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‘you’re hopeless’ and walked over to the coffee machine, lifting a cup in Leo’s direction.
    ‘Want one? This fancy machine makes the best - and most expensive - cup of coffee in the world. Every home should have one, don’t you think?’
    He pressed a button. Leo heard the beans grinding and the room filled with the delicious smell of fresh coffee as a dark brown flow slowly filled the small espresso cup.
    ‘Does it do cappuccino too?’ Leo asked.
    ‘It does, but that requires a small amount of human intervention. Grab me a bottle of milk will you, and I will reveal more of the mysteries of this marvellous and essential piece of kitchen equipment.’
    Leo had never considered Max to be strong on sarcasm, but maybe it was the hangover talking. Or maybe she had been wrong about the house. Maybe its malignancy couldn’t be obliterated by a few coats of paint.

6
    A few hundred yards away in a red-bricked cottage, Tom Douglas relaxed on his comfortable sofa with the Saturday papers spread around him. An old Fleetwood Mac album that he’d bought out of nostalgia was playing in the background. His dad had played “Rumours” non-stop when he was a kid, and when he saw it on iTunes, he couldn’t resist downloading it.
    He was struggling to get used to these lazy days, though, and after a couple of hours of doing nothing, he was getting restless. He’d just decided that he should get up and do something useful when the doorbell rang. He couldn’t imagine who on earth had tracked him down here. He knew hardly anybody except the neighbours who had invited him to dinner that evening.
    Remembering that one job he still had to do was to take the front door off and plane a bit off the bottom, he opened it with a sharp tug to welcome his unexpected visitor.
    ‘Steve! Hi! What a surprise to see you. What brings you to this neck of the woods? Come on in.’
    It was good to see an old friend. Steve had been Tom’s sergeant in Manchester a few years previously. He had taken a promotion by moving to the Cheshire force and they had kept in occasional contact but hadn’t seen each other since Tom had relocated to London three years ago.
    Tom had forgotten how tall Steve was. He was one hell of big guy, in girth as well as in height, and although Tom had checked that the low beams and ceilings of his cottage were sufficient to accommodate his own six foot height, he hadn’t allowed for the extra five inches that Steve could boast. And no hair on top to cushion him either, Tom noticed with surprise. It was obviously longer than he thought since they had seen each other.
    Ducking as he made his way through to the sitting room, Steve spoke over his shoulder.
    ‘Sorry it’s the first time I’ve had a chance to call round. I couldn’t believe it when I got your email to say you were moving back up north, but I don’t blame you.’
    Steve looked around the sitting room.
    ‘Wow – this is a bit smart, Tom. I didn’t know you were into interior design. New career, is it?’ Steve winked at Tom, a habit of his that Tom had completely forgotten. He remembered thinking that Steve had some sort of facial tick when he’d first met him.
    Tom glanced at the dark aubergine sofa and stone coloured armchairs grouped close to an inglenook fireplace, and the fat porcelain lamps on chunky wooden side tables.
    ‘You’ve got to be kidding,’ he said. ‘I found a great shop in Chester, and they sorted the lot. After the place I had in London – which was uber smart, but always felt cold and stark to me – it’s a pleasure to have somewhere that feels like home.’
    ‘Never could stand London myself. Anyway, it’s good to have you back up north. I’d have popped in sooner, but things have been a bit hectic with work. You know how it is.’
    Tom grinned. He certainly did.
    ‘Before I sit down, can I get you a drink of anything? Beer, wine, or tea or coffee if you’re on duty?’
    ‘I’d love a beer - only a glass though, as I’m