Grace hoped her grimace would pass for a smile. Why did everyone here seem obsessed with the snow? She was increasingly tempted to point out that she did know about snow – it fell in the south too, and people still managed to get things done. She contemplated keeping her life on hold for another six months while she waited for a summer that, in England, might never arrive, and knew that she couldn’t do it. But Emma saved her from having to explain. ‘Leave Grace alone, Carl. That’s her business.’ She turned to Annabel. ‘And so where do you live, Annabel?’

Grace listened with a deep pang of longing as her sister launched into an enthusiastic spiel about London. It was all there for her if she wanted it: the busyness, the bright lights, the never-ending movement of it all that wouldn’t be halted for any reason, great or small. Where only a short tube ride separated the huge global department stores that Annabel lived in and the tiny hidden markets that Grace adored. Where she could meet her friends at restaurants down cobbled lanes that served exotic dishes for next to nothing. She and Adam had been ice-skating at Hyde Park a couple of years ago, their arms around each other as some people whizzed past and others grabbed onto them laughing as they struggled for balance. In London you were whipped into the cacophony of the city – and how vibrant and alive that could make you feel. Here, you had no choice but to stop and let the tranquillity enfold you. Perhaps she should go back to the south. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so different after all. She and Millie might fit right in as though they had never been anywhere else. But, she reminded herself, London could also be a cruel place with little patience, and if she tried to throw herself back into her old hurly-burly life for the wrong reasons, the city would not show her much mercy. Besides, there was unfinished business here, and she needed to deal with it before she could move on.

‘Are you ready for Christmas, Grace?’ she heard Emma asking.

‘To be honest, I haven’t thought about it too much,’ she admitted.

‘Not a bad idea,’ Carl said. ‘My sisters have it planned like a military campaign – with spreadsheets and all sorts. I know I sound like an old git when I say this, but when I was young we loved the carols and the tree and the stories as well as the presents.’ He caught sight of Emma playfully rolling her eyes and gave her a rueful smile. ‘All right, I’m off my soap-box. Come on then, our lass,’ he gestured to Emma’s drink, ‘let’s get home and kick the lad off the internet before he can cause too much damage.’

Emma drained her glass then stood up, smiling at Grace. ‘Just let me know if you ever need me to mind Millie,’ she offered. ‘I know how hard it is without a babysitter in these parts.’

‘Thank you so much.’ Grace doubted she’d have a reason to take Emma up on the offer, but it was generous nonetheless.

They watched Emma and Carl leave, then Annabel motioned towards Grace’s empty glass and asked, ‘Another one?’

Grace glanced over at Millie to check she was still sleeping.

‘Come on, Grace, I need to get a bit drunk so I can spend another night in your cottage after listening to ghost stories all afternoon.’

Before Grace could speak, Annabel was already on her way to the bar. When she returned with two large glasses of wine, Grace sat back and listened to her sister talk, growing ever more tired as Annabel became increasingly animated. Grace was debating how she could get Annabel to hurry up and finish her drink when the wind wailed abruptly into the room, then the front door was sucked back with an almighty bang.

Everyone’s head whipped around towards the noise. A man in his early thirties stood by the door, his coat collar pulled up so high around his neck that his head appeared half-buried within it. He approached the bar with a wariness that made Grace feel on edge, though his posture wasn’t particularly menacing, and she couldn’t imagine anyone bothering to hold up a pub that was probably lucky to get to three figures in the night’s takings. As he reached the bar and spoke to the old couple seated behind it, the woman shrank back, while her husband moved slowly forward and leaned his hands on the countertop. Glowering up through bushy brows, the publican said something short and sharp, but Grace was too far away to catch it. ‘No!’ the old man shouted a second later, and banged his hand down on the wooden bar-top with a force and speed that belied his age.

The younger man backed away with his hands held in the air as if in surrender, then turned on his heel and was gone. The couple retreated to their perches, muttering to one another, until their attention was gradually pulled back to the TV and they fell under its trance once more.

‘What the hell was that about?’ Annabel asked, her cheeks flushed.

‘God knows,’ Grace replied, her heart hammering, one eye on the door.

‘Well, if that’s how they deal with potential robbers here it’s most effective.’ Annabel chuckled a little nervously to herself as she took a big gulp of wine. ‘God, I never told you about Julie getting her bag snatched right off her shoulder in the Sail and Anchor, did I? We all gave chase and the bastard obviously got scared, as he dropped it with everything still inside – one for the girls, hey! She sends her love, by the way.’

Grace smiled and gave responses where required as Annabel continued to gossip away. Her head was somewhere else, however – remembering the man who had stood briefly by the bar. As he had turned she had recognised Ben straight away.

In the morning he would be coming to the cottage. And she knew absolutely nothing about him.

An hour later, Grace and Annabel walked up the hill, their breaths sending clouds of mist into the icy air. The wind had dropped, but Grace’s head was swirling, both from the wine and the commotion.

There was a loud screech, and Annabel cried, ‘Jesus, what was that?’

‘I heard it the other night too. It’s probably a bat or something.’

‘Oh for God’s sake.’ Annabel quickened her pace. ‘It scared the life out of me, whatever it is. Let’s get inside.’

As they reached the cottage and Grace unlatched the gate, she automatically looked back down the road towards the pub. A man was standing outside, silhouetted by the light from the open door. She couldn’t see his face at all, only the outline of him, but she was sure he was watching them.

‘Look,’ she hissed at Annabel.

A moment later, the man wheeled around and they heard the distant creak and slam of the pub door.

‘That was odd,’ Annabel said. ‘Do you know who it was?’

‘No idea.’

Annabel gave a visible shudder. ‘This place is creepy, Grace. Why on earth did you and Adam move here?’

Grace didn’t want to dwell on that right now. ‘Emma and Carl were nice enough, though, weren’t they?’

‘Yes, thank goodness,’ Annabel agreed, and her mood seemed to lighten. ‘Right, get that little one into bed and we’ll crack open another bottle.’

Grace was about to say that she was tired, but before she could speak, Annabel gave her a look. Grace knew she wouldn’t be let off easily. ‘All right, just a glass. You do realise Millie will probably be up at dawn.’

By the time Grace had settled Millie into bed, Annabel had poured the wine. Grace was about to take a sip when both of them suddenly jumped as someone banged hard on the front door.

‘What the hell …?’ Annabel spluttered on her drink.

Before Grace could even reply, there was another bang. She got up, opened the curtain a fraction and peered towards the door. She could make out a shadowy figure. Annabel joined her, pulling the curtain further back. ‘He doesn’t look like an axe murderer,’ she said thoughtfully.