Surrounded by the Suffolk countryside, Oak Tree Farm is shrouded in mystery about the misfortune of its earlier inhabitants.
In 1867, Maud desperately seeks a remedy for post-natal depression, at a time when it is neither recognised nor understood.
In 2016, successful solicitor Bea uproots from London to the farm. Heavily pregnant, the move brings more challenges than she anticipates. Are the strange, unexplained incidents in the house imagined or communications from someone or something unable to rest?
A twist on a classic haunted house story, interlaced with themes of motherhood and mental health, The Watcher’s Lullaby is a psychological thriller, told through the voices of Bea and Maud, that will leave you listening intently to every noise at home…
Surrounded by the Suffolk countryside, Oak Tree Farm is shrouded in mystery about the misfortune of its earlier inhabitants.
In 1867, Maud desperately seeks a remedy for post-natal depression, at a time when it is neither recognised nor understood.
In 2016, successful solicitor Bea uproots from London to the farm. Heavily pregnant, the move brings more challenges than she anticipates. Are the strange, unexplained incidents in the house imagined or communications from someone or something unable to rest?
A twist on a classic haunted house story, interlaced with themes of motherhood and mental health, The Watcher’s Lullaby is a psychological thriller, told through the voices of Bea and Maud, that will leave you listening intently to every noise at home…
The wind is constant, stirring the leaves and grasses into a dance that mimics the coastal breeze. Intermittently it roars against your ear drum, reminiscent of the surge of the tide or the echoes in a shell pressed to your ear.
Fragments of this countryside are near-exact replicas of the same spot years, decades and centuries before. This ancient earth clings to the past more than elsewhere. Holds secrets and grudges. Buries tales of folklore and tales of truth, so the thin line between them smudges and fades.
She is bound to this place, woven into the landscape, like the thread that pierces and binds patchwork together. She waits and she watches. Like the soil, she lies close to the living, entwined with roots, compounded by the footprints of those who came after her. But her interest is particular; the first to perceive the quickening, she is ignited by the sparks of new life.
She does not age, but the years are not kind to her: they bring no enlightenment, only the relentless pain of loss, overshadowed by unspoken accusation. The sharp sting of betrayal.
She will not fail those who follow; she is determined.
She waits and she watches.
Then she intervenes.
Chapter 1 – Bea
“Ready?”
I struggle to twist my body and fasten the seat belt over my enormous belly. If I’m this big at six months, how the hell will I manage in nine?
“Guess so.”
I have that nervous, giddy feeling like a child who’s eaten too much sugar. The chill of the car is piercing, despite my human-incubator-temperature, and I’m glad of my coat and scarf. Scraped remnants of frost streak the windows and my breath steams in front of me.
We’re parked a few doors down from our small Victorian terrace house. It feels strange looking at it from the outside, like departing visitors. Our home for the past five years, it’s been the focal point of many ups and downs, and I’m not sure that I’m ready to leave it behind. A lump rises in my throat.
Seb catches my expression and places a hand on my knee. “I know. It’ll be okay.”
“We’ve so many memories here though. Parties and barbeques… when your mum met my parents… where you proposed,” my voice quivers. In my head I also recalled the tensions. The bitter disappointments. Drips of blood on the bathroom floor.
As if reading my thoughts, Seb frowns.
He’s so sure about this move. For him, relocating to Suffolk feels right, but I still have reservations. I gave in, eventually, but I’m still left with doubts. Now the moment has come for us to leave, and my stomach is tight.
The removal team stack the last of the boxes into the lorry. They were amazed at the paraphernalia that emerged from our two-up, two-down home, the music and book collection accounting for a fair percentage of it.
Seb mutters something about having one last check and struggles to unfold his lanky frame to clamber out of the car. He disappears behind the front door for a couple of minutes then hands over the keys to the buyer who is waiting outside, shaking her hand. I’ve met her before: she seems nice enough, enthusiastic and young. Her parents had clearly helped her take her first step on the property ladder. I wave to her and wind down the windscreen to call good luck.
Seb straps himself in. Before he turns on the ignition, he leans across and kisses my cheek. I inhale the woody aftershave I love and feel comforted.
“We’ll be just fine.”
