The Back Road - By Rachel Abbott Page 0,3

at her gut.

Seven years later she had walked down this drive for the very last time without a backward glance, shunning both the house and everybody in it. For a while that had even included Ellie, but her sister had refused to give up on her and for that - and so much more - Leo owed her. She had never imagined for a minute that after all this time she would be back here, sitting in this exact spot, trying to find the courage to walk through the front door. She’d put the visit off for so long, but tonight, driven by a strange and compelling impulse, she had thrown some clothes into a bag, grabbed her car keys, and set off, not knowing whether she would make it to her final destination or not. Just the thought of Ellie’s inevitable astonishment and relief when she opened the door was enough to spur Leo on.

The one good bit of news was that the house was impossible to recognise from the horrors of the early years of her life. Clever concealed lighting provided subtle illumination in the gardens, which were a picture with open lawns and wide beds filled with roses; a far cry from the neglected and unloved garden of her childhood. The cracked tarmac had been lifted and the drive re-laid with old cobbles, and the window frames were painted a pale cream that sat beautifully against the old red brick. But the biggest change of all was an impressive new atrium, linking the long low house to the adjoining barn. Flooded with light to compensate for the dark and gloomy clouds, it looked warm and inviting even to Leo.

She leaned back heavily against the headrest. She couldn’t just sit here, though. She had to get a grip of herself.

She flicked the switch to operate the electric roof. Even if she failed to make it through the front door and had to beat a hasty retreat, rain wasn’t far away. And anyway, it wasted a few more moments.

With the roof firmly in place, she completed the journey up the drive and parked in front of the house. Acting more decisively than she felt, she swung her legs out of the car, grabbed her bag from the back seat and walked determinedly to the front door to ring the bell. She didn’t have long to wait.

‘Leo! God, Leo! What a fantastic surprise. I was beginning to think we would never see you again.’

Leo looked at Ellie, and knew that her decision to come had been the right one. Ellie’s long chocolate brown hair framed her oval face and fell in waves to her shoulders. Her brown eyes were shining, but not with the pleasure that Leo had been expecting. The remnants of tears hung in slightly red-rimmed eyes, and although her wide and generous mouth was smiling, it was clear to Leo that this was an effort. Usually her smile could light up a room.

‘Come in, come in - it’s so great to see you. Welcome to the transformed Willow Farm.’

This was the moment Leo had been dreading. She had expected her senses to be bombarded as she stepped over the threshold, but was amazed that - for the moment - she felt nothing. No racing pulse, and none of the once familiar unease.

And then she got it. The house didn’t smell the same. Gone were the musty odours of neglect, and the sense that the house was short of air. A cool breeze was blowing through an open window, carrying the light perfume of roses. She looked at her sister, and waited for Ellie’s usual hundred watt smile. But it didn’t come.

Leo picked her small suitcase up to avoid the inevitable sisterly hug and leaned forward to peck Ellie on the cheek.

‘Oh, before I forget. I found this on the step,’ Leo said, holding out a yellow rose.

Ellie stared at it with a look that Leo couldn’t interpret. She didn’t take the rose, but she seemed mesmerised by it.

‘Are you okay, Ellie?’ Leo gave her sister a concerned frown.

Ellie waved her hand in front of her eyes, as if fanning away the tears.

‘Oh yes - the eyes. Sorry - I’ve been peeling onions, and they got to me a bit. Chuck that rose on the garden, will you. It’s probably one I dropped when I was cutting some for the house earlier. Anyway, I’m fine. And I am so pleased to see you. I can’t tell you what