Текст книги "Beneath the Shadows"
Автор книги: Sara Foster
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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 18 страниц)
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.’
That night, after Millie was safely tucked up in bed, Grace carried one of the boxes from the attic down the stairs, set it in the middle of the lounge, and kneeled on the floor in front of it. Opening the lid, she began plucking a few things from the top at random.
Out came clothes. Old-style blouses, a couple of dresses, a christening gown.
To begin with she handled things carefully, one at a time, but after a while she stood up, heaved the box onto its side and then over, spilling all the contents onto the floor. Then she picked through the mound in front of her, examining each item before putting everything except the christening gown back into the box they had come from. After she had finished, she found a pen in her bag and wrote ‘Charity’ on the lid.
One down – in half an hour. Why had she avoided this for so long? she asked herself, and went to get the next box.
This one contained books. She pulled out the top layer until she could heft the box over again, and then tipped it upside down, searching through, glancing at titles and authors. There weren’t many names she recognised, and they all looked dated. Besides, she didn’t need any extra reading when there was a bookshelf of classics upstairs. She put one or two aside, and began to pile the rest back into the box.
When she had finished, she moved to the little alcove set into the lounge wall, where, in addition to a small glass duck and sprigs of dried heather, there was another row of books: crossword dictionaries, field guides for bird-watching, and a few gardening encyclopedias. They all went into the box with the others.
She paused as she came across a slim hardback covered by a dull grey dust jacket with raggedy edges, a black and white picture on the front of it. She read the title: Ghosts of the Moors. The photograph featured a tall stone cross in the foreground and a shadowy stone bridge visible in the distance, across a strip of moorland. The photo looked like it had been taken in twilight, so that the bridge was dimly lit, the low-lying hills behind it little more than shadows.
She opened the book and began to read the introduction:
The North Yorkshire moors. A place of many souls: those unborn, those departed, and the few who dwell in the scattered villages and wander the old monks’ paths. People come and go, their lives ebbing and flowing like the river that cleaves its way through the valley. Yet, beneath their feet, the moors themselves are timeless – soaked in the love, grief, happiness and despair that saturates the air and weeps down past the heather into the thickly layered earth. This place is one that ghosts wander to and through, since the untended, patient land embraces both the living and the dead, as the seasons spin perpetual circles within time’s sticky web …
Grace shuddered, and turned the page, thumbing through the rest at random. It was full of short chapters, with titles like ‘The hob on the hill’, ‘The witches’ knoll’, and ‘The knights of Freeborough’. Towards the back, she came across ‘The barghest’. She read the first few sentences: A fearsome hound with razor-sharp teeth and claws. Seen shortly before the death of a local.
She remembered the dream she’d had on her first night back. She could vividly picture that contorted face, smell its hot, meaty, panting breath. The death of a local. Grace hastily closed the book and put it inside the charity box. She would be rid of that one as soon as possible.
‘Just checking in,’ Annabel said brightly the next morning when Grace answered the phone. ‘What’s new in no-man’s-land then?’
Grace laughed despite herself. ‘You’ll be pleased to hear I’m making some progress – and I’m getting the kitchen wall knocked down this week.’
‘So you’re going ahead with renovating?’
‘Yes – I’m not sure how much I’ll do, but I’m really tempted to try and rent it as a holiday let, and it will work much better with one big room downstairs.’
‘Sounds good,’ Annabel said, then her tone changed. ‘Hang on, are we going to be living in a dust box all Christmas?’
‘Don’t worry, Ben says he’ll have it all sorted by then. It might not be too pretty, mind you.’
‘Ben said so, did he? And who, tell me, is Ben?’
‘He lives up the road – I told you he was coming over on Sunday about the work. He’s done a great job on the plans.’
‘Grace, please tell me you’ve checked his credentials out properly?’
Grace immediately felt defensive. ‘He showed me heaps of drawings. It’s obvious he knows what he’s talking about.’
‘GRACE!’ Annabel shrieked down the phone. ‘For God’s sake – he’s about to knock down a wall in your home. Unless you want the whole ceiling to come crashing in, then I suggest you ask to see some references. Honestly, what are you thinking?’
Grace was relieved she hadn’t told Annabel that it was Ben they’d seen in the pub last Saturday, being unceremoniously told to leave. However, she knew her sister had a point. She had agreed to let Ben do the job without being thorough. She had been grateful to find someone so easily, someone who talked like they knew what they were doing, and who could be left to get on with it.
‘Grace, are you listening to me?’ Annabel was saying. ‘Before you let that man into your cottage with a large hammer, I want you to ask him for some background information. References, qualifications, experience – and I mean relevant experience. Promise me?’
Grace knew Annabel would never leave her alone until she’d agreed – or, worse still, would phone their parents. So there was little option but to say, ‘Fine, I promise.’
Ben was at the door soon after breakfast. Grace waited as he wandered around downstairs making notes, then began to study the wall that divided kitchen and lounge. Millie sat on the floor, inspecting him closely.
‘As I suspected, solid stone,’ he said. ‘I’ll check upstairs, but I don’t think it’s load-bearing. I can always put a beam in for extra support if needs be.’ He looked at the furniture. ‘Anywhere we can move this to?’
Grace thought for a moment. ‘I suppose we could stack it in the cellar.’
‘Well, you can leave that to me. If you clear those shelves in the corner and pack away everything in the kitchen, then I’ll cover it all up and get cracking. I plan to have the wall down by Thursday, and spend Friday clearing up. It might not be pretty over Christmas but you’ll have a lot bigger area, and you’ll be able to think more about what you might do with it next … Does that sound good to you?’
As he waited for her reply, Grace knew it was now or never. ‘Ben, I’m sorry, I know I should have asked you this earlier … Do you have any references or qualifications you can show me?’
He looked surprised rather than offended. ‘I’m really sorry, Grace, but I don’t have anything with me. You know that I’m house-sitting, and I’m a long way from home right now. I can reassure you that I once worked as a labourer, even though it’s been a while, and I’m a qualified architect. However, I can’t actually prove anything without troubling people to go into my empty house and send me documents.’ He sighed. ‘I completely understand why you’re asking, but it might take me a while to get these things to you … particularly with Christmas around the corner. Would you rather find somebody else? I understand if you want to – it might be better for your peace of mind?’
Grace’s thoughts raced as he stood waiting for her answer. What should she do? The possibility of going back to square one appalled her, particularly when everything had fallen so easily into place. It was Annabel who was worried, after all. Ben might be reticent, but Grace felt she could trust him with the cottage – he had already done far more than she had asked, for no apparent reason other than to help her out.
‘I’d still like you to do it,’ she said decisively.
‘Okay then.’ Ben picked up his coat. ‘You’re putting your faith in me, I appreciate that, but you’ve got nothing to worry about.’
As he spoke, Millie pulled herself up against the sofa and tried to reach Ben’s papers. ‘No Millie,’ Grace said, hurrying over, but Millie ignored her and snatched them, flinging them aside and watching as they floated to the ground.
Grace began picking them up, and Ben joined in. As they got to their feet, Grace handed over those she’d collected, and caught Ben’s eye. They were standing far too close, and he was looking at her so directly that a shiver ran through her.
‘Do you have any more questions before we get started?’ His voice was a deep susurrant burr.
Grace stepped back. ‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘Then I’ll be over tomorrow.’ He moved past her, heading for the door.
Grace saw him out and went back to Millie. As they began to play together, she found that, now he’d gone, numerous questions were running through her mind, but few were to do with the cottage.
