Meredith took a sip of water. ‘So, Grace,’ she said, ‘how are you getting on with the cottage? Found anything interesting?’
Grace speared a perfect golden roast potato with her fork. ‘I haven’t got very far yet. It’s been lots of books and clothes so far, but most of them mean little to me, I’m afraid. It’s very odd sorting through people’s belongings and making decisions when you didn’t know them very well.’
‘You know, I think it’s a damn good idea to have a stranger go through your things after you die,’ Meredith said. ‘You’re unlikely to miss the heirlooms for Millie, after all, but you won’t be overly emotional.’
Annabel should be doing this job, Grace realised. Her sister didn’t have a sentimental bone in her body when it came to belongings. She enjoyed buying new things too much to be able to afford any qualms about keeping the old. Nothing delighted Annabel more than going through Grace’s wardrobe and emptying it with strings of exclamatory remarks.
‘I find it more disconcerting in some ways,’ Grace confided. ‘Not knowing the history of anything that I’m looking at. I always have this feeling that I might be missing something important.’
‘There’s not really much we own that is all that important, though, is there?’ Meredith looked around the room contemptuously. ‘I would be a lot less cluttered if it wasn’t for my girls – they practically handcuff me every time I suggest having a clear-out. They don’t want to live here any more, but I think it gives them a sense of security to know that their childhood home is still here, the same as it always was. They come here to feel safe.’ As she spoke, she glanced towards the mantelpiece of photographs.
Grace put down her cutlery for a moment to encourage Millie to try her vegetables. She recalled the contents of the boxes that she’d sorted through so far, debating what Meredith might find interesting. ‘You know, I did find a book about local ghost stories.’
‘Let me guess – Ghosts of the Moors.’
‘Yes,’ Grace said, surprised, ‘I’m sure that was the title.’
‘And did you notice the author?’
When Grace shook her head, Meredith got up, went across to a bookcase and pulled a slim volume from the shelf, handing it over.
Grace recognised the cover, and now she looked at the author’s name: ‘C. Romano?’ She regarded Meredith blankly. ‘Should I know who that is?’
Meredith nodded and waited, but on seeing Grace’s confusion, she said, ‘That’s Connie Lockwood, maiden name Romano. Adam’s grandmother.’
‘Oh.’ Grace looked down again at the slim volume in her hands. Millie’s great-grandmother had written this. She supposed she had better take it out of the charity box.
Meredith took the book and returned it to the shelf. ‘She presented all the villagers with one, when it was first published, back in the eighties.’
‘Why did she use her maiden name?’
‘I’m not sure. Connie was fascinated by the legends around the place. Her mother’s family were local, but her father was Italian. When Mussolini declared war against Britain, her father was sent to Eden Camp, and the rest of them stayed nearby with relatives to be close to him. After the war, when he was released, they remained in Inglethorpe. People weren’t always kind, from what I heard tell, but Connie’s father was a doctor, and before long a few people needed his help. After that, the consensus changed, and the community grew very protective of them. Bill had been away fighting in the war, and when he came back he fell in love with Connie. They moved here once they were married, and it took them a long time to have children – Rachel came late in life for them, and was unexpected, I think, but they doted on her. Didn’t Adam tell you any of this?’
As Grace shook her head, Meredith echoed the gesture sadly. ‘You know, it’s such a shame these stories get lost. Why are we so careless that we let our own histories die without even noticing?’
Grace thought of the little she knew about Connie and Bill. After hearing this small snippet of their lives, she couldn’t help but picture them differently – as a young couple struggling to build a life together after the war. Her sense of responsibility towards them grew stronger – and she wasn’t sure she welcomed the feeling.
Meredith was studying her. ‘You seem lost in thought, Grace?’
‘I was thinking about how I nearly threw the book away – and what a loss it would have been. Thank goodness I mentioned it to you.’