Beneath the Shadows (6 page)

‘Don't you find it isolated?' Annabel asked.

Meredith shrugged. ‘This house contains so many memories, it's never occurred to me to leave. I belong here.'

Annabel glanced at Grace.

‘Don't judge us too hastily, Annabel,' Meredith said, laying her knife and fork slowly to rest on the edges of her plate. She interlaced her fingers and propped her chin on her hands, looking from Annabel to Grace. ‘I can honestly say I have never seen anywhere as beautiful as it is here. Desolate, yes, particularly in winter, but watch it come alive in spring when the lambs are born and all the birds return from their migration. And it's glorious when the heather crowns it in the autumn. This place has more life to it in one square metre than there is in a square mile of the concrete sprawl so many of you are keen to call home nowadays.'

Annabel raised her hands. ‘I think you've misunderstood. I'm a journalist. I'm instinctively curious, that's all.' But Grace knew what Annabel had been trying to convey with her eyes.
She belongs here, Grace. You don't.

There was an uncomfortable pause, then Claire said, ‘Our dad was a farmer. My sisters and I grew up playing in the ruins of the workers' houses and the remains of the brickworks. It was fantastic – like having our own little make-believe village to run around in.'

‘Then they used them to hide in while they drank and smoked their way through their teenage years,' Meredith added, a glimmer in her eye as she glanced at her daughter.

‘If you say so.' Claire laughed. ‘Did Adam never tell you about them, Grace? He joined in for a while, in the few months he was here. He was a big hit with us all, I can tell you – new blood around here is extremely rare …'

Meredith's eyes lingered on her daughter for a moment, then she looked down at her plate. ‘Remember that he was only here for a short time, Claire. It might not have felt like a big part of his life, not in the same way you remember it.'

Claire considered that. ‘You're probably right. At the time I thought we were great friends, but when he left for university I don't think I ever heard from him again. He didn't even come back for a visit – did he, Mum?'

Meredith didn't reply, but Claire's comments were making Grace think back. When she'd first known Adam he had kept in touch with his grandparents by phone, but he'd never seemed keen to make the journey up from London to see them. ‘It's a hell of a way,' he'd told her, ‘and there's nothing to do up there. They're lovely people but we're not
all that close – I only saw them now and again before Mum died, and I didn't stay with them for long before I went off to university.' But she recalled how deeply touched he had been when his grandparents made the long trip south to see him get married. So after their wedding, he'd taken Grace to visit. There hadn't been room to stay in the small cottage, so they'd booked bed and breakfast at a local farm. She remembered how much he'd enjoyed showing her around. It must have been then that his love for the area had been rekindled.

While caught up in her distraction, she had missed the change of topic. She began to listen again as Meredith said, ‘Emma and Carl … they live next door to Grace. Didn't think they'd last when they first came – but they appear to have settled in. Their son prowls around the area, doesn't say a word to anyone. Jack lives next door to them …'

‘Uncle Jack,' Claire cut in.

‘My late husband's older brother,' Meredith explained. ‘Ted and Jack were originally from Skeldale, but Ted took over the farm from my dad after we were married, and Jack moved here a few years later to help out. So he's lived here for over thirty years. Never married. Keeps himself to himself now. You'll be lucky if you catch sight of him.'

‘And the house at the top?' Annabel asked.

‘Another relative,' Claire chuckled. ‘It's so incestuous here.'

Meredith cast her a withering glance. ‘Hardly. They're a couple about your age, perhaps a bit older. Distant cousins in the family, yes, but a few times removed. When they heard the house was vacant they snapped it up. It seems to
suit them. They have also taken on one of Pippa's siblings. Our dog Rosie had pups a few years ago, so we kept Pippa, and Holly and Bess went up the road. Rosie died last year, so now we've only got Pippa.'

‘That's why I keep seeing black dogs everywhere!' Grace said. ‘I was worried it was some kind of omen. I even dreamed about one the other night – with bared teeth and slavering gums – horrible.'

‘Well now, that could have been a barghest,' Claire said. ‘There's a legend of a black dog around here. Some say it's Dracula's dog – though I think it was actually Dracula himself who turned into the black beast that jumped off a ship in Whitby and raced away into the night.'

‘Whitby is only ten miles or so over the moors,' Meredith added.

