Текст книги "Beneath the Shadows"

Автор книги: Sara Foster

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The next day, Grace woke up to a weak sunshine pushing its way in through the curtains. For once the other side of the bed was not an empty hollow. Rather, it contained a person snoring softly, dressed in a silky nightie, wearing a pink eye mask and with bright pink earplugs stuffed into her ears. Grace had laughed at Annabel as she’d set about blocking the world out the night before. ‘We’re not next to the motorway here, you know. There’s nothing out there!’

‘I know, but I can’t sleep without them now.’

Sharing a bed reminded Grace of their childhood. The pillow fights; the pinching and tickling; the risqué novels they had read in whispers by torchlight. The last time Annabel had slept in Grace’s bed had been a year ago, when Grace had woken to reality with a painful throb in her chest, on the morning after Adam had disappeared.

She jerked back to the present as she heard Millie stirring, and went to get her. By the time she had made Millie’s cereal, Annabel was coming down the stairs. Grace looked around the kitchen doorway to see her sister standing by the window, bleary-eyed.

‘Morning,’ Annabel trilled. ‘I was completely disorientated when I woke up.’ She glanced out of the window again. ‘It’s so dismal, isn’t it? I couldn’t believe it when I was driving here yesterday. It’s one long stretch of mud and dead bracken. I’m not sure this place even qualifies as a hamlet – you just live on the road to somewhere else.’

The unflinching assessment bothered Grace. But before she could work out why, Annabel flung herself into a chair, saying, ‘So, what excitement have you got planned for us today then?’

‘I thought we could take a look in the attic, see if there’s anything up there.’

Annabel didn’t make any attempt to hide the roll of her eyes.

‘Then we could go for a walk …’

At this, Annabel threw her head back dramatically, sighing at the ceiling.

‘… or not,’ Grace continued dryly. ‘Whatever, we’ll have to be back in time for lunch at Meredith’s. And tonight, we could walk down to the local pub.’

‘That sounds more like it,’ Annabel said eagerly. ‘What do we do with Millie, though?’

‘We’ll take her with us. If I get her ready for bed then she’ll sleep in her pushchair. It’s only a short walk from here.’

‘I didn’t notice a pub when I drove in.’

‘Then you didn’t look hard enough!’ Grace replied. ‘Anyway, come on through here, have some breakfast and then we’ll make a start on the attic.’

Annabel followed Grace into the kitchen, where Millie was smearing food over the tray of her high chair.

‘Morning, Millie,’ Annabel said, ruffling her niece’s hair gently.

Millie’s head swung up in alarm, then she looked at Grace, her face beginning to crumple. Grace was astonished as Millie usually loved her Auntie Annabel. However, after a reassuring glance from her mother, Millie forgot her fears, snatched up her spoon and began her favourite pastime of beating her breakfast into submission.

Annabel stared long and hard at Millie, then at Grace. As her mouth opened, Grace held her hands up. ‘I know what you’re going to say. She is a serious little thing. I’m working on it.’ She tried to sound as casual as she could, even though Millie’s sombre little face regularly plagued her thoughts. She had begun to observe other children of a similar age, and those kids always appeared to be babbling and laughing – or, if upset, they were more animated about it. They seemed to demand that the world bowed before them, whereas Millie was often troubled by anything new – strangers, places, toys, you name it. Grace’s mother had reassured her that it was probably a phase, but despite this, Grace had noticed her talking to Millie with extra care and precision, watching as she played quietly, and she knew her mother was questioning her own diagnosis. And Grace couldn’t help but wonder if Millie’s nervousness might be related to her daddy’s disappearance. What had Millie seen? Again, her mother had consoled her. ‘She was only a few weeks old. She’d hardly be aware of it.’ Grace prayed she was right.

‘Hey, daydreamer,’ Annabel said, bringing Grace back to the room. ‘I wasn’t going to say that actually, I was going to ask if she ever eats anything – every time I see her there’s food in front of her that’s going anywhere but her mouth.’

Grace smiled as she handed a plate of toast to Annabel, then gently took the spoon from Millie, dipped it in the Weetabix and pushed a dollop into Millie’s mouth before she could object. Millie looked taken aback and duly swallowed it, then opened her mouth for more.

