They spent the next couple of hours opening presents. Annabel’s selections were always interesting. Crème de la Mer for Grace (‘It’s so overpriced, but I’m saving your skin from cracking up in these Arctic temperatures’), while James received Ted Baker boxer shorts, which he looked quite pleased with until he saw that the labels said ‘extra-large’. ‘I thought you’d take it as a compliment,’ Annabel laughed when he complained. Grace had bought Annabel some Smythson business accessories and a pair of pyjamas, but had to apologise to James as he opened his gift. ‘In my defence, I didn’t know you were coming.’
In haste, she had managed to locate an empty photo frame and make a collage to go in it, by scanning old pictures onto the computer.
James beamed at her after he opened it. ‘A decade of Grace, James and Annabel! Don’t worry, it’s perfect.’
Despite her considerable pile of presents, Millie wasn’t much interested in the unwrapping process. James had given her Mr Men stories, and tried in vain to get her to sit with him while he read, but Millie’s face grew increasingly wary and she kept crawling close to her mother. In the end he gave up, and began to help Annabel prepare the dinner, while Grace took the new toys out of their boxes. By the time Millie went down for her nap there was nothing much left to do. James switched the television on, and he and Annabel settled themselves in front of it. Grace tried to join them, but she couldn’t concentrate, thinking about Liza’s and Ben’s revelations the previous night.
She sat there for a while feeling fidgety, then got up. ‘I might go for a quick walk.’
‘You and your walks,’ Annabel said absently, her eyes fixed on the television. ‘Just don’t disappear for hours this time.’
‘Want me to come?’ James asked, and looked half relieved and half disappointed when Grace replied, ‘No, it’s fine – I won’t be long. Just need a bit of fresh air. Millie shouldn’t be up for at least another hour or so, but listen out for her, will you?’
She went into the hallway, pulled on her wellies, collected her jacket, gloves and hat, and headed out. The sky was a strange colour – almost yellow – and she sensed that the fresh snowfall they’d been warned about wasn’t far away. She inhaled deeply, smelling the frosty grass and wet tarmac, feeling the cold air surging down her throat.
At the top of the hill, she turned off the road and made her way along a path of mud and flattened grass, skirting around the edge of dry stone walls. When she reached the familiar large flat stones, she sat there for a while, taking in the view. She looked across towards Lover’s Leap, remembering Annabel describing it as the most haunted place on the moors. Then her mind returned again to the previous night – and Liza’s urgent voice as she had confessed to Grace in the shadows of the lake.
She pictured Adam at a library computer, trying to trace his father, and knew she couldn’t sit on this information. Grace was sceptical about rousing the police’s interest with such a scant new lead, but they needed to know. Liza’s name didn’t have to come up unless they thought it was significant.
Grace jumped up from the stone slab as an idea came to her. What was stopping her from finding Adam’s father herself? She could go to the library, try to retrace Adam’s footsteps, and see what he might have uncovered. At least then she would have an idea of what he might have been going to tell her, the thing he’d referred to in his mysterious note.
She felt reinvigorated by this new sense of purpose, looking towards the sky and taking a few deep breaths. As she did so, the first specks of snow landed on her, sticking to her clothes and gloves. She kept her face upturned, flakes appearing out of the void above her in a soft white flurry. She spun around slowly, catching them on her tongue, feeling their frozen, gentle caress on her skin in the brief moment before they vanished.
A dog began barking nearby, and a voice said, ‘Having fun?’
Ben stood a short distance away, wearing a padded coat, beanie and thick gloves. Bess was by his side, her tail wagging.
‘Yes, I am,’ she said, smiling, feeling a glow of fresh colour suffuse her cheeks.
‘Merry Christmas, Grace.’ He came closer, until she could see small specks of snow clinging to the stubble on his chin.
‘Merry Christmas,’ she replied, recalling him leaning over her in his car a few hours ago. It felt like a distant memory.
‘What are you doing out here?’ he asked.