‘However,' Claire continued, warming to her subject, ‘others will tell you that the barghest appears to people just before the death of a local.' On seeing Grace's horrified face, she laughed. ‘Don't worry, Grace – I've lived here on and off for the best part of thirty-two years and I've never seen one shred of evidence to support the stories. They're folk tales. You had a nightmare, that's all.'

Grace looked at Meredith for confirmation, but Meredith only gave her a stiff smile. ‘The moors are full of ghostly apparitions, Grace. Surely Adam told you that? We even have one of our own.' She glanced from Grace to Annabel. ‘In here.' She waved her hand around the room.

‘His name is Tiny Tim,' Claire added, nodding to show her mother was telling the truth.

‘Are you joking?' Annabel was gaping at them like they'd
announced that the house was a spaceship and lift-off was imminent.

‘No, not at all.' Meredith's face was solemn. ‘Though Tiny Tim is the girls' nickname for him. He's a little child. He's only been spotted a few times, but he gets up to mischief now and again, banging things around during the night. We've learned to live with it, and it doesn't happen all that often – hardly ever since the kids grew up.'

‘You've got to be kidding.' Annabel's eyes were ablaze with curiosity. ‘Who's seen him?'

‘My eldest, Veronica, once said she'd seen him watching her from the end of the bed. Our youngest, Jenny, used to talk about playing with Timmy upstairs, when we moved her into Liza's old bedroom. Neither girl was scared. He's pretty harmless. I think he only appears to children – as far as I know, no grown-ups have ever seen him, we just hear him now and again.'

‘I can't tell if you're winding me up,' Annabel said after a beat.

Meredith looked slightly offended. ‘I can assure you we're not. I've researched it. An eight-year-old boy called Timothy was killed on the road near here, back in the twenties. We're pretty sure he's the one who lives with us.'

‘Jesus Christ!' Annabel looked at Grace. ‘You don't have any ghosts in the cottage, do you?'

‘I … I don't think so,' Grace replied. She didn't think she believed in ghosts, but she was momentarily very aware that Adam's grandmother had died there – probably in the bedroom Grace was sleeping in.

‘Hawthorn Cottage is one of the older dwellings, been
here since before the brickworks,' Meredith told them. ‘But I've heard most of the local tales and I don't remember a ghost ever being mentioned there. I think you can both rest easy.' She picked up a napkin and gave her lips a dab.

‘Ghosts wandering everywhere out there, though.' Claire gestured at the moors beyond the picture window. Grace saw that the corners of her mouth were turned up, and there was a flicker of amusement in her eyes.

‘Really?' Annabel sounded excited, and Claire's enjoyment seemed to wane a little. Grace smiled to herself – they didn't know Annabel yet. While she complained and squealed a lot, her fascination with ghoulish tales overrode any fears she might have. Annabel was more likely to organise an exorcism and then clutch at everyone throughout the event rather than run away.

‘There's plenty of folklore, that's for certain.' Meredith got up from her seat and held her hand out for Grace's plate. ‘Now, would you like some dessert?'

Once Meredith had left the room, Grace stared out of the picture window, only dimly aware of Claire and Annabel's conversation. There was nothing out there, she reassured herself, except a bare expanse of nature. Ghosts made good stories, that was all.

Meredith returned bearing an apple pie, which she deftly sliced up, placing portions into bowls. She offered around a jug of cream, and they all tucked in again. Grace's stomach was uncomfortably full, but the pie was too delicious to resist. As they ate, the only sounds were the scraping of their spoons against the bowls and the whining of Pippa, hoping to be let into the room to join them.

‘So how long are you staying, Annabel?' Meredith asked when she'd finished eating.

‘A couple of days,' Annabel said, a spoonful of dessert halfway towards her mouth. ‘Then back next week for Christmas. I've been helping Grace pull down boxes from the attic all morning,' she told them, making a face at her sister.

Claire rested her wine glass against the tip of her chin. ‘I hope we never have to sort this place out. Nightmare.'

‘You will when I die,' Meredith replied.

Grace didn't know how to react to that, and neither did Annabel by the look of her, but Claire laughed. ‘I think we'll probably all die before you do, Mum.' She pushed her empty bowl away with a sigh of satisfaction and rubbed her stomach. ‘She's made of extremely tough Northern stuff, my mother,' she explained to the others.