‘She’s not great at feeding herself yet,’ Grace explained, taking a seat at the table and continuing to offer cereal to Millie.

Annabel studied Millie for a moment then cast a long, appraising look in Grace’s direction. ‘I can’t believe you live here,’ she said, gesturing around her. ‘It’s so …’ Grace watched her search for the right words ‘… not you!’

Grace smiled, remembering the enthusiasm with which she’d decorated the London flat she’d shared with Adam – keeping most of the walls neutral, and applying careful splashes of colour to each room. Now, looking at the intricate floral patterns of the faded wallpaper and carpet, and the mismatched furniture, she had to agree with Annabel.

‘Well, this place will be having a makeover soon enough,’ she replied. ‘I’ve got someone coming round tomorrow to give me a quote on renovations.’ She began to explain what she was hoping to do with the cottage, but could tell that Annabel was only half listening.

‘Am I boring you?’ she asked after a while.

‘Sorry, no,’ Annabel replied. ‘I was thinking about work. It’s been manic lately. It’s good to get away, even if it’s only for the weekend. I love it, but sometimes I wonder what the hell I’m doing. I can’t wait for Christmas, I haven’t had a week off in a year.’

‘That’s what you get for being a high-living, cut-throat journalist,’ Grace said, rising from her seat and collecting their plates. She had a flashback to her own former busy life: how purposefully she’d marched through the tube tunnels every day clutching Styrofoam cups of coffee; her lunchtimes a breathless assortment of exercise classes; then the rush to get across town to meet friends for dinner, always somewhere new to try. The days seemed to stretch ahead of her now, endless voids of time.

‘Well, actually, I’m applying for a change,’ Annabel announced. ‘Hoping to move into features soon, instead of news – slightly less pressured, though not much.’

Before Grace could reply, the grandfather clock began to chime.

‘Bloody hell!’ Annabel pressed a hand to her chest. ‘That thing keeps making me jump. Can you stop it?’

‘I don’t know.’ Grace walked into the hallway and stood for a moment watching the pendulum on its steady arc from side to side. As Annabel joined her, she twisted the key on the casing, and the front panel swung open. They had a brief look inside. ‘I don’t really want to touch it in case I damage it. Adam thought it might be worth something. But I think it should stop itself in a few days – it needs winding every week. Meredith must have kept it going while I was gone.’

‘It does look old.’ Annabel ran her fingers along the heavy oak casing. ‘Are those pictures of places round here?’

Grace followed Annabel’s gaze towards the clock face. The circle of roman numerals was set into a wider square, and the space in each corner had been filled by pastel paintings of rustic scenes: a bridge, a lake, a barn and a stream.

‘No idea,’ Grace said. It was the first time she’d paid proper attention to the motifs. There was a small figure on the bridge, looking over the side into unseen water, the face indiscernible. She didn’t know why the presence of the clock unnerved her so much, but as she regarded the pictures she shivered. ‘I’ll get it valued and shipped off in the New Year,’ she told Annabel, turning away.

After breakfast, they settled Millie into her high chair on the landing from where she could safely view proceedings. Then, as Annabel looked on, Grace lugged the stepladder through the cottage and up the stairs. She folded it open, squeezing it into the small landing space, then took the steps slowly until she could push up the attic cover.

Another dark space. She shone her torch around, a little wary of what might be revealed. However, as her eyes followed the hazy cylinder of light, her anxiety turned to weary realisation. More boxes. She gave up counting at a dozen, directing the torch beam into each corner, dust motes dancing wildly as she breathed in the stale musty air.

She climbed back down. ‘I think I’ll have to get up there properly.’ She quickly tied her hair back.

‘I’ll hold the ladder steady,’ Annabel said, as Grace began her ascent.

When Grace reached the top, she put her hands on the bare boards, pushed hard, and managed to pull herself into the space. Annabel handed up a large lamp attached to an extension cord, and Grace set it down beside her. ‘Look out for spiders,’ Annabel called.

‘Yeah, thanks for that,’ Grace muttered.

Now she could see the space better, she was pleased to realise that there were fewer boxes than she had feared. More than a dozen, sure, but less than twenty. She crawled over the rough wooden beams to the first one. Sure enough, as she tugged at it, a long-legged creature scuttled away into a murky corner. She gritted her teeth, and hefted the box over to the manhole.

