by Karen Clarke
‘You’re quiet,’ she said, once we were back at the cottage. She was lighting a fire in the grate and stepped back as it sprang to life. ‘Like I said, Biddy doesn’t mean any harm, but she can’t stop words spilling out of her once she starts.’
‘Honestly, it’s OK.’ Morag had already apologised on the way back in the van, even though it wasn’t her fault. I wasn’t even sure it was Declan’s reflection I’d seen in the window, and told her not to worry.
‘Do you think you’re in some sort of danger from Lily’s father?’ she said, facing me in the kitchen, still in her coat and boots. She kept glancing at the door, probably expecting Ifan to walk in. He’d followed us back to take a look at the phone line. ‘Should we be worried?’
I shook my head. I couldn’t say anything now. And Morag had nothing to fear. I was the one being targeted. If that looked like changing, I would leave. ‘It’s OK,’ I said. ‘He promised to leave me alone and I … I believe him.’ I’d wanted to believe him. More fool me.
‘Why so jumpy, then?’
‘Habit, I suppose.’ I wished I hadn’t put Lily down for a nap. Without her in my arms, I felt insubstantial, as if I might blow away. Realising my hands were clenched, I unfurled them. ‘I got used to looking over my shoulder for a while. After everything that happened it’s sometimes hard to believe we’re here.’
Morag’s brow remained creased in a frown. ‘Did he have you locked up or something?’
‘No, no.’ My chest tightened. ‘Nothing like that, but I mean, there are more ways than one of being trapped.’
Morag’s face darkened. ‘Oh, I know that.’ She sounded as though she was speaking from experience. ‘How can you be certain he’s not going to make trouble for you?’
I can’t. ‘Like I said, he’s got a reputation to protect. I promised not to reveal certain things if he let me go.’ I didn’t want to go into detail – didn’t think she wanted me to – but she clearly needed some reassurance. ‘I read something online.’ Her eyebrows rose. ‘There was a piece in a newspaper that suggested he’s moving on with his life.’ So why wasn’t he? I’d threatened to expose him, blackmailed him into letting me leave with Lily. Why risk me going to the police now? No one would be looking into Elise’s death. Patrick’s word, that it had been a tragic accident – a result of her heavy drinking – had been accepted. I had nothing to gain by reporting him.
Was I a loose end he wanted tying up?
‘He must be important if he’s in the news,’ Morag said, but didn’t ask who he was. ‘Could he have sent someone after you?’
Hearing her voice my fears was a shock. ‘I worried at first he might.’ I decided to be honest about that. ‘He knows people, could have had someone follow me here, but I was careful.’ So careful. ‘And he has too much to lose. His life is simpler without me and Lily. I doubt he’d risk everything he’s worked for.’
‘Is he a danger to the public?’ Morag seemed curious, almost against her better judgement. ‘You wouldn’t want a man like that on the loose if—’
‘He’s not a danger to the public.’ The thought was almost laughable. Patrick’s job was to protect the public. As a prosecutor, he represented the state. He interviewed victims and witnesses, evaluated evidence to determine whether there was enough to open a case, to send someone to prison. He was held to a high moral standard, his background impeccable. He did most of his work in a courtroom, before a grand jury, was on call twenty-four hours a day. Since his brother’s death, Patrick’s whole life had been about making sure justice was done. The thought of him causing harm would have been funny, if I hadn’t learnt that some people will do anything to realise their ambitions and to protect themselves.
The moral arc of the universe is long, but it bends towards justice. It was Patrick’s favourite quote, by Martin Luther King, Jr. But what about justice for his wife? Was it enough that he had to live with her death on his conscience? Was the thought of me being free, over here with his daughter, more than he could bear?
‘You thought that man, Declan, was asking too many questions.’
‘No, I … Look, Morag, it’s been a weird time and I’ve been scared for months, since before Lily was born, and everything’s changed so quickly.’ The words came in a rush. ‘I suppose I’m being vigilant because that’s been my state of mind for a while.’
She nodded, but there was something in her expression that was hard to make out. ‘So, you haven’t seen or heard anything out of the ordinary?’
I shook my head, not trusting myself to speak. After a moment, I managed, ‘Declan seems like a nice guy. I’m just not used to being—’
‘Chatted up?’
