Ella's Ghost: A domestic abuse psychological thriller with a supernatural edge

By Sarah Harper

WHICH GHOST WOULD YOU BE MOST AFRAID OF?...

Ella's Ghost, debut novel by Sarah Harper, is a domestic abuse psychological thriller with a supernatural edge, exploring themes of identity, gaslighting and survival.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sarah Harper
• Release date: May 29, 2024
• ISBN: 9781805177029

Book preview

Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Follow Me

Dedication

Epigraph

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Seven

Chapter Forty-Eight

Chapter Forty-Nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty-One

Chapter Fifty-Two

Chapter Fifty-Three

Chapter Fifty-Four

Chapter Fifty-Five

Chapter Fifty-Six

Chapter Fifty-Seven

Review

Acknowledgements

Further Reading and Reference

About the Author

Copyright © 2024 Sarah Harper

ELLA’S GHOST

Copyright © 2024 Sarah Harper

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Every effort has been made to obtain permissions with reference to copyright material. Apologies are made for any omissions in this respect, and future editions will contain appropriate acknowledgements.

Contact:

[e-mail]

www.sarahharperwriting.com

TRIGGER WARNING:

This book contains frequent reference to physical, psychological, and other abuse, violence, sexual assault, self-harm and suicide.

Front cover design by: Jacqueline Abromeit

Author photograph by: Gemma at de C Photography

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

ISBN: 978-1-8051770-4-3 (paperback)

ISBN: 978-1-8051770-2-9 (ebook)

Follow me on social media:

Facebook: Sarah Harper’s Writing

Instagram: sarah_harper_writing

YouTube: @sarahharperwriting

Tik-Tok: @sarahharperwriting

Visit my website www.sarahharperwriting.com for the latest news.

For Mum. And for Alexandra (Ali) Scott-Hillman – rest in peace.

‘All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy; for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves; we must die to one life before we can enter another.’

—Anatole France

CHAPTER ONE

SUNDAY, 19 JANUARY

A blade of dread sliced through her belly when she realised it wasn’t a gunshot that had woken her, but the front door. Slamming.

He’s home, she thought.

She didn’t have long. She sat up, tidying her shoulder-length chocolate-coloured hair – he didn’t like it too long or too short. She checked her legs again – shaved smooth, as expected.

The street lamp pouring through the gap in the blackout curtains drenched everything in the room with rust. Objects emerged from the darkness: the ceiling light, still staring down at her, wardrobe, chest of drawers, dresser with bottles neatly aligned on top (no clutter – he didn’t like clutter, or mess).

Even the wallpaper, with its lamé curves plunging in outrageous angles, appeared motionless tonight. Like petrified creatures, everything remained still and silent, just as spooked by the noise as her. Hoping not to be seen by the beast or ghost or sabre-toothed predator lurking beyond in the dark. Coming for them.

Coming for her…

She imagined him fixing the front door chain, tucking his shoes neatly under the bench, and placing his keys and wallet in the box on the porch sideboard. He always put them there. He had a routine – he was always in control.

But not in control of the time tonight, it seemed.

Vivid red dashes glared menacingly through the darkness from the clock on his bedside table.

3:27 a.m. Why’s he back so late?

Even his limited social life had a routine; on Saturday nights he went to Olly’s. But he was usually home by two a.m.

His heavy footsteps up the stairs brazenly announced his arrival home, any consideration stripped away by alcohol.

Floorboards creaked under his lean weight – those creaks, always on steps four, seven, nine and eleven. A jaunty little tune carved in her memory like a fanfare of moans. It used to be nothing more than the ageing house’s quirky eccentricity. Now, it was a call to arms. A signal to be ready when the creaks stopped.

Maybe he’ll just want to sleep instead… Please be too tired… Please be too drunk…

Sometimes she was too tired herself to make a fuss. Emerging from sleepy waters, it was easier just to let him. No big deal – that’s what couples did, right? Just one of those things.

But being too tired wasn’t her concern, now.

Had he noticed her breasts were getting bigger? Her nipples darker? Did men notice those things? Perhaps ‘men’ didn’t, but he noticed everything.

He watches all the time…

Creaks turned into stomps, hammer blows bounding up the landing carpet.

