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Beneath the Shadows

Page 15

by Sara Foster


  Grace was relieved when the Roseby village sign flashed by them. As they pulled up outside the cottage, she remembered Millie with a guilt-laden jolt. How could she have left her alone out here? What if something had gone wrong and Millie had needed her? She hurried inside and found Emma lazing sleepily on the sofa, the television burbling in the background. ‘Not a peep,’ she reassured Grace. ‘I hope you had a good time.’

  Grace said her thanks, and saw Emma out. Then she crept in to Millie’s room, peeked briefly at her daughter’s peaceful, sleeping face, whispered, ‘Happy Christmas, little one,’ and took herself off to bed.

  When Grace woke up, she was pleased to discover that it had been a rare night without dreams. Her head felt groggy, however, and a dull ache began as she remembered what Liza had told her about Adam. She went in to see Millie, and found her standing holding the bars of the cot, cuddling Mr Pink while eying her full stocking in the corner with a mixture of wonder and apprehension.

  Grace gave Millie a few presents to open. They had only got as far as unwrapping a board book and a jigsaw puzzle when the child began to lose interest, and Grace smiled as Millie grabbed Mr Pink, threw him ahead of her and crawled towards the door. As they were going downstairs, Annabel appeared and headed towards the bathroom. ‘Merry Christmas,’ Grace said, but Annabel just grunted.

  James was already up and drinking coffee at the kitchen table.

  ‘I’m sorry if I scared you last night,’ Grace began as soon as she saw him.

  ‘Never mind. As long as you’re all right?’

  ‘I am… though I don’t know if Annabel will be talking to me today.’

  ‘Now don’t be too hard on Annabel,’ James said. ‘Remember, Adam went missing around here. So when you go MIA, she worries – she’s bound to.’

  Grace felt chastened. James looked like he wanted to add something more, but then Annabel appeared.

  ‘Merry Christmas!’ she greeted them, hugging them all before going across to the kettle. ‘When are we opening presents?’

  ‘As soon as possible, I think,’ Grace replied, relieved that she appeared to have been forgiven. She jiggled Millie on her hip, then poked her tongue out to encourage her daughter to laugh.

  ‘Come on then, little lady.’ Annabel plucked her niece from Grace’s arms. ‘Let’s go and see what we can find under the tree.’

  They spent the next couple of hours opening presents. Annabel’s selections were always interesting. Crème de la Mer for Grace (‘It’s so overpriced, but I’m saving your skin from cracking up in these Arctic temperatures’), while James received Ted Baker boxer shorts, which he looked quite pleased with until he saw that the labels said ‘extra-large’. ‘I thought you’d take it as a compliment,’ Annabel laughed when he complained. Grace had bought Annabel some Smythson business accessories and a pair of pyjamas, but had to apologise to James as he opened his gift. ‘In my defence, I didn’t know you were coming.’

  In haste, she had managed to locate an empty photo frame and make a collage to go in it, by scanning old pictures onto the computer.

  James beamed at her after he opened it. ‘A decade of Grace, James and Annabel! Don’t worry, it’s perfect.’

  Despite her considerable pile of presents, Millie wasn’t much interested in the unwrapping process. James had given her Mr Men stories, and tried in vain to get her to sit with him while he read, but Millie’s face grew increasingly wary and she kept crawling close to her mother. In the end he gave up, and began to help Annabel prepare the dinner, while Grace took the new toys out of their boxes. By the time Millie went down for her nap there was nothing much left to do. James switched the television on, and he and Annabel settled themselves in front of it. Grace tried to join them, but she couldn’t concentrate, thinking about Liza’s and Ben’s revelations the previous night.

  She sat there for a while feeling fidgety, then got up. ‘I might go for a quick walk.’

  ‘You and your walks,’ Annabel said absently, her eyes fixed on the television. ‘Just don’t disappear for hours this time.’

  ‘Want me to come?’ James asked, and looked half relieved and half disappointed when Grace replied, ‘No, it’s fine – I won’t be long. Just need a bit of fresh air. Millie shouldn’t be up for at least another hour or so, but listen out for her, will you?’

  She went into the hallway, pulled on her wellies, collected her jacket, gloves and hat, and headed out. The sky was a strange colour – almost yellow – and she sensed that the fresh snowfall they’d been warned about wasn’t far away. She inhaled deeply, smelling the frosty grass and wet tarmac, feeling the cold air surging down her throat.

