Beneath the Shadows (19 page)

‘I'm going to take a drive,' Annabel announced the next day. A gritter had been through, and the roads were clear, the remaining snow piled in dirty grey-brown heaps on the verges. ‘Do you remember me telling you about the pub Ben took me to, the one with the ghost chair? I'm going to have a word with the landlord and see where I go from there.'

‘Ben might have more ideas too,' Grace said. ‘Or what about Feathery Jack? He looks like a man who'd have plenty of stories to tell. You could even feed his birds a mouse or two while you're with him.'

Annabel gave her sister a sarcastic grin. ‘No thank you. Perhaps I'll flick through Connie's book, though, see if I can come up with anything that way.'

When Annabel had left, Grace decided to go and see Ben to discuss restarting work on the cottage. She carried Millie
up the lane, her arms aching, hoping it wouldn't be long before her daughter began to walk.

‘Grace!' Ben appeared pleased to see her as he opened the door, which brightened her mood. He invited her in, though she noticed he shut the door to the lounge room before she walked past, and ushered her into the kitchen. Was that deliberate, she wondered, or am I becoming completely paranoid about everyone here?

‘As you know, James has gone now,' she told him, ‘so we could do a bit more work downstairs. I'd like to get on with it.'

‘Sure,' he agreed. ‘Why don't I take a look at some of the smaller jobs while Annabel is still with you? Have you decided what kind of units you'll get for the kitchen, or sorted out the flooring?'

‘I haven't even thought about it,' Grace admitted. ‘But I'll make a start today. I'll take Millie into town.'

‘It's a good time to shop with the sales on,' Ben agreed. ‘I'll come round tomorrow morning and we'll go from there.'

When he showed her out, Grace glanced again at the closed living-room door. She was sure they were becoming friends – and yet she was convinced he was withholding things, despite all he had told her.

She tried to push away her doubts as she walked back down the lane. Adam's disappearance had made her too distrustful – she had to stop approaching everyone as though something mysterious or sinister might be going on beneath the surface. She couldn't live the rest of her life with a prevailing sense of suspicion.

She was determined to make it into town – she knew
she'd feel better when she was progressing again with work on the cottage. She packed a lunch for Millie, then headed for the car. She hadn't used it since before Christmas, and was thankful that the engine started first time. She switched the heating on full blast while she was strapping Millie in, then traipsed around the outside of the vehicle, clearing the windows of the remaining snow and ice.

Once they set off, Millie began to complain before they'd even got up the hill, and Grace fervently hoped she wouldn't keep it up for the whole journey. The car only warmed up properly as they reached the top of the moors. Grace was beginning to settle into the drive, when her eye caught some marks on the windscreen.

She looked closer. There were greasy letters smeared on the glass, only just visible.

As she tried to make out what they said, she lost concentration and had to swerve to avoid running off the road. She slowed to a crawl and then pulled over, still scanning the windscreen.

Whatever it was, it had been written on the outside. She got out and went around to the front of the car, standing back so she could see.

Running the length and width of her windscreen were five large letters. Very faint, but there nonetheless. Spelling out one word.

LEAVE.

Fear and bewilderment made her insensible for a moment, and she cast around wildly as though someone might be standing nearby. All she saw was flat, desolate moorland. She collected a rag from the car and scrubbed furiously at
the letters until she couldn't see them any longer. Back inside, she switched on the windscreen wipers, briefly mesmerised by their rhythmic sway, a close imitation of a ticking pendulum.

She had a flash of longing for another life. She wanted to feel carefree and safe. She wanted to sit in a café for a long, lazy afternoon, drinking hot chocolate and reading her book without interruption. She wanted to take a holiday and lie in sweltering golden sunshine or swim in a refreshing sea. She wanted her mind to stop whirring. She wanted to feel like herself again, and not this frightened stranger.

Millie's restless cries reached into her daydreams and drew her back to the present. In the cold white light her hands looked grey-blue, curved rigid around the steering wheel. She hunted in her bag and handed Millie a biscuit, then sat for a moment in indecision. She wasn't sure she wanted to drive while she felt so frightened, but as she looked behind her, towards the village, she knew she didn't want to go back there either.

She put the car into gear and set off again, trying to figure out who might have done such a petty, cruel thing. Her mind went first of all to James. Had he been so vindictive as to write that on her windscreen as he left? Why would he have gone to the trouble? Unless he'd been trying to scare her into leaving? It was a pretty outrageous thing to do, but then she'd never seen him so angry.

Or was it Annabel, playing a joke – or perhaps both of them in it together, thinking that if they couldn't reason her away from the village, they could spook her out.

