8
An hour later, Grace and Annabel walked up the hill, their breaths sending clouds of mist into the icy air. The wind had dropped, but Grace’s head was swirling, both from the wine and the commotion.
There was a loud screech, and Annabel cried, ‘Jesus, what was that?’
‘I heard it the other night too. It’s probably a bat or something.’
‘Oh for God’s sake.’ Annabel quickened her pace. ‘It scared the life out of me, whatever it is. Let’s get inside.’
As they reached the cottage and Grace unlatched the gate, she automatically looked back down the road towards the pub. A man was standing outside, silhouetted by the light from the open door. She couldn’t see his face at all, only the outline of him, but she was sure he was watching them.
‘Look,’ she hissed at Annabel.
A moment later, the man wheeled around and they heard the distant creak and slam of the pub door.
‘That was odd,’ Annabel said. ‘Do you know who it was?’
‘No idea.’
Annabel gave a visible shudder. ‘This place is creepy, Grace. Why on earth did you and Adam move here?’
Grace didn’t want to dwell on that right now. ‘Emma and Carl were nice enough, though, weren’t they?’
‘Yes, thank goodness,’ Annabel agreed, and her mood seemed to lighten. ‘Right, get that little one into bed and we’ll crack open another bottle.’
Grace was about to say that she was tired, but before she could speak, Annabel gave her a look. Grace knew she wouldn’t be let off easily. ‘All right, just a glass. You do realise Millie will probably be up at dawn.’
By the time Grace had settled Millie into bed, Annabel had poured the wine. Grace was about to take a sip when both of them suddenly jumped as someone banged hard on the front door.
‘What the hell…?’ Annabel spluttered on her drink.
Before Grace could even reply, there was another bang. She got up, opened the curtain a fraction and peered towards the door. She could make out a shadowy figure. Annabel joined her, pulling the curtain further back. ‘He doesn’t look like an axe murderer,’ she said thoughtfully.
‘Do axe murderers knock?’ Grace whispered. They looked at one another and burst into nervous laughter.
As Grace turned again to the window, trying to get a better look, the man glanced across, staring straight at her.
She stepped backwards in shock. It was the man from the pub, she was sure of it. And now she had seen his face, her memories shifted, forming an old picture. She had opened the same door to him twelve months earlier. She could still remember how her hands had trembled as she let him inside.
‘It’s okay,’ she told Annabel. ‘I recognise him.’ She headed through the hallway and opened the door.
The man on the step was short and thick-set, his face red from the cold, his eyes watering in the wind.
‘Now then, Grace.’
‘It’s Niall, isn’t it?’
‘That’s right.’ He looked pleased that she remembered. ‘Can I come in for a minute and have a word?’
Grace turned to see Annabel brandishing an umbrella, as though ready to use it as a weapon. Her stance jolted Niall into understanding.
‘I’m sorry, love.’ He ran a hand over his face. ‘I didn’t mean to scare you. I was caught unawares when I saw you at the pub. I couldn’t place you right away, but when I realised who you were I reckoned I’d better come up and see you.’ He held out a hand to Annabel. ‘Constable Edwards, call me Niall.’
He was much smaller than Grace remembered, but perhaps the uniform he’d worn when they’d first met had made him more of a presence. His eyes were the same, though – extending an unspoken compassion that Grace found as unbearable now as she had done a year ago. In his presence it was impossible to pretend that nothing was wrong.
She realised they were waiting for her to speak. ‘Come in,’ she said, and stepped back to let him through. ‘Annabel, this is the policeman who came round first on the night Adam disappeared.’
Niall waved away Annabel’s offer of a drink. He sat on the edge of his chair, his hands clasped between his knees. ‘How’s your little lass doing?’
‘She’s fine,’ Grace replied. ‘She’s asleep upstairs.’
‘That’s good.’ He looked pleased. ‘I’ve often thought about you two, you know. I have to say I didn’t think I’d see you back round these parts.’
Grace stiffened. ‘There are things that need sorting out. I want to tie up the loose ends, so Millie and I can move on with our lives.’
‘Well, that’s fair enough. I kept an eye on the investigation, and I don’t think much has changed…?’
‘No.’ Grace looked into her wine glass, swirled the liquid and took a large sip. ‘I haven’t heard from the police recently.’
Niall’s sigh was sympathetic. ‘It happens, I’m afraid, when there are no new leads, and new cases coming up all the time. Everyone scurrying about, overworked and under-paid. Did you have a Family Liaison Officer?’
‘Yes – Ken Barton.’
‘Have you told him you’re back?’
Grace shook her head. ‘No. Should I?’
‘Wouldn’t hurt. But listen, I won’t keep you.’ He got to his feet, then fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. ‘Have you got a pen handy?’
Grace found one for him. He scribbled on the paper. ‘If I can be of any help to you, while you’re here…’ She looked at the mobile number scrawled on the scrap he’d handed to her.
‘Thank you.’
‘I’ve two lasses of my own, and I’ve always found it hard to believe that your husband just ran off that night, leaving your bairn on the step like he did.’
Grace’s jaw felt tight as she replied, ‘I don’t think we’ll ever know what really happened. But now that a whole year has come and gone without a word, I’m trying to accept it. I’m only here to sort out the cottage.’
Niall nodded. ‘Well, I’ll leave you be then.’ He turned for the door.
After they had seen him out, Annabel considered her for a while, then said, ‘Are you going to tell me?’
Grace frowned at her. ‘What?’
‘Come on, Grace, something is bothering you. Spit it out.’
‘It’s nothing.’ Grace ran a finger round the rim of her glass.
‘Well why don’t you explain, and then I can decide that for myself.’
Grace looked squarely at Annabel. ‘It’s just – I keep thinking about the day before Adam disappeared. He was out for a few hours. He said he was going to watch the Arsenal match at the pub in Ockton, and do some Christmas shopping afterwards. But then, while I was in France I heard Dad grumbling about how many games Arsenal had at the end of the season, because of all the ones cancelled for bad weather around Christmas. I went on the internet – and the game had been cancelled that day.’
‘Right. So…?’ Annabel looked uncertain.
‘Well, it means I don’t know where he was.’
‘Perhaps he went shopping.’
‘He didn’t come home with any bags. There was nothing on our credit card. I never found any presents hidden away.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?’
‘Dad convinced me it was nothing – said he probably watched another match instead. I rang Ken Barton as well, but he sounded as sceptical as Dad. There was a big local derby on that day, apparently, which went ahead, and all the pubs would have been showing it.’
‘But you’re not sure?’
‘I don’t know. They might be right. But seeing Niall reminded me of it, that’s all.’
They sat in silence for a while, drinking their wine.
‘Perhaps mention it again when you next speak to Ken Barton,’ Annabel suggested.