Something felt wrong. An ingrained intuition stirring within told her tonight’s homecoming was different. She thought back through the day, searching for a clue to her misdemeanour, as the blade in her stomach twisted.

I got up, cooked breakfast… I did all the washing up… I gave him the weeks’ receipts and change… I’m up to date with his laundry… Showed him the call lists on my phone… What is it? What have I done?

He stopped at the door. Now two inches of flimsy plywood was all that separated them – easy to kick down, like the bathroom door was (she’d locked herself in there once. He’d replaced it with one without a lock. He was always doing that, shutting down all escape routes. No way out, just dead ends).

She stared at the door, willing it to open, rather than having to endure the agonising moments it was taking him to do it. Holding off the inevitable, holding off the uncertain…

He was predictable in so many ways: routines and habits, practices and reactions. She quickly learned to follow them, to amend her own habits and behaviour. Just to avoid arguments. Just to be happy.

But for someone who demanded order and predictability, he was so unpredictable. That was what frightened her the most. She’d always thought fear was fear. Black was black – you couldn’t get any darker or colder. But there were several shades of both, apparently. He was a real artist. He showed her how to feel many fears, not just one. He showed her just how unpredictable he could be.

But the fear of the uncertain, the unknown, was always greater than the fear of the inevitable…

The door swung open, handle ramming into the dent in the wall. When it bounced, he pinned it back, as if it should know by now.

It still made her jolt, despite having heard it countless times. Stupid, really, to be shocked by something expected. She was so stupid sometimes.

Stupid, ugly, useless.

He was doing her a favour, staying with her. She was lucky to have him – she should remember that.

His eerie silhouette filled the doorway.

She turned her lamp on, blinking in the sudden flood of light.

He approached the bed as if in a daze. So much emotion in his face. Lips pursed in an almost-snarl – she’d not seen that expression since his dad died.

What’s happened at Olly’s? What’s wrong with him?

He perched on the bed, his back a mass of muscle, austere and impervious like a wall of steel. His slow, deep breaths were laced with a slight tremor, emotions tugging at them – the pistons of a machine ready to engage in overdrive.

His dark, wavy hair glistened wet; his pale blue shirt was soaked through.

The coiled cobra tattooed on his back stared at her through the translucent fabric.

Too much for sweat; but why would he walk home in the rain?

A dark smudge on the back of his collar caught her eye.

Is that lipstick?

Before she could feel incredulous, he reached for his bedside drawer, arm drifting in a ghostly manner, and opened it.

Her stomach squirmed.

Is he getting them out already?

He pulled something from his left pocket and dropped it into the drawer.

His wallet – why didn’t he leave it downstairs with the keys? What’s the matter with him?

He pushed the drawer shut, hand plonking in his lap as though the effort exhausted him.

Seconds dragged on. Her heart pounded a foreboding tick-tock in her mind. Time was pacifying, time was running out – she could never tell which.

Predictable, yet unpredictable.

His breaths slowed, the machine still on standby: one wrong move…

Her tongue clicked like a pistol being cocked, her mouth now barren, all moisture gone into hiding. Her words as afraid to emerge as she was to speak them. ‘Are you alr—’

The machine engaged. She hoped it would be over quickly.

He span round, his stare burning into her like white-hot spears. A meaty claw grabbed her hair and dragged her off the bed.

She screamed – a hideous noise, like metal scraping metal in a car crash.

Surely the neighbours would hear? They’d call the police. Help would come quickly…

The end-of-terrace property seemed to appeal to him when they first viewed it. South-facing garden, closer to his work. And their only neighbour would be no bother: a quiet little octogenarian, no family, husband long dead, surviving friends too frail to visit. And she was completely deaf…

She tumbled off the bed to the floor, knowing what was now at stake.

‘Wait!’ she screamed, throwing a hand out. ‘I’m pregnant!’

His fist froze in mid-air, face growing crimson beneath a layer of sweat.

She clutched her burning cheek and precious tummy, glancing at the door – that’s what her body was telling her: Remove yourself from danger! Choose Flight instead of Fight! The hallway was so close.

But he was closer.

