Helen Phifer - The Good Sisters - The perfect scary read to curl up with this winter

‘Do you know anyone who could fit some cameras for me?’

‘I do. I’ll give him a ring now.’

He wandered off, pulling out his mobile phone, and she put the plates in the sink, filling it with hot, soapy water. She had no idea what had been upstairs, but she knew something had been and she didn’t think it was Amy. When she had a chance she would google what the hell that smell had been. Funny how it had all but dissipated when the men had come back. She didn’t believe in spooky stuff as a rule, but the footsteps, crosses and now this were making her wonder exactly what was going on.

This house had once been a convent, a holy place of residence, and women had lived here all alone then. The number of crosses and crucifixes around the building had been unreal. She would have to pluck up the courage to read the rest of the diary to see what exactly had happened here. She could also do some research to find out some more about the history of this place as well. When had it stopped being a convent and who had last lived in here?

Ollie had been right about one thing: she was stubborn. She always had been since she was a little girl. This was what she and Amy had dreamt about so there was no way she would turn her back on it just because she’d had a bit of a fright. When this place was open and she was a respectable businesswoman who was earning her own money, she would be able to take Martin to court and fight for custody of her girls.

She missed them so much. It was like a huge, gaping hole in her heart that couldn’t be filled. It ached and ached. She missed tucking them in at night and reading them bedtime stories. The smell of their freshly washed hair, as she kissed their heads goodnight, filled her nostrils. The pain that followed was so intense it was as if someone had taken a knife and pushed it right through the middle of her heart. Coupled with the loss of Amy, it was no wonder she’d unravelled as much as she had.

Kate felt as if she couldn’t breathe. She pulled on her jacket and walked to the front door. She needed some air, some space away from the house. She walked outside.

***

Ollie, who had been speaking on the phone to his friend about how many cameras were needed, watched her from the landing window. He wanted to run after her, walk with her, look after her. What was happening with him? He’d sworn that he’d never look at another woman after Ellen’s death but here he was beginning to feel attracted to a woman who wasn’t remotely interested in him. He was so angry with himself because he felt as if he was being unfaithful to Ellen even thinking about Kate in this way, but he couldn’t help it.

For the last five years he’d watched Ellen get sicker and sicker. It had taken away every feeling except despair from him. He’d forgotten how it felt to have every nerve ending in your body on fire just being in close proximity to someone you found attractive on every level. Not to mention the embarrassment of the erection he’d got when she’d knocked him to the floor earlier and almost straddled him. He’d had to push her off so she didn’t think he was some kind of pervert.

He watched Kate heading towards the stream and the woods, and wondered if he should run after her, take some time out to walk with her. Then his phone began to ring and he answered it, to confirm they would need at least four cameras to cover the building. When he looked up she was gone, and his heart ached for her just a little, enough for him to realise that he was in big trouble and falling for her whether he wanted to or not. He hadn’t been able to save Ellen, but if he tried maybe he could save Kate from throwing her life away and make her realise that he was there for her.

Chapter Four

Kate found a narrow, overgrown path that led to a stream, which was bubbling away with the recent rainfall. There were some stepping stones across the stream that were covered in green moss. She had no idea how she’d known this, she just had. As she cautiously stepped onto the first one, she expected her feet to go from under her and land arse first in the freezing-cold water, but she managed to keep her footing. Only four more to go.

She stepped onto the next, then the next until she reached the other side and jumped the last bit. Landing on the slippery banking, she almost fell. After windmilling her arms around she managed to catch her balance and let out a sigh of relief. This side of the river was much darker than the open ground she’d just crossed. There were lots of trees and she could just make out where the narrow path continued. Having no idea where it led – but now intrigued – she began to follow it, enjoying the silence of the woods around her.

Whoever had lived in the house must have used this path quite a lot. After ten minutes she saw a clearing in the trees and the tall spire of St Mark’s church came into view. She carried on walking and smiled to see the clearing open onto a worn, wooden gate. It was like the book she’d read when she was a girl: The Secret Garden . The gate didn’t look as if it had been used in a long time. The black, cast-iron latch was rusty. Still, Kate had to try. She needed to know where it led to. She felt as if she’d been brought here or even as if she’d been here before – a very long time ago.

After jiggling it around, it gave enough so that she could lift it. The gate was stiff, swollen with years of rainwater, and she had to tug it with both hands. It opened a tiny bit – just enough for her to get both hands through the gap. She wrapped them around it and pulled as hard as she could. It didn’t open all the way, but it opened just enough for her slender figure to squeeze through. As she did she turned around and was surprised to see she was in the vegetable garden of another large house. The long, overgrown, neglected vegetable garden. It looked as if the current owner didn’t have a lot of time or love for tending his garden.

This house was almost as big as the one she lived in. It had the same Gothic, arched, tall windows and was built of the same red brick. Whoever had built her house had also built this one. She felt a cold shiver run down the length of her spine and wondered if she should even be here. Was she trespassing? Probably, but she wanted to go and ask the owner if they knew about the house and its history. There was obviously some kind of connection between them.

Taking the least overgrown route to the house, she fought her way through the dense blackberry and gooseberry bushes. Their sharp thorns snagged her jacket and caught the soft skin on her hands more than once. By the time she’d reached the back door of the house she was out of breath and itchy. She didn’t dare to knock on the back door – that seemed so rude – but she couldn’t see a way to get to the front door.

There was a padlock on the gate and she wasn’t about to start climbing over the garden wall. Someone might call the police and think she was a burglar. That was all she needed. Martin would have a field day. She’d come this far. It seemed stupid not to at least give it a knock and speak to whoever owned it. She walked up the three steps and banged on the back door twice, then she stepped away. It didn’t seem as if there was anyone in. She couldn’t hear any noise and the curtains were drawn.

Kate was ashamed to say that she didn’t even know who any of the locals were. They changed almost as much as Martin changed his girlfriends. She lifted her hand to knock again when the key turned in the lock and an extremely good-looking young man opened the door. His expression was one of mild confusion as to how someone was knocking on the back door when the gate was clearly padlocked.

‘Can I help you?’

‘I’m really sorry to be so rude. I wondered if I could speak with the owner. Is he in?’