Beneath the Shadows Read online

  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.

  3

  When Grace woke again it was to silence. Light had begun to seep through the curtains and saturate the darkness as the day broke. She was grateful, in fact strangely exhilarated, to have got through the first night alone in the cottage, and felt full of energy for the day ahead. She had a chance to have a bath before she even heard Millie stir, then went to get her little girl. Millie was sitting up, playing in her cot, and Grace observed her for a moment without being noticed. Millie was nearly fifteen months old, on the verge of walking, almost unrecognisable from the tiny bundle that Grace and Adam had first brought to the cottage. Adam had missed all the changes, big and small, that had happened over the past year.

  Grace closed her eyes briefly, and when she opened them again, Millie was holding out her arms, saving Grace from her daydream. Grace was relieved to see that whatever had terrorised Millie in the night seemed to have been absorbed by the morning’s light. ‘We have a visitor coming today,’ she told her daughter, smiling at her reassuringly, hoping Millie would smile back. Instead, Millie reached out to touch her mother’s mouth, watching her intently all the while, as though checking she was real.

  After breakfast, Grace unpacked the rest of their cases while Millie played by her feet. She put away all her clothes except her jeans and thickest jumpers, looking longingly at a pair of high-heeled brown suede boots that she’d worn all the time in London. They were consigned to the bottom of the wardrobe behind the trainers and Wellingtons, which were all she needed right now.

  When they returned to the lounge, Grace scanned the area and, satisfied there was nothing too dangerous within reach of little hands, set Millie on the floor to play. Then she picked up the phone and called her parents in France. Her father answered and sounded pleased to hear from her, even if there was a note of concern in his voice. She recalled their last conversation a few days earlier, before she had left for England.

  ‘What the hell do you want to go and live there again for?’ he’d roared when she’d announced her plans.

  ‘It’s only for a short time,’ Grace had replied. ‘There are things to sort out, and I think it’s time I went and did it. I can’t stay here forever.’

  ‘You can stay here for as long as you like,’ her dad had replied, his voice gruff and indignant. ‘You can’t fool me, Grace, I know why you’re going.’

  ‘I need to pack up the cottage properly, Dad. There’s nobody else to do that job except me. And it’s Millie’s inheritance, remember? Everything there is part of her family history.’

  Her father made a noise that sounded like Hmph, and walked over to his lounge-room window, from where, if you looked between the huddled villas opposite, you could glimpse a patch of sparkling blue sea. Then he turned and glared at her. ‘I’m sure we could find someone there to do that for you.’

  Grace had folded her arms, stood her ground and waited, until her father added, shaking a finger at her, ‘Just don’t you go chasing shadows, you hear me? Get in, do what you need to, and then go somewhere else – somewhere far away. Your mother and I have no idea why Adam took you there in the first place.’

  She’d gone across to him and put her hand on his arm. ‘I’ll be fine,’ she said softly.

  He hadn’t met her eyes, simply patted her hand and said, ‘I know you will.’

  She and Millie had left the next day.

  Now, she was glad to hear their voices, though this time it was her mother who couldn’t hide her worry completely.

  ‘Remember to take any legal documents you find to a solicitor. You need to know where you stand. Your father and I will pay for it.’

  ‘We know where I stand,’ Grace replied miserably. ‘The cottage is in joint names, so I can’t sell without Adam.’

  ‘But there might be a way round it, Grace – you never know. Just get someone local to check out all the facts for you.’

  ‘I will, Mum,’ Grace replied, pulling an exasperated face at Millie. ‘I’ve only been here a day – give me a chance.’

  ‘I know, love. We only want to help. Oh, and before I go – James called. He was surprised to hear you’d gone back there, said you hadn’t mentioned it to him.’

  Grace was riled by her tone. ‘I didn’t realise I had to report all my movements to him,’ she shot back.

  There was silence on the other end of the line, and Grace immediately felt bad. After all, there was one reason she hadn’t told her best friend she was coming back: she didn’t want to listen to him trying to talk her out of it.

  ‘Sorry, Mum, I didn’t mean to snap.’

  ‘It’s okay, love. I understand. Just remember you can call us any time, Grace – day or night.’

  ‘I know I can.’

  As Grace said goodbye, a wave of nerves threatened to swamp her. The phone call had made her all too aware of the distance between her and those who had bolstered her up over the past year.

  She shook off her apprehension as she surveyed the lounge room, knowing she had a lot to do. Adam’s grandparents had been dead for over eighteen months, yet as far as the cottage was concerned they could just be out shopping. The fact that the place creaked and groaned unaccountably might well have been due to the weight of everything inside it. A lifetime spent gathering, Grace thought, looking at the books stacked against the walls, magazines piled in corners, the collection of china bird ornaments that crowded together in the low glass cabinet. Many of the surfaces had decorative mats or tablecloths on top of them. On one small side table there was an enormous vase hand-painted with flowers; on another a brass lamp with a glass shade. Next to that sat a wooden box, which Grace opened to discover a pipe and a pouch of tobacco inside. The smell brought back the memories of her own grandfather, and the past flew into the present for just a second, disappearing as quickly as it came, leaving a bittersweet sense of longing. She put the box down and sighed. Although she was a relative stranger to the old couple, it was entirely up to her now, to go through everything and try to figure out why they had kept these things in the first place, and what the hell she should do with it all. She would be responsible for dismantling the last traces of their lives.

