Free Watching the Ghosts by Kate Ellis

the kitchen wall told her it was only ten thirty and the hours stretched out before her like an empty sea. She needed something to take her mind off her intruder.
    The address Seb Bentham had given her was still in her handbag and she took it out carefully and studied it. Seb – she supposed it was short for Sebastian. There’d been something interesting about him, perhaps even something a little dangerous. He reminded her a bit of her ex husband; the man who hadn’t been able to bear the grief when they’d lost the baby and had decided to run rather than live with the pain. He’d taught drama to sixth formers and harboured ambitions to write. She’d lost touch with him so she didn’t know whether these ambitions had come to anything.
    The address Seb had given her wasn’t far away, just up the road. And at that moment the prospect of a walk in the fresh air seemed irresistible. She could think about what she was going to say to the clock’s former owner on the way.
    She slung her bag over her shoulder and left the flat, pushing the door to make doubly sure that it was locked. From now on she knew she was going to be paranoid about security. At least, she thought as she strode across the entrance hall and out into the fresh air, she hadn’t dreamt about the clock while she’d been staying at Amy’s. She’d been half afraid that she would wake up screaming and bring Amy – or, worse still, Steve – hurrying in to see what was wrong. Perhaps now she’d seen the clock in reality, the nightmares would stop.
    She walked down Boothgate, heading out of town. There were no tourists here; they all congregated in the centre like wasps around a jam jar. As she crossed the railway bridge and Boothgate turned into Hilton Road, the Georgian houses gave way to newer properties. This was the Eborby the visitors didn’t see; if they were approaching by car or coach down Hilton Road, they’d be scanning the horizon for their first sight of the cathedral towers. This wasn’t to say that Hilton wasn’t an attractive place with its tall trees and its little green surrounded by Victorian cottages.
    Oriel House stood on one of the side roads; stone built, detached and Victorian, all gables and gothic windows. Lydia stood with her hand hovering over the gate latch, suddenly apprehensive. What if the woman didn’t want to discuss her sale of the clock with a stranger?
    But she told herself firmly that she had nothing to lose and pushed the gate open. Her heart was pounding as she walked up the path between the neat flower beds and rang the doorbell. She was preparing to make a hasty retreat when the door opened a crack and a suspicious female voice said ‘Yes?’ as if she was expecting some con man or pushy salesman.
    â€˜I’m sorry to bother you. I’m looking for Mrs Dodds.’
    The door opened a little wider and Lydia saw that the woman had silver-blonde hair cut in a neat bob. Her white trousers and denim blouse flattered her tall, slim figure. She must have been in her early sixties but she’d taken care of herself. ‘I’m Judith Dodds.’
    Once Lydia had explained the reason for her visit, the woman seemed to relax. She invited her in and led her into a room of understated elegance, all duck-egg blue and cream. When she sat down Mrs Dodds sat opposite, back straight and legs neatly arranged. Lydia noticed that her hands were clasped tightly in front of her like a defensive barrier.
    â€˜So you’ve met Mr Bentham?’
    â€˜Seb?’
    â€˜Is that his name? Elderly gentleman . . . longish grey hair. Really looked the part.’
    â€˜I met his nephew. He’s looking after the shop while Mr Bentham senior is ill. I hope you don’t mind me coming like this but there’s something I’d like to ask you. It’s about the grandfather clock you sold.’
    Her eyes widened. ‘You’ve bought