The Midnight Feast

“Turns out a leopard doesn’t change its spots, even if it’s covered them up with some wellness bullshit and white linen.”

“Rich people problems. Ruby says they manage to make everything into a drama because when you have no real difficulty in your life you end up creating your own.”

“There’s been a right of way through here for centuries – before that house even existed. You’re the ones trespassing. Local people have always walked among these trees … using their wood, their flora and fauna. There’s a unique convergence of ley lines here. Keeping people away from the land”

“Just two people briefly reunited, finally freed from the shadows of the past.”

“Nature may be red in tooth and claw but our guests would prefer their version of it green and clean.”

“She is nothing like my mother,” I spat. “Fran’s perfect.” “Is anyone?” my therapist mused. “That’s a difficult label for any human being to wear.”

“You know, sometimes I think this job’s OK. The pay’s all right. And then other times I think I’d really like to headbutt someone. Or just, like, torch the place.”

“Once upon a time he kicked around out with my big brother; now he’s still hanging out with nineteen-year-olds, even though his black shoulder-length hair is going thin at the temples. He’s wearing a black hoodie that says I AUTOEROTIC AXPHYXIATE ON THE FIRST DATE. He catches me reading it. “Confused, Eddie mate? Guess you guys were all tealights, Ed Sheeran, and missionary. Am I right?”

“when you have no real difficulty in your life you end up creating your own.”

“The past shimmers like a mirage on the water.”

“Sparrow. You should get some help. Go to a retreat for a few months. Meditate. Honestly. It changed my life. Gave me purpose.”

“As though I have no right to be here. As though I have no authority over her. I hate that she knows who I really am. I hate that she looks at me and sees that grubby, lonely, unloved kid from the past.”

“Once a slut, always a slut. Yes, I saw you, you stupid cow. Last night, in the wine store. I only kept you on today because I thought you could prove useful. But now you’ve quite clearly outlasted your use to me.”

“On the page just beneath there’s a photograph of the boss holding a very groomed white cockerel. The word CUNT is written across it in biro. The letters have been pressed so hard they’ve ripped the paper.”

“It's difficult to believe this macabre a specter was ever intact. It looks ancient and evil, as if it's squatted here like this for a thousand years.”

“Ruby side-eyes them as they leave. “I saw this meme,” she says, “that was like: ‘How can there be so many problems in the world when there are so many wealthy women with crystals?”

“They’re nearly at the woods. Fielding glances at Walker, frowns. “You cold?” He must have clocked Walker’s involuntary shiver.”

“You don’t stop wanting things or wanting to cling on to an earlier version of yourself just because you’ve become a mother.”

“The stars are so bright tonight.”

“What's with all the old birds in here this evening?”

“Yeah, class shouldn’t matter, in 2025.”

“Hence the full-size bath oils in glass containers, the matches left on the dressing tables. At the same time, one really has to have a contingency plan. And ultimately, this place is so much more than a hotel. It’s a home.”

“Oh.” She looks down. “It’s a feather, Eddie. It’s not a big deal.” “But it’s the one . . . it’s from when we found him, isn’t it? The one that was on the desk.”

“The questions I’ve been asking myself since I first read about the opening of The Manor come to me again. Who sent me that article? Why? And more importantly, most important of all: what do they know?”

“Another thundering of bass, just as I hang up. And whoosh—a flame of pure rage leaps up inside me so fast it leaves me breathless. No Francesca. Inhale. That’s not who you are. You are so much bigger than this. Reach for the light. Find the still place. Exhale.”

“I’m so frigging tired.” Her shoulders slump. “Last night . . . it wasn’t meant to be like that. It . . .” She catches herself, trails off, and then sobs, “It was meant to be . . . like, special.”

“You must keep the birds happy,” he kept saying. “Don’t upset the birds.” Over and over like that. Such a shame: he once had such a great mind. “Yes, Grandfa,” I told him. Poor old thing. Clearly he’d gone a bit gaga, started believing in local nonsense. But then he sat up in bed and grabbed hold of my wrist so hard it hurt. “You must not upset the birds. Do you understand?”

“since”

“By now I can practically quote it. “Such happy memories of my time there . . .” “Idyllic summer days . . .” “Such larks. Midnight feasts and parties in the treehouse. I want to capture the adult version of that.”

“She had this little beaded bag over one arm and was carrying the fossil I found in the rockpool. I showed her the food I’d nicked from the caravan and she was like: ohmigod, Sparrow, you crack me up! It’s not that kind of midnight feast but I guess we could use some snacks.”