Meredith smiled, and Grace thought it was perhaps the most genuine response she'd seen from the woman all afternoon. Then Millie began to wriggle in the pushchair. Without even a query to Grace, Meredith walked across and unbuckled the child, lifting her up. Millie stiffened, then stared around the room at them all. Grace smiled at her, and Millie held her arms out to her mother, her little face crumpling as she began to cry.

‘There, there,' Meredith said, jiggling her up and down as she walked across to Grace. ‘No need for that.' She handed Millie over. ‘They're so clingy at this age, aren't they? I much preferred mine as they got a bit older.'

Grace felt defensive but didn't reply. Meanwhile, Millie leaned into the hollow of Grace's arm and looked around at them all from her place of safety.

‘Can we help you clear up? Grace asked, as she rocked Millie gently.

‘Not at all.' Meredith began collecting plates. ‘You have your hands full there. Claire and I are more than capable.'

Annabel got up to help anyway, and Grace went to sit in one of the armchairs with Millie. The little girl had woken up irritable, and squirmed to be free. As the women filed back in from the kitchen, Grace stood up. ‘I might have to take her home, Meredith. I'm sorry to rush off after such a lovely lunch.'

‘I understand,' Meredith replied. She went across to a tall dresser, rummaged in a drawer, then strode over to Grace. ‘Here's your spare key back. Now, why don't you come again during the week – I have a portable cot I keep for the grandchildren that Millie can use. Or why don't you come at five, when she's up? I'll make you another meal and we can get to know one another better.'

Grace took the key as she considered the offer. She was unsure whether she and Meredith would find much more to talk about, but she didn't want to be rude – especially not after Meredith had done her such a huge favour by taking care of the cottage.

Claire added, ‘Yes, come and eat here, Grace, don't sit in that cottage by yourself.'

‘Thanks,' Grace said. ‘I'd love to.' But as she said it, she sincerely hoped that Tiny Tim wouldn't be making one of his rare appearances that night.

It had been dark for hours by the time they finished emptying the attic. There were now seventeen boxes of various sizes stacked precariously against the banister on the upstairs landing. Grace had to squeeze round them to get to the bathroom and Millie's room, but she was pleased to have the job finished – at least she wouldn't have to venture up into the roof space again. She had prised open a couple of lids to discover a real mishmash of items, so decided that was a job for another day. Besides, she didn't want to push her luck with Annabel.

Instead, they got ready for their trip to the pub. Grace put on some jeans and a jumper, while Annabel emerged in a short black dress, smart jacket and heels. Grace thought of where they were heading and tried not to giggle. When Adam had taken her into the pub a year ago, the predominant fashion had been flat caps and pipes.

They put a sleepy Millie into her pushchair, and then set off on the short walk down the hill. The moon was lost somewhere behind the clouds, so the only light to navigate by came from the windows of the pub. As a result, there was a faint, irregular glow over small sections of the road ahead of them, but the rest lay cloaked in heavy shadow. A strong wind lashed their faces, whipping Grace's hair in all directions, sending it in stinging slaps across her skin. As she concentrated on keeping the pushchair steady, she waited for Annabel's first complaint. It didn't take long.

‘Hey, slow down, I can't go that fast in these shoes.'

Grace slackened her pace. ‘I'd love to see you trying to get down this hill when it's frosty. You'd be on your backside in five seconds.'

‘We don't all want to live in ugg boots, you know,' Annabel answered, then stumbled and gripped Grace's arm. ‘Bloody hell, I can hardly see the road. I feel like I'm skating over a black hole.'

‘Stop moaning,' Grace laughed, sucking in her breath against the wind, the sharpness of it making her teeth chatter. As she bent her head, a fast-moving dark shape low to the ground caught the edge of her peripheral vision. She felt a twinge of fear in her chest and peered at the blackened space, but there was nothing moving now. The barghest flashed into her mind, and she quickened her pace over the little stone bridge, moving at speed towards the entrance of the pub. ‘Here we are.'

Annabel held the door open, a blast of warm woodsmoke greeting them as Grace wheeled the pushchair inside.

The interior of Roseby's only drinking establishment was
as quaint as Grace remembered it. The main sitting area was basically a decent-sized front lounge. Two men standing side by side would have taken up the whole width of the bar in the corner, but that probably didn't matter much here, as there weren't enough patrons for a queue. When Grace had been in with Adam, he'd found his grandparents on a few of the old pictures that were hung around the walls; and pointed out the darts board in the corner, saying his grandfather used to come down every Friday for a game.

