by Karen Clarke
She nodded. ‘Think you’re up to making a casserole?’
‘Sure.’ I sensed she was subtly showing me off – this is my niece, she’s a chef – and was moved again as I remembered Ifan’s comment about her buzzing that morning, talking about my visit at the pub. ‘I’ve never cooked rabbit before but I’ll do my best,’ I said, not looking forward to it.
‘Were you planning on going somewhere?’ She’d noticed Lily’s outdoor clothes discarded on the sofa next to my grandfather’s coat.
‘We took a … went for a walk.’ I hoped I’d lose the little Americanisms I’d picked up. ‘I couldn’t find a key to lock up, so we didn’t go far, then Ifan arrived and I invited him in.’
He was watching our exchange, one large hand resting on Skip’s back.
Morag pursed her lips. ‘I should have told you I keep a spare underneath the plant pot outside. What?’ she said to Ifan when his eyebrows rose. ‘I don’t tell anyone that, not even you.’
‘Well, now I know.’
‘I looked under both plant pots.’ I adjusted Lily in my arms. ‘There was no key.’
It wasn’t until Morag tensed her shoulders that I realised how relaxed she’d been, despite the dog’s refusal to obey her. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Positive.’ I looked at Ifan, suddenly uncertain. ‘Maybe I knocked it out of sight.’
‘Let’s look again.’ Ifan got to his feet, the bulk of him blocking the light from the window. We followed Morag to the door, Skip panting at our heels.
‘Are you sure you looked properly?’ Morag crouched and lifted the nearest pot.
I joined her, holding Lily tight, aware once more of the denseness of the trees bordering the land around the cottage. A rash of goose bumps rose on the back of my neck as I saw what Morag was holding between her forefinger and thumb. A small brass key, dulled with age and rimmed with earth, as if this was the first time it had been plucked from its hiding place. ‘You can’t have looked very hard,’ she said. ‘It was right there all along.’
Chapter 11
I couldn’t be sure the key hadn’t been ground into the soil and I’d missed it in my haste. I said nothing, suppressing a shiver.
‘I’d better be off.’ Ifan nodded at Skip hovering in the doorway as if worried that once he was outside, he’d never be let back in. ‘At least you have this beast to protect you.’ He let out a low laugh, shaking his head as he loped around the side of the cottage to where he must have parked a vehicle. The cottage was a long walk from the village unless he knew a shortcut.
‘I reckon he knows something about this dog that I don’t.’ Morag eyed Skip with suspicion before turning her gaze on me. She seemed satisfied there’d been a misunderstanding about the key. ‘You’d better hang on to this,’ she said, handing it over. ‘You OK?’ Her dark eyes searched my face until I had to look away.
‘I’m fine.’ Pushing the key in my pocket, I glanced at the sky, which had darkened to a gunmetal grey. In the distance, a light mist shrouded the mountain tops. ‘I’m just getting used to everything.’ I mustered a smile. ‘Still a bit jet-lagged, I think.’
‘Looks like the baby needs a feed.’ Face relaxing, she glanced to where Lily was snuffling at my chest, hand fidgeting with my top. ‘I’ll take her upstairs,’ I said, glad to be back inside as the heavens opened and rain began falling in sheets. ‘After I’ve fed her, I’ll make a start on dinner.’
*
Upstairs, I shuffled back on the bed, needing to rest my head while Lily fed hungrily. Smiling, I studied her face, letting the fact of us being here sink in. Recalling the fright that Ifan had given me earlier, I shook my head. Something about him reminded me a little of my grandfather and I wondered whether Morag felt it too.
My gaze moved around the room, to the heavy beams overhead, the rough-stone walls unadorned with pictures or photos, the uncurtained window. The light had shifted but the effect was cosy, the patter of rain on the roof timeless and soothing. It reminded me of the time I came down with a cold while staying with my grandparents one wet summer. My grandmother had made a fuss of me, tucking me into their squashy bed, bringing warm milk and the television for me to watch.
As my eyes raked the dresser for the ring I’d left there that morning, I noticed a slip of paper lying on the floor. A receipt? Once I’d burped Lily and she was drowsing, I laid her on the duvet and swung my legs off the bed. Bending, I picked up the paper and held it to the window. Not a receipt; a note. As I read the roughly written words, fear whipped through me.
