Beneath the Shadows (8 page)

The day's events weighed heavily on Grace's mind as she sat in the lounge next to Millie, who was slowly turning the pages of a picture book. She wished Annabel were here to lighten the atmosphere. Instead she listened as the rain turned to ice, the hailstorm hammering on the windowpanes in cracking staccato bursts. All around her the shadows of the room languidly stretched themselves out, resettling as the darkness grew. She jumped as the upstairs landing creaked, not yet used to the cottage's strange nocturnal echoes.

Why hadn't Adam told her about the cellar? Was this an indication that he had something to hide? Her father was convinced that if Adam had been about to vanish, there would have been warning signs, but Grace had always been adamant there weren't. Adam had been his usual self on that last morning, joking around, his face glowing with pride each time his glance fell on Millie. It was a new look in
his eyes, one that Grace was still getting used to, but it was already among her favourites. He was minding Millie for the afternoon, while Grace did some shopping in town. It was the first time she had left Millie for so long, and she was both excited to be going and reluctant to leave.

By the time she got home, laden with bags, Adam had taken Millie out, leaving her that strange, serious note. And she had never seen him again.

He wouldn't leave Millie like that, Grace knew it. But after the police had combed the area looking for him and found nothing, they began to suggest he might have run away. It wouldn't be the first time, they said. New fathers sometimes couldn't cope with the responsibility. And he'd withdrawn a thousand pounds from their account the day before he vanished.

Adam had told Grace about the money – he'd said he intended to keep it at the cottage, because they were so isolated – but she had never found it. The police thought he might have used the cash to do a bunk. He'd left the baby where he knew she'd be found, and disappeared.

But Grace had so many questions. Why not leave Millie in the cottage? Why run away without telling her, cutting off all contact? And if he was ready to vanish into the night, then why on earth would he have moved Grace all the way out into the country before he did so? Not to mention the fact that her last memory of Adam before she left for the shops was of him sitting on the floor in front of the television, half paying attention to a morning chat show, his legs crossed and his baby girl cradled within them, her mouth clamped around a bottle. He had appeared so relaxed as he
tilted his head up to kiss his wife goodbye. He'd said, ‘Go on, enjoy the break … we'll be fine.' No, he was not a man about to run off – whatever he'd been doing the day before, and no matter that he hadn't told her about the cellar.

Grace tried to guide her mind away from these never-ending loops of questions. She needed to stop getting caught up with thoughts of what might have happened. The questions had crippled her for the past year, and she wanted to go forwards now. She was here to sort out the cottage, not rake over the past. This was a hiatus between the past and future, a necessary stopgap, that was all.

She took Millie up for her bath, then got her ready for bed. After Millie was settled, Grace headed downstairs and switched on the TV. She avoided the inevitable horror stories on the night's news, grateful to come across an old film until she realised it was
Rear Window
. Even though she'd seen it before, tonight she needed something safe, so eventually she settled for a few old episodes of
Friends
. After they finished, she switched the TV off and was left looking at her reflection in the blank screen. She was slouched on the sofa, a blanket over her legs. She looked like an old lady, slumped there alone.

She made her way up to bed, got undressed and settled down under the duvet. She flicked the light off, then waited for sleep to come and claim her. But, as she feared, nothing happened. So she switched the light back on and read some more of
Rebecca
, imagining the second Mrs de Winter sitting under a chestnut tree, contemplating the fickleness of time. For a while, Grace was there too, breathing in the scent of fresh-cut grass, hearing a bee buzzing close to her ear, the
sea murmuring in the distance. She grew drowsy, so put the book to one side, switched off the lamp and closed her eyes. Against her will, her ears attuned to the noises in the cottage. Every now and then an unexpected creak would startle her. She could also hear a faint scratching, and feared she really did have a mouse. She didn't know if she could bring herself to set traps, and decided to ignore it, concentrating instead on the ticking of the grandfather clock. Its steady rhythm slowly infiltrated her mind, lulling her into a slumber.

And then the clock stopped.

