‘I never wanted to hurt her—’
‘From the looks of things, I think that ship has sailed. You might want to hang around here reminiscing about your lovely first wife, but whoever Robin used to be, it seems pretty clear to me that she is now a full-time psycho. I think we can safely presume it was her face I saw looking in through the window last night. She must have been behind all the strange things that happened since we arrived, trying to scare us. She probably deliberately turned off the generator too, trying to freeze us to death—’
‘I switched the generator off,’ Adam says.
His words make no sense at first, like he is speaking in tongues.
‘What?’
He shrugs. ‘I just wanted to get back to London as soon as possible. I thought if the power went completely, you’d agree to go home.’
The revelation winds me a bit, but I remind myself that Robin is the enemy, not Adam. I won’t let her win. Whatever happens when we go back to London, it’s more important than ever that Adam and I stay on the same team. It’s us against her.
‘You realise that Robin is probably who you saw in the thatched cottage down the lane? I bet she’s still there now, and I think it’s time we went and had it out with her. You might be scared of your ex-wife, but I’m not.’
‘I am scared,’ he says, and this is the least attracted I have ever been to my husband. A small part of me thinks I should leave them to it – they deserve each another.
‘It’s Robin, remember? Your sweet little first wife who couldn’t kill a spider?’
‘But if she’s been living here all alone for the last couple of years… people can change.’
‘People. Never. Change.’
We both experience a freeze frame when we hear three booming bangs downstairs, so loud, it feels like the whole chapel, and us, trembles.
‘What was that?’ I whisper.
Before he can answer, it happens again; the sound of knocking so loud, it’s as though there must be a giant trying to get in those big gothic church doors. The look of fear on Adam’s face transforms mine into anger. I am not afraid of her.
I leave the bedroom, run down the stairs and through the library lounge, knocking some books over in my hurry. Adrenaline is pumping through me, and despite all the strange goings-on of the last twenty-four hours, when I remember who I am dealing with, I’m now sure there must be a rational explanation for all of it. No ghosts, no witches, just a crazy ex-wife. I’m going to make her regret doing this to us.
I reach the boot room, and see that the church bench is still blocking the door. I try to move it out of the way but it won’t budge. Adam appears behind me, looking less like the man I married and more like the man I planned to leave.
‘Help me,’ I say.
‘Are you sure this is a good idea?’
‘Do you have a better one?’
As we lift the heavy furniture out of the way, I remember how childlike my husband can be. The way he reverts to the boyhood version of himself whenever life gets too loud used to be endearing. It made me want to protect him. My fingerprints are all over his heartbreak, and I wanted to wipe it clean and start again. Now, I just wish he’d man up.
The chapel doors rattle as someone on the other side slowly knocks three times, again. The sound echoes all around us, and we both take a step back. The wall of tiny mirrors catches my eye, and I see multiple miniature versions of my husband’s face reflected in them. It almost looks as though he is… smiling. When I check the real version, standing right next to me, the smile has been replaced with a look of pure terror.
I’m losing my mind.
I hesitate before trying the door handle, and feel a small sense of relief when it is locked.
‘Where is the key?’ I ask, holding out my hand. I’m sure we both notice that it’s shaking.
Adam takes the antique-looking iron key from his pocket and gives it to me, too scared to open the door himself. I try to slot it in the lock, but it won’t go in. Something is blocking it from the other side. I try again but it won’t budge, and I bang my fist on the wooden door in frustration. None of the stained-glass windows in the property open, and this is the only way in or out.
Then I see a shadow move beneath the door.
‘She’s out there. That crazy bitch has bloody locked us in.’
I pound on the door when she doesn’t reply, then properly lose my temper and call her all the names she deserves to be called.
Robin doesn’t say a word, but I know she’s still there. Her shadow doesn’t move.