by Karen Clarke
‘I won’t light it again if you don’t want me to.’ I was surprised by how easily she relented. ‘I have an electric heater we can use.’
‘Morag, I don’t want to be a nuisance. I—’
‘You’re not.’ Her tone was firm. ‘I want you to feel at home.’
‘Thank you.’ I felt perilously close to tears again. I thought I’d done all my crying, but being here, released from the agony of the past few weeks, was making me emotional. ‘I should check on Lily.’
‘I’ll go,’ Morag said firmly. ‘You have a wander about. You look like you need some fresh air.’
I wanted to protest, explain that I needed to watch Lily, that I longed to hold her and make sure she was OK, but something in Morag’s face made me think she needed this – to help me, or be with Lily, or both – as much as I needed her. And I had to learn to relax, to not constantly cling to Lily twenty-four hours a day. It wasn’t healthy for either of us. We were safe now. I could afford to let go a little.
‘Fine,’ I said, a tremor in my voice. ‘Thanks.’
‘She’s a lovely little one. Like you were.’ Morag strode back to the cottage, leaving me staring after her, overcome that Lily had someone apart from me to love and look out for her now. Little one. Guilt rushed in. Lily also had a grandmother. The last time I’d spoken to Mum, I told her I’d met someone, that I thought he might be the one. She’d been pleased, almost gushing – thrilled at the thought of her daughter living a different life to hers. You must go, she’d urged me, when my friend Ana invited me to spend the summer working in her uncle’s restaurant in New York. Go and live your life, Grace. Don’t end up like me. Get away from here.
After everything we’d been through together, after all the ways I’d tried to protect her from Dad, after … She wasn’t the same after he died. She hadn’t needed me anymore, and I could barely look at her. Morag was right. She’d had a new lease of life, had taken on more hours at the animal rescue centre where she’d volunteered for a few years – the only ‘work’ Dad would allow her to do – eventually taking over the running of it when the owner retired. The animals became her life, the other volunteers her ‘family’.
Thinking about her made my skin feel itchy. I decided to give myself a week to settle in, to be sure we really were safe, and then I would call her. Whatever had happened in the past, she had a right to know about Lily. She would want to, I was sure, though my mind shied away from telling her I was staying with Morag.
I forced myself to keep moving, focusing on the orderly rows of kale and cabbages, a crumbling stone wall green with lichen, and an ancient oak, its branches bursting with buds.
Ahead of me, a flock of startled birds exploded from the trees. I let out a yelp, clutching my chest as I strained my eyes at the dense greenery. A shiver moved down my spine. There was something; a dark flicker. And again: a subtle disturbing of the light, then an absence of something – or someone – that had been there a moment ago.
Blood rushing, I stared until my vision blurred, my breathing shallow. It was probably the vixen, checking to see whether it was safe to return, retreating when she saw me.
The woods could hide anything.
I kept looking, my heartbeat in my throat. Only when I was sure there was nothing there, that my imagination was working overtime – I hadn’t acclimatised to being in the country after years of city living – did I turn and run back into the safety of the cottage.
Chapter 8
Inside, Morag was still in her boots and jacket, staring at Lily as if she was a rare specimen – which, to my aunt, she probably was.
As I stood in the doorway, fighting the feeling I’d had of being watched, I caught an expression on Morag’s face I couldn’t decipher; almost fearful, as though Lily might suddenly morph into a monster. Then she stooped, hands on knees, and I realised she was checking that Lily was breathing. I’d done it often enough myself, seeking the rise and fall of her chest, my cheek to her nose, waiting for the tickle of breath on my skin that told me she was alive.
Morag straightened but kept her gaze on Lily. ‘I’m used to living alone,’ she said, out of the blue. ‘I’m not very good company.’
A band of heat crept across my neck. ‘I don’t want to get in the way.’ I’d been an idiot to think this would work. Morag had been kind so far, taken by surprise and probably sorry for me – or, more likely, for Lily – but we couldn’t stay. ‘Maybe you could ask around, see if anyone has a room I could rent.’