He rose, a colossal statue she was cowering at the feet of. ‘Liar,’ he said, lifting a huge Chelsea boot.

‘No! Please!’ She raised her arm.

He kicked and kicked – she blocked and blocked – soft muscle squished between bone and vulcanised rubber. Something in her arm snapped like a breadstick. Nausea and pain crippled her senses.

The light flickered. Cool air fizzed on her skin, like invisible icy hands grabbing her.

His Chelsea boot ploughed into her jaw, kicking a scream out of her.

She collapsed to the floor, pain igniting her face and arm.

His boot drove deep into her abdomen, tearing through her solar plexus, sucking air from her lungs like a vacuum.

He dropped to his knees, ploughing his fist into her stomach.

He’s going to kill my baby, he’s going to kill my baby…

The air surrounding her flashed cold, as though someone threw an ice blanket over her – as though the very air was trying to protect her.

It lasted forever, yet ended in a moment.

He hoisted himself onto the bed and sat, drawing in deep breaths.

Was it over? His attacks were usually short and sharp, like a cobra’s strike – why was this one so different?

How would it end?

She thought of Kelly. They used to be so close – foster sisters, best friends. She wished they still spoke. She wished she could call her.

She needed to call someone…

Where was he? On the bed, taming his breaths, recharging.

Where was her phone? On her bedside table, on the other side of the bed. On the other side of the world. Turned off, passcodes and numbers to punch in on tiny buttons.

But the landline downstairs had bigger buttons, and she’d only have to press three…

The door threshold was feet away, a horizon line calling to her. If she could make it to the hall, she could get down the stairs, then get to the phone in the living room.

Crawl… You can do it…

It’s amazing what the body can endure to ensure survival; those prehistoric failsafes activating when they are most needed; at the precipice of life.

Hand shimmering with tiny rubies, she reached towards the horizon. Somehow, it grew closer.

Agony ignited in every limb as she shifted her body forward. Her jaw and stomach were smouldering, her arm searing.

Survive… Just survive…

She reached the door, the hallway in front of her like a dark cave. A draught caressed her skin, cool licks of air beckoning her to safety.

Keep going…

She was already thinking about how to stagger downstairs – she’d tumble down if she had to.

Whatever it took, she’d make it. She would have made it…

But he had other plans.

An unforgiving hand clasped her ankle, dragging her back. The power rose within him as he dropped to his knees, the machine exploding into overdrive. His clenched fist slammed her face – EYE—CHEEK—NOSE—JAW – she locked her eyes shut – JAW—NOSE—JAW – thuds of bone on bone pinned her to the floor – NOSE—CHEEK—JAW—JAW – pain bubbled over her face like molten lava – NOSE—NOSE—EYE—NOSE – air turned to concrete – CHEEK—JAW—JAW—JAW – coppery syrup flooded her mouth – JAW—MOUTH—MOUTH – her lip exploded like an overripe peach clenched in a fist – with a crack, her jaw wrenched away – CHEEK—CHEEK—CHEEK – a putrid wet crunch as his fist shattered her cheek bone – white-hot pain lassoed round her skull – EYE—NOSE—JAW – I’m going to die – she thought of Kelly getting the news. Would they call it murder? Would they tell her it was him? She missed her. She loved her – JAW—EYE—MOUTH—EYE – ice flashed around her like cold shockwaves, like it was trying to stop the blows – thuds turned into squelches, hard bone clad in blood-soggy flesh – STOMACH—STOMACH—STOMACH – she inhaled thick coppery gunge and spluttered out snotty red spray, gulping for air – the light flickered again, off and on, too ashamed to illuminate the terrible scene – EYE—CHEEK—JAW—NOSE…

Sleep. Wonderful sleep. It called to her. Water swelled around her, land gave way to its pull. It was calming, inviting, taking the pain away.

Stomach—Stomach—Stomach…

No more… I want to die…

She heard a man’s distraught scream, like a distant radio signal, barely audible, but desperate to be heard.

Stomach—stomach…

The lamp’s frantic flickers marked her descent as the sleepy abyss pulled her down into the weightless dark, deeper than she had ever been.