I give him a small smile back then twist my head, checking for the third time that my hospital bag is within reach, perched on the rear seat.
He raises an eyebrow. “Not for a while yet, I hope.”
“Yeah – you and me both.” It seemed ridiculous having it ready so early, but one of the removal men was insistent we should keep it close, just in case.
As the car pulls away, I take a last glance at our home until it disappears from view.
It takes a while for the heater to outbattle the icy air of the car. Our journey begins slowly, every traffic light turning red. We take the lead, the removal van follows.
Trafalgar Road is decorated by the usual daytime bustle of traffic and pedestrians, unloading vans and lorries. This road is full of life: not just the bright signs of restaurants, independent shops and bars but the way it seems to evolve at every crossroad. Iron railings line its beginnings and every so often, between the hedges, you catch a glimpse of the pristine Queen Anne’s House or the double-domed symmetry of the Old Royal Naval College. Then railings give way to a more urban feel, with shopfronts bordering pavements. The family run Turkish restaurant, teeming at night, sits opposite the Jamaican café, beats throbbing through the open door. The old-style Launderette, with 1950’s signage, steamy warm in the winter or stifling hot in the summer, nestles between a bustling barbers and a Boots pharmacy. Weird to observe it all through the car window, when so often we’d be sauntering on foot, popping to the Italian deli for sandwiches or browsing the antiques and craft markets. Already I feel one step removed. Life will be a lot quieter from now on.
As usual, the queue for the Blackwall Tunnel is horrific, the lanes of traffic merging to funnel into the dimly lit tube. I’m not claustrophobic, but I’ve always felt wary of this antique structure, not helped by the droning sound of the cars pulsing through it and the knowledge of the weight of the Thames flowing above.
We break out into daylight and the hum ceases. From here on, our journey is less interrupted. I’m toasty now, and struggle to remove coat and scarf, wrestling with the seatbelt and my awkward shape. Once free, I rest my head and soon the soft purr of the engine and the monotony of the A12 send me to sleep.
Goodbye Greenwich. Time for our next chapter.
The Watcher's Lullaby
A young couple, Bea (who is pregnant) and Seb, move from London to an old farmhouse in the country. Immediately Bea, who is alone in the house during the week, begins to notice strange occurrences that only seem to happen when she is alone. Are her and her soon to be bigger family safe on this isolated farm?
Let me start out by saying I really enjoyed Harvey's writing. From the very beginning of the book I noticed how good her writing skills were. Her scenes were descriptive without over describing. She didn't try to focus on needless details. The flow of her writing style is clear and easy to follow. In the last month I've read four books (including this one) and started a fifth, and though three of those books were by a very good author, I enjoyed Harvey's skill the most.
The characters Harvey created were a refreshing change of pace. They were fleshed out, seemed real and were likable. There seems to be a trend in making characters in books terrible people or just plain annoying. That was not the case in this book. When a book is full of terrible characters it becomes a chore to keep reading. In this book everyone had their own personalities and faults, but none of them seemed like bad people who you wouldn't root for. There were several small details that were thrown in that made Bea very relatable and I really enjoyed it.
Those were the good things about the book. Now the bad. Although I enjoyed most of the book, after awhile I felt it became a bit repetitive and overall the story didn't feel very original. I kept finding myself with a serious case of "I've read or seen this before several times". Nothing really seemed new and for a haunted house story, I was never really truly worried about the family living in the house. Having the experiences Bea has would certainly be creepy but, and this is the real downside of the book for me, after reading a semi-creepy story there was no payoff at all. I was so disappointed by the ending of this book. I am doing my best not to include spoilers, but if you like a book with an exciting climax and payoff then look elsewhere.
This book is not a nail biter in my opinion. However if you enjoy a safe haunted house story that won't keep you up at night, this is the book for you. My mind keeps going to the term "Cozy Mystery". And while listed as a Thriller, to me it felt like what I would term a “Cozy Horror”. You can enjoy it (until the ending) and not worry about anything to extreme happening.
Overall, yes I would recommend this book and I'm looking forward to readying Harvey again. Though I was very disappointed with the ending that doesn't make the book bad at all. Other people may really enjoy the ending. I would defend my opinion but I don't want to give spoilers. Every book has its ups and downs and they are different for every reader. Give this book a try.