Page 79 of The House on Sunset Lake

‘The documentary.’

‘Somewhere,’ she said cautiously.

‘

Go and have a look,’ he encouraged her.

‘Now?’

‘I want to see this cool guy you remember.’

She hesitated for a moment, then gave him that big warm smile and disappeared upstairs.

He looked around, taking in the details of the house. He had always believed that there was nothing more revealing than being in someone’s personal space. So often it was a perfect reflection of themselves. He thought about the homes of his friends back in London; his football pals with their small children and their terraced houses, toys everywhere, vaguely managed chaos and an air of comfortable neglect. Or his own flat, with its Swedish furniture; wilfully independent, a design-conscious space for one.

He grabbed a coffee table book – something about Parisian interiors – and started to flick through it as he waited for Jennifer to return, but she didn’t come back.

‘Where is she?’ he whispered to Mars Bar, who got up, tail wagging, and disappeared out of the room.

Jim smiled to himself and got up.

‘Jen,’ he shouted.

He could see Mars Bars’ tail disappearing up the stairs and followed him.

‘Jen?’

‘In here,’ came a muffled reply.

He passed the master bedroom: huge bed, plump pillows. Thankfully she wasn’t in there.

‘Top floor,’ she shouted.

He located her voice in a smaller room, where she was rifling through a long run of storage cupboards.

‘Here,’ she said bashfully, pulling out a big white box marked Sony. She lifted out a camcorder and popped out a tape from the player.

‘I’m not sure I’m ready for this,’ he grimaced. ‘Have you got a video recorder?’

‘You’re joking. This place is so high-tech you need a computer science degree to work the television.’

‘We can watch it on the camcorder,’ he suggested.

They sat on the end of the bed and Jennifer switched it on.

‘There’s hours of stuff,’ she laughed.

‘We’d better get comfortable then,’ he said as colour images flickered on to the screen. He instantly recognised their afternoon on the beach, the s’mores and the bonfire and the setting sun. ‘Bloody hell, I was slim.’

‘We all were. I didn’t have to do spinning class three times a week to look like that.’

‘Your friend with the diamanté glasses. I liked her. What was she called?’

‘Jeanne.’ She smiled wistfully.

‘Do you keep in touch?’

‘We lost contact over the years.’