She opened her eyes to the darkness. Listened more intently. But all stayed silent.

It had just wound down, she told herself. But somehow the hush was disorientating. She closed her eyes again, but she couldn't relax. After a while, her ears began to ring from the effort of straining when there was nothing to hear.

My grandfather used to call it the heartbeat of the cottage
.

She rolled over and snapped on the light. For a second her vision quavered, the walls shifting slightly before settling. Then the room was there before her, just as it always was … why had she expected it to be different somehow? She peered round from behind the covers, but nothing moved, yet the atmosphere felt full of energy, a living current swirling around her, willing her to get up and go downstairs.

She opened the door to the landing. She snapped the light on and edged along to the next bedroom, to see Millie soundly asleep, face to the wall.

She looked down the stairs, thought fleetingly of the cellar two storeys below her. She decided she would go and turn the television on again, find some company that way, and so
she made her way down to the lounge and switched on both the fire and the TV. Then she went and closed the curtains so that not a tiny crack of darkness could peek through. She needed to fortify her surroundings, to make believe that she was in a different room, somewhere else. London at night sprang into her mind. The brilliant neon glow of it, the electrifying bustle. People always passing by. Sometimes she felt that this place was the dream, and soon she would wake up and find herself in their old flat, listening to the distant thumps of music, the regular rumble of traffic, and she would only need to turn over to see Adam asleep beside her.

There it was – the familiar spasm of pain at the thought of him. She shook off the fantasy and flicked through the channels until she came across a late-night music programme. She tried to concentrate on the soothing rhythm and blues, but found that she kept turning the sound down on the remote, checking to see if she could hear anything. Finally, she stomped back into the hallway in frustration, and stood before the grandfather clock, their faces level, its pendulum still. The air around her was so chilly she could see her breath. It hadn't been that cold before, surely?

She had imagined that it would be a blessing once the clock stopped, but now she knew what Adam's grandfather had meant. Without the incessant ticking, the cottage was too quiet; too still. She sighed. And as though in reply, the pendulum suddenly moved and the clock gave a loud
tock
.

She jumped backwards in shock, disbelieving, holding her breath. But when the noise came a second time, she fled upstairs, crawling rapidly under the bedclothes and clamping a pillow over her head.

The next morning, when Grace looked out the window she saw snatches of blue beyond the sheet of bright white cloud. Instead of frost, the hedgerow was covered with shimmering crystals of fresh dew. A robin perched on the garden gate. It bounced this way and that, flicking its tail, before it sensed her watching, was frozen for a moment and then took flight.

Despite the fact her sleep had come in stolen, shallow snatches, nothing looked terrifying today. Rather, the small garden, with its trellis arch and flagstones, sundial and pond, was a picture-postcard image of country life.

She heard Millie stirring and went to get her, walking past the grandfather clock, which was now keeping up a steady beat as though nothing had happened. When they'd had breakfast Grace decided that the washing-up could wait: it would be good to get outdoors while they had the
opportunity, to give Millie some fresh air without snow or rain to impede them. So she put Millie into her sturdy pushchair and set off up the hill.

She found herself slowing as they approached the redbrick house where Ben lived. Grace studied it from the opposite side of the road as she drew closer, remembering what Meredith had said, and trying to imagine what Ben's wife would be like. She hurriedly put her head down as the front door opened, but she couldn't help a few sidelong glances in that direction. At the far end of the garden path, a woman with long red hair in a thick woollen coat had emerged through the front door. Ben was behind her, and she turned back to pull him into an embrace. As Grace looked on, Ben wrapped his arms around the woman for a brief moment, before she walked down the path with Bess trotting behind her.

Grace hurried away to avoid being spotted, and continued up the hill. A few moments later a large estate car roared past.

