Someone Who Isn't Me, Danuta Kot [good books to read for adults TXT] 📗

blind date, the house didn’t look a lot like its picture. The photo on the website had been taken on a good day, against a blue sky and in bright sunlight. Seen in the grey light of a rainy afternoon, the house appeared to be crouched down against the weather, the windows dark and forbidding, water dripping from blocked gutters.

If she’d been asked to describe ‘deceased property’ she couldn’t have done better than this house. It was a square, red-brick construction with tall chimneys. Repairs to the pointing looked long overdue, which probably meant damp. The windows were dark and hung with grubby-looking nets. The front door was heavy timber with iron hinges and locks. In the dull light, the house looked neither welcoming nor reassuring.

Well, she was going to have to live with her impulsive decision. She turned the car in through the gate and parked outside the front door. The gravel crunched under her tyres. The front of the house faced east, so it was already in shadow. A small car was parked to one side of the house, presumably belonging to the agent who had come to hand over the keys.

On the seat beside her, Milo whined. She rubbed his ears. ‘You too?’ She didn’t believe in portents, but his unease made hers all the stronger, even though she knew he was just grumbling because he was fed up of being in the car.

She got out and looked round, ignoring Milo’s complaints. There was a hard wind blowing, bringing spatters of rain. She shivered. It felt as if it was coming straight across from the Siberian steppe, cutting through her coat and chilling her bones. Banks of cloud were gathering above her in the vast skies of the east coast. It might still seem like autumn in Scarborough, but here it felt as though winter had already arrived, and spring, she suspected, would be no kinder.

‘You must be Mrs McKinnon.’ A very young-looking man emerged from the parked car, smiling and holding out his hand. ‘I’m Oliver Shaw from the estate agent. I’ve brought the keys and I’ll show you round.’ He beamed as though he couldn’t think of anything he’d rather do. He looked about sixteen and clearly took his role very seriously.

Kay made herself focus. The drive had been a nightmare of traffic and she’d arrived in no mood to feel positive towards Sunk Island, and in no mood to be cajoled by an over-enthusiastic salesman. She nodded curtly and went round to the passenger side of her car to open the door and let Milo out. He jumped down and shook himself, yawning and wagging his tail hopefully. ‘Walk later,’ she said and hooked him onto his lead – she wanted to check the security of the garden before she let him off.

‘Lovely area, isn’t it?’ The young man, Oliver Shaw, said, looking a bit nervously at Milo, who was eyeing him with equal suspicion. ‘And the house – real character.’

Becca’s voice in her head said, Yeah, right as Kay let her gaze travel across the house, wondering which character he had in mind. Dracula? Frankenstein’s monster? ‘What sort of heating system is there?’

‘I haven’t been inside,’ Oliver Shaw admitted, revealing himself as a total rookie. ‘The person who’s been dealing with this property is off sick, I’m afraid. I know there’s a couple of fires, open fires,’ he went on in the same tone of voice he would have used to tell her the house came with its own resident Michelin-starred chef. Kay’s heart sank. She’d lived with the tyranny of a wood-burning stove at her cottage in Lythe, and if she never saw an open fire again, it would be too soon.

But it wasn’t this young man’s fault. ‘Oh, good,’ she managed, hoping her lack of enthusiasm wasn’t too obvious. Judging by his face, she hadn’t managed that too well. ‘Shall we go in?’ she said, adding electric fire to her mental shopping list.

‘Yes. Of course. You do know the house has been standing empty for a while?’

Kay nodded. They’d been clear enough about that. She shouldn’t work off her bad mood on this young man, who was only doing his job. She’d just like him to stop being so bloody cheerful about it.

Oliver’s estate-agent-ese wobbled slightly as he struggled with the key in the lock. ‘Needs oiling. I’ve got something in my car. Hang on.’

While he was digging around in his boot, Kay took stock of her surroundings. All around her, fields stretched to the horizon in shades of dull green and brown, the land flat as far as she could see. In the distance, through the rain, the estuary caught the afternoon light. Here and there, she could see clumps of trees, and the gleam of water where the drains that kept the land dry ran across to the river. Spragger Drain, Cross Drain – real Viking names, but then, this was Viking territory. They were deep ditches with steep sides, some of them overgrown and hidden. She’d have to be careful of Milo. His insatiable curiosity would surely lead him into one, and she wasn’t sure it would be possible to get him out.

‘OK.’ Oliver had come back and was dripping oil onto the key. This time, it turned. Like a stage magician, he threw open the door and gestured for her to step inside.

The smell of mildew and damp hit her immediately. She’d have to take on the open fires and get the place aired out. She added fuel and kindling to her list.

‘Nice old hallway,’ Oliver said. ‘Original features.’ He slapped the bannister, which wobbled alarmingly. ‘Tiles,’ he added quickly.

The tiles were nice, Kay had to admit. She smiled encouragingly. And the bannister was an attractive old oak, even if it was falling off. It would look good with all that dark varnish stripped off. If she were planning on… Which she wasn’t, of course. The last thing she needed was a renovation project.

‘Listen,’ Kay said, ‘I’ve