‘I understand,’ Meredith replied. She went across to a tall dresser, rummaged in a drawer, then strode over to Grace. ‘Here’s your spare key back. Now, why don’t you come again during the week – I have a portable cot I keep for the grandchildren that Millie can use. Or why don’t you come at five, when she’s up? I’ll make you another meal and we can get to know one another better.’

Grace took the key as she considered the offer. She was unsure whether she and Meredith would find much more to talk about, but she didn’t want to be rude – especially not after Meredith had done her such a huge favour by taking care of the cottage.

Claire added, ‘Yes, come and eat here, Grace, don’t sit in that cottage by yourself.’

‘Thanks,’ Grace said. ‘I’d love to.’ But as she said it, she sincerely hoped that Tiny Tim wouldn’t be making one of his rare appearances that night.

It had been dark for hours by the time they finished emptying the attic. There were now seventeen boxes of various sizes stacked precariously against the banister on the upstairs landing. Grace had to squeeze round them to get to the bathroom and Millie’s room, but she was pleased to have the job finished – at least she wouldn’t have to venture up into the roof space again. She had prised open a couple of lids to discover a real mishmash of items, so decided that was a job for another day. Besides, she didn’t want to push her luck with Annabel.

Instead, they got ready for their trip to the pub. Grace put on some jeans and a jumper, while Annabel emerged in a short black dress, smart jacket and heels. Grace thought of where they were heading and tried not to giggle. When Adam had taken her into the pub a year ago, the predominant fashion had been flat caps and pipes.

They put a sleepy Millie into her pushchair, and then set off on the short walk down the hill. The moon was lost somewhere behind the clouds, so the only light to navigate by came from the windows of the pub. As a result, there was a faint, irregular glow over small sections of the road ahead of them, but the rest lay cloaked in heavy shadow. A strong wind lashed their faces, whipping Grace’s hair in all directions, sending it in stinging slaps across her skin. As she concentrated on keeping the pushchair steady, she waited for Annabel’s first complaint. It didn’t take long.

‘Hey, slow down, I can’t go that fast in these shoes.’

Grace slackened her pace. ‘I’d love to see you trying to get down this hill when it’s frosty. You’d be on your backside in five seconds.’

‘We don’t all want to live in ugg boots, you know,’ Annabel answered, then stumbled and gripped Grace’s arm. ‘Bloody hell, I can hardly see the road. I feel like I’m skating over a black hole.’

‘Stop moaning,’ Grace laughed, sucking in her breath against the wind, the sharpness of it making her teeth chatter. As she bent her head, a fast-moving dark shape low to the ground caught the edge of her peripheral vision. She felt a twinge of fear in her chest and peered at the blackened space, but there was nothing moving now. The barghest flashed into her mind, and she quickened her pace over the little stone bridge, moving at speed towards the entrance of the pub. ‘Here we are.’

Annabel held the door open, a blast of warm woodsmoke greeting them as Grace wheeled the pushchair inside.

The interior of Roseby’s only drinking establishment was as quaint as Grace remembered it. The main sitting area was basically a decent-sized front lounge. Two men standing side by side would have taken up the whole width of the bar in the corner, but that probably didn’t matter much here, as there weren’t enough patrons for a queue. When Grace had been in with Adam, he’d found his grandparents on a few of the old pictures that were hung around the walls; and pointed out the darts board in the corner, saying his grandfather used to come down every Friday for a game.

Tonight would probably be deemed a busy night for the elderly couple who ran the place, as they already had three customers in, and as many dogs. That was what she’d seen, Grace reassured herself. Someone’s dog had been nosing about outside. After all, it seemed everyone in the area owned a dog.

‘My round!’ Annabel trilled cheerily, and headed straight to the bar.

As Grace unwound her scarf, she glanced up to see a man studying her from a dingy corner, but he quickly looked away. Grace had the unnerving feeling that she should recognise him – what was it with familiar faces around here? She studied his broad back as he hunched over his pint, trying to place him, but he didn’t look in her direction again.

‘Grace!’

At the sound of her name, she turned to see a middle-aged couple seated in the opposite corner by the fire, wearing matching thick green jumpers. Sitting stoically to the side of them was yet another Labrador, its black fur glowing in the firelight. The woman leapt up and came over, pulling Grace into a hug.

‘It’s good to see you, Emma,’ Grace said, as the woman stood back.

Emma kept hold of Grace’s arm. Her face had a rosy sheen to it, her highlighted blonde hair giving way to dark roots. ‘Grace, how are you? Any news … you know?’

‘No, nothing.’ Grace felt her eyelids prickle.

‘Oh Grace,’ Emma said, patting her arm. ‘It’s the strangest thing I’ve ever heard happen, I still don’t understand it.’

Annabel came up to them holding two glasses of red wine. ‘Unbelievable prices!’ she said. ‘Are you sure those two wouldn’t like to relocate somewhere nearer London?’ She gestured towards the publicans, perched together on bar stools, engrossed in a quiz show on the small television set high above the bar.

‘Len and Joyce come with the pub,’ Emma replied, grinning. ‘It’s been a package deal for, oh, at least half a century or more. I’m Emma. You must be Grace’s sister – I think I remember you.’

‘Emma and Carl joined in the search party last year,’ Grace reminded her sister. ‘They live next door to me. Emma and Adam worked together hay-baling in the summer Adam lived here.’

‘That we did – we had a right laugh,’ Emma said. She flicked her head towards their table. ‘Come and sit with us.’ She led the way over to her husband.

‘Now then,’ Carl greeted them as they sat down. ‘It’s good to see you back, Grace.’ He shook Annabel’s hand.

‘How’s your little one?’ Emma asked kindly, gesturing to the pushchair.

‘She’s fine,’ Grace replied. Her memory jogged again. ‘Weren’t you …’

‘Pregnant!’ Emma finished for her. ‘Sure was – size of a house when you saw me last. She’s nearly one now – how wonderful she’ll have a little playmate next door.’

Grace winced, wondering whether to explain that her plans were not long term, but instead she asked, ‘And how’s she doing?’

‘The baby’s grand!’ Carl cut in good-naturedly. ‘It’s the teenager that’s the trouble.’ Close up, Carl might have been Emma’s twin – ruddy cheeks that matched his solid frame, wholesome without looking fat.

Emma gave her husband a nudge with her elbow. ‘Give over, that’s your free babysitter you’re talking about.’

‘True, true,’ Carl agreed, taking a sip of his pint. He looked at Annabel as he set his glass down. ‘So are you here for a visit?’

‘Yes, just for the weekend,’ Annabel replied. ‘Then back next week for Christmas. Grace is keeping me busy – we’ve been lugging boxes down from the attic all afternoon.’

‘I’m having a clear-out,’ Grace explained. ‘And doing some redecorating.’

Carl laughed. ‘Trying to bring Hawthorn Cottage into the twenty-first century, eh? Good on you. We’ll have to take a gander when you’ve finished – we could do with updating our place, too, though where we’ll find the money for that I’ve no idea. Bit of a drag doing it in winter, though – you’d be better leaving it till the summer, the whole area is glorious then. This time of year, the weather’ll be closing in here soon. I’m surprised it hasn’t snowed already – we’re in for a white Christmas, so I’m told.’