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.
‘Well, this place will be having a makeover soon enough,’ she replied. ‘I’ve got someone coming round tomorrow to give me a quote on renovations.’ She began to explain what she was hoping to do with the cottage, but could tell that Annabel was only half listening.
‘Am I boring you?’ she asked after a while.
‘Sorry, no,’ Annabel replied. ‘I was thinking about work. It’s been manic lately. It’s good to get away, even if it’s only for the weekend. I love it, but sometimes I wonder what the hell I’m doing. I can’t wait for Christmas, I haven’t had a week off in a year.’
‘That’s what you get for being a high-living, cut-throat journalist,’ Grace said, rising from her seat and collecting their plates. She had a flashback to her own former busy life: how purposefully she’d marched through the tube tunnels every day clutching Styrofoam cups of coffee; her lunchtimes a breathless assortment of exercise classes; then the rush to get across town to meet friends for dinner, always somewhere new to try. The days seemed to stretch ahead of her now, endless voids of time.
‘Well, actually, I’m applying for a change,’ Annabel announced. ‘Hoping to move into features soon, instead of news – slightly less pressured, though not much.’
Before Grace could reply, the grandfather clock began to chime.
‘Bloody hell!’ Annabel pressed a hand to her chest. ‘That thing keeps making me jump. Can you stop it?’
‘I don’t know.’ Grace walked into the hallway and stood for a moment watching the pendulum on its steady arc from side to side. As Annabel joined her, she twisted the key on the casing, and the front panel swung open. They had a brief look inside. ‘I don’t really want to touch it in case I damage it. Adam thought it might be worth something. But I think it should stop itself in a few days – it needs winding every week. Meredith must have kept it going while I was gone.’
‘It does look old.’ Annabel ran her fingers along the heavy oak casing. ‘Are those pictures of places round here?’
Grace followed Annabel’s gaze towards the clock face. The circle of roman numerals was set into a wider square, and the space in each corner had been filled by pastel paintings of rustic scenes: a bridge, a lake, a barn and a stream.
‘No idea,’ Grace said. It was the first time she’d paid proper attention to the motifs. There was a small figure on the bridge, looking over the side into unseen water, the face indiscernible. She didn’t know why the presence of the clock unnerved her so much, but as she regarded the pictures she shivered. ‘I’ll get it valued and shipped off in the New Year,’ she told Annabel, turning away.
After breakfast, they settled Millie into her high chair on the landing from where she could safely view proceedings. Then, as Annabel looked on, Grace lugged the stepladder through the cottage and up the stairs. She folded it open, squeezing it into the small landing space, then took the steps slowly until she could push up the attic cover.
Another dark space. She shone her torch around, a little wary of what might be revealed. However, as her eyes followed the hazy cylinder of light, her anxiety turned to weary realisation. More boxes. She gave up counting at a dozen, directing the torch beam into each corner, dust motes dancing wildly as she breathed in the stale musty air.
She climbed back down. ‘I think I’ll have to get up there properly.’ She quickly tied her hair back.
‘I’ll hold the ladder steady,’ Annabel said, as Grace began her ascent.
When Grace reached the top, she put her hands on the bare boards, pushed hard, and managed to pull herself into the space. Annabel handed up a large lamp attached to an extension cord, and Grace set it down beside her. ‘Look out for spiders,’ Annabel called.
‘Yeah, thanks for that,’ Grace muttered.
Now she could see the space better, she was pleased to realise that there were fewer boxes than she had feared. More than a dozen, sure, but less than twenty. She crawled over the rough wooden beams to the first one. Sure enough, as she tugged at it, a long-legged creature scuttled away into a murky corner. She gritted her teeth, and hefted the box over to the manhole.
‘Ready?’ she called down.
There was no answer.
‘Annabel?’
Silence.
‘Annabel!’ she yelled. As she listened, she realised she couldn’t hear Millie either.