They followed the road, Grace enjoying the fresh air as it rushed into her lungs. As she walked, she found herself relishing the peace and quiet. There was little movement around her, just a few wet sheep huddled together next to a low stone wall. She leaned over the top of the pushchair to see Millie sitting forward, surveying the surroundings. It was nice to be just the two of them, tackling the next phase of their life, striking out together. She couldn't wait until her daughter started to talk, but Millie only made strange sounds at present, and hadn't really begun to babble. Grace didn't know whether to be worried about this or not, since she
had no benchmark by which to compare Millie's progress. As soon as they were settled, they could join a playgroup, so that Millie could meet children of a similar age and grow in confidence. Grace had heard her friends refer to such things, where people talked endlessly about their children's developments. It sounded exhausting, and while Grace had been pregnant she had imagined all the playdates and coffee mornings she'd be going on with a mixture of enthusiasm and trepidation. However, it seemed all those emotions had been a waste of time, since in the end life hadn't worked out that way.

Grace kept up a steady pace as her thoughts flitted from one thing to another, and when she eventually refocused on her surroundings she found they were some distance from the cottage. The day was beginning to lose its colour as the clouds swelled and darkened. ‘I guess we should go back,' she said, leaning over the pushchair again to find that Millie had fallen asleep. She smiled at the sight, and headed for home.

When the row of dwellings came into view, she saw that Ben was leaning over the open bonnet of the Land Rover. He glanced up at her approach, an oily rag in his hand, and then bent over the car again. For a moment Grace thought he was going to ignore her, but as she got closer he stood up, using another cloth to wipe his hands clean.

‘Grace! I'm glad I've seen you.' His voice was loud and deep against the silence of the morning. ‘I did some work on those plans last night. Come in for a moment and I'll show you how far I've got.'

He held the gate open for her, and she wheeled the pushchair down the path. ‘Do you want to leave her here?' he
asked as they reached the porch. He began to open the front door, saying, ‘No, Bess,' as a large black nose poked eagerly through the gap.

Grace looked behind them at the empty road and felt her nerves clench at the idea of Millie out here alone. ‘I'd rather she was inside,' she said. ‘Can we lift the pushchair in?'

Ben helped Grace carry Millie's pushchair into the hallway. Grace checked her daughter was still asleep, then followed Ben, as he gripped Bess's collar and led them both through to the kitchen. The countertops looked scrupulously clean – unlike the cottage right now, she thought, with its scattered crumbs and half-empty mugs. Bess settled herself on a large square pillow in one corner, while Ben went across to a drawer, pulled out some papers and laid them on the bench in the centre of the room.

‘These are only rough ideas. I'll need to get measurements of everything, of course. Would you like a drink?'

‘Just some water, please,' Grace replied, studying the graph paper. There were a few simple line sketches, but on others he had gone further, drawing the entire living room so she could clearly see how his suggestions would work. It was amazing, she thought, that he had remembered so much detail after one visit. The fireplace had become the central feature of the main sitting area, while the wall between the lounge and kitchen was replaced with a bench top that could also be used as a breakfast bar.

Ben brought across a glass of water and put it down in front of her. He glanced at the papers. ‘This area is multi-functional,' he said, tracing the detail in one of the drawings, ‘but it will make the space downstairs a lot bigger. You could
leave the outer stone walls as a feature, rip out the carpet and put in a really nice wooden floor with a big rug. I'd suggest wooden floorboards for the downstairs hallway too – and then replace the carpet on the stairs with something a bit more luxurious. Rebuild the fireplace so that it's a real feature of the living area, and get a flat-screen TV so that it doesn't take up unnecessary room.' He pointed to another corner of the lounge. ‘That nook there, full of books – you could also make much more of that by putting in a few decent shelves with downlights, and adding some ornaments. Fit a seat into the bay window at the front with a few cushions, and the same upstairs. Repaint the hall banister – easy – and then tile the bathroom too if you can stretch to it. The big thing upstairs is adjusting the bedrooms so that the master is at the back, with the better view, and has en suite access. Then it's just fixtures and fittings, and sorting out the furniture.'

Grace was trying to keep up with him as he flicked through the various sketches. After he'd finished, he looked at her.