Then she pictured Meredith and her cool, indifferent manner. Her children were all staying for Christmas: Liza
with her secrets; Jenny with her standoffishness. Claire and Veronica appeared pretty normal, but Grace hardly knew them. She couldn't imagine any of them walking deliberately down from the schoolhouse to scrawl a word on her car, but then she'd seen Jenny and Claire coming from that direction just yesterday.

What about Ben? After all, she was convinced he wasn't being entirely honest with her. It was Ben who walked past her car each time he came to work. She had trusted him enough to let him into the cottage, and their lives. But what if her instincts about him were wrong?

And there was Emma's son, who looked ghoulish and might think it a good joke, scaring the new neighbour. Or Feathery Jack, who lived in a world of screeching owls and dead mice. He'd seemed cordial enough, but perhaps he didn't want a newcomer in the village.

You've just named the whole of Roseby, she told herself. Who have you left out? Meredith's dog? Timmy the ghost? She laughed, but it felt uncomfortably close to hysteria. Perhaps Annabel and James were right – perhaps this place was getting to her more than she realised.

Grace got back to the cottage a few hours later, as dusk began to fall. She opened the door with Millie half-asleep in her arms, and was about to call hello, but stopped as she heard Annabel talking. She didn't mean to eavesdrop, but she couldn't help but hear what Annabel was saying.

‘Don't worry, I'll make the deadline … I got some good stuff today, so I'll write it up quickly.' There was a pause, then, ‘Really? Oh, that's so exciting, I can't believe I'll miss it. I don't think we're doing anything for New Year – Grace has barely mentioned it. I'm stuck here in this crappy cottage, freezing my arse off. My sister seems obsessed with the place, and it's beginning to freak me out –'

Grace pushed the lounge door open with a bang and saw Annabel's shock turn to dismay. ‘Zoe, I'll have to call you back,' she said, and hung up. She came across. ‘Look, Grace, I'm sorry – I didn't mean …'

‘No one is forcing you to stay,' Grace told her grimly. ‘Why don't you go if you hate it that much?'

‘What is your problem, Grace? I'm not leaving you …'

‘Annabel, I'm thirty-two, I don't need a sodding babysitter, thank you. Just go. If that's how you really feel then I'm probably better off without you.'

Annabel's temper snapped. ‘Oh, is that so? Fine. If I'm not needed then I'll get my things,' she said, and barged past Grace, running up the stairs.

Grace set Millie in her high chair and went to the cupboard, ignoring her unsteady fingers as she collected a jar of food. She was watching Millie eat when she heard her sister clomping down the stairs, her case bumping behind her.

Annabel's flustered face appeared in the doorway. ‘You're right, Grace. We need a break from each other. Otherwise you're going to drive
me
crazy as well as yourself.'

As Annabel headed for the front door, Grace's anger disappeared, leaving fear in its stead. ‘I'm sorry, Annabel,' she said. ‘It's just – you didn't write the word LEAVE on my car, did you? As a joke?'

‘What are you talking about?' Annabel stopped and faced her. Grace saw her sister's alarmed expression, and faltered.

What was the point in explaining? Annabel would only tell her that it was another reason to get away from this place.

‘It's nothing,' she said.

Annabel shook her head, flung open the door and began dragging her case down the path.

Grace tried to tell herself that this was a good thing – it was time to stand on her own two feet, and with everyone
gone she could get on. But when she heard Annabel start her engine, she ran out of the cottage towards the garden gate. The little red car had already zoomed off down the road, and Grace used all her willpower to keep herself from running after it and screaming for it to stop. Instead she stood motionless, holding her breath until the noise of the engine had completely faded away.

They were alone.

She looked up at the cottage. It stared at her obliquely, its windows blank eyes. She steeled herself, straightening her posture, and headed inside. She would get through the rest of the work as fast as she could. Once it was done, life would unfold before her again, and she would remember all this as a very small part of her history. She would never have to look back.

Grace lay awake for much of the night, wishing Annabel had come back, while telling herself over and over that she was doing the right thing by staying. She flinched at every strange noise she didn't recognise, however slight. Thankfully, the clock ticked steadily, but there was definitely some scratching going on in the wardrobe. It sounded like a mouse, but there was no way she would be investigating. Finally, she dozed until the day broke and Millie woke up.

She was tremendously tired that morning. She felt like the air was treacly, slowing her down – everything taking twice as long as it usually did.

She was still in her pyjamas when Ben knocked on the door. She answered it, resigned to him seeing her like this, and straight away his face conveyed his concern.

‘Grace … what's happened?'

‘Nothing … It's just that everyone's gone and it all seems a bit daunting.'