I gave an embarrassed laugh, willing Ifan to come in. ‘Do people still say that?’
‘What else would you call it?’
‘He wants to take us out on Sunday.’
‘By us, I take it you don’t mean me.’
I smiled. ‘You’re welcome to come too.’
‘You’re going then?’ Her expression shifted again.
‘You think I shouldn’t?’ Worry crackled across my chest. Had she picked up on something, just when I’d allowed myself to believe that Declan was genuine?
‘I don’t know.’ Morag picked up the jar of blackberry jam she’d brought back from the stall and studied the label, handwritten in a looping scrawl. ‘I think you’re right to be careful.’ Turning, she opened the cupboard and put the jar inside. There was a row of them, all unopened, and the thought of her buying them when she didn’t need to was oddly moving. ‘You can’t stop living your life because of whatever happened.’
It was on the tip of my tongue to say: Isn’t that what you’ve done? but I realised it wasn’t true. Morag had made a good life here. She wasn’t the recluse I’d expected. She had friends, a job of sorts, loved working in her garden. Ifan clearly thought the world of her, even if she didn’t acknowledge the fact. And, for now at least, she had Lily and me. And a dog.
On cue, Skip bounded in and nosily lapped from his water bowl. Ifan followed and I couldn’t tell whether the slight sag of Morag’s shoulders signalled relief or disappointment that our conversation had been interrupted.
‘Ni allaf ei drwsio,’ he said, scratching the back of his head. ‘I can’t fix it. You’ll have to get the telephone company out.’
‘What do you think happened?’ I asked.
Ifan’s brow furrowed. ‘Looks like it’s been chewed.’
My stomach tightened.
‘Wouldn’t surprise me.’ Morag started scooping coffee from foil bags into the cafetiere. ‘Lot of squirrels around here. It wouldn’t be the first time.’ I remembered Skip, chasing a squirrel through the woods.
‘You said it was probably corrosion.’ The sharp edge was back in my voice. ‘The weather, you said.’
‘It could be that.’ She started making coffee, evening out the measures with a knife. ‘Or squirrels.’
‘I’ll put in a call when I get home, ask them to send someone out.’ Ifan settled himself at the table and rubbed Skip’s ears, seeming oblivious to the tension in the air.
Forcing myself to relax, I checked Lily in her Moses basket. She was still sleeping, her dark hair sticking straight up.
‘What did you think of the rabbit?’ Ifan looked expectantly from me to Morag.
‘Tasty, thank you.’
‘Very tasty,’ Morag agreed.
Should I mention one had vanished? Imagining their confusion, I decided against it, my mind slipping back to suspicion. If Ifan hadn’t taken one away and the dog hadn’t eaten it … it could only be the same person who’d left the note and taken my ring.
The moment passed. Morag had plunged the cafetiere down and was pouring dark liquid into three mugs. A pigeon cooed outside and Lily sighed in her sleep. Skip circled the rug and flopped down, eyebrows twitching as he surveyed his surroundings. A log cracked in the fire and we turned to look at the leaping flames. It was an oddly domestic scene.
‘You
coming to the quiz night on Monday?’ Ifan asked Morag, though he surely knew the answer.
‘Don’t I always?’ She removed her jacket and leant against the worktop, cradling her mug, studying him with something approaching affection.
‘I’ll take my coffee upstairs if that’s OK.’ I was aware of a headache building at the base of my skull.
As I reached for the Moses basket, Morag said, ‘We’ll keep an eye on her, don’t worry.’
I let my hand fall. I didn’t want to offend Morag and didn’t need to keep Lily by my side every second of the day, however strong the urge.
‘Thanks.’ I picked up my coffee instead, smiling at Ifan. He was watching me, as if trying to weigh me up. I realised it would be a mistake to dismiss him as a country yokel. There was a shrewd intelligence behind those bright blue eyes.
‘Have some biscuits.’ Morag pushed a packet of chocolate digestives over. I helped myself to a couple, feeling clumsy and self-conscious. Laughable really, when I’d confidently run a kitchen for several years, delegating tasks to staff and negotiating with suppliers.