‘Ready?’ she called down.

There was no answer.

‘Annabel?’

Silence.

‘Annabel!’ she yelled. As she listened, she realised she couldn’t hear Millie either.

‘For God’s sake,’ she grumbled, half irritated, half worried. She turned and let her legs dangle down the hole, and was about to put her weight back on the ladder when she felt two hands go tight around her ankles. She let out a cry and clung on to the rim of the manhole.

‘Stop kicking!’ Annabel cried. ‘I’m trying to guide you back to the ladder, you idiot.’

‘Where the hell did you go?’ Grace demanded, heaving herself back into the attic space.

‘There was a strange noise coming from your bedroom. I was having a look, but it stopped.’

‘What kind of noise?’

‘Sounded like scratching.’

‘Bloody hell, don’t tell me I’ve got a mouse to deal with on top of everything else.’ Grace poked her head out of the attic, upside down. ‘Is Millie all right?’

Millie was munching on a biscuit, but stopped, astonished at the sight of her mother’s disembodied face. ‘Boo!’ Grace said, and her heart soared at Millie’s smile, so she did it again, and again, while Annabel looked on, shaking her head. After a few repetitions Millie went back to her snack.

‘You’re such an idiot,’ Annabel said. ‘Are you coming down or what?’

Grace frowned at her. ‘You don’t get off that lightly. I’ve got boxes to pass to you.’

Annabel ran a hand over her forehead. ‘For God’s sake, Grace.’ She looked at her perfectly manicured nails and sighed. ‘Come on then.’ She held her arms out for the first one.

Grace pushed the box to the hole in the ceiling, and had trouble fitting it through the gap.

‘I can’t manage that!’ Annabel shrieked.

Grace tried to keep the exasperation from her voice. ‘Yes you can. Just step onto the ladder and balance it on the steps as you pull it down.’

A moment later she heard Annabel cursing and the box bumping hard down the stepladder. She hoped there wasn’t some priceless antique in there. She got back across to the rest of the containers and began hauling the next one over.

‘How many of these are there?’ she heard Annabel call.

‘Just a few,’ Grace lied, but then Annabel’s head popped up into the attic space. She looked around and her face fell. ‘Oh Jesus,’ she said.

Grace crossed her fingers and hoped her sister wasn’t about to bail on her. Annabel glared at her, eyes narrowed, and muttered, ‘There’d better be lots of wine tonight,’ as her head disappeared again.

Grace smiled and grabbed the box closest to her. The cardboard that formed the lid had been cut into corners and folded down. As she pulled on it by one of the top flaps, it came open and she found herself looking at a handful of loose photos.

She took them out and shone the torch on them, leafing through, stopping at one of a child sitting alone on a lounge-room floor – in the seventies, judging by the garish décor in the background. It was a young boy, his body almost side on to the camera, but his face looking directly at the lens with a surprised smile, as though someone had called his name. He was only about three or four, but there was no mistaking who it was, and Grace felt a painful stab in her chest.

She put the photo to the back of the group she held, and looked at the next one. It was Adam again, in front of a terraced house, his arms around his mother. She wore a long dress and a headscarf, and you could see from the bony sticks of her wrists and the cavernous spaces of her collarbones that she was frail. The cancer must have been advanced by then, Grace thought. Adam would have been around seventeen. His face and frame were thinner than Grace had known, but other than that his outward appearance hadn’t altered much over the next two decades. Her heart went out to the boy in the photograph. Only a year or so after it was taken he had been an orphan to all intents and purposes, living with his grandparents over the summer before he headed off to university.

Her arms felt heavy as she flicked through the rest of the pictures, before she looked back at the photo of Adam and his mother. Rachel had both arms around her son, while Adam had one arm draped casually across his mother’s shoulders, his body towards the camera. What had they been feeling back then? It was impossible to tell from one photo. Or was it? For despite Rachel’s smile, she held Adam tightly, as though he were a ballast in the middle of a raging storm, and if she gripped on long enough she might secure him to her. She appeared to be a woman who knew exactly what the future held. Whereas Adam looked like an uncertain young teenager posing for a picture.

‘Grace, are you still alive up there?’

She snapped out of her daydream and returned the photos to the box. She would set the personal memorabilia to one side, and sort through it all at once. She didn’t want to spend too many days sifting through painful reminders of things that were irrevocably gone.