  She wished she had more idea of what Adam might have wanted, but they had only had a week together in the cottage before everything fell apart. In those few days she’d noticed that Adam spent most of his time working on odd jobs, putting off anything sentimental. It was clear he was finding it daunting. While he
’d been fond of his grandparents he’d had limited contact with them for most of his life – except for a brief spell when he’d stayed with them for a few months after his mother died. Yet their funerals, so close together, had hit him hard. With their passing, he had lost the last family he had.

  Grace had only visited the cottage once while Adam’s grandparents had been alive. She had instinctively liked them, but they hadn’t had enough time to move past polite friendliness. The only other occasion they had met had been at Grace and Adam’s wedding, which had gone by in a blur of excitement for Grace. But she did remember them: inseparable, looking a little nervous and pale on a rare trip to the south, the subdued black and burgundy hues of their Sunday best in stark contrast to Grace’s suntanned parents – her father in his morning suit, and her mother’s dress of pink and white swirls topped off by a fascinator that sprouted a large fan of pink feathers from one side of her head. However, Bill and Constance Lockwood had smiled proudly at anyone who caught their eye that day, particularly their grandson.

  Twelve months later, Bill had been taken into hospital soon after his wife had been found dead at home; and the stress and grief meant the old man had never returned. When Grace and Adam had first arrived, there had been a magazine on the coffee table, open at a short story. Adam had looked at it in silence for a moment, then told Grace that he remembered seeing his grandmother reading the stories aloud to his grandfather. He’d closed it and gone across to the bin, then hesitated and put it on a bookshelf instead.

  Grace looked over towards the shelf and saw the magazine straight away, exactly where Adam had left it. She bit her lip and put her hands on her hips, as Millie began pushing clothes pegs underneath the sofa. She barely knew where or how to begin. Just do it methodically, bit by bit, she said to herself. Just make a start, that’s all.

  She had been putting the kettle on, when she heard a knock on the door. Their visitor was five minutes early.

  ‘Michael Muir,’ said the young blond man waiting outside. ‘Call me Mike.’

  He couldn’t have been more than thirty, but he had the portly bearing of a man much older, and ruddy cheeks to match. He stuck out a plump hand, which Grace shook obligingly before stepping back so he could come in.

  Grace looked on as he began assessing the small entrance hall. ‘Livin’ room this way?’ he asked, moving off on her nod. ‘I’ll take a good look round, shall I?’ he added over his shoulder as she followed, then he began to make notes on a pad as he headed towards the kitchen.

  Grace let him get on with his assessment while she warmed up Millie’s morning milk and prepared her cereal. She was encouraging Millie to eat when Mike Muir reappeared. ‘Can we go through this now?’ he asked, waving his pad.

  She indicated the vacant chair across from her, at the tiny dining table that had been squeezed into the space. Mike Muir contorted his ample frame to fit, sat down, and put his notes on the tabletop.

  ‘Right, then… you say you’re lookin’ at rentin’ rather than sellin’?’

  ‘Yes,’ Grace said, ‘for the time being.’

  ‘And you’re gettin’ shot of the furniture?’

  ‘Well, I could do – but I don’t have to.’

  Mike Muir looked down at his pad. ‘Well, I can certainly put a rental advert out for you – see how we get on. However… can I give you some advice?’ He looked at her hopefully.

  ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘Well, as it stands, the place is a bit, er, how shall I put it…?’

  ‘You can say neglected,’ she replied, smiling.

  ‘Aye,’ he agreed uncomfortably, his ruddy cheeks darkening to become burgundy splotches. ‘However, if you made a few renovations… instead of looking at long-term tenants – which might cause you some bother out here – you could think about letting it out as a holiday rental instead. We look after a property for a family in the next village who’ve done something similar, and they’re making an absolute killin’… It’s got to be at least double what you’d get for a long-term rental, all said and done.’

  ‘Really?’ Grace felt her mood rising. ‘So what do I need to do?’

  Mike Muir appeared delighted by her enthusiasm. ‘Well, country getaways like these are quite sought-after. But to be canny about it, you need to set it up properly. Keep the best bits of a traditional cottage – your log fires, your wooden beams, and so on – but surround it with modern appliances and some nice furnishin’s and you’re on to a winner. See, if you took out this wall -’ he knocked his knuckles on the wall next to them ‘- make it open-plan down here, you’ve got a much bigger area. Right now, it’s too poky. Put new cupboards in here, like, and redo the living-room fireplace so it’s a bit of a feature. There’s not too much you can do about upstairs, but you could upgrade windows, make the bathroom en suite, that kind of thing. You could do a miracle makeover on this place, and it’ll be cosy and trendy rather than… than…’ His face coloured up again.

