While caught up in her distraction, she had missed the change of topic. She began to listen again as Meredith said, ‘Emma and Carl … they live next door to Grace. Didn’t think they’d last when they first came – but they appear to have settled in. Their son prowls around the area, doesn’t say a word to anyone. Jack lives next door to them …’

‘Uncle Jack,’ Claire cut in.

‘My late husband’s older brother,’ Meredith explained. ‘Ted and Jack were originally from Skeldale, but Ted took over the farm from my dad after we were married, and Jack moved here a few years later to help out. So he’s lived here for over thirty years. Never married. Keeps himself to himself now. You’ll be lucky if you catch sight of him.’

‘And the house at the top?’ Annabel asked.

‘Another relative,’ Claire chuckled. ‘It’s so incestuous here.’

Meredith cast her a withering glance. ‘Hardly. They’re a couple about your age, perhaps a bit older. Distant cousins in the family, yes, but a few times removed. When they heard the house was vacant they snapped it up. It seems to suit them. They have also taken on one of Pippa’s siblings. Our dog Rosie had pups a few years ago, so we kept Pippa, and Holly and Bess went up the road. Rosie died last year, so now we’ve only got Pippa.’

‘That’s why I keep seeing black dogs everywhere!’ Grace said. ‘I was worried it was some kind of omen. I even dreamed about one the other night – with bared teeth and slavering gums – horrible.’

‘Well now, that could have been a barghest,’ Claire said. ‘There’s a legend of a black dog around here. Some say it’s Dracula’s dog – though I think it was actually Dracula himself who turned into the black beast that jumped off a ship in Whitby and raced away into the night.’

‘Whitby is only ten miles or so over the moors,’ Meredith added.

‘However,’ Claire continued, warming to her subject, ‘others will tell you that the barghest appears to people just before the death of a local.’ On seeing Grace’s horrified face, she laughed. ‘Don’t worry, Grace – I’ve lived here on and off for the best part of thirty-two years and I’ve never seen one shred of evidence to support the stories. They’re folk tales. You had a nightmare, that’s all.’

Grace looked at Meredith for confirmation, but Meredith only gave her a stiff smile. ‘The moors are full of ghostly apparitions, Grace. Surely Adam told you that? We even have one of our own.’ She glanced from Grace to Annabel. ‘In here.’ She waved her hand around the room.

‘His name is Tiny Tim,’ Claire added, nodding to show her mother was telling the truth.

‘Are you joking?’ Annabel was gaping at them like they’d announced that the house was a spaceship and lift-off was imminent.

‘No, not at all.’ Meredith’s face was solemn. ‘Though Tiny Tim is the girls’ nickname for him. He’s a little child. He’s only been spotted a few times, but he gets up to mischief now and again, banging things around during the night. We’ve learned to live with it, and it doesn’t happen all that often – hardly ever since the kids grew up.’

‘You’ve got to be kidding.’ Annabel’s eyes were ablaze with curiosity. ‘Who’s seen him?’

‘My eldest, Veronica, once said she’d seen him watching her from the end of the bed. Our youngest, Jenny, used to talk about playing with Timmy upstairs, when we moved her into Liza’s old bedroom. Neither girl was scared. He’s pretty harmless. I think he only appears to children – as far as I know, no grown-ups have ever seen him, we just hear him now and again.’

‘I can’t tell if you’re winding me up,’ Annabel said after a beat.

Meredith looked slightly offended. ‘I can assure you we’re not. I’ve researched it. An eight-year-old boy called Timothy was killed on the road near here, back in the twenties. We’re pretty sure he’s the one who lives with us.’

‘Jesus Christ!’ Annabel looked at Grace. ‘You don’t have any ghosts in the cottage, do you?’

‘I … I don’t think so,’ Grace replied. She didn’t think she believed in ghosts, but she was momentarily very aware that Adam’s grandmother had died there – probably in the bedroom Grace was sleeping in.

‘Hawthorn Cottage is one of the older dwellings, been here since before the brickworks,’ Meredith told them. ‘But I’ve heard most of the local tales and I don’t remember a ghost ever being mentioned there. I think you can both rest easy.’ She picked up a napkin and gave her lips a dab.

‘Ghosts wandering everywhere out there, though.’ Claire gestured at the moors beyond the picture window. Grace saw that the corners of her mouth were turned up, and there was a flicker of amusement in her eyes.

‘Really?’ Annabel sounded excited, and Claire’s enjoyment seemed to wane a little. Grace smiled to herself – they didn’t know Annabel yet. While she complained and squealed a lot, her fascination with ghoulish tales overrode any fears she might have. Annabel was more likely to organise an exorcism and then clutch at everyone throughout the event rather than run away.

‘There’s plenty of folklore, that’s for certain.’ Meredith got up from her seat and held her hand out for Grace’s plate. ‘Now, would you like some dessert?’

Once Meredith had left the room, Grace stared out of the picture window, only dimly aware of Claire and Annabel’s conversation. There was nothing out there, she reassured herself, except a bare expanse of nature. Ghosts made good stories, that was all.

Meredith returned bearing an apple pie, which she deftly sliced up, placing portions into bowls. She offered around a jug of cream, and they all tucked in again. Grace’s stomach was uncomfortably full, but the pie was too delicious to resist. As they ate, the only sounds were the scraping of their spoons against the bowls and the whining of Pippa, hoping to be let into the room to join them.

‘So how long are you staying, Annabel?’ Meredith asked when she’d finished eating.

‘A couple of days,’ Annabel said, a spoonful of dessert halfway towards her mouth. ‘Then back next week for Christmas. I’ve been helping Grace pull down boxes from the attic all morning,’ she told them, making a face at her sister.

Claire rested her wine glass against the tip of her chin. ‘I hope we never have to sort this place out. Nightmare.’

‘You will when I die,’ Meredith replied.

Grace didn’t know how to react to that, and neither did Annabel by the look of her, but Claire laughed. ‘I think we’ll probably all die before you do, Mum.’ She pushed her empty bowl away with a sigh of satisfaction and rubbed her stomach. ‘She’s made of extremely tough Northern stuff, my mother,’ she explained to the others.

Meredith smiled, and Grace thought it was perhaps the most genuine response she’d seen from the woman all afternoon. Then Millie began to wriggle in the pushchair. Without even a query to Grace, Meredith walked across and unbuckled the child, lifting her up. Millie stiffened, then stared around the room at them all. Grace smiled at her, and Millie held her arms out to her mother, her little face crumpling as she began to cry.

‘There, there,’ Meredith said, jiggling her up and down as she walked across to Grace. ‘No need for that.’ She handed Millie over. ‘They’re so clingy at this age, aren’t they? I much preferred mine as they got a bit older.’

Grace felt defensive but didn’t reply. Meanwhile, Millie leaned into the hollow of Grace’s arm and looked around at them all from her place of safety.

‘Can we help you clear up? Grace asked, as she rocked Millie gently.

‘Not at all.’ Meredith began collecting plates. ‘You have your hands full there. Claire and I are more than capable.’

Annabel got up to help anyway, and Grace went to sit in one of the armchairs with Millie. The little girl had woken up irritable, and squirmed to be free. As the women filed back in from the kitchen, Grace stood up. ‘I might have to take her home, Meredith. I’m sorry to rush off after such a lovely lunch.’