless.
“Brilliant,” she said to the empty room. “Completely brilliant.”
She pulled her phone from her pocket, deleted the text messages from Miguel, her ex-boyfriend, and rang her brother Mark.
He answered on the second ring. “Lydia? Everything all right?”
“Not exactly,” she said, trying to keep her voice level. “I’m locked in the attic. The door slammed. The handle turns, but the latch doesn’t move. I can’t get out.”
There was a pause. “You’re what?”
“The door slammed. The handle turns but nothing catches. I can’t get out.”
Another pause — longer this time. “Lydia… I’m at Mum and Dad’s. Lorna and I are telling them about the baby. We weren’t planning to be back in Brookleigh Bay until this evening.”
“Oh!” Lydia winced. “Mark, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realise—”
“It’s all right,” he said quickly. “But I can’t get there for at least an hour if I leave now. Maybe more.”
She closed her eyes. “Right. Of course. I didn’t think.”
“You need to call emergency services,” he said softly. “They’ll send someone. Probably the fire brigade.”
“The fire brigade?” Lydia groaned. “Mark, I can’t have the fire brigade breaking into my house. I’ve only lived here two days. I’ll be the talk of the village.”
“You already are,” he said dryly. “You moved into a house that’s been empty for years. That’s enough to keep Brookleigh Bay going for months.”
“Mark.”
“Lydia, call them. Please. You can’t stay locked in the attic.”
She sighed. “Fine. But if they laugh at me—”
“They won’t,” he said. “And even if they do, they’ll still get you out.”
She hung up and stared at the phone for a moment.
“Well,” she murmured, “this wasn’t exactly how I pictured things going.”
She hesitated, thumb still resting against the screen. Then she closed her eyes briefly.
Not quite a prayer — not properly — but close enough.
“A little help would be nice,” she added under her breath.
Then she dialled 999, cheeks burning even though no one could see her.
By the time she had explained the situation — twice — she was sitting cross-legged on the floor, brush still in hand.
“We’ll send a crew,” the operator said kindly. “Just stay where you are.”
“Not much choice,” Lydia muttered.
She hung up and leaned back against the freshly painted wall, careful not to smudge the wet paint on the skirting board.
“Well,” she said to the empty room, “welcome to Brookleigh Bay, Lydia Taylor. You’ve been here exactly two days and you’re already causing a scene.”
She huffed out a small laugh, then tipped her head back.
“New start,” she murmured. “It’ll be good for you.”
The words sounded slightly less certain now than they had a week ago.
She glanced around the half-finished room — the clean walls, the drying paint, the quiet effort of beginning something from scratch.
“Still hoping that was right,” she said softly.
Outside, faintly, she heard the sound of a heavy vehicle.
“Oh no,” she whispered. “They’re actually coming.”
She buried her face in her hands.