Morag darted a look at me as she shuffled her jacket off. ‘I already said, you can stay as long as you want.’ She moved towards the kitchen. ‘I’m just warning you, I’m not much of a talker and I don’t like being reminded of the past. I prefer doing things my way and like to be left alone.’
‘You don’t say.’ On a wave of relief, I had an impulse to make her smile. ‘I wondered why you were living alone in the middle of nowhere.’
She turned, the corners of her mouth lifting in acknowledgement. ‘Your mum was the chatterbox, the sociable one.’ She threw her jacket onto the table before switching the kettle on. ‘We were chalk and cheese,’ she said, giving her head a tight shake. ‘Seeing you …’ she swung round to grab the mugs we’d used earlier, still stained with coffee ‘… you’re a lot like her.’
I’d never thought so but didn’t want to risk upsetting Morag by contradicting her. Instead, I busied myself by unpacking the baby clothes from Annie, holding up dresses, tiny jumpers and sleepsuits, in varying sizes, refolding them while Morag made tea with real leaves in a pot.
‘I can cook,’ I said, as she took a packet of biscuits from the cupboard.
‘I know you can.’
I smiled, aware of my facial muscles moving. I hadn’t smiled properly for so long. ‘I mean, I can cook dinners for us to earn my keep, at least until I get a job.’
‘You’re welcome to cook.’ Morag dunked a biscuit in her tea and ate half in one mouthful. ‘But how will you work with the baby?’
I knew better than to presume Morag would want to babysit. Anyway, I didn’t want to leave Lily after what we’d been through.
‘Hopefully, I’ll be able to take her with me.’
Morag’s eyebrows twitched as if to say good luck with that, but I could almost hear the cogs turning and I knew she was thinking of a way to help.
Lily slept on as I sat on the sofa with my mug of tea, suddenly overwhelmed with curiosity regarding my aunt, about whom I knew very little, yet had thought of instinctively when I knew I had to escape Patrick. Not my mother, but Morag – her polar opposite.
‘Do you ever miss your old life?’ I looked around for evidence of the career she’d had for nearly three decades, realising for the first time that there were no pictures, no sign of the press award she’d won fifteen years ago for her photo of a weeping, blood-soaked woman on her knees in front of a collapsing building in Iraq, soldiers firing bullets all around her.
She always loved taking pictures, Mum had said on the phone, calling to tell me about the award after seeing a mention in one of the newspapers. Why couldn’t she stick to family portraits, or weddings, like normal people? I’d asked her if she was scared Morag would be killed or injured – which seemed a reasonable thing to fear – but her reply was upsetting. In some ways, it feels as if she’s already dead.
‘I don’t miss it at all.’ As Morag’s expression darkened, I remembered too late that she didn’t want to talk about the past. ‘There’s no glamour in watching people suffer,’ she said, snapping a biscuit in half. ‘It took me a while to realise just how much I hated it, how little difference I was making. The medics, they were the heroes. I was just taking pictures.’
‘But you brought the horror of what was happening to people’s attention.’
‘Fat lot of good it did.’ She drained her mug in a long swallow and placed it in the sink. ‘I’ve work to do in the garden.’ She reached for her jacket. ‘Make yourself at home.’
Rebuffed, I guiltily
watched her leave. I sipped my cooling tea, one eye on Lily, and tried to empty my mind. The day yawned ahead. For the first time in a long time, I had nowhere to be, no one to see, no job to go to. Nothing to do but care for my little girl, who was happily oblivious to my presence for the time being.
As the echo of Morag’s words faded, I let myself luxuriate in the feeling of freedom, congratulating myself for getting here. I’d done it. I’d engineered a fresh start, found a safe haven for Lily and me. My limbs flooded with warmth, an unaccustomed lightness flowing through me. I wanted to pick my baby up and dance around the room with her. Instead, I made do with gathering her up as she woke with a lazy yawn. ‘Hello, moonbeam.’ I smiled as her eyes found mine. ‘How do you like your new home?’
