The single black insect he had glimpsed had disappeared to the floor and was now followed by a steady

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  stream, heading back to the carpet, no longer afraid of the poison he’d laid there. Deep inside, he felt no shock. He hadn’t really expected it to kill them. After all, it was just the last effort of a desperate man. This morning, as he’d stood in his garden relieving himself, he could have sworn he saw flecks of black in his urine. Flecks of wriggling black that scurried away when they hit the grass. Scurried back to the house. Was it his house or their house? It was so hard to tell, but he had a sneaking suspicion that they knew the answer.

  The lights were flashing on and off at the house farther down by the river, and he wondered whether anyone else could see them. Probably not. It looked like someone was having a party in there, but he knew better. The old Judge Matthews, the one from a week ago, would have been indignantly dialing the local police. Trespassing was against the law, whether the house was occupied or not. The law was his special subject; it was what he’d lived his life by, proud of it, secure because of his knowledge of it. But this Judge Matthews was different. This Judge Matthews knew that should the police arrive at Syracousse, they would find it locked up and silent, mocking him with its darkness. And he didn’t know quite what to make of that. He thought maybe he was being judged by a new law, a law he didn’t understand for an unknown crime committed in a life gone by.

  He chuckled as he stared, drool escaping his mouth, his false teeth long since abandoned—who knew what was nesting in the gums?—appearances no longer an issue. ?The lights are on but there’s nobody home,?isn’t that what the youngsters say these days?

  He was aware of a tickling sensation as his housemates ran across his feet, reclaiming their territory. He didn’t look down, couldn’t bear to look down. His chuckle turned to a sob. What had he done to deserve this? What? Behind him, the ants were moving madly across the carpet and furniture, some in a mass, some as individuals,

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  stirring up the powder, lifting it into the air with their tiny, frantic motions. Ernest Matthews didn’t notice, his mind elsewhere, drifting into the past, into the courtroom, searching for answers.

  ?Camilla Grace, this court finds you not guilty of the murder of your husband, Philip Grace, on the grounds of diminished responsibility. However, in view of the evaluation report presented to me, you are to be committed to a secure psychiatric hospital until such time as you are deemed fit for release.?

  As the dust rose higher and higher, a cough started in his chest and his nose tickled, while in his mind the image of the woman, rocking backwards and forwards, eyes glazed from drugs or madness, he didn’t know which, blurred and was replaced with a younger face, eyes wide with guilt, and he could almost feel the young hand on his arm, as she pleaded with him, the small voice calm and low. It was the day after, when her uncle and aunt had arrived to take her away. They had been in his office, finalizing arrangements for her, and he was standing at the oak door, its weight indicative of his importance, giving his condolences, when she clutched at him, tiny and almost forgotten in the midst of all this mess.

  ?It wasn’t her, Your Honor, it wasn’t her. It was me. I did it. I did it from the garden.?

  He had stroked her head and told her not to blame herself. The police knew what had happened. There was nothing she could have done. Her mother was sick. The doctors would look after her until the trial. The little girl’s eyes had burned into him.

  ?But it was me,?she whispered, and the three adults exchanged a look of sympathy. What a terrible ordeal. This kind of thing just didn’t happen in a town like Streatford.

  A cough exploded from inside him, and the shock of it brought him back to the insanity of the present, his eyes widening as he looked with shock at the powdery fog that

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  surrounded him. What had they done? What were they doing? For the first time since they’d started, he noticed the manic activity of the ants, whirling up a dust storm in his living room. He squinted to try and stop his eyes stinging as the tiny grains attacked him. The cough wouldn’t stop, and with each sucked in breath, his throat became more irritated.

  Hunched over, his hand over his mouth,, he staggered, choking, to the kitchen sink. Water, that’s what he needed. Water. A glass of water and he’d be fine. He turned the tap, but nothing came out, no water, no ants, no nothing. The muscles in his stomach were straining, and his tongue ached as his coughing became more desperate. Stumbling toward the patio doors, he ignored the tears that streamed down his cheeks as the small blood vessels in his eyeballs burst with effort.

  It was getting more difficult to catch his breath between the coughs, and he could feel his panic rising as he clutched at the small lever that locked the patio door. A small part of his mind tried to stay calm as his fingers trembled, his body shaking as he tried in vain to stop the convulsions of choking. Push it down, that’s all you have to do and you’ll be out in the clear, fresh air. Just push it down.

  But the lever wouldn’t go down. He could feel it pushing upward against him, and every time he pressed harder, the resistance got stronger. His tears were real now as his energy drained from him and he sank to the carpet. The world was starting to go black, and there was an awful pain starting in the side of his head. He banged weakly on the glass, terrified and frustrated.

  At least let me understand! At least give me that! he pleaded inside, to himself, to the ants, to Syracousse as he gazed out at the unforgiving night. I don’t understand. I can’t die without knowing why, tell me why, damn you to hell, tell me why!