Keep her close. Anything could happen.
A chill stretched from my stomach to my heart. The scratchy words, written in blood-red ink, looked vaguely familiar. What did it mean? It had to be about Lily.
I leant across the dresser, pushing my face to the window as if the culprit might be out there, waiting to see my reaction. My vision was distorted by the rain-glazed glass, but I could see the wind had strengthened, lashing the tree tops, while crows circled the bank of dark clouds above. Everything was moving, apart from … I looked harder, trying to see. There, between the trunks of two tall pines. I narrowed my eyes, heart bouncing off my ribcage. Was someone standing there, completely still? My breath misted the glass and I wiped it with my sleeve. Training my gaze on the same spot, I searched for a face. Nothing.
A hot wave of panic rolled through me. Had Patrick sent someone to frighten me after all? Make sure I stayed under the radar? If so, he must have planned it the second I left. Was this just the start? But why? I’d made a promise I intended to keep and thought that he had too. Had I completely misjudged him?
Moving away from the window, I unfolded the paper with trembling fingers and read it again. Keep her close. Anything could happen. A warning. Fear mushroomed. Someone had been inside the cottage. They’d come upstairs and left the note, which must have fluttered to the floor. Someone had let themselves into the cottage while it was empty. I doubted it was Patrick, he wouldn’t – couldn’t – risk being here. But he knew people – bad people. Or maybe he was crazed with grief and not thinking straight, but … no. That wasn’t Patrick’s style. I turned to check Lily, scrunching the note in my fist as if she might open her eyes and be able to read it.
‘OK up there?’ At the sound of Morag’s voice, I gave a muffled screech. ‘Grace?’
‘I’ve got a headache,’ I called back, dropping down on the bed. My limbs felt watery, my heart skittering in my chest. ‘I think I’ll take a nap.’
There was a pause, as if Morag could hear the tremor in my voice and was debating whether to come up, but to my relief, she simply said, ‘Good idea. I’ll take the dog out.’
Once the door had closed behind her, I ran down and tossed the piece of paper into the fire, watching it blaze and burn. When it was ash, I returned to the bedroom and lifted Lily into my arms. I squeezed her to me, stroking her hair. ‘It’s going to be OK,’ I murmured, looking into her sleepy chocolate-drop eyes. ‘I promise I won’t let anything bad happen to you.’ Her eyebrows twitched. She looked like she didn’t believe me.
*
After bringing up Lily’s Moses basket and laying her down to sleep, I tidied the room in a frenzy of activity, trying not to think about the note as I pushed the drawer back in the dresser and tossed my aunt’s underwear in. When I’d finished, my energy was drained and I lay down on the bed, waking later with a jerk. Against the odds, I’d nodded off. Swinging onto my side, I stared at Lily in her basket in the fading light. She was napping on her back, her tiny hands curled into fists by her cheeks. How long had I slept? I couldn’t hear Morag downstairs and sensed the cottage was empty. The gleam of a lamp in the living room bathed the ceiling in an apricot glow. Shifting my head, I saw a piece of paper on the bedside pile of magazines. I sat up with a feeling of dread and squinted at the neat, pencilled words. Didn’t want to wake you. Gone to the pub. Soup in the fridge if you’re hungry. Dog’s been fed. M.
My thoughts leapt in time with my heartbeat. Was the door locke
d? What if whoever had left the previous note came back? Then I remembered the dog. Skip would bark a warning. Morag wouldn’t have taken him with her.
I lay back down, stiff with tension.
It was evening, judging by the darkening sky through the window. There was no point getting up and cooking rabbits. The thought made my stomach turn. No point going downstairs at all; no TV, no radio, no internet. None of the usual trappings of entertainment to distract me. I could read one of the books I’d seen on the shelf downstairs, but found I didn’t want to leave the sanctuary of my bed. And Lily looked so peaceful, like a little doll, her lips slightly parted as she huffed air in and out. I longed to pick her up and snuggle her against me but decided not to disturb her.
A clatter on the stairs made my heart bounce. Skip appeared at the side of the bed and looked at me with shining brown eyes.
‘Hello, boy.’ I held out a hand, which he took as a sign to leap on top of the covers, curling into the curve of my body with a sigh. He smelt faintly of biscuits, his warmth like a safety blanket. ‘Sweet boy,’ I murmured, my body finally relaxing.
