There is a lot of sadness in Jeff. Jeff and Hazel are in love. Life should be so simple, but an incident in Jeff's past haunts him to the point that he becomes a recluse. As his band prepares to release its first album after the tragedy, Hazel watches as Jeff's passions turn into obsessions. When Jeff's sorrow gets the best of him and alienates Hazel from her friends, the couple has to finally face the truth of what happened three years earlier... Will Jeff's grief tear their love apart? TWO HEARTS IN A GRAVE is an evocative read for those who like their love stories with a twist.
CHAPTER 1 They say home is where the heart is, and I’m here. I’m home. I walk up the narrow path towards the front step. The sun shining behind the house makes it look murkier and taller than it is. It is a big house, bigger than necessary, but I love it. I pull the front door key out of my handbag and open the door. Silence greets me. The house is so empty. There is no one waiting for me. I’m unused to such quiet houses. Having a dog helps, but my dog Sammy hasn’t moved in yet. There’s been too much going on with the move. I want to unpack first before letting him in to wreck everything in his way. Sammy’s not that big or heavy, but he’s boisterous. He loves life. I leave my keys on the hall table. It was one of the first items I unpacked. One needs somewhere to leave their keys, phone, handbag – all the valuables, basically. I know they say it’s not good to keep them by the door, but how else am I supposed to gather all my bits and pieces quickly if I need to leave in a hurry? I throw my coat on the pile of boxes beneath the stairs. There will be a coatrack there one day, but that day hasn’t come yet. I flick the heating on before entering the galley kitchen to make a cup of tea. It’s cold inside. It happens with old houses, and the house is old. I like old things. Not old men, mind. Just things. I fell in love with the house at first sight. It’s a period property like I wanted, made of grey stone, and comprises three storeys although the top floor is only an attic where I can’t stand straight. It’s a bit creepy up there too, but it will do for storage. The property was above budget, but what do you do when you fall in love? You go for it with all you’ve got, even if it means punching above your weight. Although it was Jeff who insisted on this house, he is rarely here. That’s why the house feels so big, empty and quiet, and it’s not like Jeff is loud when he is around. For a musician, he makes little noise. I guess if the neighbours knew a rock star lived next door, they would have opinions, but they don’t know. They probably never will. Jeff is not the partying type. The thick stone walls keep the noise within even when he is playing, and the sound of Jeff’s voice is as lovely as the light patter of rain on a stifling hot summer’s day after a dry fortnight. Nobody could complain about his singing. The kettle flicks off, and I go for the teabags on the counter. There’s dust on the box of teabags like there is on everything else in the house. After the dust settles, as the saying goes, except when you are in the middle of moving to a new house, it never seems to finish settling. I change my mind and reach for the green tea on the windowsill. The kitchen window gives out onto the side of the house. Some of the stone wall between the houses has been replaced with wrought iron railings, so I can see next door. I haven’t met the neighbours yet although I have seen lights on in the room across sometimes. The window is so small and so high above ground that it must be a bathroom. The curtains in the other windows on that side are usually drawn, at least when I’m home. Such private people. I bet they think the same of me.
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