  For a blissful moment, the coughing stopped, his chest suddenly soothed, and he closed his eyes, sobbing with

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  relief, the tears and snot mixing in the wrinkled contours of his skeletal face. Oh thank God, Oh thank God, Oh thank Go …

  The blood vessel that had served its master silent and faithful for so many years burst more dramatically than its tiny size would lead anyone to expect, flooding his brain with the blood it carried. For the split second it lasted, the pain was more than anything Judge Matthews had believed was possible. By the time his eyelids had flown open with the shock, the life had left his eyes. He was dead in an instant.

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  1

  Tabby had been in bed half an hour by the time her mum came to kiss her goodnight. Her perfume smelled warm and sweet as she sat on the bed and leaned forward. Her voice was soft. ?I know you’re awake. I can see your eyelids fluttering.?

  Giggling, Tabby opened her eyes. Her mum looked different than normal, even in the pale glow of the nightlight. She wasn’t wearing her jeans and t-shirt for one thing, nor her teacher clothes. Instead, she had on a black top and trousers Tabby hadn’t seen before. She’d done something funny with her hair, too. She pondered on it for a moment before speaking. ?You look really pretty, Mummy.?Her mum smiled back, and Tabby realized she looked more than pretty, she looked beautiful.

  ?Thank you. Not as pretty as you, princess, but I try my best.?She stroked Tabby’s hair, and the little girl sighed.

  ?Who are you going out with??She liked the feel of the hand running gently over her head.

  ?Just a friend.?

  ?A man friend or a woman friend??

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  Her mother laughed as if she’d said something funny. ?A man friend. But just a friend, okay??

  The pillow rustling in her ears like crunching snow, she nodded, not really sure what she was agreeing with, but wanting to please her mum. Her mummy just didn’t go out with male friends and something about it made her feel funny inside. And she wasn’t sure if it was a good funny or a bad funny. It was a weird funny. Her mother leaned forward and they exchanged kisses as Tabby breathed in that comforting smell, a mixture of mother and perfume and makeup, the smell that let her know everything was well in the world, and that nothing bad could happen no matter how many shadows she saw in her room at night.

  The bed creaked as the weight of its extra occupant lifted. ?I’ll look in on you when I get back. I won’t be late.?

  ?Not on a school night!?Tabby chirped from behind her duvet. Her mother laughed a little at their old joke.

  ?Nope. No parties for us girls on a school night!?She pulled the door so that it was almost shut, before peering her head through the gap. ?I love you, princess.?

  ?I love you too, Mummy.?And then she was gone.

  Tabby yawned, and snuggled down in her bed, feeling sleep calling for her. She wondered whether she’d dream of her special house again tonight, feeling a shiver of childish anticipation. She was glad she’d left her painting of it downstairs, even though at first she’d wanted to put it on the wall in her room where she could look at it on her own. Savor it. She hadn’t painted it well enough, though, not by a long shot, and now when she looked at it she just felt frustrated with herself. It did look kind of like the house, but not like it was in her dreams, just a clumsy copy. She couldn’t have painted it like it really was, no one could. Even the best painter in the world would fail at that. She let out a long sleepy yawn of contentment and allowed herself to drift off into the unchartered sea of

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  sleep. It wasn’t long before the dream called for her. It called, and she happily answered.

  She was lying on a rug in the garden, the wool tickling her belly where her t-shirt had ridden up, her legs enjoying the warm breeze as she wiggled them to and fro behind her. Up on her elbows, she was still close enough to the grass to see a ladybug that perched at the tip of a blade, its red and black wings standing out against the deep green. She watched it, fascinated, wondering how something could be so light, or maybe it was the grass that was strong. So much to learn, so much to know. She took a long sip from the cool glass of lemonade beside her. It wasn’t like the lemonade her mummy got from Budgen’s. This one was all musty-colored and sharper, making her teeth feel strange with the mix of bitter and sweet. She liked it. She liked everything here.

  She looked at the ladybug again, and as if it sensed her curiosity, it opened up its wings and disappeared from sight. Maybe when she was a grownup she’d understand about bugs and grass and wings. The voice that wasn’t a voice, her invisible house friend, as she thought of it, smiled in her head. She liked the feel of it tingling in her skull. It made her feel safe and warm. ?When I grow up I’m going to be a pleaseman ‘cos they know all kinds of stuff. I’m going to be a pleaseman like my granddad.?She thought her friend would like that, but a shiver danced over her. She shook her head, trying to rattle the feeling away. Confused, she sat up in the sunshine and tilted her head. ?What’s the matter??

  For a few seconds there was nothing, and she thought for a horrible moment that she’d said something terrible and her friend had gone away forever, and then the glow within her started again. The dreamy music that played inside somehow made perfect sense. Perfect word sense.

  Your granddad is a bad man.

  Her hand unconsciously went up to her hair, twirling a strand of her sleep-disturbed curls between her fingers. In

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  a few moments she’d probably be sucking it. ?No, not my granddad. He was a pleaseman. He’s brave and kind,? she said, adamantly, as if correcting a stupid mistake. She felt the voice caressing her, comforting her, and she released the hair.

  He has a secret. A guilty, shameful secret. A secret from you and your mummy. He has created a house of lies. You live in a house of lies. Remember that.

  Tabby shook her head, not liking this disturbed feeling that invaded her special place. Nothing should feel bad here. Nothing.

