She tried to push away her doubts as she walked back down the lane. Adam’s disappearance had made her too distrustful – she had to stop approaching everyone as though something mysterious or sinister might be going on beneath the surface. She couldn’t live the rest of her life with a prevailing sense of suspicion.
She was determined to make it into town – she knew she’d feel better when she was progressing again with work on the cottage. She packed a lunch for Millie, then headed for the car. She hadn’t used it since before Christmas, and was thankful that the engine started first time. She switched the heating on full blast while she was strapping Millie in, then traipsed around the outside of the vehicle, clearing the windows of the remaining snow and ice.
Once they set off, Millie began to complain before they’d even got up the hill, and Grace fervently hoped she wouldn’t keep it up for the whole journey. The car only warmed up properly as they reached the top of the moors. Grace was beginning to settle into the drive, when her eye caught some marks on the windscreen.
She looked closer. There were greasy letters smeared on the glass, only just visible.
As she tried to make out what they said, she lost concentration and had to swerve to avoid running off the road. She slowed to a crawl and then pulled over, still scanning the windscreen.
Whatever it was, it had been written on the outside. She got out and went around to the front of the car, standing back so she could see.
Running the length and width of her windscreen were five large letters. Very faint, but there nonetheless. Spelling out one word.
LEAVE.
Fear and bewilderment made her insensible for a moment, and she cast around wildly as though someone might be standing nearby. All she saw was flat, desolate moorland. She collected a rag from the car and scrubbed furiously at the letters until she couldn’t see them any longer. Back inside, she switched on the windscreen wipers, briefly mesmerised by their rhythmic sway, a close imitation of a ticking pendulum.
She had a flash of longing for another life. She wanted to feel carefree and safe. She wanted to sit in a café for a long, lazy afternoon, drinking hot chocolate and reading her book without interruption. She wanted to take a holiday and lie in sweltering golden sunshine or swim in a refreshing sea. She wanted her mind to stop whirring. She wanted to feel like herself again, and not this frightened stranger.
Millie’s restless cries reached into her daydreams and drew her back to the present. In the cold white light her hands looked grey-blue, curved rigid around the steering wheel. She hunted in her bag and handed Millie a biscuit, then sat for a moment in indecision. She wasn’t sure she wanted to drive while she felt so frightened, but as she looked behind her, towards the village, she knew she didn’t want to go back there either.
She put the car into gear and set off again, trying to figure out who might have done such a petty, cruel thing. Her mind went first of all to James. Had he been so vindictive as to write that on her windscreen as he left? Why would he have gone to the trouble? Unless he’d been trying to scare her into leaving? It was a pretty outrageous thing to do, but then she’d never seen him so angry.
Or was it Annabel, playing a joke – or perhaps both of them in it together, thinking that if they couldn’t reason her away from the village, they could spook her out.
Then she pictured Meredith and her cool, indifferent manner. Her children were all staying for Christmas: Liza with her secrets; Jenny with her standoffishness. Claire and Veronica appeared pretty normal, but Grace hardly knew them. She couldn’t imagine any of them walking deliberately down from the schoolhouse to scrawl a word on her car, but then she’d seen Jenny and Claire coming from that direction just yesterday.
What about Ben? After all, she was convinced he wasn’t being entirely honest with her. It was Ben who walked past her car each time he came to work. She had trusted him enough to let him into the cottage, and their lives. But what if her instincts about him were wrong?
And there was Emma’s son, who looked ghoulish and might think it a good joke, scaring the new neighbour. Or Feathery Jack, who lived in a world of screeching owls and dead mice. He’d seemed cordial enough, but perhaps he didn’t want a newcomer in the village.
You’ve just named the whole of Roseby, she told herself. Who have you left out? Meredith’s dog? Timmy the ghost? She laughed, but it felt uncomfortably close to hysteria. Perhaps Annabel and James were right – perhaps this place was getting to her more than she realised.