Upstairs, I placed my mug and biscuits on the pile of magazines and sat on the bed. The pressure in my temples increased. I massaged my scalp with my fingertips, eyes flicking over the surfaces, the shock of finding the note fresh in my mind.
Sighing, I took my grandmother’s ring out of my pocket and wiped it on my jeans. It felt warm in my palm. I studied it for a moment, letting the stone catch the light as I’d done so many times in the past, then thrust it under my pillow out of sight. Stupid to have left it lying around in the first place. Thank God I’d found it. I glanced at the space on the dressing table where it had been and frowned. There was something there.
I stood up for a closer look, flicking the lamp on as I passed. Next to the brush and comb set on the shiny surface was a lock of fine brown hair, tied at one end with a thin elastic band. My hand flew to my throat. Baby hair?
Shaking, I picked it up between my thumb and forefinger. It was darker than Lily’s, the same colour as the wood, which was why I hadn’t seen it. It wasn’t Lily’s. It probably wasn’t even real, had been put there to frighten me. I dropped it as though scalded, a vivid image rising in my brain of me hunched and running, always running, Lily clamped in my arms while I waited for the axe to fall.
A bolt of anger shot through me. I wouldn’t let Patrick do this; ruin my life and Lily’s. If he was expecting a reaction, I wouldn’t give him one.
Then I thought of someone sneaking in, taking the rabbit from the fridge – leaving the note, the lock of hair, stealing my ring on impulse. A shiver trailed across my back. What if next time they took Lily? Maybe this person had gone rogue, was enjoying the game too much. It had nothing to do with Patrick’s instructions. A chilling montage ran though my head, culled from thrillers and horror films: a mutilated bird on the doorstep, dead roses delivered, a cat nailed to the gatepost. Or dog. Wasn’t the family pet always killed by the baddie? Everyone knew that killing an innocent animal delivered the biggest emotional punch.
I moved to the stairs and looked over the balcony rail. Morag was seeing Ifan out, his voice a low rumble in the doorway. Lily had woken in her basket, legs kicking, while Skip whined at Ifan’s heels. As he moved aside to let the dog run outdoors, Morag turned and looked up as if sensing my stare.
‘I thought you were having a sleep.’
‘Lily needs changing.’ Plastering on a smile, I descended the stairs. ‘I’ll keep an eye on her now if you’ve got work to do.’
Morag gave me a funny look, as if my tone wasn’t quite right, but followed Ifan out without a word.
I rushed back upstairs, picked up the hair from the floor and dropped it in Morag’s underwear drawer. It was proof of sorts. If I needed it.
Chapter 20
‘Are you going to the pub this evening?’ It was Thursday. I’d cooked dinner – lamb cutlets with a mint and shallot relish – which Morag had eaten with enthusiasm, tossing the bones to Skip when she’d finished. Now she was flicking through a local paper that Ifan had brought, my reading glasses perched on the end of her nose.
‘I don’t have a drink problem, you know.’ She glanced at me over the glasses, which she must have taken out of the sweatshirt pocket where I’d stuffed them the night I arrived.
‘I didn’t say you had.’
‘I thought you might worry about that, because of your dad.’
It was Patrick’s wife who sprang to mind these days when I thought about alcohol. I’d mostly blocked Dad from my mind. ‘I know the signs of a drinker,’ I said. ‘I can tell you’re not one.’
‘Never developed a taste for it.’ Her smiles didn’t last long, I noticed. As if she wasn’t used to exercising her facial muscles. ‘I like the quizzes, the card games, that kind of thing.’ She turned a page of the newspaper. ‘There’s usually something going on there, someone to have a game of dominoes with.’
‘People still play dominoes?’
Her smile was slightly mocking this time. ‘Lot of old boys in the snug in the evenings. They’ve no use for iPads, or Netflix or whatever.’
‘Do you still speak Welsh?’ She and mum had been fluent as children, but Dad had thought the language old-fashioned and didn’t like hearing it from Mum. Speak English, woman, like the rest of us.
Morag shook her head. ‘Sometimes, with Ifan. It’s still there, but I’m rusty,’ she said. ‘I remember Gran trying to teach you.’
‘I was rubbish.’ I grimaced. ‘I’ve never had a knack for languages.’
