Sara Foster - Beneath the Shadows

‘Yes.’

Claire glanced through the window at the sleeping child. ‘Ah, she is lovely, Grace, you must be so proud.’ She remained still for a moment, as though lost in thought, then bent down to retie the laces of one walking boot. As she straightened she continued, ‘Anyway, I think Mum has decided to adopt you as one of us now that you’re back – so she’s sent me here with an invitation to lunch tomorrow. Would you like to join us?’

Grace hesitated for a moment, which Claire took as a sign that she needed encouragement. ‘Please come along, Grace. You’d be very welcome. Mum’s had a bit of a rough time lately – I don’t know if you heard but our dad passed away a few months ago. It was unexpected, he had a massive stroke and never recovered… and… well, you know…’

Claire trailed off uneasily. Grace understood, as she had grown used to this in the last year. People no longer talked casually of disaster or loss in her presence. Yet she was also set apart by Adam’s unexplained disappearance. No one knew quite how to deal with that – including Grace herself.

‘I’m so sorry, Claire,’ she replied. ‘I didn’t know about your dad.’ She remembered Meredith’s husband: he had been in the search party for Adam last year. In particular she recalled his sorrowful eyes, which had conveyed such a depth of compassion that it had reached her through the confused fog of that terrible night.

Grace was unsure what to say next. She often thought that after the last year she should be able to tackle difficult subjects with ease, but if anything it had made her hesitation worse. She was too aware of what harm a casual slip of the tongue or a careless remark could do to an injured spirit. She’d lost count of the times she’d fielded insensitive questions about Adam’s disappearance from well-meaning family or friends. In the end she smiled. ‘I’d love to come for lunch… I was only uncertain because my sister will be here this weekend.’

‘Oh, no problem,’ Claire replied, ‘bring her along too. Come about midday – we’ll see you then.’ And she walked away down the hill with a wave.

As Grace watched her go, she felt the first spots of rain sting her face. Then she saw Claire move tight against the side of the lane, as a small red hatchback swung into view, bouncing across the bridge. Claire glared after the car, and Grace grimaced. She could always trust her sister to make an entrance.

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.