I burrowed my fingers in the fur at his neck and tumbled into a dreamless sleep.
*
‘You should come to the village today. I’ll introduce you,’ Morag said over breakfast the following morning. ‘You can’t stay cooped up here all day.’ She seemed in good spirits, spooning sugar from the bag into a bowl of creamy porridge. The bedding she’d used was neatly folded into a pile on the sofa and I felt a pang of guilt.
‘Isn’t that what you do?’ Matching her tone, I helped myself to some porridge from the pan on the stove and chopped an overripe banana into it. At some point in the night, I’d come to the conclusion that the note had been a test. Patrick was reminding me of my promise, showing me that – even from a distance – he had the power to keep a check on me. It was crude, and unlike the man I thought I knew, but maybe he hadn’t believed I would keep my word. It was odd, when he had so much to lose, but the last few weeks had shown me a different side to him. Perhaps the real surprise was him letting me go in the first place.
I’d decided the best thing to do was keep my head down and stick to my plan – show him I meant what I’d said. As long as he left us alone, I wouldn’t say a word to anyone. Ignoring the little voice that had whispered he might be willing to do anything to get his daughter back – to punish me for getting the upper hand – I’d finally slept again. ‘How long have you lived here?’ I asked Morag, as a distraction.
‘Seven years, and I’m out more often than you’d think.’
‘Good time at the pub last night?’
‘Quiz night.’ A smile touched the corners of her mouth. ‘We won.’
‘We?’
‘The Carpenter’s Arms. Four other pub teams were competing but we’re easily the best.’
Her words gave me a wrench, thinking of Ifan’s description of Fenbrith as a community, reminding me of the ‘family’ I’d left behind. My people. Here, I had no one. No, that wasn’t true, I reminded myself, sitting at the table with my breakfast. I had Lily, and now I had Morag. And maybe, as her niece, I’d get a free pass with the locals and become one of them if I stayed.
‘You were out for the count when I came back.’ Morag eyed the creased top I’d spent the night in. I hadn’t heard her return and Lily hadn’t stirred either, though she’d fed voraciously on waking. ‘I’m not a fan of the dog sleeping on the bed.’
‘Sorry, I should have pushed him off.’ I was unwilling to tell Morag how much safer I felt with the dog inside the house in case she wanted to know why. That I’d put an ocean and thousands of miles between Patrick and me, but somehow, he knew where I was. ‘He didn’t bark when you came in.’ Worry scraped at my insides.
‘No, but I thought he was going to bite me when I came up to check on you.’ Morag gave Skip a dark look. ‘It’s like he thinks you need protecting.’
Skip was lying by the door, ears pricked. Was it true? I hoped so. Dogs were meant to have a sixth sense.
‘Can I take him for a walk?’ I said. ‘Before we go into the village, I mean.’
‘Be my guest,’ Morag said dryly. ‘So, you’re coming with me?’
I made myself smile. ‘As you said, I can’t stay cooped up here.’ I wasn’t keen on the idea of meeting people yet, but didn’t fancy staying at the cottage on my own. Plus, it would be an opportunity to get online and look Patrick up – see if there was any news. ‘I used to go running in New York,’ I said, wanting to change the subject. ‘Early, before the day got going.’ Before Patrick. Weird how my life was so clearly divided into before and after. No combining, which was what normally happened when two people got together, their befores and afters joining to create a future. But then, we were never really together. ‘It cleared my head, set me up for the day,’ I went on. ‘Even when I hadn’t had much sleep.’
‘Sounds hideous,’ Morag said briskly. ‘Walking’s kinder to your joints.’
‘There was a park nearby. I mostly ran there, a few laps on the grass.’ A cop-out, Ana used to say; not proper running at all. She’d done the New York marathon a couple of times, was training for the next one.
‘Better scenery here.’ Morag pushed her empty bowl aside. She was in her tartan dressing gown, her hair sticking out to one side. I felt a wave of affection. ‘I’ll keep an eye on the baby,’ she said, resting her elbows on the table, her gaze travelling to the room in the eaves where I’d left Lily sleeping. Silence swelled. If I’d thought Morag might want more details about my life in America, again I was … disappointed? Did I want to talk about it? Maybe. The before part at least. Maybe I thought if I didn’t, it was as if those years hadn’t existed, the person I’d been extinguished. But surely it was better this way? A chance to begin afresh. Lily’s mum. That’s who I was now. The rest didn’t matter. Keeping us safe was my priority.
