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?’