Grace’s fingers were stiff with cold as she steered Millie’s pushchair down the hill, with Annabel trudging beside her. At the bottom, they crossed the small stone bridge and headed for the next incline. ‘This is the pub,’ Grace said as they passed a two-storey whitewashed building, its chimney puffing grey smoke into the frigid air. ‘Those are old workers’ cottages, back when they had a brickworks here.’ She pointed towards the tumbledown buildings in a row some distance away, and then indicated the hill ahead of them. ‘Meredith lives in the house up there.’

They could just make out high grey-stone walls. ‘You didn’t tell me we were lunching with the lady of the manor,’ Annabel said. They began the climb towards it, Grace’s arms straining from the effort as she pushed Millie ahead of her. As they drew near, the house towered above them. It was set back from the road at the end of a short gravel driveway, and formed an L-shape, a single-storey building to their left abutting the double-storey house. Four large sash windows were visible at the front, set out in a square, while trailing ivy had formed an arch over the door. A pristine burgundy four-wheel drive was parked by the entrance.

‘This place is impressive,’ Annabel said as they reached the drive. ‘Why do you think they built it here, on its own?’

Before Grace could reply, a frantic barking began from inside. The door swung open and Grace found herself staring into Meredith’s steely grey eyes. Grace was about to speak, when a large black dog bounded out from behind Meredith and launched itself at her.

‘Pippa, come here,’ Meredith commanded, and Grace watched in admiration as the dog immediately scampered back to her owner. Meredith took hold of Pippa’s collar and guided her inside, then reappeared a moment later and held the door open for them. She stood straight-backed, as though she had learned to balance a pile of books on her head at a young age and had never forgotten the pose. She hadn’t gone for the looser soft perms popular with the older women Grace knew; instead, her hair was close-cropped to her head in a pixie-style, and it suited her, highlighting her bone structure, strong lines that would never change underneath the creases of her pale skin.

‘Hello Meredith,’ Grace said, her warm smile fading a little as Meredith studied her. Grace was sure that on previous occasions Meredith had been affable, but the woman before them exuded a polite coolness, little more. Don’t judge her too hastily, she chided herself. Remember, she’s recently lost her husband. She felt a surge of empathy.

‘Hello, Grace, it’s nice to see you again,’ Meredith replied, holding out a hand and shaking with a strong, firm grip.

‘This is Annabel,’ Grace said, as they also shook hands.

Meredith glanced at the pushchair. ‘And this must be Millie.’ She knelt down to look under the shade. ‘Hello, little miss.’ Then she straightened again. ‘Well, come on in.’

They were shown along a hallway, past a wide staircase and a few closed doors, before they finally walked into a vast, high-ceilinged room. ‘Wow,’ Annabel breathed, echoing Grace’s reaction.

In the centre, a huge square table was set for lunch, silver and glassware shining atop a pristine cream tablecloth. A three-piece burgundy leather suite was arranged in one corner, and the furniture was all a matching, gleaming mahogany. But what had really caught their attention was the vast picture window that ran from ceiling to floor on one side, framing a panoramic vista. Before them lay an endless tract of moorland, the unbroken stretch of earth drawing the eye further and further away in search of focus. There was little to find except for the occasional thicket, or the odd solitary tree standing sentinel. Without buildings to obscure it, the sky made up the larger part of the picture, and today it was a cloud-spattered backdrop of washed-out blue.

‘We had the window put in over a decade ago, when we did some major work on the house.’ Meredith had followed their captivated stares. ‘When the heather is out in the autumn, the whole landscape turns a royal purple – it’s quite a sight. Well, come and have a seat at the table. I’m afraid I don’t have a high chair …’

‘Oh, no problem.’ Grace looked over at Millie. ‘She’ll be asleep for a while, I think.’ She took in the smell of roasting meat, and her mouth began to water. ‘Can we do anything to help?’

Annabel set a bottle of red wine in the middle of the table. ‘We brought this. Would you like me to pour?’ She set about opening the bottle, while Grace marvelled at how easily Annabel made herself at home wherever she was.

Meredith was heading out of the room. ‘Thank you. I’ll just go and check on lunch.’