  ‘Claustrophobic and drab?’ Grace finished for him.

  ‘Aye!’ He beamed at her, seeming pleased at how easy this was proving. ‘And if you do decide to sell down’t track, you’ll get much more if you’ve done some work on the place already.’

  Grace liked the sound of his suggestions. She was turning things over in her mind when he began to get up. ‘Look, take my card, and give me a call when you’ve decided what to do next.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Grace ran a finger over the embossed lettering, her mind swirling with possibilities. ‘You’ve been great. I’ll think it over, and let you know.’

  She went to see him out, leaving Millie in her high chair banging her spoon repeatedly against her Weetabix with a dull thwack. At the door, Mike turned and the colour was high in his cheeks again.

  ‘I remember your Adam,’ he said. ‘He played for Skeldale cricket team for a time, he was a crackin’ spin bowler. I was right sorry -’

  ‘Thanks,’ Grace cut in, her unease as acute as his. ‘I’ll be in touch,’ she said, then closed the door smartly to escape her discomfort; but not before she caught one last sight of Mike Muir’s forlorn face looking back at her from the doorstep.

  4

  There was only one shop in Skeldale, one of the small villages between Roseby and the coast. It was just a terraced house really, no different to its dozen or so neighbours on the narrow lane, except for the sign outside, and notices Blu-Tacked against the glass of the bay windows. No one else was in sight as Grace hovered in the doorway, casting her eye along the advertisements. She couldn’t see what she was searching for.

  A cowbell clanged loudly as she pushed open the heavy wooden door. Inside it was dingy, the scant space crammed with paraphernalia. Boxes of fruit lined the shelves to one side of her, precarious towers of tins stacked in the gaps. On the other side an eclectic mix of items were piled in disordered groups – among them, stationery, candles, postcards and packet noodles. More boxes spilled their assorted contents onto the uneven stone-flagged floor, and in one corner were what looked like a group of witches’ broomsticks. Grace peered into some plastic pots as she went past, to see they contained honeycombs, oozing golden liquid from their tiny pores.

  The countertop was almost hidden by boxes of confectionery, and Millie reached out. Grace pulled her away, as an old woman shuffled into view from a door behind the counter. Her dress strained against its seams, and the loose skin hanging in folds under her chin quivered as she swayed towards the desk. ‘Now then, lass, what can I do for yer?’ she rasped.

  The shop certainly hadn’t been organised with children in mind, and almost everything was within Millie’s grasp. The little girl leaned backwards and grabbed a box of matches, which Grace extricated from her and returned to the shelf. The woman watched them impassively.

  ‘I’m after some milk?’ Grace asked, unable to see a fridge anywhere.

  The shopkeeper pulled a thick grey cardigan tighter around her and disappeared through the doorway again. Grace struggled to keep Millie’s eager finger
s away from everything until the woman reappeared, a small carton of full-cream milk in one swollen hand. As she placed it on the counter, Grace wondered about asking for semi-skimmed, but decided it was simplest to hand over a five pound note. The shopkeeper took it, rummaged in a drawer behind her desk, and brought out some change. As she held out the coins, the cowbell chimed again, and the woman glanced over Grace’s shoulder. Grace thought she saw recognition in her eyes – suspicion even – but the shopkeeper said nothing.

  Grace turned to leave, reminding herself to stock up on her trips to town, so she didn’t have to come here too often. As she moved, the man behind her stepped aside to let her pass, and Grace looked up briefly in thanks, registering a face similar in age to her own. She was about to open the door when she remembered her other reason for venturing out. She doubted the woman would be of much help, but since she was here she might as well ask anyway.

  ‘Excuse me, but I’m thinking about doing some renovations on my cottage. Do you know anyone local who might be interested in that kind of work?’

  The shopkeeper considered her, until Grace thought that the very question must have been some kind of faux pas around these parts, but apparently she was deep in thought, as after an extended silence she said, ‘Can’t think of anyone offhand, like, but I’ll put word out. Where’s thou at?’

  ‘Roseby,’ Grace replied after a beat, struggling to decipher the woman’s thick accent.

  It was as though a key had unlocked the woman’s demeanour. Her whole body trembled into alertness as she straightened, and she broke into a grin. ‘Roseby, are yer now? In ’awthorn Cottage for a guess?’

  Grace’s heart sank, sure that Adam’s name was about to come up again, but, thankfully, the woman kept to the subject at hand.

  ‘Well, like I say, I’ll put word out for yer.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Grace smiled courteously. ‘Shall I give you my number?’