Tonight would probably be deemed a busy night for the elderly couple who ran the place, as they already had three customers in, and as many dogs. That was what she'd seen, Grace reassured herself. Someone's dog had been nosing about outside. After all, it seemed everyone in the area owned a dog.

‘My round!' Annabel trilled cheerily, and headed straight to the bar.

As Grace unwound her scarf, she glanced up to see a man studying her from a dingy corner, but he quickly looked away. Grace had the unnerving feeling that she should recognise him – what was it with familiar faces around here? She studied his broad back as he hunched over his pint, trying to place him, but he didn't look in her direction again.

‘Grace!'

At the sound of her name, she turned to see a middle-aged couple seated in the opposite corner by the fire, wearing matching thick green jumpers. Sitting stoically to the side of them was yet another Labrador, its black fur glowing in the firelight. The woman leapt up and came over, pulling Grace into a hug.

‘It's good to see you, Emma,' Grace said, as the woman stood back.

Emma kept hold of Grace's arm. Her face had a rosy sheen to it, her highlighted blonde hair giving way to dark roots. ‘Grace, how are you? Any news … you know?'

‘No, nothing.' Grace felt her eyelids prickle.

‘Oh Grace,' Emma said, patting her arm. ‘It's the strangest thing I've ever heard happen, I still don't understand it.'

Annabel came up to them holding two glasses of red wine. ‘Unbelievable prices!' she said. ‘Are you sure those two wouldn't like to relocate somewhere nearer London?' She gestured towards the publicans, perched together on bar stools, engrossed in a quiz show on the small television set high above the bar.

‘Len and Joyce come with the pub,' Emma replied, grinning. ‘It's been a package deal for, oh, at least half a century or more. I'm Emma. You must be Grace's sister – I think I remember you.'

‘Emma and Carl joined in the search party last year,' Grace reminded her sister. ‘They live next door to me. Emma and Adam worked together hay-baling in the summer Adam lived here.'

‘That we did – we had a right laugh,' Emma said. She flicked her head towards their table. ‘Come and sit with us.' She led the way over to her husband.

‘Now then,' Carl greeted them as they sat down. ‘It's good to see you back, Grace.' He shook Annabel's hand.

‘How's your little one?' Emma asked kindly, gesturing to the pushchair.

‘She's fine,' Grace replied. Her memory jogged again. ‘Weren't you …'

‘Pregnant!' Emma finished for her. ‘Sure was – size of a
house when you saw me last. She's nearly one now – how wonderful she'll have a little playmate next door.'

Grace winced, wondering whether to explain that her plans were not long term, but instead she asked, ‘And how's she doing?'

‘The baby's grand!' Carl cut in good-naturedly. ‘It's the teenager that's the trouble.' Close up, Carl might have been Emma's twin – ruddy cheeks that matched his solid frame, wholesome without looking fat.

Emma gave her husband a nudge with her elbow. ‘Give over, that's your free babysitter you're talking about.'

‘True, true,' Carl agreed, taking a sip of his pint. He looked at Annabel as he set his glass down. ‘So are you here for a visit?'

‘Yes, just for the weekend,' Annabel replied. ‘Then back next week for Christmas. Grace is keeping me busy – we've been lugging boxes down from the attic all afternoon.'

‘I'm having a clear-out,' Grace explained. ‘And doing some redecorating.'

Carl laughed. ‘Trying to bring Hawthorn Cottage into the twenty-first century, eh? Good on you. We'll have to take a gander when you've finished – we could do with updating our place, too, though where we'll find the money for that I've no idea. Bit of a drag doing it in winter, though – you'd be better leaving it till the summer, the whole area is glorious then. This time of year, the weather'll be closing in here soon. I'm surprised it hasn't snowed already – we're in for a white Christmas, so I'm told.'

Grace hoped her grimace would pass for a smile. Why did everyone here seem obsessed with the snow? She was
increasingly tempted to point out that she did know about snow – it fell in the south too, and people still managed to get things done. She contemplated keeping her life on hold for another six months while she waited for a summer that, in England, might never arrive, and knew that she couldn't do it. But Emma saved her from having to explain. ‘Leave Grace alone, Carl. That's her business.' She turned to Annabel. ‘And so where do you live, Annabel?'