I wished I could talk to Ana and explain why I’d left so suddenly, but I was worried Patrick might seek her out, wanting to make sure I’d left for good. It was better that she didn’t know the details, only that I missed my family and needed to start over, however implausible I knew she must have found my texted explanation.
Ana invited me to join her in America after I left Langley college, where I’d completed a hospitality and catering course. She had extended family out there and her uncle Julio had asked her to spend the summer working in his restaurant in Manhattan while she figured out what she wanted to do. There was a job for me too, if I wanted it. Eager to get away, I hadn’t hesitated. Neither of us had returned since for more than a fleeting visit. Until now.
Lily was fussing, letting me know she was hungry. I settled into the corner of the sofa and lifted my top, curling my legs beneath me. Lulled by her rhythmic sucking and the warmth thrown out by the fire, my eyelids drifted shut. In an instant, I was back there, a year ago; the night Patrick came into the restaurant.
I’d been running the kitchen for a while by then and was trialling a new menu. At the end of the night, the maître d’ said a customer wanted to meet me, to compliment the chef. I walked out and there he was, alone at a table in the corner. He rose as I approached, tall and broad with sparkling dark eyes, and thick dark hair I could imagine running my hands through, wearing tailored trousers with a crisp white shirt. I’d been on dates in the past, had nursed a crush on a colleague, but hadn’t come anywhere close to settling down, focused on my career – on my dream of owning my own restaurant – but when Patrick offered to buy me a drink, his lips curving into a smile, I’d felt a spark of interest.
‘To thank you for the best meal I’ve ever eaten,’ he said. It was cheesy but it worked – until I spotted the platinum band on his wedding finger. ‘Just a drink,’ he added quickly, smile fading when he saw me looking. For reasons I still couldn’t fathom – I didn’t think I was the type to get involved with a married man – I said yes.
I declined a drink but sat with him at the table in the corner, the conversation flowing while the restaurant emptied around us. He was a successful lawyer, planning to enter the race to become the county District Attorney the following year. He was the youngest candidate, at thirty-eight, and in with a good chance of winning thanks to a well-funded campaign, and his stance on gun reform. He’d come in to the restaurant on impulse after a colleague had raved about the food, and because he was tired after working on a big case – and, he confessed sheepishly, to avoid going home. In a spirit of confession, perhaps induced by two glasses of bourbon, he told me he’d married too young but had invested too much to walk away. He and his wife Elise owned a two-million-dollar house on East 71st Street, bought for them by her wealthy parents as a wedding gift, but their plan to fill it with children still hadn’t happened after ten years of marriage.
‘It’s complicated. Maybe I just need a good enough reason to leave.’
Two hours later, he was in my bed in the apartment above the restaurant, and for the next two weeks, whenever he could get away, he would sneak up there after I’d finished work. Looking back, it was as if we’d regressed to being teenagers, madly in love with the idea of being in love. We couldn’t be seen together because he was married, and if he was to achieve his dream of becoming DA, he couldn’t be involved in anything potentially scandalous.
Maybe I thought on some level it would work itself out and we’d have a fairy-tale happy-ever-after, and maybe he did too, but it ended the evening he phoned the restaurant and told me Elise was pregnant.
‘It must have happened during a trip to her sister’s in Canada, a month ago.’ Hearing how elated he sounded, wanting me to be happy for him, a door slammed shut in my mind. ‘We’d given up trying,’ he said, as though I was an old friend he wanted to share the news with. As if he hadn’t told me in some detail about his wife’s flaws – how she’d suffered two miscarriages in the past, that her chances of carrying a child full-term were small, that she was showing signs of liver damage from years of drinking – that she had a terrible temper when she was drunk. I’d resisted looking her up online after that first night with Patrick. I hadn’t wanted to make her real, but felt I had a clear picture of her from everything he’d told me. Still, he was going to stay and make their marriage work, now that she was pregnant. He hoped I would understand. He thought I was special, he’d loved our time together, but he desperately wanted a family. He owed to his wife, his unborn child – and his future career, of course – to stay.
‘I understand,’ I said, because what else was there to say? ‘I’m happy for you both.’