‘I’ll be leaving at about eleven.’ Morag scraped her stool back as she stood, the sound underscoring our conversation, making clear it was over.
*
Stepping outside without Lily felt wrong, as though I’d left a piece of myself behind. I told myself she’d be safe with Morag, that I had to learn to trust my aunt if we were going to be living under the same roof for a while. And I wouldn’t be gone long. Besides, something told me Lily was safer in the cottage with her great-aunt than out of it with me. Try as I might, I couldn’t let go of the idea of someone lurking about, waiting to snatch her.
Morag had reassured me that Skip was trained to come back when called, after I enquired whether there was a leash among the items she’d brought with him from the farm.
I tried it out as he ran ahead, clearly delighted to be outdoors, exploring somewhere new. He stopped to cock his leg, then returned to my side, looking up as though awaiting instructions. ‘Good boy.’ I patted his head. ‘Go on then.’
As he pounded joyfully to the end of the vegetable garden where the trees led into the woods, I found myself smiling in spite of everything. I could only hope it would be as easy to ‘train’ Lily when she was older. It was hard to imagine a time when she would be walking, running; heading away from me. I hoped she’d always want to come back, that she wouldn’t want to leave like I’d left my mother. The circumstances would be different, I promised myself as I followed Skip. I breathed deeply, feeling as if it was the first time my lungs had fully expanded in months. I would never give my daughter a reason to run away.
The thought of Mum made my stomach tighten. Having Lily … it had brought thoughts of her close, how well we’d once got on, the two of us against Dad. Ganging up, he’d called it, enjoying what he viewed as teasing, unaware we’d felt stronger and more able to cope with his moods when we were a team.
When Lily was born, I’d longed for Mum with a primaeval craving, crying as I fumbled with nappies and feeding, desperate for her advice, but something stopped me from calling her, just as it had when I found out I was pregnant; the same instinct that wa
rned me not to mention it during our infrequent calls. Another week or two and I’d get in touch. Maybe even visit.
Pulling in a shaky breath, I concentrated on my surroundings. The air smelt earthy and sweet after last night’s rainfall and the sky was a soft dove-grey. Beneath the wellington boots I’d padded with two pairs of socks, the ground was thick with mud, patches of grass bursting through. Blood surged in my veins as I picked up pace, a cool wind tugging my hair and whipping my cheeks.
The woods when I entered were dark, ancient and messy, with no designated paths that I could see. Dim light filtered through a canopy of leaves and I couldn’t help imagining movements, flashes of eyes on me as I hurried after the dog, boots sinking into leaf mulch as I trod over tangled roots and fallen branches. Skip leapt nimbly over a dying tree stump covered with moss, chasing a squirrel that shot up a gnarled trunk and paused to look down, as if checking he was safe. The earth was churned, old roots pushing through. I had the sense of disturbing nature – that I wasn’t welcome here. The woods could hide anything. Panic took hold of my insides. My breath came fast as I followed Skip, but it wasn’t long before I reached a five-bar gate that opened into a wide, sloping field, a dazzle of daisies, where Skip was looping in circles, barking at the sky.
Blinking, I paused, drinking in the wild beauty of the view stretching into the distance; the valleys, hills and mountains – a kestrel gliding above on the breeze – and the cobalt glimmer of water in the lake that ran alongside the village. Sheep were studded on grassy banks like toys, the faraway sound of their bleating somehow ethereal. The world felt so much bigger here. In Manhattan I’d been hemmed in by tall buildings and other people, by cars, by … things. The city had its own beauty, which I’d learnt to appreciate, but nothing on this scale. There were no sounds here but the sheep and birdsong, and the wind blustering through the trees behind me.
I recognised another sound then, from childhood holidays: a steam train chugging through the valleys, its plume of smoke puffing in the air. That must have been the smoke I’d seen the day before, curling into the sky. It was too early in the year for many tourists, but in another few weeks the place would fill with hikers and holidaymakers, taking in the scenery as I was doing.