There are two little girls in the photo. I instantly recognise myself as the small, dark-haired child in the purple dress. But who is the girl with the long blonde hair laughing at the camera? And why is the photograph here, in a stranger’s house?
When I find the tattered picture hidden away at the back of a dusty cupboard in Amy’s house my mouth goes dry with shock. Though I haven’t known Amy for very long, I love looking after her children, in her perfect hilltop house with its sprawling garden. After feeling lost for months, reeling from the accident that tore everything apart, I hoped this was my chance to turn my life around.
But I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve been here before. I know this house somehow, the curve of the staircase and the view from the attic window are so familiar. I can feel it in my bones. What isn’t she telling me?