My eyes snapped open, the past receding in a flash. Something had disturbed me. The faintest sound, like the shuffle of feet on tiles.
Heart beating fast, I unlatched Lily who snuffled a protest and nuzzled my breast as I craned my neck to look around. I sensed that someone had been watching me, but it wasn’t possible. The only way into the cottage was through the door Morag had walked out of and it was closed, the room empty. And yet … there was a faint scent in the air; something woody, grassy, as if the outdoors had been brought in.
I tugged my jumper down and sat Lily up, so I could rub her back. My pulse was racing. Stupidly, I wondered whether the cottage was haunted, another of my grandfather’s stories coming back to me. There’d been a haunting – so rumour persisted – at the church where he married my grandmother. The ghost was a jilted bride who’d killed herself and stalked up and down the aisle, trailing chilled air and the scent of lilies. But I didn’t believe in ghosts. A mouse then? More likely in an old building surrounded by woodland. For a moment, I yearned for the city, the sounds of traffic, of people – my old life. Then I remembered why I’d left. I had to get used to different noises here and shake off the suspicion that Patrick might not have kept a flimsy promise to let us go.
As silence settled, I held Lily close, kissing her cheek and breathing in the scent of her scalp as she dropped her head on my shoulder. ‘Silly Mummy,’ I murmured, patting her back. My gaze scanned the room and the back of my neck prickled. I’d missed it before. The bathroom door, which I’d closed after my shower, was wide open.
*
He cursed himself for getting so close. For a second, he’d thought she must have seen him, just like the fox had earlier, scurrying past with a shifty glance in his direction.
Curiosity had got the better of him when he heard their voices. They probably didn’t realise how far sound carried out in the open when the wind was blowing in the right direction, or when the air was still.
For someone like him, with his particular skill set, it wouldn’t be difficult to stay hidden for as long as he wanted; to watch and wait. To find out more, before the time was right to make himself known.
It wasn’t easy to drop out of existence these days, to disappear without a trace like he had. She’d done a good job. It had taken time and hard work to find her. Now he had, he wasn’t going to rush in, guns blazing, risking everything.
She probably thought she’d never be traced out here, to the middle of nowhere, where there wasn’t even a decent phone signal. It had been a challenge, even for someone with his exceptional tracking abiliti
es, but he was here.
He wouldn’t report back yet, though. He was enjoying himself too much, muscle memory kicking in – the thrill of the chase.
He moved a little closer. It was getting harder to stay hidden. Part of him wanted her to know he was there, to kick the door down, announce his presence.
To let her know she’d been found.
Chapter 9
I stopped myself from running out to ask Morag whether she’d used the bathroom after me, knowing how it would sound. It was the obvious explanation for why the door was open. Either that or a gust of air had pulled it ajar when Morag went outside. Even so, I couldn’t sit still after checking the bathroom was empty, or throw off the feeling that someone’s eyes had been on me. Once I’d changed Lily’s nappy and settled her down, I decided to cook lunch, foraging through the fridge and cupboards for ingredients. Cooking was the only activity guaranteed to focus my mind.
‘Have you thought about getting a dog?’ I asked Morag, once we were seated at the table, thinking how easy it would be for someone to sneak up to the cottage during the day.
Morag looked up from examining her plate. ‘Funny you should ask.’ She dug a fork into her mushroom risotto. ‘I was talking about that very thing at the pub a couple of nights ago.’
‘Really?’ I could hardly hide my surprise at the coincidence.
‘Bryn said his uncle was asking if anyone wanted a sheepdog that hasn’t taken to working on the farm.’ I remembered Bryn was Annie’s husband, the couple who owned the Carpenter’s Arms. ‘I said I’d think about it.’
‘And are you?’
Morag ate a mouthful of risotto, pushing back the lock of hair that fell across her forehead. ‘I thought it might be too much responsibility,’ she said when she’d swallowed. ‘I’m not like your mother, treating animals like children.’
I felt compelled to defend Mum again. ‘She’s done a lot of good at the rescue centre.’ Maybe she’d been right to say Morag felt superior because her line of work was more important than protecting sick and unwanted animals.