Morag hadn’t referred to our earlier conversation once Ifan had left, busying herself on the allotment. When I went out with a cup of tea, Lily in her baby carrier, she’d thanked me and carried on turning the soil with a trowel, making it clear she wanted to be left alone. She hadn’t noticed my eyes discreetly skimming the perimeters. I didn’t want to challenge whoever was out there, draw them into doing something dangerous, but it would be foolish to not be extra vigilant. Maybe whoever it was would get tired and give up. Or resort to more risky measures. I couldn’t relax, knowing they could come in the cottage whenever they wanted, move around Morag’s home – which I was starting to think of as my home – touching my things. Lily’s things.
For the first time, I remembered what Biddy had said about bored youths from the area looking for trouble, but this was different; more calculated.
‘I can stay here if you prefer.’ I started at Morag’s voice. She pushed up the glasses and glanced at me again, eyes magnified through the lenses. ‘Are you worried about being left on your own?’
It was almost a challenge, as though she was waiting to hear me say it. If I did, would she stay? ‘Of course not,’ I said. ‘Carry on as though I wasn’t here.’
‘I don’t think you want to see me doing a jig in the nude, or hear me playing the trombone.’
It took a second to realise she was joking. ‘I’d pay to come to that show.’ I finished feeding Lily and sat her forward on my lap, patting her back to bring up her wind. ‘Didn’t you used to play … something?’
‘Piano.’ Morag dipped her head to Lily’s level and smiled, almost as though she couldn’t help herself. ‘I was terrible. Your mother was a much better musician than I was, could play a tune by ear.’
Out of nowhere a memory rose, of my mother sitting at the piano in the living room of my grandparents’ house one Christmas, playing something classical – Mozart, maybe – while my gran and granddad waltzed around, smiling into each other’s eyes. I’d begged her to play a Spice Girls’ song, throwing out titles until Dad said, ‘Let her play, Grace. It’s beautiful, don’t you think?’ I sometimes searched for good memories of Dad, but they were all from before I understood that he was only nice in the early stages of being drunk, which didn’t count.
‘What was your special talent?’ I said, slamming a lid on the past. ‘Apart from photography?’
Morag appeared to give it some thought, taking off the glasses a
nd tipping her head back. Her neck was long, elegant. Hardly lined at all. ‘I wasn’t a bad singer, I suppose.’
‘Really?’ The idea was pleasing, but I couldn’t imagine it. Maybe in a hotel bar in a far-flung country or, more likely, in the shower. ‘It’s not too late to apply to go on The X Factor.’
‘Very funny.’ Her eyebrows twitched. ‘I’ve only ever had the nerve to sing if someone’s playing the guitar.’ Her gaze settled somewhere over my shoulder. ‘There was something about it I couldn’t resist.’
‘Did you know someone who could play?’ Someone special was what I meant and she knew it. The shutters came down, her gaze emptying.
‘I did, but it was a long time ago, in another life.’
‘Have you ever wanted to get married?’ I wasn’t sure why I’d said it, knowing she hated personal questions, but I had an inkling the guitar-playing man had meant something to her.
‘What do you want to hear, Grace?’ Her tone was flat. ‘That I had some great love affair but there was a tragedy I never got over and that’s why I’m alone?’
‘That’s not what I want to hear.’ I pulled Lily onto my shoulder, still patting her back. ‘I shouldn’t have asked, I’m sorry.’
Morag shifted her gaze back to the paper. ‘There was someone, once.’ Her tone was hard. ‘It didn’t work out and I wasn’t interested in marrying anyone else. I was married to my job, I suppose. And here I am.’
‘Thank goodness.’
She looked up, as though caught by surprise. ‘You’d have survived,’ she said. ‘Probably gone back to your mother’s.’
‘I’m glad I had a choice.’
She shoved back her stool and rose, clearly uncomfortable with the topic. ‘I’ll get off then. Leave you in peace.’
When she’d gone, I washed up, then laid Lily on her new activity mat, pointing to the hanging zoo animals as I sounded out their names. I squeezed the lion’s middle so he gave a gentle roar. Lily seemed fascinated, hands reaching out, eyes flicking from my face to each of the animals in turn. ‘You’re going to be such a clever girl.’ I tickled her bare feet and watched her toes curl. ‘I can’t wait to hear your first word.’