  At the top of the hill, she turned off the road and made her way along a path of mud and flattened grass, skirting around the edge of dry stone walls. When she reached the familiar large flat stones, she sat there for a while, taking in the view. She looked across towards Lover’s Leap, remembering Annabel describing it as the most haunted place on the moors. Then her mind returned again to the previous night – and Liza’s urgent voice as she had confessed to Grace in the shadows of the lake.

  She pictured Adam at a library computer, trying to trace his father, and knew she couldn’t sit on this information. Grace was sceptical about rousing the police’s interest with such a scant new lead, but they needed to know. Liza’s name didn’t have to come up unless they thought it was significant.

  Grace jumped up from the stone slab as an idea came to her. What was stopping her from finding Adam’s father herself? She could go to the library, try to retrace Adam’s footsteps, and see what he might have uncovered. At least then she would have an idea of what he might have been going to tell her, the thing he’d referred to in his mysterious note.

  She felt reinvigorated by this new sense of purpose, looking towards the sky and taking a few deep breaths. As she did so, the first specks of snow landed on her, sticking to her clothes and gloves. She kept her face upturned, flakes appearing out of the void above her in a soft white flurry. She spun around slowly, catching them on her tongue, feeling their frozen, gentle caress on her skin in the brief moment before they vanished.

  A dog began barking nearby, and a voice said, ‘Having fun?’

  Ben stood a short distance away, wearing a padded coat, beanie and thick gloves. Bess was by his side, her tail wagging.

  ‘Yes, I am,’ she said, smiling, feeling a glow of fresh colour suffuse her cheeks.

  ‘Merry Christmas, Grace.’ He came closer, until she could see small specks of snow clinging to the stubble on his chin.

  ‘Merry Christmas,’ she replied, recalling him leaning over her in his car a few hours ago. It felt like a distant memory.

  ‘What are you doing out here?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh, getting some fresh air and having a think. We all walked up here the other day, and Annabel was telling us your stories about Lover’s Leap.’ She gestured beyond the railway line. ‘Is it really the most haunted spot around here, or were you having her on?’

  ‘A bit of both, really.’ There was a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. ‘It is notorious – but the ghost stories are ancient. It’s all cuckolded husbands and distressed maidens. I’ve spent more time there than most and I’ve never seen a ghost.’

  ‘Really?’ she asked. ‘And what were you doing there?’

  ‘Dealing with my teenage angst,’ he laughed. ‘It’s an easy place to get to from the schoolhouse. There’s a path that goes straight there, called the monks’ trod. They’re all over the moors – centuries ago the monks used them to navigate, and they were also known by smugglers bringing in contraband from the coast. The path eventually connects with this one. For a while, Claire and I would go and sit dangling our feet over the edge to smoke and complain about our family. We’ve always been close, although I’d stopped going there by the time Claire began taking Adam along. My next bolt-hole was one of the ruined workers’ houses. By that time life was turning a bit more serious for me.’ He lost the smile, an
d as he gazed into the distance, Grace could tell that his thoughts were elsewhere. He looked back and paused, as though debating what to say. In the end, he said nothing, and as she met his eyes, she felt slightly off-balance.

  ‘I should be getting back,’ she said.

  ‘I know a short cut. I’ll show you.’ He began to walk away.

  She hesitated, her mind still attuned to their conversation. She wondered what had turned him so sombre, and felt a fleeting sense of disappointment that he hadn’t confided in her.

  Ben turned around. ‘Are you coming?’

  ‘Yes,’ she replied hastily, snapping out of her trance and following him.

  The snow’s gentle fall was deceptive. Before long it flew heedlessly into her eyes, melted into cold drips that ran down her face, and soaked through the jeans she wore. The journey seemed to be taking forever, when halfway along the path by the stone wall, they passed a gate.

  Ben stopped. ‘Let’s go through the field,’ he suggested, rubbing his hands together as though to warm them. ‘It’s so much faster.’ He clambered over the gate. ‘Come on, Bess,’ he shouted, and the dog immediately bounded up onto the wall and down the other side.

  Both of them turned to look at Grace. ‘Come on then,’ Ben urged.

  ‘Isn’t this trespassing?’ she queried as she grasped the gate and started to climb, feeling awkward as she tried to swing her leg elegantly over the top – an impossible feat while wearing wellies.

