Come Back to Me (36 page)

It waited in the shadows, golden orbs for eyes that burned with hellfire. A continuous low growl hummed in her ears. And then came the snarl and a frenzied flash of fangs.

When she heard the scream, Grace came to with a start. The noise weakened to a wail – a high-pitched cry that sent a shudder through her. She checked the clock – three a.m. – then flung back the bedclothes, jumped up and rushed into the small room next door, swatting the landing light switch as she went, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

Millie stood holding the cot bars with one hand, the other clutching Mr Pink, the small teddy bear Adam had brought to the hospital after she was born. Her eyes were squeezed tight, lashes glistening with unshed tears, while her fine brown hair had risen up in a defiance of curls. She had already worked herself into an exhaustion of gulping sobs and whimpers, and Grace went swiftly towards her and
gathered her up into the safety of her arms. Millie huddled against her mother's breasts, her wet nose and mouth dampening Grace's nightshirt.

‘You're safe now, Mummy's here,' Grace whispered as she rocked her daughter gently, chanting the words over and over, whether to Millie or to herself she wasn't sure. ‘It was just a nightmare.'

Soon, Millie began to quieten, and as her breathing slowed, so did Grace's racing heart. While she cradled her child tightly, she tried to push away her thoughts – but it was no use. She feared it had been a mistake to come back.

 

They had driven to the village that morning through the sodden November countryside, their car sloshing along the winding roads, while Grace's reasons for returning began to look more and more muddied. But through the endless days and restless nights of the last twelve months she had been sure of one thing: she would come back.

It had taken much longer to reach the village than she remembered. Eventually they had crossed a cattle grid at the bottom of a steep hill, then listened to the car's protesting whine as it climbed up the bank in second gear. As they reached the bare brown moor top, Grace's memories began to unfold. The back of her neck prickled as the hill plateaued out and took them gently downwards, and the sensation moved to her throat as she saw the village sign – ‘Roseby' – set into a jagged piece of stone. Then the road dipped abruptly, revealing first of all a brick house, then a neat sloping row of terraced cottages. She drove until she reached the last one,
halfway down the hill, then pulled onto the grass in front of a low stone wall, and switched off the engine. One year ago, Adam had been here with them, parking a large removals van ahead of their car. Grace remembered catching his eye through the windscreen, his grin as he came across to unbuckle Millie from her seat, and the way he had cradled his tiny daughter close, pointing at the cottage and telling her, ‘We're home.'

Now, Grace's hand shook as she pulled the keys from the ignition. She peered over into the back seat, murmuring to her sleeping child, ‘We're here.'

Millie had been reluctant to wake, her head drooping against her mother's chest as Grace struggled with the stiff front door lock, eager to escape the icy wind. Once inside, warmth hit them, taking Grace by surprise. She moved through the small entranceway into the lounge. There was a note on the coffee table: ‘
Have left a few things in the fridge for you. Meredith
.'

Looking around, Grace was touched. She barely knew Meredith. The first time they had met, Grace had been dazed. Police had been bustling in and out, while she stared in bewilderment at Adam's dirty mug on the side, his jumper slung over the kitchen chair, his toolbox left open on the worktop.

Meredith had volunteered to help and made cups of tea for everyone, but Grace would have barely remembered her if she hadn't turned up again a week or so later. This time it was Grace's mother who made Meredith tea, explained that they were taking Grace home with them, and accepted her kind offer of looking after the cottage until Grace decided what to do next.

However, Meredith had gone above and beyond what Grace was expecting. There was no air of neglect to the place: the surfaces were freshly dusted, the radiators were warm, while the air smelled faintly of lavender. It took the edge off Grace's apprehension, and she was overcome with gratitude.

She had put Millie down on the floor with a drink. Then she had walked into the kitchen, to find it waiting neat and expectant, before heading back through the lounge and into the hall, climbing the stairs, tiptoeing like a trespasser.

Her emotions had finally caught up with her as she took her first tentative look into the main bedroom. There was the bed – their bed – made up neatly. She had gone across, turned back the covers, and pressed her face into the pillow on Adam's side, but all she could smell was clean linen.

 

She stood and gently shushed Millie in her arms, using the soft glow of the landing light to watch as Millie slowly succumbed to sleep. After a while, she carefully laid her little girl back down and returned to her own room. A loud, insistent ticking kept time with her footsteps. She had forgotten about the damn grandfather clock. The last time she had been here the ticking and chiming had begun to drive her crazy, though Adam had reassured her that she would get used to it. ‘It's been with the family for generations, it's got to be valuable,' he'd said, opening the oak casing at the front and beginning to wind it. ‘My grandfather used to call it the heartbeat of the cottage.'

Now, Grace attempted to ignore it, as she lay under the
bedclothes and tried to drift off. But suddenly her eyelids were aglow, and the deep crackle of tyres outside made her jump. She padded out of bed again and eased one curtain back a little, resting her hand on the cool windowpane.

A black Land Rover was parked a short distance up the sloping lane, just visible by the faint moonlight that cut through the clouds. It had stopped outside the redbrick house that crested the hill. The Land Rover's headlights were now off and the interior light was on, but Grace was too far away to see anything more than a moving shadow inside. The light disappeared, the driver climbed out into a darkness her vision could not penetrate, she heard the slight creaking of a gate, and then all was silent.

She could feel her heart thudding beneath her nightshirt, but tried to calm herself, realising how silly she was being. It was perfectly reasonable for people to arrive home in the middle of the night. She must stop letting her imagination play games with her.

She settled back into bed again, but sleep wanted nothing to do with her now. She remembered the first night she'd ever spent here, when Adam had pulled her to him and wrapped her tight within his arms. He had been wearing a thick jumper – in fact they'd both been semi-dressed, having under-anticipated the biting cold of the northern winter. She could still feel the fleece soft against her skin, warming the cheek that had lain against it while the rest of her face stung with cold. ‘I'm scared too,' he'd said, holding her close. ‘But I know we've done the right thing, Grace. I promise it will be all right.'

Grace remembered how she had relaxed at his words, so
much so that she had slept soon after. But a week later he had gone out and never come home.

Now, she did her best to ignore the empty space next to her, and wrapped her arms around a pillow, trying to pretend she could bring Adam back for a moment, make believe that he'd kept his promise after all. But sleep kept its distance.

She tossed and turned for a while in an effort to get comfortable, then was disturbed again by what sounded like a bird screeching. Sitting up in frustration, she switched on the bedside lamp. She cast a glance around the room, at the old furniture, the sepia photo of Adam's grandparents on their wedding day, which hung above her half-unpacked case. Then she remembered the small bookshelf on the landing. At least living out here without much else to do would mean plenty of time to read. She threw back the bedclothes and tiptoed across the carpet, hoping she wouldn't wake Millie. The bookshelf was right outside her door, barely visible in the light cast by the bedside lamp, but she could just make out the spines on the top shelf. They were all classics.
Wuthering Heights. The Turn of the Screw. Jane Eyre. Great Expectations
. She'd read a few of them at school. Then her eye fell on a book she had always wanted to read, but never got to.
Rebecca
. She plucked the tattered copy from among the others and took it back to bed with her. She pulled the bedclothes over her, opened it and read the first few lines of a long-ago dream. And soon, her grip loosened on the book, her eyes closed, and she found herself lost amid thick over-growth, gazing towards the mullioned windows of a dark, abandoned house.