While they waited, Grace guided the pushchair into a corner and took a seat at the table. It was set for four, glinting silver cutlery laid out in perfect symmetry, next to side dishes that featured a delicate motif of apples and oranges. Annabel took Grace’s glass and poured her a generous amount of red wine, as Meredith returned from the kitchen bearing a tray of Yorkshire puddings the size of dinner plates.

‘In Yorkshire we always serve the puddings first.’ She used a pair of tongs to put a pudding on each of their plates. ‘Claire should be down in a minute.’

‘She said she was living here at the moment?’ Grace asked, as she accepted the large jug of steaming gravy Meredith held out.

‘Yes,’ Meredith replied as she sat down. ‘She’s been on her gap year for as long as I can remember. It seems holidaying is her occupation, and work is what she does to fill the time in between.’

‘It’s not holidaying, Mum,’ Claire said merrily as she entered the room. ‘It’s seeing the world. And I work while I’m away too, you know.’ She came and took her place at the table. ‘Hi Grace,’ she said, without waiting for her mother’s response. ‘And you must be Grace’s sister. Annabel, is it?’

Grace tucked into her pudding as she listened to the introductions. ‘These are delicious, Meredith.’

‘Mum’s been making them since time began.’ Claire looked fondly at her mother. ‘She’s got it down to a fine art. She may not sound like a Yorkshirewoman, but she definitely cooks like one.’

Meredith gave her daughter a wry glance, then turned to Grace and Annabel. ‘My father’s side is Yorkshire through and through, but the war changed things here. He went down to London during his conscription, and brought my mother back with him. She loved the countryside, but wasn’t so keen on the accent. She worked hard to make sure I spoke “the Queen’s English”, as she used to say. She did the same to all the children she taught, caused a few rifts with the locals around here.’

‘My father built the schoolroom,’ Claire explained. ‘The long building on the left as you come towards the house. There’s quite a history to this place.’

‘Did you go to the school here when you were a child?’ Annabel asked Meredith.

‘Yes, when I was small. When I got older I went to Ockton.’

‘And what was it like, having the school on your doorstep?’

‘Not much fun, actually. My mother didn’t want anyone to think she was favouring me, so she was horribly strict – she came down on me much harder than the other children. She wasn’t averse to using a cane.’

Meredith’s tone didn’t invite further questions, and an uneasy silence fell while everyone finished their puddings. As Grace laid down her knife and fork, her gaze was drawn to the mantelpiece opposite, which was full of photo frames. Claire saw that something had caught her attention and twisted around to look.

‘That’s an old school photo of me and my sisters,’ she said, getting up to collect one of the larger pictures, and passing it over for Grace to see.

The colours of the photograph had faded. Grace looked at the four brunettes in school uniform, their similar elfish faces, three of them with long hair, one sporting a back-combed crop with red streaks through it.

‘That’s me,’ Claire chuckled, leaning over and pointing to the short-haired girl. ‘I thought my hairstyle was brilliant. And Mum loved it too, didn’t you, Mum?’

Meredith snorted as she began collecting their plates.

Annabel moved closer to look. ‘That’s Veronica,’ Claire said, her finger resting on the tallest girl at the back of the group, who was posing confidently. ‘The oldest, and the bossiest. Always was, and still is. Married to Steve the solicitor now, with three boys, lives a very respectable life in Ockton.’ She motioned to the girl next to Veronica with wavy dark hair and a shy smile. ‘Next to her is Elizabeth. Liza for short. She’s a year younger than me. Moved down to Leeds eighteen months ago when her husband Dan changed jobs. They’ve got a baby on the way. And then there’s Jenny –’ She pointed to a sweet-looking girl with flame-red hair, sitting at the front of the group. ‘She’s the baby – though she turned thirty this year so I don’t think I can say that any more. She’s only recently moved back to the area after spending ten years working down south. She teaches at a primary school – she’s crazy about kids, that one. She’s had some rough luck with relationships, but she’s just started seeing someone, so I’m told, which means I’m the only one left on the shelf.’

‘Perhaps you wouldn’t be if you took out that nose stud,’ Meredith cut in. Claire rolled her eyes at Grace and Annabel, and Grace warmed to her further.

‘Take these plates, will you, Claire,’ Meredith said, ‘and you can help me bring the roast through.’