***

What have you done…? I’m going to kill you… I’ll make you suffer… This is all your fault…

CHAPTER TWO

MARCH, FIVE YEARS Ago

March, Five Years Ago

‘I’m coming with you,’ Ella said, shuffling to Kelly’s side by the mirror.

Kelly paused her mascara, rolling her eyes. ‘Oh god, not the Ella Interrogation. You just about scared the last one away.’

‘Erm, that was your love for Black Sabbath,’ Ella said, brushing her bobbed blonde hair. ‘And I love James, but his mates still need vetting.’

Kelly had been seeing James for several weeks; he and his friends, whom Kelly would be meeting for the first time, were waiting in the Mallard – the best pub on the high street.

But Kelly wouldn’t be the one armed with all the questions.

‘Nobody needs vetting, except you,’ Kelly said. ‘Look, if you’re coming tonight, promise me you’ll behave, will you?’ She had that tilt to her head that showed she meant business.

Ella grinned, pinching the mascara from Kelly’s fingers. ‘When have you ever known me to behave?’

‘Ellzebub,’ Kelly said through gritted teeth – she was being serious now.

‘Alright, I promise. Stop giving me the stink-eye.’

They applied more makeup. Kelly pressed Black Cherry lips onto tissue. She owned the dark shades – Perfect Plum, Eggplant Wonder – and caked her eyes in thick black liner, still managing to not look like an extra from a Tim Burton film.

Ella looked at the Vintage Rose lipstick she wore for work, then considered the Crimson Storm in her makeup bag. ‘These friends… Any of them single?’

‘Ugh – you’re unbelievable!’ Kelly said, tying back her cornrow ropes. ‘I’m not saying.’

Ella applied the Crimson Storm; her lips popped against her creamy skin.

Kelly rolled her eyes again.

Ella thought Kelly was a show-off when they met. But what did nine-year-olds know about first impressions?

Shortly after arriving at Ella’s foster home, Kelly turned ten. It gave her a sense of age-based hierarchy; she wasn’t just older, but in double figures, like that was worth more or something – like using a Z for a triple word score in Scrabble.

They quarrelled over petty things. Who deserved the last roast potato, whose turn it was to wash up… They exchanged insults at every opportunity. Ella called her ‘Smelly Kelly.’ Kelly called Ella ‘Be-Ellzebub’, and relished explaining it to her: ‘It means devil, stupid. Coz you’re evil…’

Brigitte, their foster mother, was always tapping their knuckles. ‘Stop it, you two, or straight to bed.’

Out of earshot, Kelly boasted about secret treats that Daniel, Brigitte’s sixteen-year-old biological son, often gave her: sweeties, chocolate, cuddles…

Then Ella discovered what Daniel’s treats really were.

Strange noises woke her. She followed them to Daniel’s bedroom and opened the door. Just enough light from the hallway poured over his bed: not treats at all. Not for any of his chosen foster sisters.

The girls got moved to different foster homes.

Ella suddenly missed the lively, challenging girl who had made her life more interesting, despite the initial annoyance.

Turned out, Kelly had felt the same. Eventually, they were reunited in a new, safe and loving foster home.

Their insults metamorphosed into terms of endearment. Upon her arrival, Kelly said, ‘Hello, Ellzebub…’ and smiled coyly.

Ella ran up to her and, for the first time, embraced her, whispering in her ear, ‘Hey, Smelly.’

A new friendship was forged.

Ella tried to talk to Kelly about what she’d seen in the dim bedroom light. But Kelly shrank into someone else every time she broached it. It wasn’t until years later, after much therapy and counselling, that Kelly opened up to her about what had happened.

***

In the Mallard, three men stood to greet them both.

‘There they are,’ James said, giving Kelly a coy peck on the cheek, turning strawberry.

Kelly beamed and blushed.

Ella smiled – they both lit up when they were together.

She looked at the other two men at the table. ‘Thought you’d have more friends than this, James!’

‘Of course I do,’ James said. ‘But Kev’s up north this week. And Sammo’s still heartbroken. Couldn’t drag him out.’

‘But I’m Mr Reliable,’ said the slim, clean-shaven man with mousy brown hair. He stuck his hand out for Kelly to shake. ‘I’m Matt, Housemate Extraordinaire.’ He nodded towards James. ‘The guy won’t shut up about you.’

