‘On the alcove shelf. Good job I double-checked.’
Grace put the copy of Rebecca into her bag while her dad checked his phone messages. ‘Your mother says she’s finished in Ockton. Do you want to go to the churchyard? If so she’ll meet us there.’
‘I’d like that, thanks.’
They set off down the lane, past the pub at the bottom, and on up the hill. As they went, wisps of Grace’s memories floated with them: Adam carrying Millie; Annabel complaining about the weather; James in his tux; Ben whistling to Bess … She was surprised at how fondly she recalled some of them. But there were many others she was glad to be leaving behind.
The schoolhouse stood as dark and empty as it had the past few months, since the day the bodies had been taken away from the bottom of the Leap. Grace had kept her composure remarkably well, until she had seen an ambulance head silently past the house. Then the tears had begun to stream down her face. That phase had lasted a long time – way beyond the point that her parents and Annabel had arrived, and they had all moved to stay in Ockton while an autopsy was conducted. She had been touched at how full the church had been for Adam’s funeral – all sorts of people coming up from London, including James, who sat towards the back, on the opposite side to Ben.
After that, Grace and Millie had gone to London for a time, before returning with Grace’s parents for the weekend, to oversee the final details on the cottage and put it up for sale. Yesterday, soon after they had arrived in Ockton, Grace had spotted Liza hurrying along the street with a pushchair. Before she could decide what to do next, Liza had looked across and caught her eye. Grace had smiled, and was about to go over to congratulate her, but Liza’s stare was empty. She had put her head down and hurried away.
Her father’s grim voice interrupted her reverie. ‘Do you reckon it will ever sell?’ He flicked a hand towards the schoolhouse as they drove by. Grace followed his gaze without a word. It had been empty for months, its ‘For Sale’ sign now much more battered and weathered than the one outside the cottage. Each time Grace went past she didn’t dare look at the windows in case she saw a small boy’s lonely face – or, worse, the viperous eyes of a woman who felt herself wronged.
The car moved on, up the hill, before her dad swore and swerved at the top as a sheep hurried out of harm’s way, two small lambs scampering behind.
‘This place …’ he muttered.
Grace leaned round to check on Millie, who was turning the pages of a board book, her little hearing aids fastened firmly onto her ears. Seeing that her daughter was amusing herself contentedly, she settled back in the car seat and let out a long, slow breath.
A little while later they came to a tall stone cross. ‘See that?’ Grace pointed. ‘That’s one of the way markers Annabel mentioned in her article. People used to leave pennies on the top of it for poor travellers to collect on their way past.’
Her dad looked, but didn’t comment. However, when they were on the main road leading to Ockton, he said, ‘Now, Grace, I’ve been wanting to talk to you …’
Grace sensed what was coming, and waited.
‘I don’t see the need to rush off overseas. Come and stay with your mother and me for a little while.’
‘Dad, I’ve got the tickets booked! I won’t be gone for long – and I need a holiday,’ she added, knowing that her reason for going was much more than that. It was a longing to see a tall, dark-haired man who lived on the other side of the world, whose presence she’d missed for close on two months, despite emails and phone calls.
‘Millie will be a horror on the flight.’
‘Dad, stop!’
‘I know you, Gracie, I know exactly why you’re going. And I don’t like him.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because he lives twelve thousand miles away, for Christ’s sake.’
‘Hang on a minute, you moved to France – it’s only a longer plane journey.’
‘Hmm.’ He didn’t look impressed. ‘Well, when you get back, come and stay with me and your mother.’
‘Dad, I’m not staying with you again while Mum insists on keeping that clock,’ Grace said, only half-joking. ‘It stops when it chooses, you know, usually on witching hour. Why she wants it is beyond me.’
Her dad shrugged his shoulders. ‘It’s an heirloom for Millie, apparently. Your mum didn’t think it was right to part with it – we can mind it for her until she’s old enough to decide what to do with it.’
Grace acquiesced. ‘Well, it’s nice of you. But if it gives you any trouble …’
‘Don’t worry, I’m sure someone on the internet can tell me how to conduct an exorcism.’