  ‘Only if they see you!’ Ben replied. ‘And I don’t think anyone else is daft enough to be out here on Christmas Day – too busy stuffing themselves with turkey and drinking themselves under the table.’

  His words conjured up the rich, spicy aroma of warm mulled wine, and this urged Grace onwards. She jumped down from the gate and found herself standing in a patch of sucking mud, deceptively slick. Ben grabbed her elbow, steadied her, and helped her to wade through the bog. Once clear, they all hurried across the field.

  As they neared the next gate, Bess stopped and began barking, and Ben slowed beside her for a fraction of a second, turning to look behind them. Grace had kept her head down to keep the snow from getting in her eyes, but now she glanced up. Seeing Ben’s alarm, she automatically twisted round to follow his stare.

  Through the snow she could make out a large, shaggy-haired creature with solid, curved horns. It was ambling towards them. As they watched, it quickened its pace, some distance away yet, but getting closer much too fast for Grace’s liking. Then it broke into a run.

  Ben shouted, ‘Oh shit! Move, now!’ He lifted up Bess while she was still barking, and practically threw her over the gate. Then he was by Grace’s side, yelling, ‘You next, Grace, hurry!’

  Her heartbeat charged into her ears like the thunderous thud of hooves. Ben’s body was now close against hers, his breath warm on the back of her neck as she gripped the top beam. He pushed her, propelling her upwards, and she swung her leg frantically over the top. In her panic, she leaped rather than climbed down, landing in another patch of slippery mud. It took her legs out from beneath her so that her gloved hands and unprotected face went slap straight into it.

  She struggled up onto her hands and knees, panting and gasping. Looking behind her, she saw a pair of large round eyes glaring at them through a gap in the gate, the bull snorting air heavily. Bess barked frantically, crouched with her front paws low and her hindquarters high in the air.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Ben squatted beside her.

  ‘I’m fine. Just… filthy.’ She tried to wipe the hair from her eyes with her dirty gloves, knocking a big glob of muck from her nose as she did so.

  She looked at Ben, expecting laughter, but instead saw concern. She didn’t know where her giggle came from, but it began to bubble out of her until she couldn’t stop. Ben looked surprised, then the creases around his eyes deepened as he joined in.

  Grace surveyed her mud-splattered coat and jeans. ‘God, what a state,’ she exclaimed, wondering how it was that she was sitting in a field covered in dirt and snow, feeling the happiest she had been since she’d arrived.

  ‘You should see your face,’ Ben chuckled. He offered her a hand, and she took it, pulling herself upright. Their bodies came briefly together, and Ben stepped swiftly away, bending down to reattach Bess’s lead. ‘Come on, let’s go. I need to make a phone call, then I’ll come and join you for lunch.’

  Grace trudged after him, her mood deflating. Now she was keen to get indoors.

  Back at the cottage, Annabel’s jaw dropped and James began laughing when they saw her.

  ‘What the hell happened to you?’ Annabel asked. ‘Been rolling around in a pig sty?’

  ‘I got chased by a bull,’ Grace replied, then wished she hadn’t, as they both looked at her incredulously, and then at each other, before they dissolved into more streams of mirth. She didn’t know why she couldn’t join in when she’d found it funny herself at the time. Now she muttered, ‘Yes, it’s hilarious,’ and headed upstairs to get changed.

  An hour later, the smell of roasting turkey wafted tantalisingly through the cottage. Grace was feeling much better after a bath and a change of clothes, and Millie had woken refreshed from her nap and was investigating more of her toys.

  Annabel was up as soon as she heard the knock at the door. ‘I’ll get it.’ She disappeared into the hallway, then Grace heard her exclaim, ‘Ben!’, as though genuinely surprised to see him.

  Ben caught Grace’s eye as he came in, and smiled at her.

  ‘Grace got chased by a bull this morning!’ Annabel told him merrily.

  ‘Really?’ He raised his eyebrows at Grace, but said nothing more.

  She was keen to change the subject. ‘Dinner’s ready.’

  ‘I’ll give you a hand, Grace,’ James offered.

  As they concentrated on dishing up, Ben sat down on the floor, murmuring softly to Millie as he admired her presents. Annabel joined them and began to tell him about the ball.