  Ask him.

  The little girl stood up and dusted down her clothes, brushing away the bad thoughts until later, as children so often did. ?Will you push the swing for me now??

  The tune lilted behind her eyes, and she knew that everything was okay again; everything was back to normal. She held on to the chains on each side of the wooden seat, no rust there to stain her hands, and waited for the air to lift her to the sky.

  Normally, when she played at school, she didn’t like to swing too high, because even though Miss Parkinson said it was special soft ground, it still looked pretty hard to her. But here it was different. Here she swung so high she thought she was flying, just like that ladybug had. But then, here she knew she was safe. Nothing bad could ever happen here. Her friend had told her that. It was a promise.

  ?I wish I could find it here when I’m awake.?Her laughter spoke for her, and the voice understood.

  Soon.

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  Rob crossed the road to the small side street leading to Horsefair green, enjoying the cool, crisp air that circulated in his lungs. He wasn’t sure he should be doing this, and despite the thousands of dates he’d been on over the past few years, his stomach twitched with nerves. He tried to ignore it. It wasn’t a date anyway, not really.

  His tan suede jacket wasn’t doing much to keep out the chill—if it isn’t a date, then why the hell didn’t you put on something warmer?—and he pushed his hands further into the pockets of his soft, brown Calvin Klein jeans. Well, whatever it was, it would be nice to spend the evening with an intelligent woman for a change, and he could sure as hell use the company. The house, which at first had seemed like a sanctuary, had become unsettling, memories threatening him from the corner of his eye and when he turned to face them, they’d gone, disappearing like shy ghosts that know they have no right to be there anymore. He sighed. Wasn’t that what he’d come home for anyway? To exorcise some ghosts? Hah. Maybe he was getting more than he’d bargained for.

  132 This afternoon he’d dozed off and dreamed of Gina. Dreamed of the time she’d kissed him—his first kiss, and boy what a place to start—and Jason had seen them and not talked to him all the way home. Another crack in the fragile walls of childhood friendship. But this time, in the dream, it was different. It was as if he was really seeing what had happened for the first time, watching from the outside, looking at the clumsy almost teenager, so smitten with this fascinating girl who was pressing her soft lips onto his and not believing he could be so lucky. Oblivious to the world outside, the world away from his lips and tongue, from her lips and tongue, which were sending shivers all over his body. This time he could see the way her eyes darted quickly to the kitchen window—checking to see whether Jason was there, whether Jason was watching—before she reached up for his face.

  He’d woken up with a bitter taste in his mouth, for a moment no longer sure where he was in space and time. Was it real or wasn’t it? And did it really matter now?

  Squinting a little in the gloom, he checked the numbers on the wooden front doors that opened straight onto the uneven pavement. Still a few more to go before he got to Kelly’s. It was emotional overload that was making him feel so edgy. That’s all it was. Nothing weird was going on in Streatford; he’d convinced himself of that over the past couple of days. The past was done and dusted. So what about that terrible rape up at the house? And what about Carrie’s message? Maybe she’d just gone crazy at the end. Shit, she’d have to have been crazy to do what she did. Sure, this stuff was unsettling, but only because of the memories it dredged up. Nothing more. And memory was a fickle friend. Maybe nothing strange had ever happened here at all. Children had vivid imaginations.

  Finally, he found himself standing at the right house, soft light escaping from the closed curtains. He rang the bell, suddenly looking forward to getting the evening underway. He needed a distraction, contact with reality, and

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  there was something about Kelly’s serious, calm intelligence that attracted him. And she hadn’t grown up to be bad-looking either.

  She’d looked pretty good in the dim streetlights, but it wasn’t until they stepped into the warm yellow glow of The Plough that he realized just how attractive she really was. Like him, she’d gone for the not-quite-date look, but the top and trousers fitted her perfectly, outlining her natural curves, and their blackness only enhanced the luminescence of her pale skin. She’d piled her hair up on her head, so loose strands were falling down the side of her face. Watching her as she took her seat at the table by the fire, carefully putting her gin and tonic down on a bar mat, he realized what was so refreshing about her. She was the first woman he’d met in a long time who was totally unaware of how stunning she actually was. He sat down opposite her and took a sip of his beer before speaking. ?So who’s babysitting that little girl of yours tonight??

  She smiled. ?My dad. He’s lived with us since my mum died two years ago. It’s a perfect arrangement. Tabby’s enough to keep us both busy and the extra pair of hands is a godsend.?Her eyes softened. ?I think looking after us stops him from missing my mother so much. It must be strange to have someone around you for so many years and suddenly they’re not there anymore. I think he’s a bit lost without her. I know I was for a while, and I still miss her.?She raised an eyebrow at him, as if waiting for him to make a joke. ?I know it must sound funny coming from someone my age, but I guess there’s never enough time to say everything you want to, is there??

  Rob smiled, his heart tugging at him with memories of his own parents. He was speaking before he realized it. ?I understand you perfectly. I wish now that I’d seen my mum more before she died, and I’m still not sure why I didn’t. I think that after all that stuff with my dad and then going to boarding school we just drifted apart. It

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