Grace listened with a deep pang of longing as her sister launched into an enthusiastic spiel about London. It was all there for her if she wanted it: the busyness, the bright lights, the never-ending movement of it all that wouldn't be halted for any reason, great or small. Where only a short tube ride separated the huge global department stores that Annabel lived in and the tiny hidden markets that Grace adored. Where she could meet her friends at restaurants down cobbled lanes that served exotic dishes for next to nothing. She and Adam had been ice-skating at Hyde Park a couple of years ago, their arms around each other as some people whizzed past and others grabbed onto them laughing as they struggled for balance. In London you were whipped into the cacophony of the city – and how vibrant and alive that could make you feel. Here, you had no choice but to stop and let the tranquillity enfold you. Perhaps she should go back to the south. Perhaps it wouldn't be so different after all. She and Millie might fit right in as though they had never been anywhere else. But, she reminded herself, London could also be a cruel place with little patience, and if she tried to throw herself back into her old hurly-burly life for the wrong reasons, the city would not show her much mercy. Besides, there
was unfinished business here, and she needed to deal with it before she could move on.

‘Are you ready for Christmas, Grace?' she heard Emma asking.

‘To be honest, I haven't thought about it too much,' she admitted.

‘Not a bad idea,' Carl said. ‘My sisters have it planned like a military campaign – with spreadsheets and all sorts. I know I sound like an old git when I say this, but when I was young we loved the carols and the tree and the stories as well as the presents.' He caught sight of Emma playfully rolling her eyes and gave her a rueful smile. ‘All right, I'm off my soap-box. Come on then, our lass,' he gestured to Emma's drink, ‘let's get home and kick the lad off the internet before he can cause too much damage.'

Emma drained her glass then stood up, smiling at Grace. ‘Just let me know if you ever need me to mind Millie,' she offered. ‘I know how hard it is without a babysitter in these parts.'

‘Thank you so much.' Grace doubted she'd have a reason to take Emma up on the offer, but it was generous nonetheless.

They watched Emma and Carl leave, then Annabel motioned towards Grace's empty glass and asked, ‘Another one?'

Grace glanced over at Millie to check she was still sleeping.

‘Come on, Grace, I need to get a bit drunk so I can spend another night in your cottage after listening to ghost stories all afternoon.'

Before Grace could speak, Annabel was already on her way to the bar. When she returned with two large glasses of wine, Grace sat back and listened to her sister talk, growing ever more tired as Annabel became increasingly animated. Grace was debating how she could get Annabel to hurry up and finish her drink when the wind wailed abruptly into the room, then the front door was sucked back with an almighty bang.

Everyone's head whipped around towards the noise. A man in his early thirties stood by the door, his coat collar pulled up so high around his neck that his head appeared half-buried within it. He approached the bar with a wariness that made Grace feel on edge, though his posture wasn't particularly menacing, and she couldn't imagine anyone bothering to hold up a pub that was probably lucky to get to three figures in the night's takings. As he reached the bar and spoke to the old couple seated behind it, the woman shrank back, while her husband moved slowly forward and leaned his hands on the countertop. Glowering up through bushy brows, the publican said something short and sharp, but Grace was too far away to catch it. ‘No!' the old man shouted a second later, and banged his hand down on the wooden bar-top with a force and speed that belied his age.

The younger man backed away with his hands held in the air as if in surrender, then turned on his heel and was gone. The couple retreated to their perches, muttering to one another, until their attention was gradually pulled back to the TV and they fell under its trance once more.

‘What the hell was that about?' Annabel asked, her cheeks flushed.

‘God knows,' Grace replied, her heart hammering, one eye on the door.

‘Well, if that's how they deal with potential robbers here it's most effective.' Annabel chuckled a little nervously to herself as she took a big gulp of wine. ‘God, I never told you about Julie getting her bag snatched right off her shoulder in the Sail and Anchor, did I? We all gave chase and the bastard obviously got scared, as he dropped it with everything still inside – one for the girls, hey! She sends her love, by the way.'

Grace smiled and gave responses where required as Annabel continued to gossip away. Her head was somewhere else, however – remembering the man who had stood briefly by the bar. As he had turned she had recognised Ben straight away.

In the morning he would be coming to the cottage. And she knew absolutely nothing about him.