‘Grace, listen to us,’ James insisted. ‘You and Millie need looking after, and there’s no chance of that while you live up here. Annabel’s right, this isn’t good for you. Where’s the fun-loving girl we used to know, who could barely stand a day without going somewhere different or trying something new? Just look at yourself right now.’
‘I wouldn’t be feeling like this if you two could start supporting me instead of antagonising me,’ Grace retorted. ‘And I think you have forgotten that I have a baby now – much more has changed in my life than just my location. Besides, you live in Switzerland – I’ll never see you, James, even if I do move back to London. What kind of support is that?’
‘I’m thinking of moving back,’ he replied.
‘Oh.’ She looked at him, unsure what to say – they were getting completely sidetracked.
‘Listen, I’m not isolated…’ she said testily, trying to get the discussion back on course. ‘I’ve got Ben, and Meredith, and Claire, and Emma…’
Annabel threw her hands up in the air. ‘For God’s sake, Grace. You hardly know any of them!’
They all glared at one another.
‘I’m going for a walk,’ Grace told them defiantly.
Annabel shook her head then turned away. ‘Of course you are, Grace. That’s your solution for everything nowadays.’
Grace was already on her way out. ‘Just mind Millie for me,’ she called irritably over her shoulder. ‘I won’t be long.’
By the time she reached her front gate, she could feel the tears streaking down her face. Why did everyone she loved want to make things so much harder? James and Annabel’s attitude was really getting to her. Life wasn’t always about taking the easy option: sometimes there were things that needed to be done.
She stomped up the road, the hardened snow crunching under her feet, until she reached Feathery Jack’s place. The chimney was puffing as usual, and in the front garden two small barn owls sat together on one perch. They barely moved, only the occasional twist of their heads signalling that they were alive. Sturdy leather straps were looped around their legs, and Grace felt sorry for them. She walked closer to the fence, glancing at their heart- shaped faces, their speckled breasts, the sharp hooks of their talons. The pure white among their dappled feathers stood out against the greying crust of snow.
‘Come on over, then, lass.’
The voice came from the doorway, and then a gaunt old man appeared, beckoning her closer. His face was a scrunch of wrinkled skin beneath tufts of white hair. He wore a tweed jacket a few sizes too big for him, and his trousers were tied tight around his ankles with string. A pipe dangled from his mouth, jiggling up and down as he moved. He came across and opened the gate for her, and she followed him towards the owls. ‘Stroke her on her belly, like.’ He looked expectantly at Grace. She tentatively touched the owl’s soft feathers. Its beak looked razor sharp, but the owl sat stoically and didn’t move.
She stood back. ‘I’m Grace, I live at Hawthorn Cottage.’
He gave no indication that he’d heard her. Instead he went back into the cottage for a moment, then came out holding something small, which he offered to one of the owls. It was snatched in an instant from his outstretched fingers. As the bird gripped the item in his talon and began to tear at it, Grace saw it was a dead mouse. She watched as skin was ripped away to reveal raw red flesh, feeling revolted.
‘Er, thank you!’ she said after a while, unable to bear it any longer. The old man didn’t even acknowledge her, heading back towards his cottage again.
She let herself out through the gate, unsure whether to go home to try and make peace, or carry on walking. As she wavered, the door to the redbrick house opened, and Ben emerged with Bess on a lead. He raised a hand when he saw her, and then did the same to Jack, who was heading back across his garden. The old man called, ‘Now then,’ as he offered the second owl a dead mouse.
‘I was going to come and see you later,’ Ben said as he drew near. ‘To find out when you want to start work again on your cottage?’
Grace smiled. ‘As soon as possible, but I think I need to wait until the others have left. It’s far too crowded in there at the moment.’
Her face or voice must have reflected her downcast thoughts, as Ben asked, ‘Everything all right?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘Not really.’ She bit back the tears, feeling foolish, not wanting to cry in front of him.
‘Would you like to take a walk with me and Bess? You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. We’ll just keep you company.’
‘That would be good. Though I can’t leave Millie for too long.’
‘Don’t worry – we weren’t going far anyway. Perhaps we won’t go through the fields this time, eh?’
As she laughed despite herself, she saw the lines around his eyes deepen as he grinned.
They were only gone for half an hour, but Grace felt so much better on her return to the cottage. They had walked in silence for a while, then Ben had begun to talk about the plans for the renovations, what they should do next. She had confessed her worries about the time it might take, and he had reassured her, saying that once they got started and she could see it all unfolding she’d feel a lot better.
When she got home, however, her mood came crashing down again. Millie was fractious and clung to her. Annabel took herself off upstairs while James fixed them all lunch. Grace tried to talk to him but he gave her one- word answers, and she could feel the anger radiating from him even though his back was turned. She wondered if he was still upset at their earlier disagreement, but whatever it was, nothing could shake him out of it.
In the evening, after Millie had gone to bed, they got out a deck of cards and went through the motions, but no one had their heart in it. Grace tried to tell them about her encounter with Feathery Jack and his owls, but could see they weren’t interested. She was debating whether she could excuse herself for bed at eight o’clock without inviting a barrage of sarcasm when, without warning, they were plunged into blackness.
‘What the hell…?’ Annabel cried.
‘I’ve seen the mains box down in the cellar.’ Grace sighed, thinking that it was the perfect end to the day. ‘I’ll get a torch and check it out.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ she heard James say, and then there came the sound of his chair scraping along the floor as he stood up.
Grace collected the torch, and they made their way along to the cellar. She went gingerly down the steps, feeling James close behind her. At the bottom, she directed the torch beam towards the wall, shining it along until she located the box. ‘Right,’ she said, ‘the switch should be in there…’
‘Wait a minute, Grace,’ James said. She swung around, and he took the torch from her. She briefly made out his eyes in the dim light, the contrast between the white sclerae and dark irises. Then she felt his fingers brush her cheek, and his lips were pressing against hers.
Grace was stunned. James took this as a welcome sign, and dropped the torch, hands cupping her face now, kissing her harder. As he wrapped his arms around her, pressing her into him, her body began to crave this physical contact, and she collapsed against him, kissing him back. He was so solid, so reassuring. In the dark it might not be James. It could be anyone – and the tremble that ran through her had a thrill of desire in it. She was dissolving, becoming a million tangled threads of sensation, when the lights snapped back on.
And something else clicked into place in her head.
James opened his eyes, as Grace watched him with the horrible realisation that their friendship had just turned in on itself. She saw the small flicker of his eyes trying to reach her, searching for somewhere he might comfortably settle within her gaze; and the dull veils of disappointment that descended as he found none. His whole body seemed to pull itself into a stiffer pose with one enormous effort of will, and he bent down to pick up the dropped torch. Grace knew they had just lost something between them that might never be found again.
‘Come on.’ He headed for the stairs without looking back, and she followed him.
Upstairs, Annabel looked bemusedly at both their faces. ‘What happened?’
‘The lights came on before we even touched the box,’ Grace said.
‘Really?’ Annabel glanced around. ‘Perhaps this cottage does have a ghost, after all – switching the lights on and off and stopping and starting the clock.’
‘Don’t say that.’
Annabel saw Grace’s face and laughed. ‘Come on, I was joking. Don’t get paranoid on me. Now, where were we?’
