‘Perhaps you wouldn’t be if you took out that nose stud,’ Meredith cut in. Claire rolled her eyes at Grace and Annabel, and Grace warmed to her further.

‘Take these plates, will you, Claire,’ Meredith said, ‘and you can help me bring the roast through.’

Claire stood up, and the two of them disappeared. While they were gone, Grace glanced across at the other photos. There were a few of Meredith’s husband, including a faded one of their wedding day. She noticed photographs set on a smaller side table too, and got up to have a closer look. They were mostly babies and toddlers, presumably Meredith’s grandchildren.

Soon after she sat down again, Claire and Meredith returned – Meredith bearing a platter of meat and a dish of steaming roast potatoes, while Claire carried two more bowls of assorted winter vegetables.

‘This looks magnificent.’ Grace only wished she could cook like this. She waited while everything was laid out, then Meredith began ladling potatoes onto her plate. ‘Meredith, I owe you an enormous thank you for looking after the cottage so beautifully. I was expecting to return to a place that felt unlived in – but you’ve kept it so homely. I am so appreciative, I can’t begin to tell you …’ She stopped as Meredith began waving her words away.

‘It wasn’t a problem. I was glad I could be of use. It helped me to keep busy after Ted died.’ Before Grace had time to express her sympathies, Meredith added, ‘So what are your plans now, Grace?’

Everyone fell silent, waiting for Grace’s answer. She felt her face growing warm under their collective gaze. ‘I’m not sure,’ she said. ‘I can’t decide whether to give it a go here, or head back to London. I keep thinking that perhaps neither is right – maybe Millie and I need a fresh start somewhere else.’ She knew Annabel was listening closely. ‘But before I can do anything, there’s a lot to sort out in the cottage. So first of all I need to get stuck in to that.’

As she finished, she tried her best to ignore the little voice that kept hounding her, yearning for a return to her former life. It doesn’t exist any more, she reminded herself. You can’t jump into your own shadow. Besides, she had come back for another reason, one she was keeping to herself. While she was going through the cottage, inch by inch, she would be keeping an eye out for clues. Anything that might shed light on what had happened to Adam. If there was nothing to discover, she would leave and move on. But if there was anything, she had to find it. She was desperate to understand. She had told every one she had accepted it, and she had. Almost.

‘I can assure you she’s quite civilised to have around,’ Annabel said, a sparkle in her eye. ‘She was always the one trying to talk me out of holding wild parties while our parents were away.’

Claire smiled, but Meredith didn’t as she looked across at her daughter. Claire briefly raised her eyebrows and returned her attention to her meal.

Meredith observed Grace thoughtfully for a moment. ‘Well, you have done a brave thing coming back here. I didn’t think you would. It’s not an easy place to be with a small baby, especially in winter, what with the snow causing all sorts of chaos.’ She took another bite of her lunch, leaving the comment hanging, so that Grace felt obliged to reply.

‘I wanted to sort through the cottage myself, not leave it to a stranger. Whatever else, I feel I owe Adam that much, for Millie’s sake.’

‘Besides, Mum, you raised a family out here,’ Claire added.

‘Yes, Claire,’ Meredith replied. ‘But I’ve lived here all my life. It’s different.’

Grace wondered what she meant by that. Was Meredith implying that Grace might have problems adapting to life in the sleepy village? Or was there something troubling about the area itself? Because Grace was already finding the unbroken silence unnerving, the way nothing moved except at the will of the wind – but she kept telling herself that she would get used to it.

Now Claire was speaking to her. ‘So there’s been no word then – about Adam?’

His name hung heavily in the space between them all. Claire’s face was filled with concern, and Grace noticed out of the corner of her eye that Annabel was casting her sister a worried glance.

‘No,’ Grace said, breathing deeply. ‘The police have filed him away as a missing person … but, I don’t know … I can’t believe that he just walked out … Oh, I’m sorry, do you mind if we don’t talk about it?’ She could feel her breath tightening in her chest.

Annabel cut in. ‘So, Meredith … when you say you’ve lived here all your life, you surely don’t mean in this house?’

‘I do indeed,’ Meredith replied. ‘All my life. My grandfather built the original house, and my parents added various extensions to make it what you see today. When my father was a young man, Roseby was very different. There was a brickworks operating a few hundred yards from here, and there were more small tenements. Most have fallen down – there are only three left, ramshackle now, you’ve probably seen them from the road. When the brickworks closed, everyone left. There weren’t enough children to need a school, so the area went wild again. Just a few families stuck it out.’

‘Don’t you find it isolated?’ Annabel asked.

Meredith shrugged. ‘This house contains so many memories, it’s never occurred to me to leave. I belong here.’

Annabel glanced at Grace.

‘Don’t judge us too hastily, Annabel,’ Meredith said, laying her knife and fork slowly to rest on the edges of her plate. She interlaced her fingers and propped her chin on her hands, looking from Annabel to Grace. ‘I can honestly say I have never seen anywhere as beautiful as it is here. Desolate, yes, particularly in winter, but watch it come alive in spring when the lambs are born and all the birds return from their migration. And it’s glorious when the heather crowns it in the autumn. This place has more life to it in one square metre than there is in a square mile of the concrete sprawl so many of you are keen to call home nowadays.’

Annabel raised her hands. ‘I think you’ve misunderstood. I’m a journalist. I’m instinctively curious, that’s all.’ But Grace knew what Annabel had been trying to convey with her eyes. She belongs here, Grace. You don’t.

There was an uncomfortable pause, then Claire said, ‘Our dad was a farmer. My sisters and I grew up playing in the ruins of the workers’ houses and the remains of the brickworks. It was fantastic – like having our own little make-believe village to run around in.’

‘Then they used them to hide in while they drank and smoked their way through their teenage years,’ Meredith added, a glimmer in her eye as she glanced at her daughter.

‘If you say so.’ Claire laughed. ‘Did Adam never tell you about them, Grace? He joined in for a while, in the few months he was here. He was a big hit with us all, I can tell you – new blood around here is extremely rare …’

Meredith’s eyes lingered on her daughter for a moment, then she looked down at her plate. ‘Remember that he was only here for a short time, Claire. It might not have felt like a big part of his life, not in the same way you remember it.’

Claire considered that. ‘You’re probably right. At the time I thought we were great friends, but when he left for university I don’t think I ever heard from him again. He didn’t even come back for a visit – did he, Mum?’

Meredith didn’t reply, but Claire’s comments were making Grace think back. When she’d first known Adam he had kept in touch with his grandparents by phone, but he’d never seemed keen to make the journey up from London to see them. ‘It’s a hell of a way,’ he’d told her, ‘and there’s nothing to do up there. They’re lovely people but we’re not all that close – I only saw them now and again before Mum died, and I didn’t stay with them for long before I went off to university.’ But she recalled how deeply touched he had been when his grandparents made the long trip south to see him get married. So after their wedding, he’d taken Grace to visit. There hadn’t been room to stay in the small cottage, so they’d booked bed and breakfast at a local farm. She remembered how much he’d enjoyed showing her around. It must have been then that his love for the area had been rekindled.