‘You look exhausted.' He came in and set his toolbox down near where Millie was playing. Millie crawled over and tried to open it.

Ben kneeled down next to her. ‘Hmmm … not sure you're ready to help me out yet … But what have you been doing here, Millie?' He indicated the blocks spread out over the floor. ‘Shall we give your mum a hand and put these away?'

Grace sat down on the sofa and watched the two of them together. When Millie began to take blocks back out of the bag, Ben built her a tower, and she gleefully knocked it down. Grace leaned back, and her head began to drift.

The next thing she knew, she was waking up. Disorientated, a surge of panic rushed over her as she opened her eyes. In front of her, Millie was strapped into her high chair, with Ben feeding her a sandwich.

Ben registered her movement and looked across, seeing her alarm. ‘It's okay, Grace, you fell asleep,' he said. ‘You've been out for the count. I decided I'd leave you to it, though to be honest I don't think an elephant stampede through the lounge would have woken you.'

Relief flooded over her. She felt momentarily weepy, but pulled herself together as she sat up. Millie held up her sandwich to show Grace.

‘Thank you so much,' she said to Ben. ‘It's a rare treat to have a morning nap.'

‘I can imagine,' Ben replied. ‘And you're welcome. Any time.'

‘Don't say that unless you mean it,' Grace laughed. ‘I might take you up on it.'

‘I do mean it, Grace.' He held her gaze.

Grace felt compelled to break the protracted silence that followed. ‘I had a fall-out with Annabel,' she confided, finding herself glad to talk to someone. ‘And she left while she was angry with me. We don't usually fight, not seriously …'

‘Don't worry,' Ben reassured her. ‘My sisters argue all the time – always have. There's invariably some sort of upset going on in my family. Of course, I've been on the outside for a long time now, but from what I can gather it still goes on. Everyone is so stubborn – they insist on blaming each other for their problems, so one drama gets replaced by another.'

‘I gather you haven't seen your mum yet?' Grace asked gently.

Ben grimaced. ‘Unless she meets me halfway, nothing will ever change.'

‘Have you tried to talk to her, or does she just know that you're here?'

‘Claire's been acting as a go-between so far,' he admitted.

‘Perhaps you should cut Claire out and try speaking to her yourself,' Grace suggested as she got up from the sofa.

‘You don't know my mother.'

‘Actually, I do a little bit – and she's pretty formidable. But what choice does she have if you confront her – she has to listen, surely. And there must be a part of her that is longing to see you.'

‘Perhaps …' Ben didn't look convinced, but he sat there
in silence for a while, thinking. ‘Maybe I'm still not sure whether I want to see her …'

Grace waited for him to continue, but he added nothing further. She collected some yoghurt from the fridge, and offered Millie a few spoonfuls, before she said, ‘Ben … can I ask you a favour?'

‘Of course.'

‘I feel a bit of a wimp saying this, but catching mice is not my forte. Can you set a trap for me upstairs, and then check it tomorrow? One of those humane ones …'

Ben smiled at her. ‘I think I can manage that – although do you have the trap already?'

She shook her head.

‘Then I don't know where you'll find one round here. Not many care about seeing the mice live … But I'll tell you what, I'll try to make something if you like.' He contemplated the idea for a moment. ‘I'll need a plastic box or bowl, at least five centimetres high, then something like a nail file or a cocktail stick …'

An hour later, the homemade trap was ready to go. Grace had run about finding materials, then looked on in admiration as Ben had constructed it. He lifted it carefully and they headed upstairs to her bedroom. Grace set Millie on the bed.

‘I think it's somewhere in here,' she said, opening the door of the built-in wardrobe.

Ben put the trap down and knelt beside it. ‘I'll just have a peek and see if I can spot where the little nuisance has been,' he told her. He began checking the floor, and Grace watched him while she and Millie sat on the bed. He lifted up a piece of carpet. Then he paused.

‘Er … you might want to come and look at this …'

‘If it's a dead mouse then I'd really rather not,' she told him, staying put.

‘Well, there's no mouse, but he's left his mark,' Ben said, and he lifted up a bundle of chewed bank notes.

‘Where the hell did that come from?' Grace asked, beginning to understand what it was that she was looking at.

‘There's a loose floorboard under here, with a space beneath it.'

‘Oh my god, that's got to be the money Adam took out of the bank, the day before he disappeared. He told me he was going to get some cash to keep at the cottage, but he never told me where he was planning on putting it. And I could never find it … It was one of the reasons the police thought he'd run away …'

Ben sat back with his arms wrapped around his knees, studying her carefully.

‘But you don't think he did run away now, do you, Grace?'