  A few minutes later, Grace and James put four plates of steaming food on the table. Grace strapped Millie into her high chair in front of her own small offering.

  They took their places and started to eat. James speared a brussel sprout as he said, ‘So, Ben, it’s been pretty handy for Grace that you’ve been able to help her get things moving here.’

  James’s tone made Grace look at him sharply. Ben nodded. ‘Yes, lucky for her and for me – she’s kept me from being at a loose end.’

  ‘Annabel tells me that you’re house-sitting?’ James persisted. ‘How long will you be here for?’

  ‘Another few weeks,’ Ben replied as he poured gravy over his meal. ‘The owners are due back in early February.’

  Grace wondered if she would have finished the renovations by then. She imagined living in the village without Ben nearby, and was alarmed at how downhearted she felt. ‘Where will you go then?’ she asked.

  ‘Back to Australia. Pick up where I left off.’

  Annabel took the gravy boat from him. ‘And where was that?’

  ‘I work for a small architecture firm in Sydney. I’ve had some time off for long service, among other things, but it finishes at the end of February.’ He sat back, studying them in turn. His eyes fell on James. ‘So what do you do?’

  ‘I work for a Swiss bank.’ James straightened his shoulders as he spoke. ‘And spend most of my spare time on the ski slopes. I can’t get enough of it. Don’t suppose you have much chance to ski, living in Australia.’

  ‘Actually, there are some great spots in Victoria,’ Ben replied, his arm hooked casually around the back of his chair. ‘But I live close to Sydney and spend more of my time surfing. I’m lucky enough to have a place near the water. There’s something pretty magical about catching waves. I really miss it, actually.’

  In the silence that followed, Annabel caught Grace’s eye, raising an eyebrow almost imperceptibly, before she said, ‘Don’t you have man-eating sharks in Australia?’

  ‘We do,’
Ben grinned. ‘But so far I’ve been lucky.’ He looked at James and Annabel. ‘So how long are you two staying?’

  ‘A few days,’ James said.

  Grace could have sworn that Annabel tried to bat her eyelashes. ‘Until New Year.’

  ‘Are you keeping an eye on the weather?’ Ben asked. ‘Because it’s forecasting snow at any time. You do know this village can easily get cut off in the snow?’

  ‘Oh, I’m used to snow,’ James replied with a wave of his fork, before he turned to Grace. ‘Do you remember that year we stayed in the Cotswolds and it snowed the whole time? We made that snowman and put Annabel’s underwear on it.’

  ‘Yeah, I remember not talking to you both for the rest of the day,’ Annabel added. ‘That stuff cost a fortune.’

  ‘Ben has a good point, though,’ Grace interjected, trying to include him in the conversation. ‘I hope we’ve got everything we need.’

  ‘We bought plenty of food yesterday – we’ll be fine,’ James said confidently. ‘Anyway, we could get out if we really needed to.’

  Ben took a sip of his beer. ‘I wouldn’t be so sure about that, mate. Don’t underestimate the weather around here – it can make things pretty hairy.’

  James looked irritated at being contradicted, and Grace tried to lighten the atmosphere. ‘All the better if they do get trapped in, Ben, because as you know there’s a cellar full of crap below us that needs sorting through.’

  Ben laughed, while Annabel gave Grace a dirty look.

  ‘You’ve not started that yet then?’ Ben asked.

  ‘No,’ Grace said, ‘it’s so bloody cold.’

  James got up. ‘You’ll have to show me what’s down there. Perhaps you’ll find something valuable – who knows, you might be sitting on a goldmine. Anyone else for seconds?’

  As Grace watched him walk across to the kitchen counter, she thought of the boxes waiting beneath them. Could there be something valuable down there? Why did she feel as though she were missing something?

  ‘I doubt there are any hidden gems in the cellar,’ she said as James came back to the table, his plate replenished. ‘In the attic, maybe, or in here.’ She gestured around her, trying to quash the sense of disloyalty she felt towards Adam’s family while they talked like this. ‘Adam thought the grandfather clock would be worth something.’ As she spoke, she could hear it ticking steadily in the background, punctuating the conversation. That was one thing she couldn’t wait to be rid of. What was it about the damn clock that got under her skin so much? She remembered it stopping in the dead of night soon after she’d arrived. Had that been one of her strange dreams? No – she clearly recalled watching as it began working again.

 

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