Page 1 of The Stranger in Room Six

It’s an unusually warm summer evening at Sunnyside Home for the Young at Heart. Everyone agrees it’s the perfect end to the annual barbecue and how lucky it is that the rain has finally stopped.

‘What a beautiful building – such lovely period features,’ the relatives had marvelled, gazing at the original nineteenthcentury chandelier hanging from the embossed ceiling in the music room.

‘Did you know the house has been in the family for generations? And the grounds! As for the private beach, well really!’

‘I wasn’t sure whether to come,’ said another. ‘Not after everything in the papers.’

‘Me too,’ added someone else. ‘We’re still wondering whether to take Mum out, yet she seems so happy here.’

But they’ve left now, some in their flash cars or taxis and one or two on foot to the station.

If you listen carefully, you can hear the sound of the sea in between Claudette’s soft strains of George Gershwin’s ‘Summertime’ drifting through the French windows leading from the lounge.

Most of the residents have gone to bed – it’s 9 p.m. after all – but a few stragglers remain. We are the only two left in the garden, taking an evening stroll under the moonlight.

‘No one came to see me,’ says my companion, as I push her wheelchair along, past a burst of yellow and orange roses.

‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ I say, although I’m not.

‘You’re a good carer, Belinda.’

I’m used to such compliments. ‘Thank you,’ I say.

There is silence for a moment.

Then ‘What A Night!’ bursts out. The beat is faster. Louder. And somehow dangerous.

No one is around. This is my chance.

BANG!

The sound of the gun is deafening.