Kelly smiled. ‘Heard a lot about you, too.’

James introduced Ella, and Matt turned to her. His gaze drifted over her and he smiled. ‘Hi.’

Ella said, ‘Hi,’ feeling herself blush at the thought of Matt scanning her, then felt herself redden even more at the thought of blushing.

James then gestured to the taller, broader man next to Matt. ‘That’s Dominick, my workmate.’

She gazed up at Dominick, like a lumberjack assessing a Redwood, taking him all in. Biceps bulged through his T-shirt sleeves. Long gelled-back chocolate hair matched a neat short beard on a strong-looking jaw. Trendy glasses framed dark eyes. His handshake was firm. He clearly worked out – a lot. He looked like an Olympian on his day off.

‘Alright,’ he said, rather clipped, lips pressed to a reticent smile. He seemed indifferent to being there.

Nobody’s made you come out, miserable git. Well, you’re not getting an easy time…

‘You’re Kelly’s housemate-stroke-sister, right?’ Matt said to Ella as she slid into the booth next to Dominick, despite Matt’s friendliness.

‘Yeah, that’s right.’ Ella gave Kelly an impressed eyebrow flick – Your boyfriend’s friends have been paying attention. Kudos.

Matt looked at them both, confused, clearly too polite to ask.

‘Foster sisters,’ Ella clarified.

‘Ahh, right,’ Matt said, nodding.

The Ella Interrogation began: ‘So, Dominick, how long have you known James?’ She leaned in like an engaged journalist. All that was missing was a microphone.

Kelly’s eyes narrowed.

Dominick drew breath, but Matt’s eagerness won: ‘I’ve known him since school,’ he said, smiling. ‘We’ve been housemates for years. Trust him with my life. Dommy-Boy here’s only known him a few years through work.’

‘So, does he have any unusual habits we should know about? Weird hobbies—?’

‘Okay, Miss fucking Marple,’ Kelly said, grabbing Ella’s wrist and sliding out of the booth. ‘It’s our round. Bar’s this way.’

‘I’m coming back,’ Ella called, pointing to them as Kelly dragged her off.

She heard a reply, barely audible, like catching it on an untuned radio: ‘Hope so…’

It was Matt. Her heart jumped.

Why did it jump?

Kelly nestled into a gap at the bar and elbowed Ella. ‘What happened to behaving, Ellzebub?’

Ella rubbed her arm. ‘I didn’t make him say that.’

‘I’m talking about your questioning.’

The barman leaned in. ‘That your new fella, Kel?’

Kelly beamed.

‘It’s okay, Olly,’ Ella said. ‘You can say it. He’s ginger.’

Olly flashed his palms. ‘Not judging.’

James wasn’t the first person she’d have pictured Kelly ending up with. Pale skin, blue eyes and ginger hair; a stark contrast to Kelly’s dark caramel skin and goth attire. Even Kelly had joked, ‘If we have kids, they’ll be chocolate orange!’ She’d never been happier. She’d found The One, it seemed; Ella was still patiently waiting.

‘Can you tell her to behave herself?’ Kelly said. ‘She’s already eyeing up his mates.’

‘Matt’s eyeing me up – I can’t help that.’

‘Which one’s Matt?’ Olly said, smirking.

‘The one that doesn’t look like an Olympian on his day off,’ Ella said.

‘Sounds like you’ve got your eye on the wrong bloke.’

‘Sounds like you’re encouraging her when you should be getting our drinks,’ Kelly said.

Olly poked buttons on the till. ‘The usual?’

The usual for Kelly was Jack Daniels and Coke. ‘And three pints for that lot,’ she said.

‘Think I’ll have lemonade tonight,’ Ella said.

Olly raised an eyebrow. ‘Just lemonade? You feeling alright?’

‘With vodka, obviously… OJ gives me bad breath.’

Kelly slapped her arm. ‘Stop it, will you!’

‘Relax, I’m not gonna do anything. I just feel like it’s gonna be a good night.’

Olly rang up the order, then took a glass to the vodka optic.

Kelly tapped frustrated Morse code on the card machine. ‘Shit. Bloody thing.’ She waved James over.

