‘Fine. I’m Ben, by the way.’ He held out a hand.
‘Grace.’ She met his grasp, finding his skin warm despite the chill of the morning. ‘Do you have a number I can call you on if I need to change the time?’
‘Sure.’ He watched as she got out her mobile phone, then pulled his own from his pocket. ‘What’s your number?’ he asked. As she reeled it off, he dialled it, and the little screen on Grace’s phone lit up. ‘There you go,’ he said.
She stored the number. ‘Thanks.’
‘See you on Sunday then.’ He began to turn away.
‘I haven’t told you that I’m at Hawthorn Cottage … in Roseby …’ she said quickly.
‘So I heard,’ he answered, gesturing to the shop. ‘I know where Hawthorn Cottage is. I’ll see you then.’
He set off down the lane, the dog trotting behind him. Grace watched them walk away until they reached a battered black Land Rover. The dog jumped in next to its owner, and moments later the vehicle roared by, the rise and fall of the road soon taking it out of sight.
The return trip to Roseby took about fifteen minutes. Grace drove cautiously along the empty road, the deserted moors spreading out on either side. Approaching the village from this direction, the journey was a stark contrast to the country lanes they had driven through yesterday. Then, at least there had been trees, and patches of grass, and the occasional farmhouse, but here on the moor top it was flat, brown and barren.
She glanced behind her as she neared the crest of the hill that would take them down into the village. Millie had fallen asleep in her seat, her head lolling awkwardly against her chest. Taking the opportunity of a moment to herself, Grace pulled up at the side of the road and switched off the engine. She looked out across the wild expanse and tried to breathe it in, allow her mind to stop, flex itself, unfurl, rather than chase itself in ever-decreasing circles full of unbidden thoughts.
And yet, she found herself back twelve months, sitting in the cottage answering endless questions about Adam, probing questions designed to find some explanation of his mental health or his circumstances that might have led him to make an abrupt departure from his life. She told them everything; she had nothing to hide. He was happy to have moved here. He was starting work as a supply teacher the following week. He knew the area, yes, from visits to his grandparents and an extended stay here in his teens after his mother died, but he hadn’t lived here for almost fifteen years.
But had he ever wandered off before? they persisted. Did he have any history of mental illness? Depression?
She had tried to explain Adam to them. That he often sang loudly and out-of-tune in the shower. That he was fanatical about cricket. That he could quote his favourite Tarantino movies verbatim. That he was always the one offering support to troubled friends, never the one in crisis himself. But whatever she said, the questions kept on coming. And when they found out he had no family left alive to speak of, their doubts had intensified.
The night Adam had gone, Grace had been surrounded by strangers: police, mostly, along with a few locals wanting to help out. Her parents were on their way from France but wouldn’t arrive until the next day. Annabel was getting hold of a car and would be there as soon as she could, but had a five-hour road trip from London ahead of her. There had been a sudden flare of hope that they could find Adam via his mobile signal, until she told them that she had already tried the number, and had found the phone ringing in the pocket of Millie’s pram.
When her interrogation had finally ended, Grace had briefly gone out into the pitch-black night and stood with Millie held tight in her arms, surrounded by strobing torchlights, listening to Adam’s name echoing away through different voices, praying that one of them would hear a response. But each call was carried off on the bitter wind to be met with silence. Later she had watched as the search parties returned, shoulders slack, heads bowed. Nothing had explained why Millie had been left alone on the doorstep with no sign of her daddy. Not then, and not since.