Chapter 40
The house lay in one of West Kirby’s most prestigious areas. An expanse of gravel separated it from a path which dissected two little ornamental lawns. Built in the 1930s, it’d been extended over the years, the attached garage emulating the shape and form of the main entrance; its doors now concealing the silver Mazda MX-5 and its rapidly cooling engine.
In the hallway, with its light oak parquet floor, a sports bag, wet towel protruding, lay wedged between an oak half table and an umbrella stand. On the table itself, pictures of two young men, one in academic dress, the other in RAF pilot’s uniform. A wide set of stairs ascended to a large airy stained glass window before disappearing from view.
In the kitchen, at the centre island, Laura Brannan sat staring at a silver-framed picture of a smiling man and woman with two young boys, a reminder of happier times. A bottle of gin, its top lying on the counter, waited impatiently nearby. She drained the tumbler and poured another.