She shook her head. ‘I don't know what to say – this is … amazing. I can't believe you've gone to so much effort and got so far with it already. I'd barely got my head around knocking down the kitchen wall!' She beamed at him. ‘It's brilliant! I love it, I can picture it all so well – looking at how you've laid it out I couldn't fail to! I'm completely sold. When can you start? Oh god, please tell me you're not horribly expensive.'

He laughed, a deep, rich sound Grace hadn't heard before. ‘Don't you want to check out some other options first?'

‘Not any more!' Grace smiled. ‘But I really have to pay
you something for all this work, so include it in your price, will you?'

‘No, I said I'd do it for free. As for the rest, I'll work out the estimated cost for materials. Then how about a hundred pounds a day for the labour? For a full working day, I mean,' he added. ‘This will all take a good few weeks, so I'm happy to get started as soon as possible.'

Grace was dumbfounded. ‘That sounds like an absolute bargain. I think perhaps you should take a bit of time to think about it, work it out properly.'

Ben's face became serious again. ‘I have,' he said. ‘That's my price. I'm looking forward to doing it, so when do you want me to start?'

‘Well, I guess as soon as possible after New Year, if that's all right?' she ventured.

Ben seemed confused. ‘I thought you were keen to get on with it? It's only the middle of December.'

Grace was taken aback. ‘Well … yes … but I assumed you and your wife would be busy over Christmas. New Year will be fine. I've got lots of boxes to go through anyway – you saw the state of the cellar …'

Now he appeared astounded. ‘My
wife
?'

‘Oh …' Grace floundered. ‘I … erm … Meredith told me that you and your wife lived here. And I thought I saw her this morning? The woman with the long red hair?'

His expression changed immediately to understanding. ‘No, that wasn't my wife you saw. I think Meredith must be confused. I'm house-sitting for the owners – they've gone overseas for a while and they wanted someone to look after the place, what with Bess and all …'

‘Oh …' Grace said. ‘Oh …'
Say something else
, she cajoled herself.
So you don't look like an idiot
.

As she searched for the words, Ben began to gather the papers together. Grace went to move her glass of water out of the way, but fumbled and sent it flying towards the drawings. In a panic she reached out and managed to tip the glass away from them, only to knock it towards herself. The water splashed the front of her coat, while the glass shattered on the tiles.

‘Oh no,' she said, staring in dismay at the jagged slivers on the floor. In the hall, Millie began to cry. Grace looked at Ben, her cheeks blazing. ‘I'm so sorry, I'm such a klutz.'

‘Don't worry. I've got a dustpan and brush somewhere.'

She hoped he would smile, but his face was solemn as he began searching in cupboards. Bess got to her feet, wagging her tail and looking curiously at the kitchen floor. ‘Stay, Bess,' Ben told her sternly. Meanwhile, Millie wailed louder.

‘Sounds like you need to go,' Ben said, and he grasped Bess's collar and guided her out the back door. ‘I'll clear this up in a second, after I've helped you out with the pushchair.'

Grace hurried down the corridor to Millie, her face ablaze with embarrassment. Ben was right behind her. He opened the front door, and helped Grace carry the pushchair down the step. When he'd finished he knelt down and smiled at Millie, stroking her cheek briefly with one hand. At his touch, Millie quietened, eventually giving him a shy smile in return. Grace watched them both in astonishment.

He straightened up as he said, ‘So, how soon do you want me to start? I could probably knock down the kitchen wall before Christmas, if you like?'

‘Really?' To Grace, the task looked onerous, yet he talked about it as though it would be simple.

‘Can I come round in the morning and take another look at it? Check it's not a bigger job than I think it is. But, yes, I reckon it's manageable, if you're prepared to live upstairs for a few days.'

Grace thought about it for a moment. This was decision time. Her last chance to run away, before she made a proper start on things – before she got other people involved, and so had to see it through. Then she felt the courage she had been cultivating for the last year rising firmly above her fear, and she smiled at Ben and said, both to him and to herself, ‘Right, then. Let's get on with it.'