Sara Foster - Beneath the Shadows

At five o’clock on Wednesday, Grace strapped Millie into her car seat, and drove the short distance to Meredith’s house. She felt a little cowardly for not walking, but it was already pitch black outside, and the wind was up. Part of her wished she hadn’t agreed to this meal, but in some ways it was perfect timing. The kitchen was unusable – if she had stayed in it would have been toast or sandwiches for tea.

The downstairs living area of Hawthorn Cottage was now a shambles. Amazing, Grace thought, that things which took so long to construct were so easily returned to chaos. She had spent the previous night clearing out the lounge and kitchen, and it hadn’t taken Ben long to move the furniture down to the cellar when he’d arrived first thing. She had left him to it, and taken Millie on a drive around the moors, thankful for the current mild weather. They had found a small teashop in a sleepy village where the lady owner was very taken by Millie, carrying her around and showing her an assortment of trinkets and knitted teddy bears.

‘You on your holidays?’ she’d asked Grace while putting her tea and scone on the checkered tablecloth.

‘Something like that,’ Grace replied.

‘You should come back and see the moors in’t’ spring,’ the woman said. ‘They’ve hidden their secrets away now, till the snow’s passed and the thaw comes.’

The whole afternoon had been so genteel that Grace felt less troubled as she made her way to Meredith’s front door. Millie was wide awake, which was making Grace a little nervous, remembering Meredith’s attitude towards Millie on Sunday. Grace had brought a bag of toys with them, hoping they would be enough to keep her daughter amused for a while.

When she reached the door, it swung open before she even had the chance to knock. ‘Come in,’ Meredith said, ushering them both out of the cold. They could hear Pippa barking in another part of the house.

Grace followed Meredith through to the dining room. The curtains to the picture window were open, but night had fallen and there was nothing to see beyond them this time, not even a light on the horizon or a star in the sky.

‘Thank you so much for inviting us again.’ As Grace looked around, she noticed that the table was less extravagantly furnished this evening, with only two place settings. ‘Is Claire here?’ she asked, her spirits waning at the thought of trying to make conversation with Meredith on her own.

‘No, Claire’s gone to collect Jenny and bring her home for Christmas,’ Meredith replied. ‘All my girls will be here this year – although Veronica, my eldest, is staying in Ockton. This place is big, but it’s not large enough for her brood and everybody else as well.’

As Grace set Millie down on the floor, Meredith asked, ‘So what are you doing for Christmas?’

‘My sister will be here,’ Grace replied while giving Millie the bag of toys.

‘That’s good. Christmas is a hard time to be alone. Well, I’ll go and dish up – back in a moment.’

Grace began to play with Millie, showing her the toys, though it was obvious that Millie wanted to crawl away and begin investigating this interesting new space. Grace glanced around the softly lit room, with its thick chintz curtains and polished furniture. Everything looked precisely positioned, as though she had found herself on a stage set rather than in someone’s home. She wondered if this room was singled out and kept pristine for entertaining, or whether the whole house was like this. Judging by how well Meredith had looked after Grace’s cottage, it was probably the latter, she thought.

She heard footsteps getting louder, and then Meredith reentered the room, carrying two plates piled high with food. ‘Come and sit down,’ she said. ‘I’ve managed to borrow a high chair, so you can bring Millie over. Will she eat some roast chicken?’

‘It might be messy,’ Grace warned, picking Millie up, wondering if Meredith had found the high chair especially for them, and thinking what a considerate gesture it was if so.

Meredith motioned to the polished wooden floor. ‘It’s easy enough to wipe.’

They took their places, and Meredith chopped up a few pieces of chicken and some vegetables, then presented them to Millie on a child’s plastic plate with a plastic knife and fork. Millie ignored the cutlery, and picked the meat up with her fingers, looking thoughtful as she tested it with her teeth.

Meredith took a sip of water. ‘So, Grace,’ she said, ‘how are you getting on with the cottage? Found anything interesting?’

Grace speared a perfect golden roast potato with her fork. ‘I haven’t got very far yet. It’s been lots of books and clothes so far, but most of them mean little to me, I’m afraid. It’s very odd sorting through people’s belongings and making decisions when you didn’t know them very well.’

‘You know, I think it’s a damn good idea to have a stranger go through your things after you die,’ Meredith said. ‘You’re unlikely to miss the heirlooms for Millie, after all, but you won’t be overly emotional.’

Annabel should be doing this job, Grace realised. Her sister didn’t have a sentimental bone in her body when it came to belongings. She enjoyed buying new things too much to be able to afford any qualms about keeping the old. Nothing delighted Annabel more than going through Grace’s wardrobe and emptying it with strings of exclamatory remarks.

‘I find it more disconcerting in some ways,’ Grace confided. ‘Not knowing the history of anything that I’m looking at. I always have this feeling that I might be missing something important.’

‘There’s not really much we own that is all that important, though, is there?’ Meredith looked around the room contemptuously. ‘I would be a lot less cluttered if it wasn’t for my girls – they practically handcuff me every time I suggest having a clear-out. They don’t want to live here any more, but I think it gives them a sense of security to know that their childhood home is still here, the same as it always was. They come here to feel safe.’ As she spoke, she glanced towards the mantelpiece of photographs.

Grace put down her cutlery for a moment to encourage Millie to try her vegetables. She recalled the contents of the boxes that she’d sorted through so far, debating what Meredith might find interesting. ‘You know, I did find a book about local ghost stories.’

‘Let me guess – Ghosts of the Moors .’

‘Yes,’ Grace said, surprised, ‘I’m sure that was the title.’

‘And did you notice the author?’

When Grace shook her head, Meredith got up, went across to a bookcase and pulled a slim volume from the shelf, handing it over.

Grace recognised the cover, and now she looked at the author’s name: ‘C. Romano?’ She regarded Meredith blankly. ‘Should I know who that is?’

Meredith nodded and waited, but on seeing Grace’s confusion, she said, ‘That’s Connie Lockwood, maiden name Romano. Adam’s grandmother.’

‘Oh.’ Grace looked down again at the slim volume in her hands. Millie’s great-grandmother had written this. She supposed she had better take it out of the charity box.

Meredith took the book and returned it to the shelf. ‘She presented all the villagers with one, when it was first published, back in the eighties.’

‘Why did she use her maiden name?’

‘I’m not sure. Connie was fascinated by the legends around the place. Her mother’s family were local, but her father was Italian. When Mussolini declared war against Britain, her father was sent to Eden Camp, and the rest of them stayed nearby with relatives to be close to him. After the war, when he was released, they remained in Inglethorpe. People weren’t always kind, from what I heard tell, but Connie’s father was a doctor, and before long a few people needed his help. After that, the consensus changed, and the community grew very protective of them. Bill had been away fighting in the war, and when he came back he fell in love with Connie. They moved here once they were married, and it took them a long time to have children – Rachel came late in life for them, and was unexpected, I think, but they doted on her. Didn’t Adam tell you any of this?’