Sara Foster - Beneath the Shadows

James looked irritated at being contradicted, and Grace tried to lighten the atmosphere. ‘All the better if they do get trapped in, Ben, because as you know there’s a cellar full of crap below us that needs sorting through.’

Ben laughed, while Annabel gave Grace a dirty look.

‘You’ve not started that yet then?’ Ben asked.

‘No,’ Grace said, ‘it’s so bloody cold.’

James got up. ‘You’ll have to show me what’s down there. Perhaps you’ll find something valuable – who knows, you might be sitting on a goldmine. Anyone else for seconds?’

As Grace watched him walk across to the kitchen counter, she thought of the boxes waiting beneath them. Could there be something valuable down there? Why did she feel as though she were missing something?

‘I doubt there are any hidden gems in the cellar,’ she said as James came back to the table, his plate replenished. ‘In the attic, maybe, or in here.’ She gestured around her, trying to quash the sense of disloyalty she felt towards Adam’s family while they talked like this. ‘Adam thought the grandfather clock would be worth something.’ As she spoke, she could hear it ticking steadily in the background, punctuating the conversation. That was one thing she couldn’t wait to be rid of. What was it about the damn clock that got under her skin so much? She remembered it stopping in the dead of night soon after she’d arrived. Had that been one of her strange dreams? No – she clearly recalled watching as it began working again.

‘That clock is awesome,’ James said. ‘My aunt and uncle used to have a clock like that, and I loved it when they let me look inside. I wound it up for you earlier.’ He picked up on Grace’s consternation, and glanced at the others, puzzled. ‘Was that the wrong thing to do?’

Ben excused himself soon after the meal, saying he didn’t want to leave Bess on her own for too long. Grace and James washed up, then joined Annabel, who was applauding while Millie pulled a squawking plastic pelican round the room, its broad beak opening and shutting.

‘Shall we play a game or something?’ Grace asked, looking to Annabel, as it was something of a family tradition. ‘I’ve got cards – how about Hearts, or Spades, or Chase the Ace?’

‘I’m too tired,’ Annabel moaned, and James didn’t even reply.

Grace was beginning to accept that Christmas was officially over when the phone rang.

‘Merry Christmas, love,’ her mother said when she answered. ‘Have you had a nice day?’

Grace couldn’t help but acknowledge how homesick she felt upon hearing her mother’s voice, but she tried to sound cheerful, not wanting her mother to worry. They chatted inconsequentially for a while, telling each other about their days. Then her father came on the line, and after wishing her a merry Christmas, asked, ‘So how are you getting on?’

‘Good,’ Grace replied. ‘I had the kitchen wall knocked down last week.’

‘What on earth did you do that for?’ He sounded horrified.

As she began to explain, she felt herself stumbling over the words. She knew him too well, and the silence on the other end of the line was a bad sign.

‘I’m not sure you’re fully aware of what you’ve taken on, Grace,’ he said when she’d finished. ‘These are big jobs – they’ll all take time. Do you really want to be there for months?’

Grace felt her hackles rising. ‘I haven’t just had the wall knocked down. You should see the amount of clearing out I’ve done. When that’s finished I’ll be able to get on with redecorating.’

‘Well, it’s up to you.’ She hated the way he did this – his words offering her a choice, while his tone conveyed exactly what he thought. ‘But remember, after this holiday you’ll be on your own. You can’t expect Annabel to be driving up to see you every five minutes.’

‘I don’t expect her to, Dad! For goodness’ sake! I thought you’d rung to wish us a happy Christmas, not to have a go at me.’

‘Calm down, love. I am wishing you happy Christmas. I’m simply looking out for you – I don’t want you to run into any trouble while you’re there on your own.’

‘Well, it feels like you’re getting at me,’ she said grumpily.

‘I’m not. Now, have you got enough money to be getting on with?’

That question couldn’t help but make Grace smile. Annabel and Grace had a joke that even if they became multi-millionaires, their dad would still ask them if they had enough, as he had done when they were teenagers heading out for the evening.

‘Yes, I have enough,’ she said, turning around to see her sister look up and grin. ‘Now, do you want to speak to Annabel?’

The rest of the evening passed in a weary haze of wine and television. When Grace climbed into bed, exhausted, she knew she would sleep the night.

Except she woke up three hours later, sweating, Annabel motionless beside her in the dark. The answer she’d been searching for earlier was right in front of her. She knew exactly what was troubling her about the cellar.

Grace crept downstairs, hoping she wouldn’t wake James. There was no way this could wait till morning: she needed to look in the cellar right now.

Luckily James had left the TV on, so the flickering light filtered through the living-room door and flashed in staccato bursts on the passage walls. But as she got further towards the back of the cottage, it became gloomier, the light dwindling to nothing. She ran her hands over the cellar door until she found the handle and pulled it open, hearing it creak. Then she made her careful way down the steps, engulfed in blackness, knowing that once she reached the bottom she could switch the light on.

She was jittery, jumping at every slight noise or rustle, feeling her way along the wall, nearly retreating in panic as something soft brushed against her hand, until she realised it was her dressing-gown cord. ‘Stop working yourself up,’ she scolded herself in a whisper.

When she reached the bottom, she felt along the wall, and flicked the light switch.

The change from total darkness to the stark white light of a bare bulb was utterly disorientating. Grace closed her eyes for a moment, making a conscious effort to slow her breathing, and then opened them again, squinting.

Everything was as she remembered, including the bitter cold. She headed straight for the box of Adam’s personal effects – the one she knew he had brought with him from London. She began taking things out, quickly and carefully, piling them on a nearby shelf.

She didn’t have to dig down far until she found what she was looking for.

His passport. She opened the small purple booklet, to double-check, and there was his picture, the one that Grace had always laughingly told him looked like a police mug shot.

She stared at Adam’s handsome face. A rush of tenderness weakened her legs, and she held on to a shelf to stop them buckling. This was evidence, surely, that he hadn’t intended to run away? Or at least it made it less likely. But if that were so, then other possibilities, some unbearable, edged closer to being true.

Her mind swirling, she whirled around.

James was standing silently behind her.

She squealed with fright. ‘What the hell are you doing?’ she shrieked.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ he shouted back. Barefoot and bleary-eyed, he was brandishing a large piece of wood. ‘For Christ’s sake, Grace, you scared the life out of me. I woke up to a bloody door creaking, and then heard all this scraping and rustling. After what Annabel’s been telling us, I was terrified I was about to confront the headless horseman rummaging about down here.’ He laughed, but when Grace didn’t join in he immediately sobered up. ‘What’s wrong?’