Page 46 of The Lucky Winners

‘What?’ Simon gives her a look. ‘No. Don’t be silly.’

There’s a beat of awkward silence and I’m grateful when Dev speaks. ‘Yeah, the boat sounds great. I could use a bit of peace.’

Eventually, after coffee and a meaningful look between us, we decide to call it a night. The walk back up the hill is steep, but I’m grateful for the fresh air. For the chance to escape the tension that’s been building all evening.

‘I’m sorry I spoke out of turn,’ Dev says meekly, after we’ve been walking for a minute or two. ‘I shouldn’t have done that.’

‘No,’ I say. ‘You really shouldn’t.’

‘I’m proud of you, though, for what you’ve overcome.’

‘Other people don’t need to know that.’ I shake my head, trying to dispel the thoughts about Beth that I’ve been having since we arrived. ‘I don’t want to think about it, never mind discuss it in front of strangers.’

‘I know. Sorry. I wish … Oh, ignore me. I’m an idiot.’

He’s right. He is an idiot. But I’m a liar, and that’s probably worse.

He turns to me and grins. ‘Bit awks that, wasn’t it? Sounds like one of Simon’s disappearing acts.’

I nod, but I don’t grin back. It’s obvious Tilda’s worried.

We reach the top of the hill and Dev punches the code into the keypad at the gate.

‘I’m never going to get used to this, do you know that?’ Dev grabs me with a whoop of joy, pointing ahead. ‘That amazing place right there belongs to us. It’s ours. Hear me? It’s bloody well all ours!’

In spite of my annoyance at his outburst to Tilda and Simon, I smile. We left the lights on and, blazing up ahead of us, it looks incredible.Amazing. Plus a thousand other superlatives that still don’t fully describe the miracle that happened. And not to someone else for once, but tous.

‘Dev?’ I whisper hoarsely, grabbing his arm as we walk into the lounge.

He follows my gaze. The wall of glass that leads on to the terrace has something all over it. I walk slowly towards it, narrowing my eyes to try to make sense of what it is.

‘What the hell?’ Dev strides forward and snaps on the terrace lights, illuminating the glass.

I let out a shocked cry. My pulse thunders in my ears, and I don’t know whether to be terrified or furious.

In letters about a foot high, jagged, angry words are scrawled across the pristine windows in red spray paint. And something even nastier and somehow more personal: someone has used something really sharp, maybe a key, to scratch into the glass itself, leaving permanent scars that catch the exterior lights in harsh, ugly streaks.

The scrawled words are blunt and bitter:GO BACK HOMEin red paint andGREEDslashed across theliving-room window, etched deep into the glass. On one of the side windows, a crude drawing of a noose is carved deep, the lines uneven, as if the person doing it was shaking with either rage or fear.

‘Jeez, who would do this?’ Dev gasps, his face dark with anger.

The spray paint can be washed off, but those other marks are meant to last, to be seen every day. A reminder that the house might be ours legally, but not in the eyes of those who live here.

Someone tried to turn the house of our dreams into a symbol of hatred. And all I can think is how quickly jealousy can curdle into something so vindictive and personal. I start to wonder: did someone watch us leave the house and walk down to Tilda and Simon’s place?

Did they check we were inside before returning to Lakeview House and inflicting the damage?

A chill runs down my spine. My hands are shaking, and I glance at Dev, expecting him to tell me it’ll just be kids, a sick prank.

But Dev doesn’t say a word. He’s staring silently at the glass, his face pale and tense. After a few seconds, he takes out his phone.

‘What are you doing?’

‘I’m ringing the police,’ he says.

‘What?’

‘We need to report this, Merri. It goes beyond kids throwing half a brick through the window.’