Ella reached into her bag. ‘Have you not sorted that out yet?’

‘It’s okay, James is coming. Get the next one. But seriously, a good night is about all you’ll get from Matt, from what James has told me.’

‘Oh, really?’

‘He’s more a I’ll call you kind of guy. Never been out with a girl more than twice.’ She chuckled. ‘And he’s an estate agent.’

‘Ah. That’s a shame…’

Ella had had a brief encounter with an estate agent she’d met at a bar several years before. Dan had swept her off her feet that weekend, then seemed to disappear off the planet. All she’d got was a fun but brief Saturday night session. She never wanted to be one-night-stand fodder. But both Kelly and Taylor, their friend from school, had remarked the profession commonly signposted very little Mr Right potential. So Ella vowed never to date an estate agent again.

She glanced back at the booth. The three men were in conversation, James shuffling away from the table, answering Kelly’s beckoning. Matt looked up and caught her eye. And smiled.

Ella looked away, her cheeks warming.

But falling victim to another Dan, especially him being the best friend of her sister’s new boyfriend, did not appeal. Time to focus on Kelly.

‘Well, it’s not about me tonight, anyway,’ Ella said. ‘It’s about what you think of his mates. Dominick’s a bit moody, isn’t he?’

James approached Kelly. ‘Haven’t you sorted that out yet?’ He tapped the machine with his card and turned to Ella, his back leaning against the bar, elbows resting on the edge. ‘So… Mr Millington has taken a bit of a shine to you.’ He raised his eyebrows.

‘Don’t encourage her,’ Kelly said.

Ella tilted her head. ‘Yeah, I’ve also heard he likes overnight leases more than long-term mortgages.’

James laughed. ‘He’d like that one. And I’d usually agree with you. But I think he really likes you. He asked me to put in a good word – Millsy’s never done that before.’

As Olly poured the last of the drinks, Ella glanced over to the booth and wondered what the two men were discussing. Matt fished a note from his pocket and slammed it on the table – perhaps he owed Dominick money.

Something was different when they returned to the booth with the drinks, like a change in temperature or a faint, new smell in the air. Now Matt’s smile seemed reticent, while Dominick’s grin declared a new enthusiasm for their return.

Ella passed Dominick his pint.

‘Thanks,’ he said, his gaze lingering on her. His eyes – she hadn’t noticed them earlier: dark, shining beads of onyx now pulling her in. His lips – full and kissable, framing his smile and lovely straight teeth. A hint at a cute dimple in his left cheek. Then she realised his fingers were still touching hers.

This Olympian on a day off was now showing a lot of interest.

***

The night progressed, drinks flowed, and conversation turned to jobs.

Dominick used to be a nightclub bouncer. It wasn’t hard for Ella to imagine how his presence would have warned off troublemakers, as well as lured in flirtatious, tipsy women. He then moved to shop security, watching dodgy customers and chasing after shoplifters.

Now, he worked with James; Kelly had explained his job when they’d first got together.

‘I like the structure, the routine,’ Dominick said, describing the four-on-four-off twelve-hour shift pattern. ‘Gives me the time to plan my gym sessions and see my dad… But what about you? What do you do?’

‘I’m a Travel Advisor for Imagine Holidays,’ Ella said. ‘I… sell people their dreams…’ she gazed off into the distance.

Dominick chuckled. ‘I’ve seen the ad. You get freebies?’

‘Yep, get to try out the goods before I sell ’em.’

She loved exploring unknown places, testing new hotels, and experiencing the latest cruise promotions. Also, knowing her clients were getting their dream holiday gave her such a buzz. So far this month, none of her walk-in customers had left the branch without paying a deposit for some kind of trip. It had impressed both Martin, the branch manager, and Alan, the area manager, who were both keen to advance her career. They were already grooming her to replace Sue, the Assistant Manager, who was leaving soon.

‘Oh, do you need a chaperone?’ Dominick said. ‘You know, share the burden of awful free holidays?’ Dimples formed by his charming smile.

The thought of being alone in a beach hotel room with him made her cheeks warm. She risked patting his knee. ‘So kind, but Kelly always tags along.’

Dominick looked