Claire stood up, and the two of them disappeared. While they were gone, Grace glanced across at the other photos. There were a few of Meredith’s husband, including a faded one of their wedding day. She noticed photographs set on a smaller side table too, and got up to have a closer look. They were mostly babies and toddlers, presumably Meredith’s grandchildren.

Soon after she sat down again, Claire and Meredith returned – Meredith bearing a platter of meat and a dish of steaming roast potatoes, while Claire carried two more bowls of assorted winter vegetables.

‘This looks magnificent.’ Grace only wished she could cook like this. She waited while everything was laid out, then Meredith began ladling potatoes onto her plate. ‘Meredith, I owe you an enormous thank you for looking after the cottage so beautifully. I was expecting to return to a place that felt unlived in – but you’ve kept it so homely. I am so appreciative, I can’t begin to tell you …’ She stopped as Meredith began waving her words away.

‘It wasn’t a problem. I was glad I could be of use. It helped me to keep busy after Ted died.’ Before Grace had time to express her sympathies, Meredith added, ‘So what are your plans now, Grace?’

Everyone fell silent, waiting for Grace’s answer. She felt her face growing warm under their collective gaze. ‘I’m not sure,’ she said. ‘I can’t decide whether to give it a go here, or head back to London. I keep thinking that perhaps neither is right – maybe Millie and I need a fresh start somewhere else.’ She knew Annabel was listening closely. ‘But before I can do anything, there’s a lot to sort out in the cottage. So first of all I need to get stuck in to that.’

As she finished, she tried her best to ignore the little voice that kept hounding her, yearning for a return to her former life. It doesn’t exist any more, she reminded herself. You can’t jump into your own shadow. Besides, she had come back for another reason, one she was keeping to herself. While she was going through the cottage, inch by inch, she would be keeping an eye out for clues. Anything that might shed light on what had happened to Adam. If there was nothing to discover, she would leave and move on. But if there was anything, she had to find it. She was desperate to understand. She had told every one she had accepted it, and she had. Almost.

‘I can assure you she’s quite civilised to have around,’ Annabel said, a sparkle in her eye. ‘She was always the one trying to talk me out of holding wild parties while our parents were away.’

Claire smiled, but Meredith didn’t as she looked across at her daughter. Claire briefly raised her eyebrows and returned her attention to her meal.

Meredith observed Grace thoughtfully for a moment. ‘Well, you have done a brave thing coming back here. I didn’t think you would. It’s not an easy place to be with a small baby, especially in winter, what with the snow causing all sorts of chaos.’ She took another bite of her lunch, leaving the comment hanging, so that Grace felt obliged to reply.

‘I wanted to sort through the cottage myself, not leave it to a stranger. Whatever else, I feel I owe Adam that much, for Millie’s sake.’

‘Besides, Mum, you raised a family out here,’ Claire added.

‘Yes, Claire,’ Meredith replied. ‘But I’ve lived here all my life. It’s different.’

Grace wondered what she meant by that. Was Meredith implying that Grace might have problems adapting to life in the sleepy village? Or was there something troubling about the area itself? Because Grace was already finding the unbroken silence unnerving, the way nothing moved except at the will of the wind – but she kept telling herself that she would get used to it.

Now Claire was speaking to her. ‘So there’s been no word then – about Adam?’

His name hung heavily in the space between them all. Claire’s face was filled with concern, and Grace noticed out of the corner of her eye that Annabel was casting her sister a worried glance.

‘No,’ Grace said, breathing deeply. ‘The police have filed him away as a missing person … but, I don’t know … I can’t believe that he just walked out … Oh, I’m sorry, do you mind if we don’t talk about it?’ She could feel her breath tightening in her chest.

Annabel cut in. ‘So, Meredith … when you say you’ve lived here all your life, you surely don’t mean in this house?’

‘I do indeed,’ Meredith replied. ‘All my life. My grandfather built the original house, and my parents added various extensions to make it what you see today. When my father was a young man, Roseby was very different. There was a brickworks operating a few hundred yards from here, and there were more small tenements. Most have fallen down – there are only three left, ramshackle now, you’ve probably seen them from the road. When the brickworks closed, everyone left. There weren’t enough children to need a school, so the area went wild again. Just a few families stuck it out.’

‘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.