“Fine, but regardless, you should stay away for a while.”

“Did you tell them to stay away from me?”

“I did.”

“Good.”

“Listen, I’ll get your things, and you will be free to leave. But consider this an official warning. If there are any more arguments or plant pots being thrown, charges will be pressed. Do you hear me?”

“I hear you.”

Angela led me out of the room and got my things. I had to sign a document explaining that I understood that I’d received a caution and that if I repeated the offence, it could lead to prosecution. I had no intention of going near Harry’s awful family ever again. No wonder he was so keen to leave Filey in the first place. They were all insane. I know I apologised to Poppy, but I didn’t mean it. Not one bit. I did what I did for the wrong reasons, but she deserved it. They all deserved everything that was coming to them. When I went outside the police station, Kim was waiting for me outside with my phone. Ironically, she had become the only person I could even remotely trust now.

“That was one hell of a throw,” Kim joked.

“I know,” I smiled.

“Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

“It’s not advised.”

“Are we checking this address out then, or what? I’ve driven your car here; I hope you don’t mind.”

“Let me see my phone.”

I unlocked my phone, and several messages were waiting from James.

Flat 15, Bayside Court.

Your anger is understandable but is misdirected. Channel it into your journey, and you will uncover the truth.

As much as I hated the fortune cookie advice, I knew James was absolutely right. I still didn’t feel guilty. Poppy was getting in the way of me finding the truth, and if I wanted to get to it, I had to remain determined. I had no idea what was waiting for us at that address, but I was pretty certain that I had the key to the door, found in the envelope in Harry’s deposit box. A quick internet search showed that the address was in a block of flats overlooking Filey Beach.

We both got in the car and started the navigation. I could see in my peripheral vision that Kim was itching to say something to me.

“Out with it,” I said.

“The psychic guy. Have you been speaking to him for a while?” Kim asked.

“Poppy recommended him to me at the funeral. So ever since then.”

“My name was mentioned. How did he know where you would find me?”

“Psychic,” I said, waving my hands in the air.

“Spooky. So, you thought Poppy was behind those texts?”

“Yes, I found James’ number in Harry’s deposit box. Apparently, Harry and James were speaking about Poppy.”

“Maybe Harry was getting advice, too.”

“About what?” I asked.

“I don’t know. But everyone needs someone to talk to, and there’s no shame in that,” she said.

“He had me.”

“I know.”

We arrived at the block of flats, and I parked the car. Whatever was inside, it wasn’t good news. You wouldn’t catch me living here. The façade of the flats looked like an office building rather than a living accommodation. The exterior was entirely pebble-dashed, used as an extra line of defence against the corrosive Filey sea air. Beach towels are hung outside of the open windows in the block, allowing the cigarette smoke to flow into the open air from inside. The interior was no better; the strange, juxtaposed aromas of dampness and dust lingered in the hallways. The carpet was balding and unvacuumed, and the yellowing walls begged for a lick of paint. We began to make our way up the groaning stairs.

We reached flat fifteen, and I knocked on the door slowly. There weren’t any signs of immediate life, and I produced the keys that I’d found in the envelope. The key turned, and the door opened with a click. Kim and I leaned our heads around the door, and as it creaked open, it appeared as if we were alone. It was a small, one-bedroom flat with an open-plan living room and kitchenette. A huge pile of unopened letters lay on the countertop, along with the occasional food wrapper or unwashed cup. Kim and I remained together, moving from room to room as quietly as possible, but once we had made an initial first sweep, we began to relax.

I had no idea why James had led me here, but there must have been a reason. He could likely sense that I was getting annoyed with the constant mysteries and riddles, and he was trying to distract me with some actual information. Once we had decided it was safe, instinctively, Kim and I split up and started searching for any clues. I went into the bathroom first, and my eye was drawn to a bottle on the sink. It was aftershave, and I recognised the brand because it was the exact same brand that Harry used. I opened the bottle and sprayed it into the air, and it was definitely his.

“Amelia, come here,” Kim shouted from the other room. When I entered the main area of the flat, she was sifting through the letters that had been left on the countertop.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Most of these letters are addressed to Harry,” she said, holding a letter to my face.

“They can’t be.”

I started going through the letters myself, and she was completely correct. The vast majority of them were all addressed to my late husband, apart from the odd piece of junk mail. The more we looked through, the more items we found that looked like they could belong to Harry. The clothing that was there I didn’t recognise, but it was all definitely something he would wear. Even down to the obscure medicated shampoo he swore by. He had definitely been living here, or at least stayed here on occasion, but I was totally in the dark about this place. Kim concentrated on the huge pile of letters and started opening them if they looked like they would contain a lead. I heard her gasp, and I turned to see what she had found.

“Jackpot. There’s a phone bill here,” Kim said excitedly, handing it to me.

“Weird, that isn’t his number,” I said, studying the bill. There weren’t any calls on there, just a standing charge. I recognised the number, and I compared it to the scrap of paper I’d found in Harry’s deposit box. The numbers matched. I nearly passed out on the spot and had to brace myself against the counter.

“What is it?” Kim asked.

“The number on this bill matches James’ number.”

It wasn’t possible. That number had been texting me pretty much every single day since the funeral, and if it was Harry’s second phone number, there was only one explanation I could think of. Harry was alive. Before Kim could reply, the sound of a key entering the front door lock stopped us. A male figure walked in, holding a carrier bag full of shopping items, and dropped his keys on the table next to the door. It was so dark in that dingy flat I couldn’t see him properly, and to make matters worse, he was wearing a hoodie with the hood up.

“Harry?” I shouted, “is that you?”

XVI

THE HIEROPHANT

HARRY - BEFORE

It was one of the darkest times of my life, and Kim appeared when I probably needed her the most. She almost looked like a mirage; the last time I’d seen her was shortly after my Dad had died.

“What a small world,” Kim laughed.